Song of the Day: December 23

"Agamemnon" by The Teacups

I saw something about Victorian COD so hear me out-

Victorian Price in the fanciest suit

I'm sorry but that man would be so hooooooooooot as a Victorian gentleman, it fits his vibe

p.s. Happy 2024!!!!!!!

I got to this 3 months later… Happy belated new year 😅

Cw: flirting? Price being a gentleman, older man/younger woman, established relationship, tell me if I missed any.

Your father’s business parties had always been boring, they were a chore for you to keep a perfect facade to the public, the frail yet strong lady of the house, donned in ridiculously frilly dresses and thighs corsets. Your mother had fussed over it your entire life, her rough fingers, brought from her commoner background, had made her harsher in every manner to keep her title, for you to keep yours as a noble born into a world of riches. But the upkeep of it was useless when you had no part in it, forced to play a part in something you had no right to be a part of. 

Granted, you had your reservation, understanding that being on the same side as your father had it’s perks, the power his title - soon to be passed down to your older brother once your father passed - and his money. You didn’t necessarily depend on it wholly, you might live in his home, eat from his cooks and call for the maids and butlers he employed, but you had your studio away from home, somewhere in the city where you painted under natural light and sold portraits to people who paid you for a commission. 

It wasn’t as grand as being a merchant, to sell the luxuries most nobles sought - gems, fabrics, gold and silver - but it built you connections, your work passed from mouth to ear, one noble at a time, and one town at a time. You had your clientele and your father had his, you had an image to keep for something you worked so hard for, but to invest an equal amount of face and finesse in a snobbish party was draining. Fortunately, a few of your father’s work affiliates were regular clients at your little studio, sending letters to you months in advance to organise dates for you to paint them, it varied between one and a few months.

Your favourite was a British merchant company, lead by one bear of a man that you knew well, managed by three - a kind-hearted brit with beautiful skin, a boisterous Scot with his unusual haircut, and a broad and rugged man who hid his identity under a fearsome mask - other you were well-acquainted with and advised by a strong headed woman too advanced for your era. John Price was his name, a man a decade older than you, but treated you kinder than any man had before him, a gentleman in a beautiful suit and slacks, a red shirt and waxed shoes. He - coincidentally - matched your attire, your frilly, red chemise with a high and bowed collar, the sleeves long and rumpled in waves of red silk, waist high pants that hugged your body the same way your mother’s corset hugged her form and slick shoes that shone under the high chandeliers. 

“You seem bored, love,” his soft and baritone voice never failed to make you shudder, his hand on your back a reminder than he was with you.

He was always the gentleman, a man who worked his way to nobility, gaining a title and land through blood, sweat and tears. He was known for his trades, selling and shipping a large variety of items that some considered exotic simply because nobles hated interacting with foreigners, a kind of bred racism and xenophobia through generations to fear any uprising from their colonies and other countries. He was as broad as his company was known, every core member of it respected for climbing the echelon of society through hard work. Some purebred nobles might hate him for taking a title without being born into it, but none could object his craft, like an artist couldn’t do hate their canvas. 

“There isn’t much to do, is there, John?” You nodded towards your father, knowing that he was observant enough to see the slightest of movement, “My father is… he loves bathing in luxury, in the popularity his name brings.”

He hummed, a low rumble from his throat, his eyes narrowed almost threateningly, but you knew the amused gleam in his eyes. You had years to get to know him, once an occasional client - a man who stumbled into your studio wanting to let a newly risen artist a chance to paint him, admiring your work for the smooth and confident strokes - who brought his art trade to you, now a trusted friend, someone you were blasphemously closed too for someone your age. 

Your friendship hadn’t lasted long, the constant coaching from Kyle and Johnny, the silent push from Simon and the proud smile from Kate had both of you meeting halfway, throwing you into his open arms and fooling around at the back of your studio until John could take you away to marry.Eloping and always sounded interesting, you weren’t needed at home, your father had an heir and your mother had your younger sister to worry about.

“He flaunts it foolishly, yes,” he agreed, raising the cup to his lips, tipping it until the champagne flowed down the glass rim, “But we have a contract, one I intend to uphold until he complete his end of it. And I met you.”

He turned to you, a tender smile hidden under his beard, his stormy blues softening as he peered down at you, adoration gleaming in his eyes. You wished you could kiss him, to grip him by the collar and pull him down to press your lips against his course ones, to kiss him deeply and show him the love you felt for him. 

“I would, love, but we’re in public,” had you spoken out loud? It seemed you did if John answered you, his chuckles shaking his shoulders, “Would you come home with me once I’ve finished my business?”

“Of course, John.”

Taglist: @sae1kie @yeoldedumbslut @bvxygriimes @distracteddragoness @konigsblog @im-making-an-effort @daisychainsinknots @h0n3y-l3m0n05 @danielle143 @tuttifuckinfruttifriday @notspiders @brokenpieces-72 @petwifed @randominstake @cassiecasluciluce @hayleybarnesx @shironasumi @sparky--bunny @bloobewy @infpt-zylith @sweetnanah @aldis-nuts @evolutionarry @kaoyamamegami

brits surprise - singer!yn and harry

ending kinda sucks but i hope you like it :) let me know your thoughts

MY PATREON | MASTERLIST

"Do you want me to hang up so you can get ready?"

"No. Don't," Harry replied, eyes focused on his phone where his girlfriend's face was displayed, "I still have a few minutes before I need to get dressed."

It was one of the most important days for Harry's year, the Brit Awards, it wasn't the first time he was nominated or attending, but after winning Album of The Year at the Grammys mere days before, the night felt even more special.

YN was by his side for the Grammys, cheering for him and holding his hand the entire time. However, her schedule got too tight by the time the Brit Awards came, with tour rehearsals and interviews that didn't allow her to attend the ceremony.

Or that was what Harry thought, but he was completely unaware of the plan his girlfriend, team and friends were orchestrating to get her to London on time to surprise him by announcing one of his awards on stage.

"I really wish you were here," Harry said, running his hands through his dark curls, "But I know you need to rehearse for your tour, and I'm proud of you."

"I'm proud of you too, baby," YN told him, biting back the urge to tell him that she was planning on surprising him, "You're going to do amazing."

"Sue, It's time to get dressed." Lambert voice was heard through the room, and Harry knew it was his cue to hang up.

"I have to go love, but I'll make sure to call you before I go on stage, okay?"

"It's okay, H. Good luck!"

After a couple of hours had passed and Harry delivered an amazing performance, won 3 awards, thanked his former bandamates on stage, kissed Lewis Capaldi and chugged down too many tequila shots, the most important moment of the night was coming up.

Harry was going to get the Album of The Year award and his girlfriend was ready to surprise him on stage.

He was unaware of it all, still thinking that he might not get the award at the end like it happened in 2019 with his album Fine Line.

Mo Gilligan, the host of the night came on stage to introduce who was presenting the category, and when her girlfriend's name was called, Harry thought the alcohol he had chugged down was playing games with his mind.

It was safe to say that he lost his mind when he saw the girl he loved walk out clad in her navy blue suit looking absolutely stunning.

"Good evening Brit Awards!" she said into the mic, making the entire audience erupt in cheers, "You know I wouldn't miss UK's biggest night for anything in the world, and I'm here to present the award for Album of the Year, these are the nominees."

Harry was lost for words, and he didn't care if he lost the award, he just wanted to rush to the stage and kiss his girlfriend.

"And the winner is..." she said after the video showing the nominees was over, opening the envelope, "Harry Styles!"

The melodies from Late Night Talking filled the arena as Harry let out an excited scream and made his way to the stage, eager to reach his girlfriend who was holding out the award for him.

"I can't believe you're here! You sneaky shit!" Harry spoke into her ear as they hugged, placing soft pecks to her cheek, "This is so amazing!" he leaned back to look at her, not thinking twice before grabbing her face and placing a quick peck to her lips.

Remembering that he was on live television and that he had just won a major award, he let go of her and approached the mic to give his speech.

"This night has been really, really special to me and I will never forget it. Thank you so much for the welcome home, I appreciate it so much. There is no place like home. Thank you, thank you, thank you," he paused for a minute to look at his award and smile, "I’m so, so proud to be a British artist out there in the world. I’m so proud to be here tonight celebrating British artists and British music. Thank you, thank you, thank you," he turned his face to look at his girlfriend fro a minute, "I would also love to thank this stunning, sneaky woman who didn't tell me she was going to be here, you really surprised me, love. I'm so grateful you're here, I love you," he blew a quick kiss to her, and she mouthed a soft "I love you" back, "I’m gonna hand it over to Tom and Tyler. Thank you so much for this, I’m so grateful.”

After Tom and Tyler were done with their speeches and the four of them were off the stage, Harry couldn't wait much longer before he was crashing his lips to his girlfriend's again.

"I'm so happy you're here, so so happy."

"I'm always going to be here, love."

taglist: @cucciolafaerie e @eleanordaisy @sunflowersndpeaches @golden-hoax @alienorknight @daydreamingofmatilda @ivyproblems @ayeshathestyles s @stylesmygucci @gimsaysay @rosaliedepp @dontworrysunflower @milfrrynation @manifestrry @iceebabies @harrystylesrecs @pleasingrryyy @harianaswhore @noitsmebecky @abeanontoast @grapejuice-rry @vrittivsanghavi @msolbesg @tati813 @sad1esgf @eviesaurusrex @itsgabbysblog @theekyliepage @watermelonsugacry @be-with-me-so-happily @a-strange-familiar @reveriehs @musicforcinemas inemas @harrybabyyyyyyy @tinydeskwriter @noooovaaaaa @tenaciousperfectionunknown @mxltifxnd0m @rach2602 @balletdancerry @b-reads-things @juiceboxrry @lomlolivia @itsgigikay @goldensstateofgrace @missmielyhoran @fdl305 @lightsoutstyles

Tattooed Heart - Part I

SUMMARY: You are a cocktail waitress at a swanky lounge. Harry comes in one night, and you instantly dislike him. But another encounter eventually changes your opinion.

PAIRING: Waitress Y/N x Artist/Tattoo Artist Harry

TROPES: Enemies to Lovers

MUST BE 18+ TO READ

WORD COUNT: 4K+

STORY PAGE

You could spot the birthday parties from across the room. Beautiful, rich kids and socialites tend to go all out, with the balloons and banners, ordering bottles or at the very least, top shelf cocktails by the dozens. On occasion, you might get a wealthy middle-aged businessman, or some guy who just made his first half-mil in crypto, ready to live it up for the night, but they usually kept a lower profile, not attracting as much attention to their celebration.

Zelda’s was a swanky, high-dollar lounge for the rich and the wannabes. In your two years as a cocktail waitress there, you’d learned how to spot the difference. Those with money knew how to spend it. Those that were only there for one evening of “let’s pretend” spent frivolously, cashing it in before - or sometimes after - going belly-up.

Tonight seemed to be just like every other weekend evening, the corner booths filled with decorations and Gucci-lipped twenty-somethings taking cell phone pics of each other. You gave your best fake smile, ready to serve anyone willing to blow a few hundred on drinks and hopefully dishing out hefty tips.

“What can I get you, doll?” you asked the blond at the end of the half-circle booth.

She gave you a quizzical look at first, as though you had just interrupted a private conversation. Then with a flip of her hair, she smiled at her group.

“Oh, I think Harry was gonna order for us all,” she said. “It’s his birthday.”

“And which one is Harry?” you grinned at the three young men who shared the booth, all dressed in suit jackets with their shirts unbuttoned past their pecs. Everyone at the table pointed to the dark-haired guy who sat in the center with his hands up.

“That would be me,” he remarked nonchalantly in a syrupy British accent.

“Well, Happy Birthday, Harry,” you raised your voice over the loud music. “What are we having for this celebration?”

“Tequila, the best you’ve got,” he replied, his ringed finger gesturing in a circle. “All around. And a bottle of Cristal.”

Two of the girls at the table cheered, clearly impressed with Harry’s selection.

“Sounds like a good party to me,” you nodded. “Be right back.”

Heading over to the bar, you heard the group cackle behind you. Then one of the girls shouted, “Stop it!” When you reached the edge of the bar, giving John, the bartender your order, you snuck a glance over at the table. The girl sitting next to Harry held her cell phone up to take a photo, the birthday boy with his tongue in her ear. Clearly the group had gotten a head start on drinks before they’d ever arrived.

“Another one of those, huh, Y/N?” scoffed John.

“Same shit, different day,” you commented, shaking your head. “Gimme one of the birthday glasses, will you?”

“Ah, which Paris Hilton wannabe is the birthday girl? Lemme guess…the blonde in the silver bandeau top getting her ear tongue fucked.”

You chuckled. “Try the fucker.”

“Oh yeah?” John raised a brow, placing the bottle of Cristal on your tray. “The himbo, eh? Wouldn’t have guessed it.”

“Why not?”

“Imposter Armani suit? I can spot it a mile away, honey.”

You laughed as he finished pouring the tequila. “Guess he’s out of his element. But he obviously wants to impress on his birthday.”

“From the look of the caliber of girls he’s with, I’d say I don’t blame him.”

You nodded, carefully taking the tray. You knew what John meant. Harry may have not been the typical socialite to walk through Zelda’s doors, but the women in his company obviously were. And they expected to be treated as such.

Returning to the table, you gave your biggest smile as you set out the tequila. You noticed Harry eyeing you as the rest of the group claimed a glass.

“This is your best tequila?” he asked, almost in a huff as though you couldn’t have possibly selected the best.

“Definitely,” you replied. “It’s a Siete Leguas.”

“Hmm.” Lifting his glass, he let the liquid swirl before taking a sniff.

“Smells good to me,” remarked the blond next to him. “But I don’t know much about tequila.”

Harry took a slow sip, his eyes still on you above the rim of his glass.

“What d’ya say, H?” asked one of the other gentlemen.

“It’ll do.”

Trying your best not to react negatively, you chewed your bottom lip. “I can get you something else if you like.”

“I said it’s fine.”

Not bothering to mask your frown, you took a deep breath through your nostrils. This was gonna be a long night.

“Would you like me to pop the champagne now?” you asked.

“Sure, go ahead,” Harry gestured with his hand, taking another sip of his tequila.

Taking the bottle, you opened it with finesse, just the way you’d been taught and had been doing since you’d started working at Zelda’s. The girls all cheered when the cork popped. Harry, however, was not impressed.

Grabbing the special birthday glass, you began to pour.

“What the fuck is that?” spat Harry.

“It’s for you,” you smiled.

“I don’t want that. Gimme one of the regular champagne glasses.”

“I’ll take it!” beamed the blond on the end. “It’s cute!”

Harry rolled his eyes before handing the glass to her with a smirk.

“Here, Tawnie,” he said. “Pretend it’s your birthday.”

“Aw, yay!” she giggled with glee.

Trying to keep your composure, you poured another glass of Cristal, handing it to Harry.

“Shouldn’t ladies go first?” he remarked, scooting the glass to the girl next to him.

“God, I’m gonna be so wasted,” she laughed.

Swallowing hard, you knew where this was headed, so you poured champagne for the other two girls, then passed around the remaining glasses to the guys, leaving the last for Harry.

“Happy Birthday,” you said again, this time with no enthusiasm. “Enjoy.”

Leaving the bottle on the table, you turned away, cursing under your breath before making your way back to the bar.

“Jesus fucking Christ, kill me now,” you whined at John.

“That bad, huh?”

“He’s a petulant, disrespectful asshole!”

“The good looking ones usually are,” John sighed.

“You think he’s good looking?” you twisted slightly to look over at the booth. Harry was laughing at something one of the other guys had said.

“Honey, don’t tell me you didn’t notice!” chuckled John.

“I was too busy wanting to pour tequila over his head,” you grimaced.

“Well, try not to let it get to you, hon. Just be your sweet self, and get that massive tip. The night will be over, and you’ll never have to see him again.”

With a nod and a sigh, you took the refills for the next table, handing them out with a bright smile. The older gentlemen gave you a thanks and a wink, one of them patting your behind as you bent over. You hated being fondled at work, but if you had a choice, you’d take that any day over dealing with jerks like Harry.

“Excuse me!” you heard someone shout as you started to make your way back to the bar. Speak of the devil.

“Yes?” you grinned, stepping over to Harry’s table. “What can I do for you?”

“Can I get a glass of wat-” asked a brunette before Harry rudely interrupted.

“We need water,” he said, accusingly.

“Sure, no problem. All around?”

“Of course,” he rolled his eyes. Apparently this man lived to be constantly perturbed.

“I’ll get those for you right now.”

“That should have been like…a given, right?” he remarked. “What waitress doesn’t automatically bring water?”

With a sigh, you slid your tray under your arm, pressing your hand on your hip.

“If you want water…or anything for that matter…you can ask for it!” you barked. “I’m happy to bring it to you. But you don’t have to treat me like an imbecile!”

“Jeez,” one of the other guys muttered under his breath.

“What?” Harry glared at you, his eyebrows knitted together.

“You heard me, Birthday Boy! I’m just doing my job!”

As you started to turn away, you heard him mutter, “Doesn’t look like it,” followed by the rest of the group either giggling or shouting “Ooooh!”

You decided not to delight him with a response. Instead, you strutted to the bar where your darling pal John was already getting water glasses ready.

“Fuck me sideways, girl, that was rough!” he exclaimed.

“I’m done, John! I can’t deal with these assholes anymore!”

“Uh oh, looks like you may have to,” John averted his eyes to the glasses in front of him. Turning to see what he was talking about, you nearly ran into Mr. Personality.

“You owe me an apology,” he growled.

“Excuse me? I think it’s the other way around!” you yelled.

“I’m out with my friends for my birthday,” he explained, gesturing toward the table, “and I don’t appreciate the way you’re treating me.”

“The way I’m tr-” you turned beet red. “How dare you! You entitled, self-centered prick!”

“Easy, girl!” you heard John shout, but you paid no mind. You were ready to have it out with this guy.

“What did you call me?”

“Y/N!” someone else shouted. Looking up, you noticed your boss, a scowl on his face as the entire lounge had turned their focus on your encounter. “What seems to be the trouble here?”

“Are you the manager?” asked Harry.

“Yes, sir, how can I assist you?”

“I’m not sure exactly,” he began, “but your waitress here seems to have a problem with me. I’m here celebrating my birthday with my mates, and she’s gone out of her way to be rude to me all evening.”

“What?!?!” you shouted incredulously.

“Y/N, did you have a problem with this young man?”

“No, sir,” you shook your head, your arms crossed over your chest. “It’s the other way around. He’s been nothing but rude since-”

“She just called me a prick,” Harry interjected.

“Because you’re being one!” You glared at the asshole, shooting daggers at him. You felt like your insides were on fire as you held your hands in fists at your sides.

“Y/N, if you can’t control your temper, I’m gonna have to ask you to leave,” said your boss.

“I’m sorry, but he’s so rude, Mr-”

“Y/N,” your boss narrowed his eyes at you, before turning to Harry. “Sir, I do apologize for my employee. We do not condone this kind of behavior at our lounge.”

You watched Harry as his shoulders fell, a breath releasing from his nose. “I should hope not.”

“Now…” your boss added. “What can we do to rectify this situation? Perhaps we can put your tab on the house?”

Harry raised his brows, surprised at the offer. “That would…yes, that would be nice. Thank you.”

Your boss nodded, patting Harry on the back. “No problem whatsoever. I hope you’ll come see us again.”

“Not if she’s here,” Harry scowled.

“I assure you, that won’t happen.”

With a gasp, you watched your boss turn around and face you. “Get your things, Y/N,” he said in the most relaxed voice possible, as though you weren’t just getting canned.

“Are you serious?” you cried.

“We don’t talk to our patrons this way,” he explained. “I won’t allow it. Now, put your apron away and clock out.”

Your jaw set, you tried your best not to cry. No, you wouldn’t allow yourself to. Not in front of him.

“Fine,” you said, untying your apron. You slapped it down hard on the bar, then turned for the back room, but not before noticing the sly, satisfied smirk on jerkhead’s face.

Only when you reached the back room did you let the tears fall. Cursing at yourself, at Harry, and your boss, and at the entire situation, you managed to grab your jacket and purse. You almost forgot to clock out, but you figured you might not get paid otherwise. Sitting on the dark green leather sofa, you waited until you thought Harry and his crew might be gone. Then wiping your eyes, you stood up, nearly bumping into John.

“Oh, Y/N, honey I’m so sorry!” he cried, wrapping you in a big hug.

“What the fuck, John? Why does he get to win?”

“I don’t know. The whole ‘the customer is always right’ thing, I guess.”

“That’s a load of bullshit,” you sobbed against his chest..

“Preaching to the choir, sister.”

“Is he gone yet?”

“Mr. Pretentious? Yeah, he left a few minutes ago. Want me to walk you out?”

With a nod, you let John walk you halfway through the lounge until you met up with your boss again who insisted he be the one to see you out. Just in case you were to cause a scene or some shit. As if you would. Not after that whole ordeal. You felt completely defeated…and deflated. You felt the eyes on you as you made it to the front door. Your boss held it open for you as you stepped into the balmy night air. With a sigh you walked to your car, turning once to give Zelda’s the middle finger.

Fuck that Harry guy. Fuck him to hell and back.

“Are you ready?” asked Shae.

With a sigh and a nod, you grabbed your keys. Last month you had promised your roommate that you’d go with her to get a tattoo. While you had been thrilled then about getting some new ink, after getting fired from Zelda’s, the excitement had worn off. In fact, you’d considered canceling all together, seeing as spending dough on a tat now seemed frivolous, and you could certainly use the money in case you couldn’t find another job soon. But in the end, you decided you owed yourself some kindness. And besides, Shae was chomping at the bit to get one, and she wouldn’t let you live until you went with her.

You drove to Fine Line Ink, just a few blocks from your apartment. You’d driven by it several times, but had never gone inside. Shae specifically requested this tattoo shop because apparently it was fairly well-known on social media. At least your roommate had done her research, even though she had no idea what tattoo she wanted to get.

“I’ll know it when I see it,” she’d insisted.

You heard 90s rock music playing when you opened the door, but saw no one standing near the counter, or even in the waiting area. The front room was dark, but with warm lighting, much like at Zelda’s. You could smell incense burning as you gazed around at the walls decorated in various designs. Wandering over to the glass counter, you inspected the display of body jewelry.

“Hi, how can I help you?” you heard a voice say.

Your body instantly felt cold as you stood up straight. You knew that voice. And it was one you’d hoped you would never have to hear again. Turning around, you caught a glimpse of his tall frame, his t-shirt stretched tight across his chest, his biceps peeking out from the sleeves.

Motherfucker.

“Hey,” beamed Shae. “We’re here to get tats.”

Shae gestured toward you, and your body went numb.

“Oh?” Harry raised a brow, then looked at you. The recognition and disdain both happened instantly. “Oh.”

Turning back to Shae, he asked, “Do you know what you want?”

“Not exactly,” she shrugged. “Nothing too big. But not too small either.”

Harry chuckled. “Alright. I have a book right here,” he pointed to one on the counter. “It’s got some ‘not too big, not too small’ ideas in there, if you wanna take a look.”

“Okay, thanks!”

“Take your time,” Harry grinned at her. “I’ll be back.”

He gave Shae a small wave, but you didn’t miss the way his expression changed when he glanced at you before he disappeared to the back.

“So what are you thinking of getting?” your friend asked as she perused the book. She stopped on a page of flowers, but scrunched up her nose. “Nah.”

“Um…let’s go somewhere else,” you told Shae, practically pulling her arm out of the socket.

“What? No! I wanna get a tattoo here!”

“Well, I don’t.”

“Why not? I heard this guy’s the best. Plus…he’s like hella hot!”

“No, he’s not,” you argued.

“Are you fucking blind?” scoffed Shae. Turning the page in the book, she stopped and pointed at a baby lion. “That’s it!”

“I just…” you stammered, “I just don’t think this is a good idea anymore. I changed my mind.”

“Did you find something you like?” Harry asked from the doorway.

“No-”

“Uh huh!” exclaimed Shae. “This baby lion is so cute. It’s so me. I want him right here on my hip.” She jutted out her hip, slapping her hand where she wanted the tattoo to go.

Harry chuckled again, making your insides churn. You wanted to vomit.

“Alright,” he said, handing her a clipboard. “If you’ll just fill this out for me, I’ll go prepare your stencil.”

You weren’t sure what to do. You’d already promised your friend, and she looked so excited. You knew there were dozens of other tattoo shops you could go to, but Shae had picked this one. Why did it have to be this guy’s shop? Of all the fucking…

Taking a deep breath, you lowered yourself slowly in a nearby chair as Shae filled out her paperwork. Signing her name, she turned to you with a smile.

“Isn’t it cute? I’m so excited!”

With a gulp, you were about to respond when Harry returned.

“Let’s go back here,” he gestured once he’d taken the clipboard from Shae.

“Wait, my friend’s getting one too,” she looked at you. “Aren’t you?”

“No.” Although the sound came from your mouth, you could have sworn Harry’s lips moved too.

“Um…” you cleared your throat. “I can’t.”

“Why not?” Shae asked, confused.

Although you didn’t want to, you gazed at Harry. His frown was so apparent, it almost looked like his eyebrows were sewn together. Finally, he relaxed his expression, pretending for Shae’s benefit.

“Don’t reckon I have enough time, love. It’s only me here tonight.”

You had to hand it to him. That was a good answer.

“Oh,” Shae pouted. “But I wanted to get tats together.”

“It’s alright,” you assured her. “I need to save my money. And I doubt there’s anything here I’d want anyway.”

You had to hand it to yourself. That was a nice dig.

It wasn’t lost on Harry, either. He scowled at you before turning for the tattoo chair, Shae following behind.

“This your first tattoo?” you heard Harry ask as you remained in the doorway.

“Yes. So please be gentle,” your friend replied, obviously flirting.

You rolled your eyes as Harry chuckled. In any other situation, with any other man, not only would you have encouraged the flirting, you might have even joined in. Both John and Shae were right in saying he was good looking…or hella hot as it were. Even you had to admit that. But you hated to. And you also hated how his laugh rang through the shop, like an invisible tattoo of its own, lacing with the sound of the Foo Fighters song that played.

Crossing your arms, you leaned against the door frame, trying to think of a way to get out of the situation. You thought of faking an illness. You did feel like throwing up. But Shae wasn’t having it.

“Come sit over here, Y/N!”

“I’m fine here.”

“Noooo. Come over here in case I need to hold your hand. What if I pass out or something?”

“Do you pass out easily?” Harry asked as he pulled on his gloves.

“No,” Shae replied. “I’m actually not scared of needles. But you never know.”

You caught the grin on Harry’s face as he turned in his chair. “I’m sure you’ll be fine.”

“Y/N!” Shae whined. “Please!”

Rolling your eyes, you surrendered, walking slowly toward Harry’s tattoo station. You noted everything he had set out on the tray beside him. At least he seemed to know what he was doing. But you weren’t about to admit that. Grabbing a nearby chair, you took a seat on Shae’s other side, opposite from Harry.

“So, you want it on your left hip?” Harry confirmed.

“Yep.”

“Alright. So I’m gonna need you to pull down your pants just a bit, past your hip, and turn on your right side facing…um…your friend.”

“Yes, sir,” Shae smiled, happily willing to oblige.

You watched as she unbuttoned her jeans, sliding them down as sensually as she could on the leather chair. You caught a glimmer in Harry’s eyes when he noticed she was wearing a thong.

“Seriously?” you scoffed.

“What?” he frowned, looking up at you.

“Do you have to ogle at her for fuck’s sake? She’s getting a tattoo, not stripping for you.”

“You’ve got to be joking.”

“Believe me, joking is the last thing I’d be doing with you.”

Shae stared at you as she laid on her side. “Y/N, it’s okay! He can ogle at me all he wants!”

“Shae,” you narrowed your eyes.

“I think your friend can speak for herself,” remarked Harry.

Making a face, you sat back, crossing your arms and legs. His expression stoic, Harry pushed his chair closer to Shae, lightly swiping her skin with rubbing alcohol. Then he took a disposable razor to gently shave her hip.

“I promise I just shaved this morning,” giggled Shae.

“I’m sure you did,” Harry smirked. “It’s just procedure. We have to thoroughly prep the area before adding ink.”

Taking the stencil, he placed it on Shae’s hip, directly under her panty line.

“Is this where you want it?”

“Yes, that’s perfect.”

“Good.” Harry ran his fingers slowly and smoothly across the thermal paper, and you just had to say something.

“You’re enjoying this way too much.”

Blowing air between his lips, Harry glared up at you.

“Would you stop? I’m just doing my job.”

“Oh, really? Could have fooled me. Looks like you’re trying to feel her up.”

“Y/N, what the fuck?” cried Shae. “Do you have a problem with this guy?”

“Oh, you noticed?”

Shae sat up, looking at you quizzically. “Do you know him?” Then lowering her voice, she whispered, “Did y’all fuck?”

Hearing the question, Harry snorted.

“Yeah, you wish,” you scoffed, giving him the evil eye.

“In your dreams, babe.”

“That’s it, I’m outta here,” you sprinted out of your chair, heading for the door.

“Y/N!” Shae shouted. “What is going on?”

“I’m sorry, Shae, I tried to keep my cool. But I can’t even stand to be in the same room as him.”

“Feeling’s mutual,” muttered Harry.

“Ugh!” you cringed. “C’mon, Shae, pull your pants up. We’ll find someone more competent to do your tattoo.”

“I believe I’m more than competent,” Harry rolled his eyes.

“I’m so lost here,” Shae whimpered, still in her chair. “How do you know each other?”

When you reached the doorway, you turned to face her, your arms still crossed.

“He’s the asshole who got me fired.”

“What?! Are you serious?!”

Adjusting herself in her chair, she faced Harry, waiting for him to retort. But he remained expressionless, his mouth in a straight line. Giving up on getting any response from him, you sighed and gestured for Shae again. When she slid off the chair, buttoning her pants, Harry finally spoke.

“I didn’t mean to.”

“What?” you glared at him.

“I…I didn’t mean to get you fired.”

“Sure you didn’t.”

“I mean it. I was…a complete prick to you…just like you said. And I’m sorry.”

“Pffftt,” you sounded. “It's a little late for that. I lost my job because of you!”

“I know, and I felt bad about it.”

“No, you didn’t!” you spat. “You were ecstatic that you’d gotten your way! You’re an asshole!”

“You’re right,” Harry nodded. “I deserve that. But I hope you know that wasn’t me.”

“Do you have an evil twin?”

“No. I was trying to impress my friends.”

“By being a jerk?” piped Shae.

“Yeah. I know it’s not a good look,” Harry shook his head. He rose from his chair, stepping closer to you. “I was seeing this chick, Nicolette…and she was…used to a certain lifestyle. It felt good to be part of her world for a while.”

“Doesn’t sound like friends to me,” you remarked.

“No. They just wanted to go to Zelda’s and get drunk. I swear, it’s not my scene.”

“You don’t say.”

“Look…” Harry sighed. “I’m not asking for forgiveness because I know you won’t give it to me. I have no real justification for the way I acted. I truly was a prick that night. But I regretted it later. I knew it was wrong of me, and I wanted to apologize but I didn’t even know your name, let alone where to find you. I broke it off with Nicolette, too.”

“Oh, jeez, that makes me feel soooo much better,” you said sarcastically.

Throwing his hands up, Harry turned around and began to gather things from the tray.

“You really have some nerve, you know that?” you added.

Harry spun around, “For what? For apologizing?”

“For everything! For acting like a big shot, especially when you obviously didn’t belong there. For yelling at me in front of the entire bar, including my boss, and for getting me fired. And for being rude to me as soon as I walked in here.”

“Hey, you were rude to me first!”

“I was not!”

“Hey, guys?” Shae interjected. “Maybe we should just drop it. You were right, Y/N. We shouldn’t have come here.”

“I swear, Shae, if I had known he worked here, we wouldn’t have. Let’s go.”

As soon as you pushed the door open, you heard Harry huffing. “Your loss, not mine.”

“Fuck you, dude!” you exclaimed. “And get a life. A real one, not someone else’s.”

FEEDBACK IS LOVE

a promise is a promise

summary: sliding into a stranger's dm's, nostalgia for your first date, and a promise sealed with a kiss + a little insta au at the end 💙

words: 1,071

a/n: my first time writing for mr. leclerc! thank you for the req, @headinthecloudssblog 🫶🏼 tagging @vamossainz55, @sainzcaleruega, @monzabee, @formulaforza, @thatsdemko, and @diorleclerc because i trust you all deeply. feedback is much appreciated as always. hugs and kisses!

Charles loved Adele and he sure wasn't shy about it. While the other racing drivers were hyping themselves up with rock, EDM, or rap, the Monegasque’s AirPods (which he often lost) were blaring “Someone Like You.” You, yourself, wondered how the powerful yet melancholy ballad could put him in the right headspace to drive at breathtaking speeds of up to 362 km/h. 

You were nothing short of euphoric when it was announced that she would be extending her exclusive residency in Las Vegas. It would be a dream come true if you could see her live during the weekend of the Las Vegas Grand Prix. However, a bitter reality crept in when you discovered the final show was scheduled for November 4, a mere two weeks before the two of you would arrive stateside. Charles would be racing at Interlagos, while you would be stuck at a clinical genetics conference in St Andrews.

“I was going to get us tickets to thank you for your service in the Great War!” You huffed as you watched Charles tie the laces of his Puma running shoes, visibly let down by the news. All of your friends thought the racing driver had used his F1 connections to get you those coveted floor seats, but they couldn’t have been more wrong. Your boyfriend had spent 18 hours in a virtual queue on one of his few days off, using multiple of his sim racing monitors to secure tickets to the Eras Tour. Arthur had mocked his older brother about how “whipped” he was, joking that he was relieved someone else’s screen time was as horrific as his own.

With a light kiss on your neck, Charles wrapped his arms around you from behind, his voice filled with affection. "It’s like this, ma chérie. I'm going for a run with Andrea," he whispered. As he headed towards the door, his shoulders slumped and his AirPods in, it became clear today's run would be more of a recovery run, a moment for him to recharge physically but more so emotionally.

Determined to bring Charles closer to his idol, you swiftly grabbed your phone from the kitchen island and opened Adele's Instagram profile. Sliding into someone's DMs had never been your style, let alone that of a Grammy-winning artist, but you figured there was nothing to lose.

"Hi, this is Y/N. I know it's unlikely that you'll ever see this, but I'm taking a leap of faith for my boyfriend Charles, who is undoubtedly your biggest fan. Our first date perfectly encapsulates his essence," you began typing, a wave of nostalgia washing over you. "He took me on the most gorgeous twilight yacht ride, accompanied by a meticulously curated playlist of his favorite songs. Upbeat songs like 'A Sky Full of Stars,' 'Pepas,' and 'Feel So Close' filled the air. But then, out of nowhere, a hauntingly beautiful piano melody began to play."

Pausing for a moment, a reminiscent smile graced your face as the memory came roaring back to life. "'Is this Adele?'" you had asked, a glass of rosé in your hand. Charles looked so at peace compared to the tense expression he sometimes wore during race weekends. He had offered you his blue Ferrari sweatshirt to ward off the evening chill and confirmed that it was indeed Adele. Charles shared that he, unlike most, found comfort in what he deemed “depressive music.”

Since that fateful evening, the British songstress' music had become an integral part of your relationship. It served as the soundtrack to your road trips, where you took turns belting ‘Rolling in the Deep.’ It sparked heated debates about whether Adele’s ‘Daydreamer’ or Sade’s ‘By Your Side’ should be your first dance song. It even led to late nights, downing espresso shots just so you could listen to her latest album the second it dropped.

You reached for your phone once again. "That night ended with Charles’ hand resting on my thigh as he drove me home to 'Make You Feel My Love.’ Your music has been the soundtrack to so many of our most intimate moments, and it would mean the world if you could find some time to perform for him," you typed, pouring your heart into the message. You added, "I know this is a long shot, but I..." before eagerly hitting the "Send" button. With a growing sense of accomplishment, you decided to run to the grocery store to pick up some fresh salmon for dinner.

Unable to keep a secret to save your life, you shared what you’d been up to with Charles. "You DM'd the queen? Je t'aime, ma belle, but I highly doubt she'll reply," he playfully teased, rolling his eyes as he wiped the dish you had just handed him.

"What if she does?" you retorted, a hint of hope in your voice. "You know how I treasure you so much I don’t even trust myself to take you on a hot lap? We’ll do it in Las Vegas if and only if Adele responds." His devilish Leclerc wink accompanied the mischievous remark, leaving you to wonder how this crazy turn of events would unfold.

Weeks passed, and with each passing day, the likelihood of a reply dwindled. Charles was away in Qatar when the doorbell unexpectedly rang. A courier stood before you, holding a grand bouquet of white roses along with a message card. Assuming it was from him, your hands trembled as you read the sign-off on the ivory white card. There it was, unmistakably etched in the most elegant script. Five letters. Adele.

You snatched the card eagerly and read it over countless times, overcome with disbelief. It turned out that Adele's devoted fan base had made her very much aware of Charles' fanboying. She expressed her delight and confirmed that she would be more than happy to sing a few songs for you over dinner so long as she could score some “cool mom points” and bring her son Angelo to the race.

Your hands trembled with sheer excitement as you shared the spectacular news with Charles. He blamed his nonexistent allergies as tears welled up in his eyes, but you saw right through his lies.

"So, you'll be taking me on that hot lap, Leclerc?" you grinned, blissed out seeing him so happy. "Bah oui, une promesse est une promesse," he replied, sealing his vow with a well-earned kiss.

﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

liked by charles_leclerc, arthur_leclerc, and 61,616 others

yourusername: weekends with adele (and charles) 🎰🍸❤️

fan1: “it’s true that, after a bad day, if you listen to that, you cry. you don’t feel any better. but i like it. i like the mood of depressive music.” - chuck leclerc

charles_leclerc: i have the best girlfriend in the world! tu est simplement la meilleure ❤️

adele: she’s one of a kind! thank you for letting me bear witness to your love x

yourusername: you, sir, are the love of my life. thanks for tolerating my impulsivity!

fan2: i need a charles and adele collab and i need it NOW 😤

joris_trouche: he’ll never shut up about this

charles_leclerc: prepare to be sick of me! wait, you and @andferrari007 already are 🫣

scuderiaferrari: c² music challenge but adele songs only?

carlossainz55: why play when i don’t even stand a chance 🤨

Benedict Bridgerton x Reader – One Last Summer

Y/N is many things: Daphne's best friend, gifted artist, new money, honorary Bridgerton – and hopelessly in love with Benedict. But when she finds herself suddenly engaged to a brutish army captain stationed in India, she is faced with the loss of everything she has grown to adore. With time running out, one last visit to Aubrey Hall will decide her fate.

Months ago I had a random phase of obsessing over Benedict Bridgerton (don't we all at some point) and dove head-first into this – then somehow took an eternity to finish it. It's angsty af, but don’t worry, there’s also plenty of Bridgerton shenanigans and tooth-rotting fluff because Benny is too adorable for this world

Warnings: angst and anxiety

Word Count: ~8400

A warm summer breeze caresses my heated skin as I finally emerge from the carriage and lay eyes on Aubrey Hall. Lush flowers and greenery adorn the inviting front and I am still taking in the sight when I notice Eloise and Penelope rounding the corner, the Bridgerton sister gesticulating in what must be one of her political rants. Behind them, Gregory and Hyacinth emerge, chasing each other and screaming in delight. My stomach swoops at the sight – how I have missed them all. “Good morning!” I call over to them, waving with an excitement I would scarcely allow myself to display anywhere else. But here, everything is different. Has always been different.

“Y/N!” They all rush over to me, enveloping me in hugs and chattering over each other. “Finally! It’s been ages!” “Daphne has been insufferable without you around!” “Come play with us!” I laugh, begging them for a moment to breathe after the journey. Daphne appears in the entryway, closely followed by Violet. I walk quickly towards my best friend, arms wide open. “Daph!” “Oh thank Goodness you have made it!” She hugs me tightly, her familiar perfume mingling with the smell of grass and sun-warmed skin. “Have you been playing croquet without me?” “Oh, has Anthony already come moaning to you about his well-deserved loss?” “I can smell it on you, along with your smugness” I say with a grin. “And your brother has grown quite even-tempered since the wedding.” “Well, unfortunately he is still the sorest loser I know.” “Which is a feat in itself amongst this competitive bunch,” Violet says with a twinkle in her eyes before taking my hands in hers and looking me up and down. “Welcome back, darling. You look thin, please do not tell me that you’re trying to fit into one of those outrageous wedding gowns that seem to be made for dolls.” I wince at the mention of my upcoming nuptials but hastily cover it up with a chuckle. “Quite the opposite, at the last fitting my seamstress was rather disgruntled that she would have to take in the waist even further. It is just a bit of a nervous stomach, with all the impending change.” “But as a young bride you should be more happy than nervous, no?” “Mama,” Daphne scolds softly, while Eloise openly rolls her eyes. “I suppose I should.” “Why not at least wait until dinner with such questions?” comes a voice from my right, “Your forwardness single-handedly erodes our renowned British reserve.” I grin at Colin before pulling him into a hug and ruffling his coiffed hair. Being a year older, I have always indulged in playing big sister with him. He sighs in feigned annoyance. “I was going to say that it’s good to see you but I am already regretting that sentiment.” “Liar,” I snicker. Violet’s glance dances between us. I believe she once suspected a blossoming romance between Colin and me, but while I love him dearly as a surrogate brother, he has never made my heart flutter. Not that I could have ever betrayed poor Penelope anyway, whose bright eyes are locked on him as always. And not that I would ever actually marry a Bridgerton. I may have dared to dream of it ten years ago, when I first met Daphne and immediately became fast friends with her despite our age difference. When her family welcomed me into their home with such fervour and warmth that I could hardly believe my luck. With my mother having died from influenza when I was little and no other siblings to grow up with, the Bridgertons became the family I could have never imagined for myself. And the idea of marrying into it one day, of making my bond with them all official, that was the greatest aspiration I could envisage. But the one brother who has always fascinated me is nowhere in sight and I try to be glad for it. “Come, let’s get you settled before the rest of the battalion descends upon you.” Daphne pulls me inside while I give a grateful smile to the servants hurrying after us with my luggage. “So where is your charming husband?” I ask as we ascend the staircase. “And little Amelia? I have been dying to see her again.” “Simon was held up by business, he will arrive in a few days. And the little one is in the gardens with her nanny. I will call for some lemonade and once you have freshened up, we shall go out to see her and catch up. You have so much to tell me.” “I last saw you two months ago and we write constantly,” I laugh. “But all the things that have happened in those two months! Your engagement first and foremost. I simply must know everything, I certainly require more detail than the few lines from your letters.” My insides squirm at her eagerness but I manage a somewhat enthusiastic nod. She comes to a stop in front of a door. “Your usual guest room is having some work done, so I had my old room prepared for you – I hope you don’t mind.” “Not at all, it will be nice, I haven’t been in there since your wedding.” “And Mama has kept it exactly the same, you know how sentimental she gets.” Daphne sounds teasing yet her smile is nothing but fond. She gives me another hug. “I am so glad you are here. I’ve missed you. We all have.” “And I have missed you.”

Once my bags and I are safely inside, I inhale deeply and take in the stillness for a moment. Arriving at any Bridgerton residence always feels like being caught in a whirlwind and as much as I love them all, it can be overwhelming at times, especially after the often stifling silence of my own home. I wander over to the window, letting my eyes trail over the gardens, alive with an abundance of colours that makes my heart sing. Until it stops abruptly. There he is. Deeply lost in his brush strokes as he recreates the wonders around him. His vest is unbuttoned, his shirt carelessly gaping open at the top, his sleeves rolled up to expose his forearms. Even from afar, Benedict Bridgerton ignites a well-known fire inside of me. Whenever I am away from him, I can almost convince myself that this age-old infatuation is nothing but a figment, a silly flight of fancy. Sometimes I can almost forget about him entirely, distract myself with my artistic pursuits, with other friends or travel. But then I notice a piece of melody flowing from my fingers that somehow reminds me of him or look down at a drawing in surprise, having unconsciously once again traced his familiar features. Still I repress it, abandon the fantasy of someone so far above my station. Someone who sees me as a family friend and nothing more. And now that I am engaged to be married I should purge my mind of him entirely, yet especially in these last few weeks I have scarcely thought of anything else, convinced that my longing could not possibly grow stronger. But the mere tangibility of him unravels me completely. I long to rush downstairs to see him and at the same time it is the one thing I fear the most. After a long moment I tear my gaze away and turn to the washing bowl. To my dismay, the cool water does little to calm my racing pulse and thoughts. Clean and unpacked I head towards the door, but halt half-way. Because as always, when I am in Daphne's room, my eyes fall on the painting of us. It is wonderfully serene, the two of us sitting on a picnic blanket in the gardens. She is engrossed in a book, but I am looking over my shoulder, smiling softly at the artist. It was Benedict of course. I remember vividly how I turned around to find him crouching with a sketchbook in his hand, capturing the scene in quick strokes. His face lit up and he winked at me before deftly outlining my expression. Later he transferred the motif onto a proper canvas, so I never got to see the original sketch. I have always wondered whether I had really looked at him like that. So openly enamoured.

I wander down the halls towards the open French doors leading into the garden when a voice pulls me from my reverie so suddenly I almost trip over my feet. “There you are.” I look up only to be met with a dazzling smile, gleaming eyes and a hint of spicy aftershave in the air. My stomach drops. “Mr. Bridgerton.” His smile falters briefly. He always insists on me calling him by his first name, yet I have never been able to. When we met he was already eighteen, a grown man at first sight. It had felt only right to address him with the same courtesy as his older brother. And even as we grew closer, as I learned of his boyish temperament, often bordering on immaturity, I never found the courage to simply call him Benedict. If only to keep up the semblance of a wall between us, a desperate attempt at shielding my heart. Not that I have ever succeeded in that endeavour. “Everyone’s been speaking of your arrival. How wonderful you have found time to join us.” “The pleasure is all mine, as always,” I reply, ignoring the pull in my chest. “Have you finished your painting?” I gesture at the art supplies in his arms. “Not quite, but I’m afraid duty calls. Some business I need to talk over with Anthony.” “Ah, I too have an enormously urgent appointment with your sister.” We share a light chuckle. “I am sure she has scheduled three hours at the least to learn all about your… plans.” The word comes out strangely forced but he catches himself quickly. “Will I see you at dinner?” “How could I ever miss one of Mrs. Brodie’s delicacies? I have had actual dreams of her rosemary chicken.” “You are not a true Bridgerton until you’ve had one of those dreams,” he says with a grin but it wavers slightly as the words sink in. He knows as well as I do that no number of dreams will ever make me a true Bridgerton. I swallow thickly before putting on a smile. “If you will excuse me, I am quite parched after the journey and Daphne has promised lemonade.” “Oh, of course, yes. Don’t let me keep you.” “Goodbye, sir.” “Until tonight, Y/N.” Something in his tone, in the way his lips curve around my name, sends shivers down my spine. With a swift curtsey I turn and practically run out into the open air.

I manage to ward off Daphne’s inquisition well enough. Yes, Captain Parker will be able to provide for me. Yes, he is handsome. Yes, my father approves of him. Luckily, we are regularly interrupted by the various Bridgerton siblings and distracted by little Amelia who is perfectly content as the centre of attention. “I am quite certain one day she will be the diamond of the season,” I declare, ruffling her hair. “Do you really think so?” Daphne is all too happy to swoon about her firstborn and I gladly steer the conversation away from my upcoming wedding. Eventually, I propose another game of croquet, having missed the previous one, and before long the dinner bell is rung. Everyone settles into the dining room and I sink into a comfortable chair, Daphne and Eloise on either side, Benedict across from me. I only notice now that we have always been seated like this during my visits and wonder if it was I who once sought out this particular arrangement. He quickly engages me in a conversation about art and music, the topics that have always connected us, and minute by minute I grow more comfortable in his presence. We fall into passionate discussions and light-hearted banter, only occasionally intercepted by the others around us. And I cannot help pondering if he has ever felt it, too. The sparkling potential between us. The mere idea of what we could have been. No matter how unrealistic, as long we were both unwed, a tiny part of my heart remained reserved for that hope. And every time I arrived at the manor to find him seemingly carefree about the future and with no bride in sight, I was flooded with relief, simultaneously blessed and cursed to hope for a little longer. Until a few weeks ago when those dreams were finally shattered. “So, are you looking forward to India?” Colin suddenly asks. “I would love to visit you there sometime, it must be incredible.” “Surely it would not be proper to interrupt their honeymoon,” Benedict says, somewhat strained. “Oh, it’s not for our honeymoon,” I reply. “My… Captain Parker will be permanently stationed there.” Benedict’s fork clatters onto the plate and we all flinch, the chatter around the table coming to a halt. “You will move to India?” He has gone frighteningly pale. “Yes. Has Daphne not told you?” “I must have,” she sputters, “when I was last in Lon–“ “No, you haven’t.” His words come out unusually harsh and my stomach twists. Everyone is staring at either him or me and Daphne’s eyes flicker between us before she forces a casual smile. “Brother, don’t be silly, I am certain I have. And either way, I shall be the one to miss her the most, no?” She puts an arm around me while giving a pointed look at Kate who quickly collects herself and pulls Anthony and Violet into a chat about their plans for the nursery. Slowly, the usual bustle recommences and I turn back to Colin. “Once we are settled in, you are more than welcome to visit. You all are, of course.” Benedict’s lips are pressed tightly together, his food forgotten.

I find little sleep that night, the image of Benedict imprinted on my mind. He seemed so genuinely upset. I expected him to miss me, of course, but the hint of melancholy I had detected in his features even before the revelation of my upcoming departure to India now haunts me. Losing him was always going to be torture but realising how it might affect him as well has doubled the pain and I start to regret this indulgence of coming to Aubrey Hall for one last summer. When the first sun rays filter through the half-opened curtains I inhale deeply, trying to infuse a little hope and joy into the beginning of this new day. And when Daphne surprises me with the idea of a relaxed breakfast in bed I almost believe it has worked. A while later we find ourselves in the parlour, Eloise engrossed in a book after Penelope’s earlier departure, Daphne rocking a fussy Amelia to sleep in her arms, and I sketching absently. I startle when Benedict walks in, slightly more dishevelled than usual. “Daph, Y/N. Just the pair I’ve been looking for.” “Good morning to you as well, dear brother,” Eloise says with a smirk. He bows excessively in her direction and I cannot help but smile at their antics. “Good morning, my darling sister.” They share a grin before he turns back to us. “I wanted to apologise for my little outburst at dinner. I was tired and the news took me by surprise.” He clears his throat. “I do hope you forgive me.” “Of course, sir,” I hasten to reply. “One could have almost suspected you of being jealous of a certain Captain Parker.” “Eloise!” Daphne chides but she too eyes her brother and me curiously. Before I can try to decipher either my feelings or his expression, Violet walks in, rubbing her hands enthusiastically. “Good morning, children! Who of you will kindly join us for a walk?” Daphne rises as Amelia starts crying once more and Violet immediately offers to take her. While they deliberate on the benefits of a walk for the baby, Benedict settles beside me, merely a few feet between us. I try to ignore the goosebumps forming on my skin at his soft smile. “May I?” He points at my sketchbook. I press it shut with hurried force. “No.” “Oh.” His face falls a little. “Forgive me, I did not mean to pry.” There is dejection in his eyes, but also confusion. I have always shared my sketches with him, just as my compositions, needlework and poetry. We have always valued each other’s opinions and advice. So naturally he is taken aback by my sudden reservedness. But how can I explain the shift from peaceful, colourful motifs to the utter gloom that has been dominating my sketches lately? The impending thunderstorms, the dark forests. And possibly worse, the countless drawings of him. Sometimes just his fingers, delicately holding a paintbrush, sometimes his entire silhouette, but mostly his boyishly handsome face that my eyes unerringly find the second I enter a room. If it scares me how much of my waking thought he is taking up – how much would it scare him? “I– I’m sorry, sir. I have not been feeling very… confident about my work lately.” “I can hardly believe that to be justified in any way. You have always possessed a raw talent I can scarcely dream of.” “That is not true.” “Well then, I challenge you.” Mischief sparkles in his eyes and an inadvertent giggle escapes me. “You mean it? We have not done that in ages.” “All the more reason to do it now.” “Y/N, are you coming?” Daphne calls across the room. “She is otherwise engaged,” Benedict grins before I can reply. “Is that so?” “Your brother has thrown down the gauntlet and I’m afraid I shall have to pick it up.” Daphne rolls her eyes, amusement playing on her lips. “Are you having one of your silly art competitions again? What is it this time?” “Portraits,” I say hastily. “We will paint each other. Fifteen minutes, as usual.” I wonder what possessed me to choose Benedict’s face as the subject, of all things. Most likely pure masochism. I do not dare gauge his reaction although I can feel his eyes on me. “Well, Amelia needs her walk now.” Daphne glances at the crying baby in Violet’s arms. “I suppose we shall see you both later. I’ll be happy to choose a winner then.” “You’re hardly impartial,” Benedict grumbles. “Neither are you when it comes to Y/N,” she retorts. Before I can begin to untangle her accusation she has breezed out the door.

Eloise is as bad a chaperone as ever, engrossed in her book a few yards away in the shade, while Benedict sets up his canvas beside me. Mine is leaning up against my chair. Despite my excessive practice I was not quite able to capture his essence. Perhaps because it felt so strikingly different from the other times he sat for me. I had asked him not to speak, as to not strain my jittery nerves even further, and he had obliged, albeit reluctantly. But with every passing second the silence between us grew heavier, along with his expression. It weighed down my piece of charcoal, making it impossible to find my usual ease in sketching. Just when I feared it might crumble between my tense fingers, Benedict murmured, “Time’s up” with a glance at his pocket watch. Before he could peek at the result I hurriedly asked for a lunch break which we spent with an unusually talkative Anthony. Now we have returned to our previous spot and he sets up his own work. “May I ask,” he says after the first few strokes, “why the quick engagement? Did you know immediately that he was the right man for you?” His jaw clenches while he firmly stares at the canvas. My hands grow clammy, clutching his watch tightly. “I could hardly afford such luxuries anymore. At four-and-twenty my chances of finding the ‘right’ man have been dwindling about as fast as my father’s faith in me receiving a proposal at all.” “You make yourself sound like an old spinster.” “Well, in the eyes of the ton I am. I should consider myself lucky to be engaged at last.” “But you don’t?” His eyes search mine intently until I drop my gaze, scared of what he might find in it. “Of course. Very lucky indeed.” Once more a long silence hangs between us. I suddenly feel impossibly tired. And as much as I want to blame the summer heat and sleepless nights, I know this weariness runs much deeper. The exhaustion of holding up the pretence that I am even remotely content with my lot. “Look at me, please,” Benedict murmurs and I follow his request without hesitation, taken aback by the deep concern in his features. He thanks me softly before resuming his quiet work. “Will you not be terribly lonely in India?” he finally asks. I bite my lip. “Not for long, I hope.” What I cannot say is that I am almost glad to go. To miss them all from so far away they will hardly feel real. To not see them fall in love and lead lives I will barely be a part of. To not sit and watch Benedict await his bride at the altar, breaking inside because it should be me walking down that aisle towards him. To not look at the children who have his wild hair and lopsided grin and not find a single trace of me in their faces. I blink away tears, desperate to change the subject before he manages to poke even more holes into my façade. “And what of your plans for the future, sir? Anything exciting on the horizon?” He pauses for a moment, seemingly debating whether to indulge me. “You will think me foolish, but lately I've been thinking about opening my own academy one day. One where your wealth and sex do not matter, where you are accepted on merit and passion alone. And perhaps when you are a personal friend of the owner.” He winks at me and I stare at him in feigned indignation. “Are you saying my merit and passion would not suffice?” “Not at all. If anything, you possess too much of both, so I would have to keep you in a private class as to not discourage the other students.” I glance down at my lap, hiding both my smile and the blush forming on my cheeks. “Well, I think, it sounds anything but foolish. You could grant opportunities to so many people who will never find them anywhere else. Promise you will write to me when that dream becomes a reality.” I look back up at him, surprised at the soft wonder in his eyes, then let mine travel down to his lips as they curve into a half-smirk. “When, not if? You flatter me.” “I believe in you. I always have. And I dearly hope that one of us will be allowed to live his dream.” Benedict swallows, all traces of mirth erased from his features. “Y/N, you–” “Time’s up,” I say, without a single glance at the watch. He bites his tongue while an entire palette of emotions flits across his face. “Here you are!” We both startle when Daphne appears beside me, placing her hands on my shoulders with a wide grin. “Brother, stop capitalising on my dear friend's time. She is my guest after all.” “And here I thought she liked to spend time with all of us,” Eloise comments and I suddenly wonder how much of our previous conversation she has eavesdropped on while appearing lost in her reading. The other Bridgertons trail behind Daphne, evidently tired from their stroll in the sun. Colin immediately snorts as he peeks at the canvas. “You cannot be painting Y/N again. Do you not have an entire portrait gallery of her already?” “Well, none of you little gremlins ever hold still for even a minute.” “I've sat for you plenty of times,” Daphne protests. “Yes, and you look like you'd rather hang every single time.” “Benedict!” Violet scolds gently. “Well, let’s see them then. You do need a few judges after all.” Despite my weak protests, both sketches are propped up beside each other a few moments later. The Bridgertons remain unusually quiet. “They are both fine works,” Violet says eventually. “But you two seem so…” “Gloomy,” Kate finishes. Everyone nods. “Did Eloise bore you with an excerpt from her book while you were drawing?” Colin quips and ducks as said book comes flying at his head. Within seconds the family is caught in familiar chaos and I let myself be dragged off to another lunch despite feeling so queasy I might never eat again. When I glance back at Benedict he only manages the barest of smiles.

The week and a half of my stay at Aubrey Hall passes in a turmoil of emotions. As much as I love spending time with the Bridgertons and try to fully revel in their company, it unnerves me. Feeling their observant eyes on me, the underlying tension in the air, I have been growing more short-tempered and nervous, increasingly avoiding the presence of the people I love the most to escape their questions, both voiced and unspoken. The portrait of Benedict lies buried in his studio. I could not bear having his charcoal eyes stare at me with the same apprehension as his soft green ones. Being around him has lost all the ease we used to share despite my infatuation. I am glad when Simon joins us, creating a distraction for Daphne and thus some room for myself. But no amount of wandering the familiar halls and gardens, hiding away in the library or furiously filling page after page of my sketchbook can calm my racing mind. Anxiety has nestled deep inside my chest, constricting my lungs and churning in my stomach. And then it arrives: My last day at the manor. They surprise me with a picnic under clear blue skies and despite my incessant sorrow it turns out rather lovely. Before long, the little ones are running around and I find myself pulled in all directions, playing and frolicking in the sun. The adults disperse as well, picking up games or strolling through the gardens in deep conversation. Eventually, I sink down onto a blanket next to Daphne and Amelia, out of breath and surprisingly cheerful. My friend looks over at me, a wistful expression on her face. “I hope you’ve been enjoying your time with us,” she says softly. “Of course,” I reply automatically. “I always do.” I let my eyes wander over the scenes around us and the despite the joy in the air, panic and despair once more rise in my throat. Cotton fills my ears, then my entire skin starts to tingle. And suddenly it comes crashing down on me. The intense finality of these last few days with the Bridgertons. The very real possibility that I might never return to Aubrey Hall, never again chatter with Daphne, joke with Colin, debate with Eloise. Never chase the younger siblings across the rolling greens or laugh at a seething Anthony after an eventful croquet match. Never have a single moment alone with Benedict. I have been a fool for believing that distance would make me miss them all any less. Because at this moment I am certain that I will be longing for these days for the rest of my life. Still, the sob that rips from my mouth takes me by surprise. “Y/N?” Daphne turns to me, little Amelia on her lap eyeing me warily. I want to reassure her but instead tears start flowing uncontrollably. “Oh my dear!” Daphne sets her daughter down on the blanket, then throws her arms around me. “Y/N, whatever is the matter?” I cannot find my voice for several minutes, overwhelmed by the most intense sorrow I have felt since my mother's passing. When I finally speak, the words come out raspy and broken. “I am going to miss you all so much.” “Well, how awful would it be if you didn't?” Daphne says, a half-smile on her lips but it fades as she inspects my face. “Is it more than that? Are you truly not looking forward to marriage at all? I know it can be daunting, Simon and I have had a rocky path as well, but now I cannot imagine a life without him.” “Because you love him!” The words come out rougher than intended and Amelia winces, her mouth curling into a frown. I quickly cradle her in my arms before she can start crying as well. Nuzzling her soft hair I avoid Daphne’s eyes. “You've always loved him, Daph. Even when you could not yet admit it to yourself, even when you did not know that he returned your feelings.” A tense pause stretches between us. “Do you truly believe you will never love Captain Parker?” she finally whispers. I bite my lip, unable to answer. “Y/N, why on earth did you accept his proposal if you cannot see a happy life with him?” I want to scream at her, want to rage at her naiveté, her inability to grasp the gravity of my situation. But I cannot. Not at my best friend who does not know and can never know how this engagement came about. “If you do not want this, I can help you,” she says softly now. “We will find a perfect match for you next season. Who knows, maybe even somewhere along the way until then?” Daphne attempts another soft smile and my tears start flowing again. If only it were this simple. She reaches for my hand while I am pressing Amelia closer with the other, relishing in her warmth and quiet babbling. “It pains me to see you like this. There must be something I can do. I realise that Anthony and I have been very lucky to have found our partners, but if it is not love that persuades you to marry, it should at least be mutual respect and fondness. I am certain we can find such a man for you, if only–” “No,” I say determinedly. “I am grateful to you, Daph, but it is too late.” “Too late because you're afraid to break off the engagement or because your heart is already taken?” I gasp. “Daphne–” “Is it someone I know?” “No, it's no one. There is no one.” I press a kiss to Amelia's head, then place her in her mother's arms. Wiping my face, I rise to my feet. “I am sorry for my outburst. Do forgive me. I just need a moment to myself.” “Y/N–” “Thank you for the picnic.” Brushing away fresh tears I flee the picture-perfect scene that now only breaks my heart.

Hours later everyone is bustling about in the parlour, impatiently awaiting dinner. I have claimed the piano in the corner and let my fingers wander over the keys, following a soft, melancholy tune. My gaze loses focus in the middle distance as I calculate the number of hours I have left here. There is no clock in the room and yet I can hear an unrelenting ticking. “Is that your latest composition?” I flinch before my eyes find Benedict's, his lacking their usual sparkle. “I– I am not certain...” I clear my throat and Daphne briefly glances over at me, worry in her features. “I'm still working on it.” “It's beautiful.” “You do not sound quite convinced,” I say with a weak attempt at a smile. “No, I mean it. Every piece you compose is beautiful. It's just... It sounds so deeply sad.” I suddenly sense how the atmosphere in the room has changed. Even the little ones have gone quiet, with everyone stealing looks of concern at me. “I am so sorry, I did not mean to ruin the mood. Please carry on.” I chuckle nervously and the Bridgertons are kind enough to return to their antics, albeit slightly forced. “Y/N, are you alright?” Benedict's voice is low but strained. I turn back to the keys, once more biting back tears. “Of course, sir. I am perfectly fine.” “You do not seem like yourself,” he murmurs. “You are usually.... softer. But also stronger. With such a zest for life. I've never seen you like this, so burdened, so sombre.” I raise my chin, attempting to look challenging rather than heartbroken at his astute observation. “And what about you, Mr. Bridgerton? These past few days you have hardly been the carefree man I've come to know.“ “Then you must know that you are the cause.” We both still. Blood is rushing in my ears as I try to steel myself for something I fear and crave in equal measure. But after a long moment he shakes his head, swallowing heavily. “I worry about you, Y/N. We all do. I know things have not always been easy for you but until now I believed our family could provide you with comfort. And if that is somehow no longer the case, surely the prospect of starting your own family should excite you.” I hopelessly rifle through my mind for an answer that might assuage him once and for all. “Dinner is ready, my lady.” I breathe a sigh of relief. “Wonderful!” Violet smiles at the servant who has appeared in the doorway, then claps her hands. Her offspring rises from floor and sofas, muttering about being starved while jostling towards the dining room. I stand up so quickly the piano stool topples over and I reach for it at the same time as Benedict. Our hands briefly touch in mid-air, sending a spark through mine before I can pull away. He stares at me, the ticking even louder than before. “Y/N, you must know that you can confide in me.” “There is nothing to confide, sir.” “Benedict.” My face runs hot at both the insistence on his first name and the multitude of my confessions boiling so close to the surface. His features soften as he subconsciously draws closer and I scramble to my feet, heart pounding wildly. “We should go, everyone is waiting.” Before he can reply I rush out of the parlour, pressing clammy hands to my cheeks to soothe the fire in them.

Dinner is strangely quiet and whenever I glance over at Benedict I find him already looking at me. For the millionth time this week I wonder if I should not have discredited his motives so quickly, should not have dismissed his attempts at forming a tighter bond between us for the fear of falling too far. Is it possible I might have misread him all these years? Too blind in my self-deprecation, too caught up in worries about money and class when he never seemed to care much for these things, when perhaps he could have easily seen beyond them? Should I have rather flown too close to the sun than never have flown at all? When the children have gone to bed I linger with the others, barely engaging in the conversation over drinks but unwilling to embark on the hours of anxious brooding in the dark ahead of me. Eventually, the yawns become more frequent and one by one the Bridgertons retire until at last Daphne and I make our way upstairs as well. I halt as we pass the library. “I’m not quite tired enough for bed. I am going to peruse the books for a while.” Daphne turns to me, deeply mournful. “Y/N, I so wish you would tell me what is going on.” I feel my bottom lip begin to quiver and shake my head vehemently. “I can’t.” “Why ever not? Are we not confidants? I have always told you everything.” “And I am so grateful for your trust and friendship.” I envelop her in a tight hug. “I will be alright. Do not worry about me.” “How can I not worry when my best friend is so clearly unhappy?” She draws back to examine me once more. “I have had my happiness. With you, with your family. That shall be enough. Not everyone finds a happy ending.” “But you so deserve it,” she says, grasping my hand. “Both you and–“ She stops herself abruptly. “Who?” “Never mind.” I want to ask again but nod instead. She seizes a candleholder from a side table and lights it with the flame of her own. “Take this. And don’t stay up too late. We will speak again in the morning.” “Goodnight, Daph.” I slip into the dark library and carefully close the door behind me. After a few deep breaths I walk around the room, lighting more candles, until I am startled by a soft knock. With a sigh I move to open the door. “Daphne, please, can we–“ The words die in my throat. Benedict stands before me, carrying a grave expression. “I need to speak with you.” “Sir, you have to leave,” I splutter. “What if someone sees us? Daphne might still be nearby.” “She was the one to tell me where to find you.” “What, why?” “Because she knows.” “Knows what?” A long pause. Then he carefully pushes past me and presses the door shut. I can do nothing but stare at him in disbelief. “Sir, you–“ “Are you fond of your...”, he clears his throat, “your fiancé?” “Excuse me?” “It's a simple question.” My chest tightens as panic once again seeps into my veins. “I am hoping I can learn to be.” His eyes burn into mine, brimming with concern. “Y/N, are you scared of him?” “Sir–“ “Benedict, please. Please.” “No. I– I'm sorry, I...” I am so tired of crying, so I bury my nails painfully into my palms to hold back the tears. Still, I am shaking before him. He slightly raises his arms, as if wanting to pull me into a hug, and I wish more than anything I could let him without risking to fall apart entirely. “You must break off the engagement.” “I can't.” “Y/N, you're terrified. That is not a life you're entering, it is torture. And it’s killing us to know that you are hurting, that you might not be safe – it’s killing me. Is he choleric? I swear, if he ever laid a hand on you, I–“ “He already has.” “What?” “At the midsummer ball. He seized me in the gardens and touched me... Kissed me. Lady Clementine saw us and reported to my father. Father claimed that we were engaged and thus we were.” Benedict has turned to the nearest bookshelf, lips in a tight line, knuckles white from grasping the wooden board like a vice. He is trembling and my stomach sinks even further. “Did you explain the situation to your father?” he presses through gritted teeth, eyes boring into the volumes before him. “Of course. But he is deathly afraid of scandal. Our standing in the ton is on such thin ice as is.” “That's not true.” “Yes, it is.” Frustration starts boiling within me, one that I have been harbouring since I first set foot into their manor on Grosvenor Square ten years ago. All this splendour, so nonchalantly taken for granted by the entire family. All those visitors so obviously enchanted by the grand Bridgertons, never questioning their rightful place in this world. “You have no idea what it's like. Your father wasn't just barely rich enough to gain some footing in the ton but not to provide you with an appealing dowry. You have never been an only child, never had to be scared that your family's legacy might crumble if you ever step out of line for even a second, even when it's not your fault!” I am vibrating with restrained anger but quickly run out of steam when his face falls along with his shoulders. “You're right,” he whispers. “Please forgive me.” “I have to apologise as well. You have been born with an array of privileges from your sex to your wealth but I know that you do not flaunt them. However, my options aren't as wonderfully unlimited.” I swallow thickly. “So you see, I cannot end this engagement. My already slim chances would be ruined, who else would make me an offer after this?” “I would.” His reply is immediate, certain, and it crashes into me without warning. My mouth is dry, every nerve in my body alight. “That is incredibly kind, but I could never accept.” My voice nearly fails me. “You deserve a grand life, Benedict.” His eyes widen at the name finally spilling from my lips where I have kept it hidden for so long. “You will be a renowned artist, a gift for society in so many ways. And you deserve a woman you adore by your side, one who will never leave a stain on your good name.” “I have already found her.” His words hit me unexpectedly at first, an instant stab of jealousy in my chest. Then a lump forms in my throat as realisation sets in. A realisation I have never allowed and am not ready for still. “But I cannot seem to make her see that she has held my heart for an entire decade. That her smile and wit and artistic endeavours captivate me more and more with every passing year. That I could have lived with her romantic disinterest in me, had she found someone whose soul matches the beauty of hers.” “Benedict...” “That my name from her lips is the sweetest sound in the world.” “Please stop.” He pauses briefly. “Are you scared of me as well?” “Yes,” I blurt out, “I have been scared of you since the moment we met because you make me forget myself. You make me forget that you are entirely out of reach, that no matter how much I love you, I–“ My hand flies to my mouth, heart slamming into my ribcage. I stumble backwards while muttering senseless apologies. Benedict is stunned into silence. It feels like years pass between us. When he finally speaks, his words are hoarse and quavering. “You... You love me? All these years every advance of mine seemed futile because you thought–“ “Please forget everything I have said. Promise me you will.” “Forget? Forget the most wonderful words I have heard in my life?” “Benedict, I’m begging you…” I give into the tears at last. Whether they are born of desperation, frustration or simple pain, I can no longer tell. He walks towards me, a barely-contained storm on his face. “I refuse to live in a world where I do not hear you say my name every single day. Where I see you but once a year, your light slowly dimming in a loveless marriage. Carrying the children of that... bastard.” Now he is crying, too. “Please do not do that to yourself. Do not submit yourself to such misery. Whether you choose me or not, I will support you. I will do whatever I can to give you a good life. The life of an artist if you want it. That I can promise you. You will always have me.” He sinks down on both knees, his fingers carefully closing around mine. “And if you do choose me... I will do the same and more. I will give you everything I've held in for so long. My love for you will never falter.” I am frantically searching for reasons to deny him because none of this could ever be real, his skin on mine, his unbelievable offer in the air. My mind is reeling, trying and failing to catch up with everything that has transpired these past few moments. Years of dreams and longing, so briskly swept aside to reveal a glimpse at a reality that must be impossible because it always has been. “What would your family say?” I say shakily. “What would everyone say?” His hold on me tightens. “You know my family adores you and would accept you with open arms, no matter the circumstances. And I could not care less about anyone else. The gossip would die, it always does. Lady Whistledown would surely distract them with something else within a week.” A rivulet of hope trickles across my heart. “Could this... could this truly be?” “Tomorrow you will meet him in the city. All you have to do is talk to him one last time. I will be there if you want me to. Heavens, the entire Bridgerton clan will be there if you want us to.” We both chuckle through the tears. “You are not alone in this, Y/N.” I let his words sink in for a long moment. “And what if I choose you?” “Then we can go into town right after to pick out a ring and speak to the vicar.” His thumbs caress my knuckles reverently. “Will you? Will you do me the incredible honour of accepting my hand?” My knees buckle and I lower myself onto the floor before him. The blazing anxiety I have grown almost accustomed to has faded into glowing embers. After having wandered through hell for weeks, I find peace in his hopeful gaze, comfort in the soft contours I am so intimately acquainted with. A kaleidoscope of memories flashes before my eyes, all tinted in new colours. It has always been there, right in front of me: He loves me. And all I have ever had to do was say yes. “The honour would be all mine, Benedict Bridgerton.” A strangled noise escapes him before his eyes frantically scan my face as if they might find a single trace of doubt there. They could never. Not anymore. His hands come up, hovering beside my cheeks. “God, I really want to– Is it alright if I–“ “Yes!” He grins, breathless and blushing. “I haven't even–“ I lunge forward and press my lips to his. It is clumsy and overwhelming but also everything I have ever wanted. He almost tumbles over in surprise, but seconds later we are completely entangled, seeking each other's mouth over and over. Heart pounding, skin aflame, I am certain this is the happiest I have ever been. Because while my body nearly gives out with the strange exhilaration of it all, I also feel perfectly safe. As if this is exactly where I belong, where everything finally makes sense. In between kisses he whispers my name like a confession of love. It is from his lips. When we finally part for air we stare at each other with endless wonder, then start smiling deliriously. I reach out to cradle his face in my palm and he leans into it with a sigh. “Ben,” I murmur, the name unfamiliar but sweet in my mouth. He beams at me. “Come here, darling.” Without hesitation I let him pull me into his lap, just as desperate to be close. I no longer care if anyone finds us like this, am no longer terrified of scandal. Not when I know for certain that I will marry the love of my life, unfazed by gossip and propriety. I nestle into the crook of his neck, deeply inhaling his scent, revelling in the warmth and solidness of his chest. His arms encircle me as I feel his heartbeat slow. Knowing it was I who made it race in the first place fills me with a fervent glow. “Do you have the slightest idea how incredible you are?” I say quietly as I lean back a little to look at him. “I cannot believe you would have provided for me if my father had turned me away.” “Without hesitation. You're everything to me, Y/N.” “What would your future wife have said?” “I cannot imagine there ever would have been a wife.” My eyes widen. “Oh Benedict…” “Never mind that.” He gives me a half-smile. “I would have had my family. And hopefully you in some way still.” My heart aches for the unhappy people we would have almost become and I pull him in for another kiss, assuring him and myself that will never be us. Then I am hit with one more realisation. “Wait, when you said that Daphne ‘knows’, did you mean...?“ “About my utter adoration for you? Sweetheart, they all know. Always have. You were the only one who never seemed to see.” “But no one ever–“ “I made sure they wouldn’t bring it up. Although you can imagine how excruciating it was for them.” “But why? Maybe one of them could have pulled me out of my head for once.” He gently caresses my face. “I wanted you to find your own way. Whether it would lead to me or not.” My heart swells with love as I lean my forehead against his. “Thank you,” I whisper. “For waiting. For saving me from myself. For everything.” “You have always been worth it.” We once again lose ourselves in a long kiss and I wonder how I would have made it through life without even a fraction of this bliss. Eventually, Benedict draws back, pure warmth in his eyes. “As much as I would like to stay here forever, I’m afraid we have to leave. Daphne may or may not still be standing guard outside.” I raise a hand to my mouth, trying in vain to suppress the giggle spilling out. He grins widely, then releases me and lets me pull him to his feet. “She is truly the best friend one could ask for.” “Oh, make no mistake, she will use this against us for the rest of our lives.” I smile up at him. “And I will cherish every second of it.”

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

MASTERLIST

Oh Baby, do you wanna dance? —————-☆—

warnings and all that jazz- Mention of reader being smaller than hobie, fluffy domestic type shit to SMUT, hobie is a little flirt, reader is on birth control, still wrap it before you tap it, creampie, begging (from reader) i didn’t proofread

TILL THE FUCKIN BOAT SHAKES IM OBSESSED

Coming out of the shower on hobie’s canal boat you could hear the vinyl he was playing while he meticulously fiddled with the screwback studs on his jacket, from the soft, distant hum of the music you could tell it was the Ramones, louder than the music you could hear hobie mumbling lyrics here and there

by the time you get to Hobie’s (?) room you realized you didn’t have any of your large shirts to wear to sleep, you browse through Hobie’s side of the closet, his large black Ramones t-shirt catching your eyes, the kind of thing he would let you wear, just to see you in it

when you slip on Hobie’s shirt it does a decent enough job of covering your panties, the smell of his cologne engulfing you, you revel in that for a moment before padding out to the living room, wrapping your arms around your boyfriend from behind, he softly lays his head on you “hello darling” he speaks in his thick british accent, his eyes not leaving his jacket

“hello my love” you say softly, snuggling your head into his shoulder “your jacket coming along?” he pauses briefly to shift his head around, looking at it throughly, like an artist giving the canvas a second look “yeah, i think it’s looking good” he says, shifting his head to look over at you, slowly looking you up and down, a specific glint in his eyes “my Ramones shirt aye?”he says his british accent thicker than usual, he can feel you softly nod, he breathes deeply

“fuck, so much for my jacket..” he says, his voice deeper than before, he shifts around, grabbing your waist, whispering in your ear “i was going to do this after i was done, just so you know” he picks you up, wrapping his arms around you and waking to the bedroom, softly laying you on the bed, giving you a smirk, presumably directed toward the deer in headlights look on your face

it didn’t take you long to gingerly spread your legs for your boyfriend, revealing the lacy red panties you wore, and you gave him the cutest bedroom eyes you could pull off, “quite the pretty little ting ain’t you?” hobie says, slipping off his shirt, you look at him innocently and he smirks

“don’ go pretending you didn’t want this, putting on that shirt…coming over there and distracting me..” he clicks his tongue, removing his belts and undoing his jeans, the outline of his thick cock poking through his boxers “how you gonna make up for that huh doll?” “by letting you have your way with me, in your t-shirt, to the ramones?” he smirks “ain’t you the clever one…”

he pushes your panties to the side, grabbing your hip underneath his shirt and taking out his cock with the other, already leaking pre-cum he lines himself up with your entrance, pushing into you quickly, barely giving you time to adjust before he begins to pound into you, his other hand on your waist, as you moan out he looks at you with a smirk on his face, letting out moans of his own as you tighten around him

“h..hobie fuck~” you moan out, and this only seems to spur him on more, his thrusts speeding up, practically fucking you dumb “good girl, taking….takin’ my cock s’ good” he speaks practically into your ear, he kisses your neck as he continues to fuck you roughly, pressed so close to you that you can feel his heartbeat before he pulls back, reaching one of his hands down to softly rub your clit, looking you up and down like a steak

the passion is painted in his soul before he softly grins, showing his canines, his look going slightly dark as you whimper beneath him, trying oh so very hard to keep eye contact with him, he sharply inhales before pounding into rougher making your eyes “look at me doll” he says, you look at his face, his gorgeous body, then you look at the way his dick enters and exits your cunt, a ring of your mixed juices forming at his base “good fuckin’ pussy aye?” he slams into you

“your gettin’ hot baby..” you moan at his words knowing what he’s implying “shit, im close myself..” he grips your hips nearly bruisingly as you grip the sheets “Cum for me, Y/n” he says biting his lip as he takes in the view, watching your legs spasm and your eyes roll back, watching you cum hard, still wearing his t-shirt “yeah, good girl” he says, changing pace to chase his own orgasm after you finish yours, asking you where

it’s not very long before Hobie buries himself deep inside of you, hot ropes of his cum filling you, Hobie’s gorgeous moans filling your ears as do your own, slowly he pulls out of you, leaving you with the sensation of being stretched and filled with cum

“you did such a good job baby” he says softly before leaving and returning with a wet towel cleaning the two of you up as his cum drops out of you, he discards of the towel before kissing your cheek and laying in bed, you lay next to him and he wraps his arms around you “your a damn good distraction..” he says and you softly smile against him, the two of you fall asleep not long after, you wake up to him out of bed and working on his jacket, because of course he would.

pls “good girl” with his britishness kill me also he would be like a toddler if you were mad i love him

Fresh Ink

Ghost x Tattoo Artist!Reader

fluff mainly. this may end up becoming multiple parts. I'm not sure yet

you become ghost’s artist and therapist in a way

tw: tattoo needles, retelling of injuries

part one | part two | part three | part four

Being the only tattoo shop within a 10 mile radius of a military base, you’ve seen it all. New recruits who just finished basic wanting to celebrate. Veterans wanting to honor their comrades. Drunk soldiers who’ve lost bets. Soldiers about to be shipped off on suicide missions wanting a way, some way, to be identified.

You’ve seen everything and you did your best to honor each story to the best of your ability. You’ve held the hands of soldiers who would go out and recommend your shop to others, telling them that you were safe and would honor them.

As you set up shop for the day, you looked over your appointment book. You mainly took appointments, but would sometimes take walk-ins. Today, you had a three appointments pretty spaced out so you decided to take a couple walk-ins. You posted on your shop’s social media accounts that you would talk two walk-in and started to sketch your first appointment’s tattoo.

You got pretty far into the tattoo when you heard the bell chime. “Hey, welcome to Dead Shot Ink. My name is (Y/N). How can I help you?” You looked up and saw a man standing in a balaclava mask. You raised an eye brow at him and looked him over. No ink.

“My friend said you tattoo?” A rough british voice came from under the mask and you nodded. “Yeah. The masks stays on, I'm guessing?” He nodded in return, tensing up.

“No worries. I do have a private room if you need it. What’s your name? I’m guessing you want to take one of the walk-ups?” You grabbed your appointment book. He nodded and pulled out his phone. “I'm Ghost. You did my friend, John Price, his tattoo a few months back and he recommended I check out your page. I’ve been meaning to make an appointment, but then I saw you’re talking walk-ins today…”

The name he gave you, John Price, sounded familiar. You nodded along to his words and guided him back to your room. You wrote his name down under your 11:00 spot and had him sit on your tattoo chair. It was a pretty small tattoo parlor since you had just opened, but you were trying to hire more artist.

“So, I do have an appointment coming in at 2. It’s about 11 now so that give us a little under 4 hours. What did you have in mind and where did you want it?” You sat down on your roller chair and grabbed your tablet.

"I'm not really sure. I know you do a lot of like soldier tattoos." Ghost said and he started picking at the skin on his thumb. You forward and gently placed your hand on top of his. "Let me grab something that may help." You stood and quickly walked back to the front of the shop. You grabbed your flash book and brought it back to Ghost.

"Here this may help you decide. What we can do is pick something you like and customize it to your story." You handed him your book and sat back down. Ghost slowly started flipping through the book before settling on a pair of dog tags. You nodded and started drawing.

Soon the stencil was on, dry, and you were ready to go. Ghost was laying back in the chair and you pulled your hair up. "Any particular music you want?" He looked at you for a moment before requesting whatever you wanted. You smiled before putting on (your fav artist). You pushed your sleeves up and got to work.

Every few minutes, you would check in with Ghost. You had your free hand was resting on his bicep since the dog tags were going on his inner forearm close to his elbow. You were on his side, listening and watching for any discomfort. You nodded along to the music and smiled at the tattoo. It was going good and Ghost seemed to like it.

After you finished, you wiped it down and had him look at it in the full body mirror. While you couldn't see his full face, you could see his eyes crinkle into a smile.

-

It had been about 5 months since you had first tattooed Ghost. He would come in every time you posted about taking a walk-in. You were slowly building a half-sleeve for him that was coming together very nicely. He would sometimes come in with new scars or injuries. Never on the side of your tattoos.

"How come you never get hurt on this side?" You asked casually, half way through the next piece. You were slowly getting him to talk to you. "I don't want to ruin your art." He answer oh so casually. You felt your heart skip and your face flushed. "It's art work. You put a lot of time and work into it." He looked down at the other pieces you had done.

"Makes sense." You nodded, your focus shifting back onto the tattoo. Your eyes shifted to the newest scar, "How'd that one happen? Am I going to be turning it into art soon?" You smiled up at him and he chuckled a little.

"Maybe. We'll see how this mission finishes out. I'm lucky I got these three days. This one was a knife fight. Got a little clumsy. You should see the other guy." He smiled. You felt proud that he was opening up to you. As a tattoo artist for soldiers, you had heard tons of mission stories. Ghost's stories were always intense, but told casually as if he had just gone to the grocery store.

"A knife fight? Seems intense. Looks like you won, though. You'll have to teach me." You smiled, dragging the needle down, making a straight line to finish the piece. "All done, Ghost! Go take a peek." You said, wiping away any excess ink.

"Simon...I'm Simon." He said as he walked towards the mirror, not facing you. You smiled and nodded. "Noted. Whatca think? This one pretty much finishes up the half-sleeve. After this, we could go up the arm for a full." You came up behind his hulking figure and showed him what you meant, moving his arm around.

Simon shivered at your touch. He looked over your hands, stained with dried tattoo ink. You arms were covered in your own tattoos. Your nails were painted black and pointed to the uncovered skin on his upper arm. You always worn dark colors, letting the attention fall on your tattoos. Your hair was pulled back and out of your face, but Ghost knew it was soft from the couple of times it touched his arms.

"I like it. I think after this mission we can complete it. Full sleeve sounds nice." Simon whispered, suddenly feeling the closeness between you two. "Thank you. Thank you for being so gentle with me." He looked up at you through the mirror and you nodded.

"Of course. You face so much hardship. You know my shop will always be open for you." You leaned your head against his shoulder and pulled back. "Let me get you wrapped up and you'll be all set." You grabbed your wrapping and wrapped up his fresh ink.

Months had gone by and you hadn't heard from Simon. You had finally gotten enough money to hire a receptionist and it made your life a million times easier. You walked into the shop and your receptionist greeted you warmly. "Morning (Y/N)!"

"Morning Emma! Can I see my book? I wanna see what I have over the next few days, got a client blowin' up my phone." You laughed as she handed you the book. "Oh! Speaking of, you had a call last night. Said you knew him and wanted to make an appointment so I book him for a couple weeks out. He said you would know what he wants. Sounds either crazy hot or crazy mean." Emma winked and you rolled your eyes. "He's booked for the 26th."

You flipped to that day and your smiled brightly. "He's the crazy hot."

Simon Riley.

-

part two?

Tattoos Tell A Story part 2

Part 1 here, Part 3 here

Pairing: Simon “Ghost” Riley x F!Reader

Summary: You decide to give Ghost a taste of his own medicine

Warnings: None?, Some kissing??, FLUFF, Ghost being bby gurl

A/n: This was requested by @v1naco . I hope I did your wonderful idea justice! Also how the heck did this end up so long??

You would like to make one thing clear.

You love watching Simon get tattoos.

Not only is his deliciously huge arm on full display, but the way his muscles flex when the needle hit a particularly sensitive part of his arm?

Oh you were down bad.

Yes you know he’s technically in pain but come onnn-

He had wanted to get the date of one of his most recent victorious mission tattooed on the inside of his bicep.

What kind of mission was it? You weren’t sure, you know, with it being “classified” and all.

He told you in secret at home

Once told of his plans, you had immediately accepted to tag along and boy are you glad you did. Originally it was for the purpose of just spending as much time with your boyfriend as possible, but you didn’t realize it’d be such a sight.

“Enjoying the view there sweetheart?”

You startle slightly, flicking your eyes away from his arm to Ghost’s masked face. You know there’s a smirk hiding under there somewhere.

Cocky bastard

You clear your throat, repositioning in your seat slightly ,”Uh, no I-I was just….. admiring Jackson’s handiwork.” You claim.

Simon looks you up and down,“Mhm, whatever you say love.”

Jackson, the tattoo artist, just chuckles at the couples antics, eyes never leaving his work.

Ghost knew Jackson pretty well due to him having worked on most of his arm sleeve. He was the only artist in the area that would agree to the service of a scarily large man in a sketchy skull mask and hood, the others immediately declined as soon as he stepped through the door, some even reaching for their phone in a concealed panic. Not that they could really be blamed for their hesitance. He is pretty intimidating if you didn’t know him.

Your eyes now purposefully wander anywhere around the parlor except Simon. You would not be giving him the pleasure of catching you gawking again.

Your gaze skims over a variety of stencils hung on the walls. You never minded the idea of getting a tattoo yourself, you were just too indecisive to ever settle on one.

But maybe one of Jackson’s will stick out to me, you think as you exam the references pinned to the wall

Maybe a bird?

Or a moon?

Possibly a flower?

Oo, that bunny’s pretty cute.

Maybe a-

Wait

Is that-

You squint your eyes to see it clearer, before they quickly widen again

It is

You can’t help the slight maniacal smirk that overtakes your face

That one’s perfect

-+-

It had been about a week since the tattoo parlor and honestly? You had almost forgotten about the whole thing. Simon had still yet to notice your skins new…..addition. You’d think a military man would be more observant.

Although, in your boyfriends defense, it was so small and in such a hidden place that even you yourself had a hard time seeing it.

You and Ghost were in the kitchen together, him in charge of the noodles while you made the sauce. Normally y’all would just order some take-out, but you both decided to try something new. Neither you or him were five star chefs by any means, only able to follow along to a recipe. A very detailed recipe.

You were leaning over the stove just trying to stir the ingredients though your hair obviously did not get the memo. No matter what you did, tucking it behind your ear, blowing it back with your mouth, it just would not get out of your face.

You pull a strand in front of you, eyes almost crossing from it being so close, and glared at it as if it had personally offended you.

I swear to gosh, one day I’m just gonna freaking shave all of it off-

“Here,” comes a distinctly deep, British voice from behind. When had he gotten over here?,”Let me.”

You feel the strands of hair get pulled gently from your grasp as he gradually gathers it all into one extremely large hand. He gingerly rakes his fingers through your locks, eliminating any knots or lumps. Using the hair band from his wrist, where did he get that from?, he joins all of it into a ponytail.

You’re kinda sad to feel his fingers retreat from your scalp.

You run a hand over your head, examining his work. You’re fairly surprised to feel that there’s only a small hump or two.

“Hm, not bad for a man with sandpaper hands.” You jest with a smile.

You don’t get a response

The sound of breathing coming from behind tells you he hasn’t moved either.

“Simon?” You question, turning to look over your shoulder.

The man in question was standing stock still, you’d think he was a mannequin if not for his chest moving up and down. His gaze zeroed in on your ear.

You instinctively raise a hand to the spot in question, and that’s when it finally dawns on you.

He’s not looking at your ear.

No, he’s looking behind it.

You smile

So your little game of spot the difference was finally over.

“You like it?” You ask smugly

Simon doesn’t know what to say, just eye’s the nape of your neck in bewilderment. This was absolutely not here before. Where your skin was previously unblemished, now contains a tattoo about the size of his thumb.

A skull tattoo.

“When did you get this?” He asks instead, finger coming up to rub over it, almost as if he thinks it’s fake, thinks that the ink will smudge under his thumb.

“‘Bout a week ago.” You admit with a shrug, trying to be nonchalant about it.

His eyes finally shift to your face,”And you didn’t tell me?”

You shoot him an unimpressed look, grabbing his arm that contains the tattoo of your name and pushing it in his face,”Hypocritical much?”

He looks from his arm, to your tattoo, then to your face, as if he was putting together a puzzle.

“Is the tattoo an expression of love or a ploy of revenge?” He asks with suspicion.

You shrug, a smile gracing the corner of your mouth,”Can’t it be both?”

He eyes you for a moment, shaking his head in exasperation, but you could of swore his eyes lit in amusement.

Oh!

You about forgot something!

“Did you notice any details about it, a letter perhaps?” You question coyly.

No he hadn’t

He gently grips your chin to turn it to the side, dipping his head a little to get a closer look.

Oh.

He can see it now.

There’s a few cracks on the side of the skull and , if he looks close enough, he can see that they join to make a letter.

S

“Does tha-does that stand for-“

“Simon? Yeah, yeah it does.”

He stands there, just silently rubbing your tattoo again for a moment. You’re not complaining though, you’re just soaking in his touch. His fingers feel good.

You clear your throat, gently taking a hold of the hand rubbing your neck,”So? You like i-“

You’re cut off by him surging forward, capturing you in a kiss.

Definitely worth the pain of the needle.

-*-

You were both laying in bed after supper, your stomachs full. Full of take-out, not home cooked pasta because you may or may not have gotten distracted and singed the noodles and turned the toast to basically charcoal.

You were in a spooning position, his large arms wrapped around your waist, mask finally taken off in the darkness of your room.

“You know,” He breaks the silence,”I really do appreciate it, the tattoo.”

“Thought it was only fair. You know, with you getting one for me and all.” Your voices are soft, just whispers in the night.

“You know you didn’t have to do it, right? Not just cause I did.” Anyone that didn’t know Simon would judge from his gruff voice that he was bored or uninterested, maybe even irritated. But you did know him, which means you easily pick up on even the slightest hint of hesitation in his voice.

Your brows furrow,”That’s not the only reason I got it.”

When you receive only silence you look over your shoulder at him, “You know that, right?” You ask as if it was obvious. You thought it was.

Once again, you receive only silence. You really wish it wasn’t so dark so you could read his expressions.

You shift your body so that you’re fully facing him.

“Hey,” you reach for the hand around you’re waist and hold it to your chest,”You know I love you right?”

“Yeah?” You don’t like that he sounds so hesitant.

“Simon,” you make sure he knows you’re serious,”I love you. You’re the only person I ever want to love, and I don’t plan on letting you go anytime soon, and I sure as heck ain’t planning going anywhere anytime soon. So why wouldn’t I want evidence of you on my body?” You use your other hand to cup his cheek.

The breath he lets out sounds shaky, letting you know your little speech hit him right in the way you wanted it to. You can’t see anything but the outline of his figure, though you swear you can feel his gaze piercing you.

He brings the hand you’re not holding to rub the spot behind your ear where you know his initial lies.

“I love you too,” He confesses on a quivering exhale.

You slowly lean in for a kiss, not quite sure where his lips are in the dark but somehow hitting them almost perfectly the first try, almost as if it was second nature to you now. That’s something you never really felt before Simon. Sure you had locked lips with other guys but you never knew there could be such emotion in just a kiss. With him, it’s almost like your minds, as well as your lips, are closely connected for that moment. You can feel the love, the passion, the joy, all of it with just a touch of mouths.

Ghost is the one to break it first, breath fanning over your face as he speaks,”I just have one question.”

“Hm?” Your mind is still frazzled by that short intense make out session.

“Was it when I went to the bar with Johnny that Friday?”

Your mind slowly catches on to what he’s saying, letting out a small giggle. That’s confirmation enough for him.

“And you said you were just gonna have a lazy night in?” His fake anger makes your giggles worse.

“You went to the stinking parlor instead didn’t you?”

You don’t even know why this has tickled you so badly, but soon Simon’s own deep chuckles join yours.

He pulls you into his chest, “Sneaky girl.”

You two just laugh harder

My favorite parts of the Snapcube The Murder of Sonic The Hedgehog stream, in no particular order

The entire cast stopping to coo over how cute Sonic's blushing face

The entire cast stopping to talk about how pretty Rouge's new outfit is (same tbh)

(borat voice) "mah wife"

"he's embarking on the finalest frontier of all- the afterlife."

The Penders comic mentions

Making the player character British, but only in their inner monologue

Ryan's first line being "where's that damn hedgehog I want him dead"

"Can you teach me how to do a kick flip?" "You're gonna have to ask TORNY HAWK for that one."

The entire cast gets to choose a single letter of the main character's name. The character ends up being named "Prq7qe" pronounced Preston

"I'm retiring after 32 wonderful years... and getting arrested for killing Sonic."

"this is fucking glass onion"

Valhalla Zone Act 1

"Thank you all the artists who worked on this, this is phenomenal" genuinely made me emotional

Everybody losing their minds at all the Ace Attorney references

"Let's follow this (exceptionally long silence) T R A I N O F T H O U G H T"

Literally everything involving the soundboards holy shit I have got to get one of those

"Cause of death: committing to the bit"

"Ok but real talk tho that scene from the live action Grinch made me want to eat glass" "WHAT ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT"

Penny going "SHUT UP TAILS" in the background to practice her ova Sonic voice

"I'm not used to playing with the arrow keys I'm a WASD lady" "you can use WASD for this" "SHUT UP"

The continual evidence that over half the cast is terminally online

"URETHRA!"

Ryan making Danganronpa references (I love him for this)

"I would NEVER walk down the straight path. The joke is that I like men!"

"A murderer is on the loose/ While doors keep getting locked/ Tick tock goes the clock/ But the party don't stop"

(Rouge voice) "this is like beating up a baby, which is fine by me!"

"I'm a gamer." "... are you fucking kidding me?!"

I don't know how to phrase this but like -

I need Hobie Brown - but like as Gorillaz.

Like you know the British cartoon-band 'Gorillaz'? And they have animated characters with names and personalities but the characters aren't actual people and the real people making the music is one dude, one comic book artist, and a bunch of collaborators?

The group that made Feel Good Inc? - that one song with the dude laughing and cackling in the beginning u know the one

DO THAT - WITH HOBIE BROWN. SIMPLE

Like - the Gorillaz go DEEP on the concept.

The characters age. Noodle goes from ten to her mid twenties over the course of the bands discography. They have arcs, and between albums the characters go off and develop before reuniting - and you can hear the change in each album

[they're dressed like that in the second one cause Murdoc (green guy) started a cult so thats what the albums about] The music videos connect and tell a story - The Feel Good Inc video connects to the El Manana video connects to the Plastic Beach video etc

REAL PEOPLE and artists can be featured with them LIKE CAN YOU IMAGINE IT

Hobie Brown feat. Little Simz

Like... Release a limited-run Spider-Punk comic, find a cockney-working class artist to voice him, record punk songs that apply to his arc, DRAW HIM AN ALBUM COVER, ANIMATE SOME MUSIC VIDEOS

HAVE HOBIE DO 'INTERVIEWS' WITH ACTUAL MAGAZINES PLEASE I BEG OF YOU

Have the magazine just sends over the audio of the questions, then have someone animate Hobie sitting there, answering as if the person were sitting across from him. (Which Gorillaz has done multiple times)

LIKE WHY ISN'T THIS A THING. Imagine a video of Hobie lounging lazily on a couch telling Rolling Stone about his next album or single Am I...AM I WEIRD FOR WANTING THIS SOO BADLY

The fact there isn't like a full length Hobie Brown music video with sexy clothes and a crazy concept and wild lyrics and HOBIE SINGING like.... ?????? WHere is it????

I NEED A LADY GAGA VIDEO BUT HOBIE. RIGHT NOW.

FUCK IT PUT HIM IN A LADY GAGA MUSIC VIDEO PUT HIM WITH FKA TWIGS

I'm going to be physically sick if i don't get this SOON AND NOW. WE HAVE THE TECHNOLOGY.

There’s A Frog In My Hand

Masterlist

Pairing: Xavier Thorpe x Hispanic!Reader

Summary:after scrolling on TikTok, Enid decides to try the trend on Ajax and tells Y/N to do it on Xavier so Enid can compare their reactions.

Warnings: Boyfriend!Xavier because he’s just the cutest, very fluffy, implied Ajax x Enid

Y/N was walking to the quad when she heard someone yell her name. “Y/N, Y/N, Y/N, Y/N, Y/N, I gotta show you something!” Y/N turned around and saw that it was her best friend, Enid. Enid tan as fast as she could and almost bumped into Y/N. “Sorry. I was on TikTok and I was looking at couple trends so I can do some with Ajax, and look at what I came across.” Enid told Y/N. They both sat down at a table in the quad before Enid played the video.

In the video, there was a couple on the bed, the first girl said to her girlfriend that there was an invisible flea in her hand and that it was going to do 3 backflips. After doing the backflips, the first girl asked her girlfriend to hold his little hat as he does more backflips. Then the first girl asked her girlfriend if she really believe that there is a flea in her hands. The girlfriend says no and the first girl asks “then why are you holding his little hat?” And the girlfriend answers “because you asked me to!”

“It’s literally so fucking cute!! You should try that with Xavier.” Enid tells Y/N. “Do you really think Xavier will go along with there being an invisible flea in my hand?” Y/N asks. “Well it doesn’t have to me a flea, I’ve seen people say there was a frog in their hand, a cricket, it could be anything really. I’m gonna try it with Ajax and see his reaction. I’m gonna say flea because I’m a werewolf so that’s easy.” Enid commented as she puts her phone away.

“Then I guess I’ll choose that there’s a frog. I’m naming the frog though.” Y/N commented. “Only you would name an imaginary frog. I wonder how different Ajax and Xavier would react to having an invisible animal in our hands.”Enid said. “I honestly think Ajax would just be asking a lot of questions.” Y/N said, the girls started laughing and that’s when Y/N felt someone cover her eyes.

“Guess who.” The voice said. “Could it be Nevermore’s resident tortured artist?” Y/N guessed and Xavier uncovered her eyes and gave her a forehead kiss. “I expected you so say your super hot boyfriend but that works too.” Xavier said as he sat down beside Y/N. “What were you girls talking about?”

“About nothing, cariño. My parents wanted me to invite you to dinner Saturday night, by the way. My mom is making tallarines saltado, It’s gonna be really good.” Y/N mentioned. “That’s spaghetti, right?” Xavier asked, making sure he got his Spanish right. “Yeah, It’s spaghetti. So is that a yes?” Y/N asked hopefully. “Yeah for sure. I gotta go find Ajax, see you later, angel.” Xavier said, kissing her forehead. When Xavier was far from the table, Enid started talking again.

“So I was thinking you record the video on your phone, and then you can send it to me so I can post it on my gossip site. I will also post my video with Ajax and we’ll have a poll of who’s the better boyfriend. Do you accept the challenge, L/N?” Enid said, holding out her hand to Y/N. “Challenge accepted, Sinclair.”

After classes were over, Y/N went to Xavier’s dorm. “Mi amor, It’s me, Can i come in?” Y/N asked. Xavier opened the door so she could come in. They greeted each other with a kiss and Y/N walked in and sat on Xavier’s bed. “To what do I owe the pleasure, milady?” Xavier said in a bad British accent as he bowed down. Y/N laughed and hit him lightly on the arm. “No seas payaso (don’t be silly), Enid showed me this couples video today, do you want to try it with me?” Y/N asked Xavier.

“Sure babe, let me take a shower then we can do it, okay.” Xavier said and kissed her forehead before he went to the bathroom so he can shower. Like 15 minutes later he’s out and dressed. “Okay I’m ready.” Xavier said. “Great, I’m gonna record it if that’s okay to prove to Enid I did it” Y/N said and Xavier nodded his head. Y/N propped her phone on his dresser, leaning against his cologne bottle and Y/N pressed record.

“Okay, Xavi, so there’s a frog in my hands, okay? His name is Rogelio.” Y/N said. “Why is his name Rogelio?” Xavier asked. “I was watching Shrek 2 in Spanish, okay. Anyway, Rogelio is going to do 3 backflips.” Y/N said, keeping her eyes on Xavier. Xavier nodded. “Okay Rogelio, do your thing, buddy.” “1, 2, 3” as Y/N counted Rogelio’s backflips, she also moved her head as if following his backflips, Xavier did the same.

“Can you hold his jacket for him?” Y/N asked, showing Xavier her cupped hand. “Yeah sure, Rogelio must be feeling hot after doing 3 backflips in a row.” Xavier commented, he went to your hands and moved his hands as if taking the jacket off of the frog. “He’s gonna do 3 backflips again. 1, 2, 3.” Y/N said. “He did a double backflip at the end! Rogelio, you are a very talented frog, you must be exhausted.” Xavier commented, Y/N wanted to laugh so bad, Xavier is just the cutest. “Does Rogelio want his jacket back? It’s a very nice jacket, actually.”

“Okay, Xavi, here’s a question for you. Do you really believe there’s a frog in my hands?” Y/N asked him. “Well you told me there’s a frog in your hands and I’m holding his jacket. He’s probably an invisible frog.” Xavier said, Y/N giggled. “Querido, how would I get an invisible frog?” Y/N asked him. “I Can anímate anything I draw and you’re asking me if it’s possible to have an invisible frog?” Xavier countered.

“We’re getting off the subject. Do you really think there is a frog in my hands.” Y/N asked. “Probably not.” Xavier said, finally. “Then why are you holding Rogelio’s jacket?” Y/N asked. “Because you asked me to, love.” Xavier said laughing, Y/N laughed too and hugged Xavier, hiding her face in his chest and Xavier kissed the top of her head. When they were done, Y/N stopped the video.

“Did I do the video right?” Xavier asked Y/N. “Yes, you did it perfectly, mi vida.” Y/N said. Y/N grabbed her phone and sent the video to Enid. A free minutes later, Enid replied to her

Enid: AWW 🥰😍🥰😍 HE IS THE SWEETEST!

The next day, when Y/N was walking to the quad, everyone stared at her, mostly the girls and all she heard was “you’re so lucky!” “He’s so sweet!” “Your boyfriend is adorable.” And so on. When Y/N at a table, Xavier approached her. “Hey, love, did you see Enid’s gossip site?” Xavier asked. “No, not really. I knew she was gonna post it but I didn’t know when, why?” Y/N asked.

“Everyone is commenting that we’re the best couple. That and that I’m totally whipped for you. I mean I am, but still.” Xavier said, putting his arm around your shoulders. “At least now everyone knows we’re dating, that should keep your jealous fits in check.” Y/N commented and Xavier just laughed. “Ha ha, very funny. Come one, let’s go to class.” Xavier said as he grabbed Y/N’s backpack to carry it for her and held her hand while they walk to class. Maybe Xavier is whipped for Y/N but he wouldn’t have it any other way.

Should this be my brand? Just writing Hispanic Reader fanfics? Let me know!

𝕋𝕚𝕖 𝕄𝕖 𝕌𝕡 [𝟙𝟠+]

Summary: You and two notable fighters take a vacation together at a luxury hotel. Long beforehand, you talk to one of them about secrets you have in mind for the bedroom. He was more than happy to make this fantasy real.

Pairing(s): Hwoarang/F!Reader/Steve Fox

Warning(s): Smut, Foreplay, Shibari, Teasing, Groping, Cunnilingus, Double Penetration

Word Count: 3.9k

A/N: The longest one-shot fic I have written so far, and it features Hwoarang and Steve together! This will be a lengthy one, so have fun reading ❤︎

Sitting around at the bar was already becoming tiresome. You, Steve, and Hwoarang were still waiting for food to be sent out. Sure, the place had been busy, but that was never an excuse for the employees to not acknowledge your presence. Was it that they had forgotten your order? It could be possible. Whatever the reason, this got Hwoarang fed up. The British boxer lays back while holding you in your napping form. He twiddles your hair as he taps his foot on the floor.

“What the hell is taking them so long?” the redhead takes a sip of his almost empty beverage, “I swear we’ve ordered two hours ago…”

Steve shook his head, “You think we should head out? We can just order somethin’ else from the hotel-“

“Ah, finally, it’s here!”

The assigned waitress arrives with your meal on both trays. She carefully places each dish, one at a time, for each of you. The boxer wakes you up, and the sight of food immediately catches your attention. The orders seemed fine with the exception of Steve’s, his face puzzled by the food looking slightly different from what he originally asked for.

“I hope you enjoy our meals!” the waitress smiles before walking back to the kitchen window for more orders.

You take a bite of your order first before your brows furrow. It tasted off thanks to how cold it is. Either it sat by the window too long, or the food wasn’t cooked long enough. You voiced your concern, “My food tastes a bit cold. What about yours?”

Hwoa drops his knife and fork on the plate in disappointment, “Seems you and I share the same fate.”

As soon as the redhead noticed the waitress pacing towards elsewhere, he quickly stood up and slammed his fist on the table, “Hey! We’ve got some problems over here!”

His action was able to catch everyone’s undivided attention. The poor woman’s face is filled with embarrassment and guilt as she approaches your booth. You sit up for her attention, with Steve leaning forward. You can tell that she has been stressed during her shift so far. It was hard to imagine what working as a server would be like. This is one of the busier instances, so of course it can put someone under a tough challenge.

“Is there a problem with anything?” she asks in an anxious tone.

The martial artist sits back down with arms crossed, his voice sounding irritated, “Well of course we do, miss. I don’t wanna have to cause a ruckus after waiting so long, do I?”

“Hey, hey, take it easy, guv. I’m sure she’s under some stress at the moment,” Steve interrupts his friendly rival. He could tell from her current state that the bar was filled with a bunch of guests. He’d rather talk things out smoothly than just rush it in like Hwoarang.

“Now, both (Y/N)’s and Hwoarang’s food weren’t cooked enough, and you’ve gotten yourself mixed up with my dish. I believe I ordered a grilled salmon, not the chicken variety.”

You can see a glint of sweat run down the side of her face, “I-I apologize, sir. It’s just that there’s been so much going on during our shifts. If you would still like to have the order, I can let them know. It would still take a while though-“

“Oh, you’ve gotta be kidding me,” Hwoarang groaned and shook his head, “You expect us to wait two more hours after that?”

The four of you suddenly hear a customer shout, “Hey! That wasn’t my chicken you served, was it!?”

Steve sighed, “C’mon, you two. I’m sure it’s best that we leave.”

The three of you got up from the booth, with you and Hwoarang walking away first. Fox approached the waitress and placed a hundred dollars on the table along with a generous tip. The amount is more than enough to give. He was, of course, disappointed with how the service went, but at the same time felt bad for the person trying to do her job. You never expected such a busy crowd on a regular business day at the bar.

“Don’t beat yourself up over it, and be careful next time,” the pro boxer reassures her, “And keep the change, will ya?”

After a silent drive back to the hotel, the three of you enter the designated room slightly tired. The redhead plopped on one of the beds on his back while you and Steve sat down on the other. The only thing you guys can think of is just ordering dinner and relaxing for a bit before it was time to go to sleep. Rest assured that the kitchens here are still operating. You pull out the menu from the nightstand to look over some options. There were choices you originally ordered from the bar. No need to worry about purchasing drinks since you already have plenty in the mini fridge.

“There’s some food here we found from the bar if you’re still up for it,” you remind the boys.

Steve looks over at the menu whilst adjusting his shirt. Hwoarang turns on his stomach with his arms crossed.

“They serve similar stuff, huh? Not too bad,” the martial artist chuckled.

“How about you settle down as I order for us?” Steve lends a hand for the menu before you give it to him, “These guys shouldn’t have to take long this time.”

“You sure about that?”

The redhead sits up to remove the top of his dobok to toss on the bed. He couldn’t even bother moving anywhere else at the moment to just lie down a bit. The awaitted taste of sweet seasoning will soon touch his tastebuds.

“After dinner, I’m taking this whole bed for myself,” Hwoa grabs a pillow while staring at the ceiling.

 

—

 

“Oh, (Y/N),” you hear a familiar voice in your sleep, “Wake up, sleeping beauty.”

Your eyes slowly wake up, only to be presented with a sly-faced Hwoarang. He sat there next to you on the edge of the bed, stroking your hip with his hand. You end up grabbing it as he returns the contact. There wasn’t much sunlight through the window since the skies remain cloudy for now, but it was for sure morning. You noticed that Steve was missing. He was probably out for his gym routine.

You were curious enough to ask, “Where did Steve, go? Did he have to leave for something?”

“Nah, he’s just busy in the gym,” the martial artist answered.

“Then what are you doing here?”

Hwoarang chuckles, “Remember that conversation we had? The one about shibari?”

Well, that completely came out of left field. You never expected him to bring that up now of all times. The secret interest you had for a while before sharing it with a naughty person like him. It was revealed after you and Hwoa first slept together. He wasn’t afraid to ask about those dirty things you’d love trying out. He couldn’t wait to tell his friend about this little arrangement.

“Uh, yeah?” you respond while feeling your face begin to blush, “What about it?”

Your boyfriend towers over you and lightly traces his finger up your torso. It stops at your breast before making circles around your nipple to harden. The sensitive touch made you whimper for more and grip the bedsheets. Hwoarang smirks at your obvious reaction. He leans in your ear whispering, “Is this how you’d like for me and Steve to touch you, hm?”

“Y-yes,” you pant as you bit your lip.

“What about this?”

The redhead brought his working hand to your jaw, turning your head to the side. He leans forward and gives sultry kisses on your exposed neck, followed by some small nip marks. The feeling of his teeth sinking into your skin makes your desire even more euphoric. His breath touching your skin, it made the moment better. Fuck, it felt so good. The thought of being restrained while two muscular men touch all over you. Good god. You needed both of them to make you feel fulfilled.

“Mm…Hwoarang,” you tried hard to hold back your moaning, “Please, when will Steve come back? How much rope do you have?”

“Oh he should come back soon from now,” the redhead happily replied, “And I’ve got plenty of rope with me.”

 

—

 

Steve walked his way back to the hotel entrance. The gymnasium wasn’t too far from his destination due to the building being pretty close. Still clueless as to why the hotel he was staying in lacked a gym, Fox didn’t mind it much. He abruptly sees his Taekwondo friend in the distance walking toward him.

“Hwoarang! What are you doing out!?” the boxer shouted.

As the two fighters approached closer, Hwoa patted Steve’s shoulder, “I’ve been waiting for you. You arrived just in time.”

Steve notices a smirk on his rival’s face. It seemed as if he had a trick up his sleeve, or that he wanted to spar with him. What could this guy be up to?

“What’s with that look on your face, mate? You’ve got something to hide?” the boxer questions his intentions.

"Oh, you’ll find out, my friend,” Hwoa swings an arm around Steve’s shoulders, “It’ll be worth it.”

Both friends enter the hotel chatting about this so-called “surprise" in store during the walk to their destination. Fox would have never guessed that you loved to get tied up during sex. He hasn’t even been informed about your kinks yet. You also slept with him before, as he had feelings for you. He didn’t mind sharing you with the martial artist. You only wanted to remain with them. Besides their rivalry in fighting, they always wondered which was the better lover. Steve Fox is rather gentle and passionate for the most part, while Hwoarang teases and takes charge in bed. It was a competition for them, but you thought otherwise.

They both finally make it to their room. Hwoa holds onto the handle with the keycard in his possession. He turns to his rival with a smirk, looking forward to his reaction.

“Ready to be enamored, Steve?”

The British boxer raises a brow until Hwoarang opens the door. His eyes staggered after he walked inside. You were left on your knees on the mattress, tied up with thick red rope surrounding yourself. A silk blindfold covers your eyes, restricting you to only hearing within the room. You slightly turn your head back at the boys. Butterflies messed with your stomach as you bit into your lip.

“S-Steve? Hwoarang?” you announce their names at a quiet volume. Steve walks to the bed as his eyes are glued to your body. The redhead locked the door and paced next to him. He rests his hands on his waist, feeling proud of the work he’s done to you.

“So, what do you think?” He questioned with a plastered smirk.

Fox rubs the back of his neck blushing, “Uh, what’s this we got goin’ on?”

Hwoarang chuckles at Steve, “I pretty much gave her the shibari treatment.”

“Shibari?”

The redhead rolls his eyes, “Japanese bondage.”

“Oh…”

Hwoarang begins to strip off his attire, tossing it away on the floor. He kept going until he stopped at his boxers and motioned himself to the bed in front of you. From your perspective, you can feel a pair of hands encircle your waist. It had to be Hwoa due to his eagerness. The sound of clothes being removed caught your attention as well.

“Hm? You want to join us or what?” he asked raising a brow.

Steve snapped out of his trance, “Oh, sure. Just give me a sec.”

He pulls off his boxing shoes and tosses his shirt before climbing behind you. Scooting close, it was his turn to grab your waist. Hwoarang trails his hands up to your breasts. The two men made you feel so warm from in between. The mastermind began with a firm squeeze to your bosoms. Both of his thumbs tease your already hardened nipples, successfully receiving another shaky whimper. Steve watches your body react and creates a trail of kisses from your shoulder to the base of your neck. A growing heat swiftly appears on your face. Your breathing has gotten heavier.

“You’re gonna do good for us, dove?” the pro boxer whispers before tugging at your earlobe with his teeth.

Your voice shudders, “Mm, uh huh!”

“Shhh…”

Steve shushes you and ends up covering your mouth with his hand. He gives a few more kisses to your neck, along with a tasteful lick of the skin. Hwoarang chuckles before shuffling a bit, inching himself down to your chest. You can sense his breath touching your skin. His lips inch close to your left nipple, and he licks with the tip of his tongue. A sharp gasp emanates through your breaths followed by a moan. The tongue circles around the areola until Hwoa clenches the bud to suck harshly. He pinches and pulls at the other nipple. You struggle in the restraints with pleasure. No matter how much you did so, it was impossible to escape the rope with two of your boyfriends surrounding you. They would try their damnedest to play around and tease, unless you cum at the end. Hell, they might try another attempt at making you scream their names.

“You’ve got me intrigued, sweetheart. I’ve been thinking about you in the gym,” Fox murmurs and kisses the shell of your ear, “Should have enough stamina to fuck you.”

You mewl in his hand and felt his other slide down your pussy. He rubs against your slick before eventually finding your clit. Your back arched while your sex was getting handled. Steve could tell that you became wet when his fingers went deep. You throb around the digits and kept crying in his hand. Good thing it was still covered just in case there were neighbors around.

“Wet already, huh?”

Hwoarang groans and pulls off with a pop, “Seems like she wants more from us. Such a naughty girl you are.”

He tugs your nipple once more, then scoots down onto his knees to face your cunt. Your legs were still restrained from moving, so Hwoarang loosens the rope for you. It was a bit of a hassle for a second, but he manages to get it. He quickly elevates your legs over his broad shoulders, prepared to savor the treat before him. He licks his lips and looks up at you, the redness covering your cheeks. Steve was too busy kissing all over your skin.

“Hey, blondie. Do me a favor and hold onto her, will ya?” Hwoa grabs his attention. The boxer releases your mouth to embrace you, whilst Hwoarang holds both legs and produces light licks to your opening. Sinful mewls were the only sounds you could make after a tease like that. This led the martial artist to keep going with some licks to your clit. Steve shushes you again, all the while bringing one of his hands to knead your breast. His fingers then pinch and pull your abused bit of sensitive skin. The kisses of fervor mixed with craved lapping drove you crazy. Your body continued to squirm between them, and it made the session more fun. The intense excitement erupting from within you was unable to hide itself.

“Mm, you taste so good, (Y/N),” Hwoarang hums from the flavor before attempting to slide his whole tongue inside your walls. Your body jerked up, followed by a hollered moan. His warm tongue mixes its saliva with your running fluid. It curls around your walls until it finds your weak spot. Hwoa teases the area endlessly as many times as you cry out for him. You felt his tongue thrust inside while the tip of his nose was messing with your clit. Hwoa kept sliding out and forcing himself back in, creating the same motions. You gasp for air in between breaths. Because you were beginning to make even louder noises, Steve brought you to his lips and placed tender kisses. He slips his tongue in your mouth to exchange saliva. There wasn’t a single hint of anything, just plain spit. That didn’t turn you down, though. Steve broke the kiss and abused your nipple again.

“You’re doing great, dove,” he compliments you and lands a smooch on your cheek, “Don’t hold back.”

“Ah! Fuck! S-Steve!” you shout.

Hwoarang furrows his brows at your response as he plunges his tongue harder and hums against your pussy. You uncontrollably shiver due to this, and god you loved that. Eyes roll back with a rough lip bite. The feeling of a knot tightening your abdomen. It was too difficult to prevent it from spilling out.

“Oh! I can’t hold it, I can’t!”

After crying out your moans, a burst of your slickness lands in your boyfriend’s mouth. His face grinds into your womanhood whilst lapping up as much as he could, a few drops dribbling down his chin. You rest your head back on Steve’s shoulder, allowing him to suck your neck with his teeth. He nips the skin and places a couple of kisses there. The redhead licks the remaining juices before pulling back onto his knees. The boxer shifts to his side to lie you down. Your thighs were weak from all that action of Hwoarang’s. You finish catching your breath as your body relaxes. You suddenly feel a pair of hands removing your restraints completely. Then you feel your blindfold being tugged. Once you can finally see, they belonged to Hwoarang. He throws the piece of cloth elsewhere. At first, you were about to sit up, but your wrists were swiftly pinned down by the martial artist.

“Nuh uh, (Y/N). I didn’t tell you to sit up, did I?” the man takes charge of you in a rather seductive tone.

“We’re not done with you yet, sweetheart,” Steve followed with a caress to your face.

“Huh?”

“How cute,” Hwoarang smirked.

He lets go of you to search through the nightstand drawer for his condoms. Taking out a pair, he tosses a package to Steve before opening his. They both freed their erections and slid the protection on, the lubricant spreading on their palms. Hwoa then orders his rival, “You fuck her from behind, I want her eyes on me.”

Fox scoots behind to lie down and elevate your body on top of his, hands resting over your torso in the process. Hwoarang spreads your legs apart again, grinning at the sight of your flourished slit. He couldn’t wait to burst you open again. Their scent of sweat aroused you so much more.

Both of the fighters’ cocks press on your entries. They were eager to slowly shove them in, only with their heads. Already, you whimper due to their large size. The blonde boxer reassures you with a kiss on your cheek.

He whispered, “S’alright, luv. We’ll take this nice and slow.”

Those gentle words from your man made you sigh in arousal. How sweet. And once their cocks were fully inserted, your mouth gapped open. The redhead chuckles at the spectacle before him. He wanted to see how you’d end up when finished. The steady thrusting motions take over, all the while satisfying your body. You felt so tight around the two. Hwoarang hisses through his teeth as Steve pants breaths across your skin. The abrupt throbbing of your cunt came back. Without even thinking, your hands hovered over Hwoa’s glossed chest and began to knead. They rub up and down, with both thumbs flicking his nipples. Hwoa groans at you, proceeding to pound faster. Fox picks up the pace to further thrust himself into your ass.

“You’re such a damn tease, you know that?” the redhead snapped at you.

The rough hits cause you to latch on to his chest and mewl. Your hands then move up his shoulders to hold instead. The steamy contact of their breathing, you loved the living hell out of it. Their needy sounds along with it were even better. You can instantly feel them pulsating around your walls. Hwoarang leans in to bite and suck on your neck. You sigh at this sharp feeling. How can he forget that you enjoy receiving love bites too? He strikes the spot for a minute before pulling back and leaving a hickey.

You mutter beneath him, “Ah! H-Hwoarang!”

Steve was able to hear you and tugged on your earlobe with his teeth. He definitely earned a whimper from that. You grab his head close to yours, letting the boxer send a series of kisses to your cheek. Your other hand rests along the base of Hwoarang’s neck. The glimmering scenery of yourself getting fucked by two muscular men in a hotel room was an unforeseen event of today. Thank god you were able to live your fantasy at long last.

The mewls you keep making grew louder as both fighters’ groans did the same. All three of you were about to erupt. Sweat was dripping from Hwoa’s strands of hair to your skin. Steve brought his hands over to play with your nipples once more. You were at your limit.

“O-oh! Ah, shit! I-I have to cum!” you shout between breaths.

Steve embraces you, while Hwoarang clasps your hips to finish. They penetrated the hardest they could, a heavy climax approaching near. Your legs became jello when they were slamming into you. Their hits to your core continued on countlessly.

Then just a few more.

And you came at last.

Your voice sounded shaky as you arched your back and cried out their names. Hwoarang and Steve were wailing through their orgasms too. Their cum felt so hot from within their condoms. Everyone was slippery after a few more thrusts. The exhaustion filled the air. Hwoarang pulls out of you and rests his cock over your busted opening. Steve traces his knuckles across your face. You couldn’t muster the strength to stay up any longer, your eyes slowly drifting off to sleep.

 

—

 

A loud knock alarms at the door during nighttime.

“Ah, shit!” Hwoarang swears at himself from the bathroom. He rushes to the door in a towel to be presented with an upset hotel staff member.

The redhead sighs, “What do you want?”

“Now we’ve been receiving multiple complaints about noises you have been making this morning,” the staff member informed, “We weren’t able to respond earlier since hours today have been extremely busy.”

"Well, look, our business isn’t yours, sir. Who the hell even reported tha-“

“I don’t want to have to see you again over violating hotel policy,” he cuts him off, “Otherwise, we’ll have to kick you out. Understand?”

Hwoarang rolls his eyes sighing, “Yes sir…”

He shuts the door and turns to his blonde friend relaxing next to your still-asleep form. The redhead approaches you two with his head shaking.

“We did a lotta work on her, huh?” Steve said as he noticed you still sleeping.

“Heh, too much,” Hwoa replied and looks over at your current state, “We did make her feel good, but you weren’t as good as me.”

“Oh c’mon, mate. (Y/N) said she enjoyed havin’ the both of us,” the blonde continues on while petting your hair, “And gave us a few more shots at that.”

“Can’t believe she wanted to keep going. Damn condoms ran out…”

Steve chuckled before looking back at you, placing a kiss on your head. They can let you rest for a little while longer until you awaken. Once that happens, you will probably need assistance in the shower.

It is confirmed that Louis Tomlinson will play at the Sziget Festival in Budapest, 7->12 Aug 2024.

LINK TO LOUIS’ PAGE

Louis Tomlinson is a singer and songwriter from Doncaster, UK. As a member of One Direction, Louis was part of one of the biggest musical groups of all time. Now solo, Louis is following his heart musically.

Following the international success of his 2020 debut album, Walls, 2022 saw Louis release his second album, Faith In The Future. The acclaimed album went to No.1 in the UK, Spain and Belgium and Top 5 in the USA, Australia, New Zealand and across Europe, with combined sales of 2million+ across both albums. Following the release of Faith In The Future, Louis embarked on a huge 100 date global tour spanning most of 2023, visiting North America, Europe, United Kingdom & Ireland with Asia, Australia and South America to come in 2024. Louis has also announced a run of festivals appearances through summer 2024.

During 2023 Louis released his critically acclaimed feature length documentary, All Of Those Voices, which hit cinemas in over 60 countries, and featured global red carpet premieres in Tokyo, London, Mexico City and a live streamed event from Los Angeles. Autumn 2023 saw the Documentary launch on streaming exclusively on Paramount+ globally.

In 2021, Louis was listed in the Guinness Book Of World Records for breaking the record for the most livestreamed concert by a solo male artist, hosting one of the biggest live stream concert events ever held, selling over 160,000 tickets to fans in over 110 countries and raising funds for several important charities and touring crew affected by the pandemic.

Following the huge success of the festival’s 2021 debut, August also saw the return of Louis’ highly successful self-curated event, The Away From Home Festival. The one-day event was staged last year at the stunning Marenostrum Fuengirola in Malaga, Spain, hosting 18,000 fans and selling out in just 24 hours with a line-up of some of the best new British bands. This year saw Louis take the festival to the coast of Italy, hosting it in Lido Di Camaiore, with Blossoms, The Cribs and HotWax headlining the bill in the lead up to his own performance to close out the festival.

Elevator Mishap || Central Cee

𝒑𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔 : CentralCee x Female reader

𝒔𝒖𝒎𝒎𝒂𝒓𝒚 : You find yourself trapped in an elevator with a mysterious stranger who turns out to be the famous rapper Central Cee in disguise. [FLUFF/ LIGHT TENSION]

𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘥 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘵  

𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: HIIIII GUYS omg so much stuff has happened personally in my life but I am back and better!! Central Cee is so fine and I just always wanted to write something with him lol. Its been a while since I have wrote something, so bare with me c': I have no requests, so feel free to send some in! 

(っ◔◡◔)っ ♥ REQUESTS ARE OPEN ♥

"I find it hard to believe I'm actually here," you murmur under your breath, a mix of disbelief and disinterest coloring your tone as you wait for the elevator to reach your floor. While most girls would gush with excitement at the prospect of attending a Central Cee concert in the UK alongside their best friends, Stacey and Rosalina, you find yourself unable to share in their fervor. The trio, inseparable since middle school, practically dragged you along when they scored free tickets to the concert, complete with all expenses paid. Despite their infectious enthusiasm for Central Cee, you couldn't summon the same level of excitement, feeling rather indifferent towards his music. Meanwhile, your best friends are back in the hotel room, immersed in making TikToks while belting out Central Cee's tunes. You made an excuse about needing to run down to the convenience store on the ground floor to grab a snack, eager to escape the impending festivities. As the elevator doors finally slide open, you step inside, your mind already elsewhere, contemplating the potentially underwhelming night ahead, especially given your lack of interest in the artist.

Absentmindedly humming to yourself, you press the button for the ground floor before casually leaning against the elevator wall. A brief moment of panic strikes as you pat your pockets, realizing your phone must have been left behind in the hotel room. Before you can fully process this inconvenience, the elevator lurches upward, and a figure clad entirely in black, sporting a ski mask, shades, and a hat, enters. You brush off the peculiar attire, attributing it to the chilly weather outside, but a faint sense of unease begins to gnaw at you as the elevator door closes.

The person does not press any buttons, signaling they were also going to the bottom floor like you were. You tried not to stare at the person beside you, but the clothes they were wearing screamed wealth. You look at their shoes as the elevator begins to go down. Suddenly, the elevator comes to a stop with a shake. You widen your eyes as anxiety kicks in, confused on what is going on. You look over at the stranger, not being able to see their expression before walking over and pressing the first-floor button again. This time, the elevator doesn't seem to budge nor is it telling you what floor you two are currently on.

“There's no way,” noticing the elevator may be stuck, your heart sinks down. The stranger walks closer to you, giving them a try themselves to press the buttons. You step back to give them room. Noticing the buttons will not budge for them either, you sigh and press the red button that signals a representative. A few minutes pass before someone speaks, “Hello? Is everything alright?,” the statically voice states.

“Yeah, ummm I think the elevator is stuck. We also can’t see what floor we are on,” you respond.

“Okay, please remain calm we are sen-,” the voice cuts off.

“Hello?,” you question, “HELLLOOOOOO?,” spamming the button again.

“Lady we can't hear YOUUU!,” You state pressing the button.

“You should stop before you break it.” The voice of the person speaks with a deep British accent, you now know they are a male. You turn to look at him, continuing to press the button a few more times before stopping. You sigh, sitting down on the floor.

“Just great,” you mumble while lowering your head in defeat. You are not someone with claustrophobia, plus the elevator was a decent size so it's not as if you were scared you were trapped. Only annoyed. While your head is low, you hear clothes shuffling causing you to look back up. The man begins to take off his coat and hat, probably also realizing we are not going to be getting out anytime soon. You shift your legs so you are now sitting criss-cross on the floor, your back against the wall as you look up at the elevator's ceiling.

“Don't worry, I bet they will come soon,” the man speaks once again with a reassuring voice. You keep your head up, “I know, it just sucks. This is my first time in the UK and I'm spending my first night trapped in an elevator with a stranger, no offense.” You hear a chuckle, ”None taken. What are you in the UK for if you don't mind me asking?” You can tell he just wanted small talk, and you didn't mind. I mean after all, you are stuck here for who knows how long.

 “My Best friends and I are here for the Central Cee concert,” you respond, continuing to study the French painting that is plastered on the ceiling of the elevator.

“Are you excited to go?,” he questions, resulting in you shrugging,” I don't care too much about him. Nothing against him, but you know, not really my taste.”

Silence settles between you for a moment, punctuated only by the occasional crackle of the intercom and the faint hum of the elevator's mechanisms.

"So, what brings you to the concert if you're not a fan?" he asks, curiosity evident in his voice.

You offer a half-smile, considering your response. "Honestly, I'm just here for my friends. Stacey and Rosalina are huge fans, and they practically begged me to come along. Figured it would be a fun night out, even if the music isn't really my thing."

He nods in understanding, a thoughtful expression crossing his features. "Ah, the sacrifices we make for friendship," he muses, a hint of amusement coloring his tone. “Maybe after the concert you will be my fan.”

His unexpected comment catches you off guard, and you find yourself momentarily taken aback. With a furrowed brow, you glance down, your eyes widening and eyebrows raising in confusion. And there he stands, Central Cee himself, his presence suddenly filling the confined space of the elevator. His pearly white teeth glint in the dim light, a charming smile gracing his lips.

If your best friends were in your position, they probably would have passed out by now. But you? You simply let out a small laugh, shaking your head slightly. “Mmmmm I don't think so. Your music just isn't my type,” you reply, your tone casual yet resolute. You glance back up at the ceiling, your interest clearly elsewhere.

Central Cee seems momentarily taken aback by your nonchalant response. He had perhaps expected screams of excitement or frenzied fangirling – or perhaps even both. But your composed demeanor only serves to intrigue him further. He closes his lips, the smile still lingering on his face, his gaze lingering on you with newfound curiosity.

"Really now?" he questions, a playful glint in his eyes. "What exactly is your type, hmm?"

“Not you, so it doesn't matter,” you respond with a casual flick of your gaze, focusing on your nail as if it holds the answers to the universe. Impatience begins to creep into your movements, prompting you to rise from your seat and stride over to the control panel, where you futilely press the buttons at random.

"Well, I would like to know," he persists, closing the distance between you with a deliberate step.

"It doesn't matter," you retort, your tone edged with determination.

"Yes, it does," he insists.

"No, it doesn't," you counter.

"Yes, it does."

"No, it do—" You cut yourself off mid-sentence, the absurdity of the situation dawning on you. "Wait, why am I even going back and forth with you?" The question is more to yourself, but Central Cee decides to respond.

"Because you do like me."

"No, I don't."

"Yes, you do."

"No, I don't."

"Yes, you do."

"No, I—" You catch yourself falling into the same cycle, causing him to chuckle.

"You know, you're cute when you get mad," he remarks, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. His words elicit a soft blush from you, prompting you to turn away and face the wall. "Leave me alone," you mumble.

"Awww, I'm sorry, love. Let me make it up to you," he responds cheekily.

"Make it up to me by getting this damn elevator to work," you grumble under your breath.

"If you can admit that I am your favorite artist, then I will make that happen," he confesses, catching you off guard.

You raise an eyebrow, turning to face him. "How?"

He tilts his head to the side, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Say it, and I will make it happen."

You exhale heavily, skepticism evident in your expression. "Why does it matter to you so much?" you question.

He shrugs, smiling. "Simply because."

You glare at him, his grin only widening in response. You decide to humor him, considering his celebrity status and the possibility of connections. "Fine. You are my favorite artist."

He raises his eyebrows, amused by your half-hearted admission. "I don't think that was sincere enough for me."

You let out another small breath.  Stepping closer to him, you meet his gaze head-on. "Oakley, you are my favorite artist. I love your music so much; you are so talented."

His demeanor softens, his eyes meeting yours with sincerity. Something about saying his real name seems to have an effect on him. Whether it's your beauty or simply the use of his name, it stirs something within him, making him feel... nice.

You find yourself studying his features, admiring the way his light tan skin complements the arch of his eyebrows and the depth of his chocolate eyes. His small smile draws your attention, and you instinctively take a step back, coughing lightly to dispel the tension.

"Uhm... okay, I said it. Now, do your magic."

"You're right," he responds, retrieving his phone from his pocket.

"YOU HAD A PHONE THIS ENTIRE TIME??" you exclaim, incredulous.

"Yes," he simply responds, unlocking his phone.

You sigh. "Why didn't you say something?"

He shrugs nonchalantly. "Who wouldn't want to be trapped in an elevator with a beautiful girl like you?"

You open your mouth to reply, but the fluttering sensation in your stomach leaves you speechless. Despite your indifference towards his music, you can't deny his charm.

For a few moments, you find yourself lost in thought, your gaze dropping to your shoes. His voice interrupts your reverie, causing you to lift your head.

"Damn. I don't have any service," he says, raising his arm in a futile attempt to get a signal.

You watch as Central Cee furrows his brow in frustration, tapping futilely at his phone screen in a desperate attempt to find a signal. Despite the annoyance of being stuck in an elevator, you can't help but feel a strange sense of camaraderie with him, a shared bond forged in the confines of this metal box.

As the seconds tick by, the silence between you grows heavier, the tension palpable in the air. You glance at Central Cee, taking in the way the dim light of the elevator accentuates the contours of his face, casting shadows that dance across his features. Despite your best efforts to ignore it, you can't deny the flutter of excitement that flits through your stomach at the sight of him.

"Anything yet?" you ask, breaking the silence with a voice that comes out softer than intended.

Central Cee shakes his head, his expression a mixture of frustration and resignation. "Nothing. It's like this elevator is in its own little world, cut off from the rest of the universe."

Central Cee chuckles softly, the sound echoing in the confined space. "and here I thought being a famous rapper would exempt me from getting stuck in elevators," he remarks, a hint of amusement in his voice.

You smile, appreciating his attempt to inject a bit of humor into the situation. "Guess even celebrities aren't immune to elevator mishaps," you reply, your lips quivering in a half-smile.

He returns the smile, his gaze lingering on you for a moment longer than necessary. "At least I'm stuck in here with someone interesting," he says, his tone laced with sincerity.

A blush rises to your cheeks at his compliment, and you quickly avert your gaze, suddenly feeling self-conscious under his scrutiny. "Thanks," you mumble, "I guess you aren't so bad yourself.."

Central Cee's smile widens at your response, his eyes sparkling with amusement. "Well, I'll take that as a compliment," he says, his tone teasing yet genuine.

You chuckle softly, feeling a sense of ease settle over you as the tension between you dissipates. "Consider it one," you reply, meeting his gaze with a shy smile.

As the moments pass, you find yourself drawn into conversation with Central Cee, the topics ranging from trivial matters to deeper discussions about life, dreams, and everything in between. Despite the unusual circumstances that brought you together, you can't help but feel a sense of connection with him, a feeling of understanding that goes beyond mere words.

Eventually, after what feels like an eternity but is likely only a few hours, the elevator lurches back to life with a groan of protest, the sudden movement catching you off guard. Central Cee reaches out a hand to steady you, his touch warm and reassuring against your skin.

"We're moving again," he says, a note of relief in his voice.

You nod, a sense of anticipation building within you as the elevator ascends towards the surface. “Finally,” you say, though a pang of reluctance tugs at your heart. Deep down, you wish the elevator would stay broken, prolonging the fleeting moments you've shared with him. In the brief interlude of confinement, you've come to appreciate not just Central Cee, but the person behind the persona, Oakley. As the elevator hums back to life, you resign yourself to the inevitable parting that awaits you both, returning to the separate paths your lives had veered from.

Central Cee begins to adjust his attire, meticulously covering his features with the ski mask and glasses, returning to his "disguise". “Don't worry," you assure him, offering a small smile, "I won't breathe a word of this to anyone. It'll be our little secret.” Before he can respond, the elevator doors glide open, ushering in a flood of light and fresh air. Eager to break free from the confines of the elevator, you step out quickly, wary of being trapped again.

“Hey,” Central Cee calls out to you, his voice laced with a hint of concern, “I’ll see you tomorrow,yeah?” A flicker of something indefinable passes between you, a silent understanding that transcends words. Though you yearn for a deeper connection, you suppress the urge, unsure of what you truly desire. With a small smile, you nod in acknowledgement, “Yeah.”

As you both walk away, your steps leading you in opposite directions, you can't help but feel a sense of resonance, a shared moment that binds you together in thought. Despite the divergence of your paths and the separation of your lives, in that fleeting instant, your minds are aligned, fixated on each other, entwined in a momentary bond that defies explanation.

Alias

part one - part two

Joseph Quinn x Fem!Reader

Summary: You were supposed to guide David Harbour during the launch of the Stranger Things game that the company you work for created, however, he cancels at the last minute. His replacement? Joseph Quinn.

CW / disclaimer: rpf (don't read if it's not your jam), fem!reader, fluff

Author’s note: This is the kick-off fic for this page, so please be kind. I have several ideas in mind that I'm currently working on, so stay tuned for more!

“Ladies and gentlemen, Corendon Airlines welcomes you to Amsterdam. The local time is 9 P.M. For your safety and the safety of those around you, please remain seated with your seat belt fastened and keep the aisle clear until we are parked at the gate.”

While this hadn’t been your first time visiting Amsterdam, the reason why was very different this time. Or perhaps not that different, were it not that you had a very personal reason why it was so different for you. The company you worked for, GED International, had developed an immersive multiplayer game to kick off the fifth and final season of Stranger Things. Aside from your love from the show, you also had a huge admiration for the cast. And while being a part of the release of Stranger Things: Invading The Upside Down was really cool in itself, the fact that you were pointed to be the guide of the one and only David Harbour had you jittery for weeks. It made sense that an actor would fly over to promote it, but you hadn’t expected it regardless. It just wasn’t how your luck usually worked. Not this time though. This time, you were the one who was going to show Jim Hopper around Amsterdam, as that was where the event would take place all around the city. You were well acquainted enough with the city, having spent several years working there on and off. It always felt like a weird coming home, although this time you would reside in a hotel for a couple days. One day for the event, two leisure days.

After waiting for a good twenty minutes, you were finally able to get up from your seat and out of the plane, on your way to get your luggage. Your colleagues already arrived earlier to set up several things, but since your task was literally getting David from A to B and entertaining him a little during, you didn’t have to be earlier than the evening beforehand. The wait for your luggage to show up was as stressful as ever, but thankfully the rollerband hadn’t disappointed you once and quietly (not really) provided you with your suitcase after some time. On your way to the hotel you decided to grab a quick bite from the popular fries shack that was quite literally on your way towards The Dam, along with what the Dutch call a “frikandel”, which was essentially a lengthy meat stick. It was a craving you had whenever you visited the Netherlands, which your colleagues thought was the funniest thing after you described it to them for the first time. The Dutch had more things you had a weak spot for though, such as “stroopwafels” and their delicious tiny pancakes that they called “poffertjes”. You’d probably indulge and get it the next day, if you had the time. Your hotel wasn’t far removed from The Dam, which was still bustling in the late summer evening, with their street artists keeping up the crowd. You had to unpack, iron your clothes and get ready for bed though, so there was no time to stick around.

You nearly bumped into a guy on your way into your hotel, who was so focused on holding his head down that he hadn’t noticed you and apologized with a quick and very British “sorry”, though not even glancing in your direction. You had been too busy saving your suitcase from falling down the stairs to whip your head around in time. The guy had already gone and with him, the familiar voice that left you wondering whether your mind was just playing tricks on you.

The event had just gone to your head. Of course you had hoped it would have been him to promote the game. His character’s return had already been announced in a subtle teaser that had the world in their grasp at the moment, so soon before the release of the last season. Besides, with him residing in London it almost felt like it made the most sense. You shook your head, it hadn’t been him. It was just a random Brit with a similar voice. They were out there. You realized you had been standing in the middle of the lobby where the receptionist had been looking at you with her eyebrow raised for a moment now. Time to check in.

Just as you came out of the shower, you received a call. It hadn’t been the first time they had tried to call you according to your phone and you were only just in time to pick up this time around.

“Deniz, hi, sorry I was just in the shower,” you explained quickly.

“All good. Listen, change of plans.”

“Change of plans?”

Now?! The evening before the event? You groaned inwardly, already dreading whatever changes he was about to inform you with. You sat down on your bed, dressed in the hotel’s bathrobe and waited.

“Yeah, so… David Harbour canceled. I know how excited you were about that, I’m sorry,” he said apologetically. You felt your heart sink. There it was, reality coming right back to kick you in the face as usual. Of fucking course.

“I see, so… what’s going to happen now?” Were you just going to have a little vacation then? Would they let you join the event differently? Maybe it would mean you could sleep in. That would be nice.

“Well, miracles happened and another actor agreed to come. We just got the memo way later. David canceled earlier this week apparently so they’ve been making calls and such.”

“Who is it?” It was time for Deniz to drop the information you actually gave a damn about. Your mind immediately went back to the guy who had bumped into you. It couldn’t be…

“Joseph Quinn? I googled him quickly while I called you but I have no clue. Is he one of the smaller actors?” You had to bite your tongue not to lecture him on how Joseph Quinn was anything but. It didn’t matter. Deniz didn’t give a damn about celebrities, and since Joseph looked quite different from his character Eddie, you weren’t surprised he had no idea who he was based off of that.

“No. He plays Eddie Munson.”

“Hold up. The guy who died but then didn’t?”

“That’s the one.”

“That’s actually pretty cool. Looks nothing like him though. Insane.”

Tell me about it, you thought. You had spent enough hours ogling both his character and his regular appearance, still unable to grasp at how they were the same person.

“Okay so, I’ve emailed you the details of his PA Leah, she’s been briefed on when and where he’s expected. You’ll meet after breakfast in the lobby at ten sharp, same as the original plan. Just make sure you’re a little early, yeah?”

“Will do.” You continued your convo casually but eventually you cut it off because you really needed your sleep. And before you could do that, you needed at least an hour to silently scream into your pillow because you were going to meet him. Chances were that the hand that had quickly searched for balance on your arm earlier had been his. You felt a little lightheaded. This was a nightmare cocooned in a dream. Undoubtedly you were going to make a fool of yourself and he would hate your guts. Or he’d laugh at you. You didn’t know what was worse. All you knew was that while the change of plans theoretically would have been a dream come true, a nightmare had never felt more realistic.

The next morning you were fidgeting with the hem of your blouse as you waited in the lobby, half an hour too early. You had barely managed to eat breakfast due to your nerves but had forced a few things in your system because a grumbling stomach would be worse. Maybe you should have just eaten a bit more slowly so that you didn’t have to wait ridiculously long. It was killing you, perking your head up at every movement and often receiving an odd glance from the stranger who you’d been so eager to look at. Not with Joseph though. His voice alerted you long before the man even came into view. Laughter had escaped his lips and it sounded all too familiar. Granted, you had a bit of a crush on the man you had only seen through a screen so far. You were relieved he sounded chipper, as you had noticed that he hadn’t been so delighted at some other events he had attended. Those were all just assumptions, but you liked to think that your people skills gave you enough knowledge to assess someone’s body language at least a little. You turned your body in his direction at the right timing, where you wouldn’t have to stare for too long but had enough time to grab his attention. It looked like his assistant had received a photo from you, because recognition flashed her face and she walked up to you before Joseph had even noticed you. With a quick B-line, he followed her.

“Hi, you must be Y/N?”

“That’s me, nice to meet you,” you said politely as you shook her hand.

“Leah, you as well.”

Then, it was Joseph’s turn. Your smile faltered only for a second when he shook your hand and it was a good thing you already knew the man’s name, because his eyes were so distracting that you could only see his lips move and not hear a thing he said.

“Nice to meet you,” you managed to say to him as well and he let go of your hand with a subtle squeeze to finish off the greeting.

“The car should be up front soon,” you said as you checked your phone for the time. The nerves, which you would have had just the same if it had been David, we’re eating you alive from the inside as a silence pursued. All you had been briefed to do was getting them from location to location and you had no idea how much they had been told about the game already. To your relief the silence was cut short when you received a message that your ride was there. After announcing that, you went ahead and led Joseph and his PA to the car waiting outside. 

“Are you from here?” Joseph’s voice perched your ears and you turned your head to look into his curious brown eyes.

“I’m not actually. I’m from Y/B/P.” You had to bite your tongue to automatically ask the same question in return because you knew.

“Oh! That’s cool. I’ve been there once, on vacation,” he told you. “Would love to go back sometime.”

I’ll gladly take you back home with me, you thought, but instead you nodded.

“What about Amsterdam? You’ve been here often?” You asked to keep the conversation going. He told you about the two times he visited Amsterdam, how he hadn’t managed to visit any museums because his mates had wanted to get high and go out most of the time. Fun times, still, but he wanted to see if he could squeeze in a museum or two before he left again. Once you arrived at The Dam, a noticeable crowd had already gathered and their heads all turned towards the car. Oh boy.

“Alright, let’s go this way,” you decided and Joseph shifted in the seat to get out on your end, his assistant following suit. Phones were shoved into your faces and Joseph took the time to take a few photos and sign some things before he followed you towards the stage. His assistant stood on the sidelines, leaving Joseph alone with you and the host who would present the game.

“I had no idea what to expect but this is pretty big,” Joseph mumbled, gesturing at the game setup. There was a platform on which you could walk continuously without moving, a round treadmill so to say. It had a railing around the front and VR glasses hung over it.

“It is. They found it important that walking around felt natural, hence the big platform. It’s pretty cool.”

“Have you played it yet?”

“No, I’ve only seen some test runs.”

“The concept sounded pretty cool, like working together and all that. I believe it’s also available on other stuff right? PC and everything?”

You nodded and went into detail about how the PC version would be different, in terms of VR and without VR, but also the general difference in running around physically versus only digitally. Joseph seemed very intrigued at everything you had to say while they set him up with a microphone on his shirt. So much, even, that he nearly missed his announcement for coming up the stage.

“My bad. Hi everyone.”

You watched the conversation from the side between Joseph and the host, who explained the game again in detail and held a little presentation about it. Then, it was time for Joseph to actually join the game. Throughout Amsterdam there were several setups like this one, and a few lucky fans had been selected to take part in the immersive game together with Joseph. Each wearing a headset and being in a party together, all with a different task ahead. The people on the Dam could watch Joseph’s gameplay on a big screen behind him. Joseph seemed to enjoy it a lot, completely into the game as he stepped and jumped over things, running over to clues and communicating with his party. It was his task to gather camouflage to bring over to the others, who each had their own task to explore as well. It all went down on a timer and it was important that everyone finished their task in time. Of course, there were enemies as well which would progress into severity the closer everyone game to the middle, also known as their meeting point.

You loved watching Joseph do his thing, with his tongue darting out and making wild gestures at creatures that tried to attack him. He shouted, did his best not to swear and often went into a giggle fit when he did something silly. It was the most endearing thing to watch and while you thought David Harbour would have been a very funny candidate to watch as well, nothing could beat Joseph being Joseph.

“It says I can pick up an ally? I want an ally!” Joseph suddenly exclaimed, looking around as he perked his head up. “Can I?” He then asked a bit unsurely. His VR headset was soundproof, meaning he wouldn’t even be able to hear the answer unless he took his headset off. You watched the guy monitoring the screen discuss something with one of the developers and then nodded over to you. What? When the developer approached you, holding another VR headset, you felt dread seeping into your shoes. Oh no. You enjoyed playing the occasional game but you weren’t any good, and you definitely didn’t have a wide experience with VR games. This was doomed to make you look like a fool. Great.

“We’ll set you up if you want to join as his ally?”

You weren’t going to say no, of course.

“Sure. Just tell me what to do.”

The developer briefly explained that you would join the game as an extra help during fights, making your health double up. You were handed a stick that represented a bat in the game and were put on a similar platform like Joseph was. After connecting the two together, you would be launched into the same spot he was, and you would be able to play once you entered a nickname.

IN GAME: Your ally Y/N has arrived, Joseph

“Hello? Y/N?” “Hi, it’s me.”

“Oh! Hi! I didn’t expect them to insert an actual person, I thought they meant like an NPC or something. This is even better!” Immediately, he got back to business, as he took the game quite seriously. “So. We have to find our way through this forest, but there are demobats trying to kill us. And apparently wild dogs.” 

Joseph turned to you in the game, and it felt surreal to have a pretty decent looking Eddie avatar look at you and communicate with you in a British accent. You had no idea what your character looked like.

“Alright, we’ve got to get… Oh! You’re Robin, that’s cool. We need to go this way, it seems.”

You discussed your options and decided to look around first for any clues if you were going in the right direction. When a demobat attack forced you to run into the forest, you knew you had been right. It was pretty fun to use your bat to slam the demons away, but the VR aspect of it all was harder than you expected. It was a good thing you and Joseph were about two meters apart from each other in real life, or you would have played whack-a-mole with each other’s heads. At one point you had to run, which meant physically running in real life too. As if you wanted to be sweaty! Luckily, you soon met up with the other players, who had all achieved their tasks and slayed some enemies like you had. Now it was time for the final battle: Defeating Vecna. While you had expected things to be pretty hectic with at least four other voices outside of you and Joseph, it wasn’t all that bad. If anything, it made it feel more realistic to have several people shout their battle cries. It required working together and using each other’s strengths, timing them perfectly after one another. The person with Nancy’s character would shoot at him, while you threw bottles lit with fire, and Joseph had to use his catapult to distract Vecna and weaken his sight. Eventually, you managed to defeat Vecna without having to replay the game or anyone dying. You always liked how the developers made Eddie an available character as well, regardless when they knew if he was going to return or not.

Finally, you took off your headset and quickly fixed your hair, stepped away from the platform and found that Joseph joined you immediately. 

“That was fun,” he grinned, clearly wanting to share his experience with someone. His hair was a bit of a mess now, his curls no longer as tamed as before. After he noticed you looking he quickly ran a hand through his hair and you wondered if you had made him self conscious. For whatever reason his PA was nowhere to be found. Joseph was called over to give a quick review on the game and after that it was time to acknowledge the fans who had long since gathered at the barricades for some selfies and photographs. You could tell that he was in a good mood by the way he wore a relaxed smile on his face as he interacted with the fans. All you could hope was that it would stay the same after visiting the other locations. You never really understood why they wanted him to visit all locations, instead of just having everyone come up to one, but apparently they didn’t want to overcrowd any spot and considering people had to buy tickets to even get to stand near the barricades, it started to dawn on you. Of course these money hungry bastards took the opportunity and ran away with it in ten folds.

Joseph seemed to handle it all perfectly well until you were back in the car and he slumped in his seat. As it turned out, his PA had suddenly gotten sick and had gone back to the hotel. It was just you and him now, for the rest of the day.

“That was intense,” Joseph said softly, unsure whether he should even be sharing his thoughts with you. All you could do was nod.

“It was. I’m surprised you have to visit so many spots if I’m honest,” you admitted and Joseph nodded in agreement.

“I hadn’t expected that either. I just figured it would be one location and go, until we received the schedule yesterday.”

“That gave you little time to prepare then… I’m sorry about that.”

“Oh it’s alright. Can’t complain, it’s a great opportunity.”

You smiled softly.

“It’s fine to complain a little, even if it’s a great opportunity,” you assured him. That granted a smile out of him as well. You could imagine it was hard to cut yourself some slack when you had been so lucky, yet incredibly overwhelmed by it all. And he wasn’t even allowed to call it luck according to people because it was talent, but to him it sure had felt like luck.

When the driver stopped the car, you were surprised to see you weren’t at the next location yet.

“Roadblocks all around. You’ll have to walk from here,” he said apologetically. The thought alone filled you with dread. Joseph had been stalked in every place he had been and Amsterdam was about to become the next. They knew what he looked like down to the shoes he was wearing at the moment, so the watchful eye would definitely notice.

“Alright, not a problem at all,” Joseph told the driver before turning to you. “Is it far?”

“Ten minutes max, I think,” you replied, getting your phone out to find a route. Once you got it, you both left the car. The driver assured you he would be in the same spot in time for the next one, but you exchanged numbers just in case.

The first couple of minutes went fine. No one batted an eye. Not until one teenager shouted his name.

“Oh fuck,” you mumbled softly, watching as the many heads turned around frantically in search of the man next to you.

“It’ll be fine,” he assured you, as if you were the one who needed assurance. You were very ready to elbow these people in the head if they were behaving like idiots. It would cost you your job if you caused a scandal, though.

“Where do we have to go?” Joseph asked you, sounding a little hurried. You showed him the route on your phone and watched how he scanned the area quickly.

“Alright. Come.” Before you realized what was going on, he had grabbed your hand and guided you through the masses who were dawning in on you, taking photos and trying to get their picture taken with him as well. He greeted them kindly, effortlessly. Apologized for moving on and explaining you had to get to your destination quickly. You wondered if anyone else noticed how draining this seemed to be for him. His frown deepening, his lips disappearing into a thin line. His hand squeezed yours tighter every now and then, although he often relaxed it shortly after and grazed the top of your hand with his thumb, as if to apologize.

When you finally made it to the next stage, you let out a breath of relief. This unorganized shit show was a drag. Joseph let go of your hand and listened to the host of that location, who guided him to the fans where he could do his service of taking photos and interacting with them shortly. Then, he met with a handful of people who had won a meet & greet with him for a good five minutes and after that it was time to move to the next. Two down, four to go. It wasn’t until the transition from the fourth to the fifth that you and Joseph decided to skip the car and just walk all the way. You had been hopeful the other times that the car would actually be able to drop you off at a good spot, but it had become clear that Amsterdam wasn’t great to go through by car, especially not on a day like this. When you asked him about security, it turned out that he had turned them down as he hadn’t expected the getting from one location to the other would have gone so hectic.

“God that smells delicious,” Joseph exclaimed softly as you were walking through crowds, trying to blend in as well as you could. You had smelled it too, or at least you thought you did. If you were honest, you were pretty hungry after that lousy breakfast, considering it was way past lunch time already.

“The bakery, right?” You ask as you point into the direction of a bakery on the other side of the street.

“Yes. Mind if we make a quick stop? I’ve really got to eat something.”

“Not at all. Some more delay isn’t going to matter at this point,” you pointed out. You made your way towards the bakery that luckily wasn’t too crowded, and got yourselves a pastry , two in Joe’s case. He had been eyeing the croissants but decided against it because of the crumbs. Not that these pastries were any better. They were delicious though, you concluded, and Joseph seemed to agree judging by the sounds he made.

“Right, I needed that,” he said as he cleaned off his fingers with a napkin. Once you got closer to the last stage, he turned to you.

“Am I good?” He asked, gesturing at his face so you could tell him if he missed a crumb. He had, so you pointed it out with words, until he didn’t catch it at the third try and you lifted your finger to his face instead and gently took it off.

“You also have some…” he started, brushing his thumb over the corner of your mouth, “right there. All good now.” His gaze lingered longer than it should have and you blamed your burning cheeks for it. He probably noticed your shift in attitude right away. Despite that, he seemed unbothered and you entered the last stage, where Joseph did his thing again and you watched him do it all effortlessly. 

It was already way past dinner time when you finally made your way back to the hotel. That was it then, you thought. You had had fun, and it had been great to get to know him briefly, but you would have loved more. Somehow it made you feel greedy, though you blamed the man himself for being the exact way you had imagined him to be. All sweet and nice and gentlemanly. So annoying.

“Would you like to join me for dinner?”

The silence that hung in the air got way too much time to spread when you looked at him like a deer caught in headlights. God, please act cool for once, you thought to yourself. To top it off, he smiled softly at you and even seemed a little nervous. Why in the world would he be nervous?

“I— Yes! That sounds lovely, where would you like to go? Just here at the hotel, or…”

“Oh no. I’d prefer to get into the city if that’s okay. I heard you can get dinner on a boat, no idea if you have to book a spot for that though. We could check? I just want to change into something else once we’re back at the hotel, freshen up a little. Is that alright with you?” His eyes darted away as he spoke and his hand softly scratched behind his ear in a repeat motion until he finished his sentence. Absolutely endearing. Your conversation briefly paused as you left the car and headed back inside your hotel.

“Dinner on a boat sounds…” Romantic as hell. “Great! And if it’s not available I’m sure we can find a nice spot somewhere. At the canals maybe?” You offered, wanting to throw in your two cents as well instead of just completely going along with what he said.

“I’ll give them a call. The canals would be nice as well!” He agreed, and shifted his weight from one foot to another as he looked at you. “Meet down here in an hour?”

You agreed and both went opposite ways towards your rooms. His was in a much more luxurious area of the hotel, which made sense. Once in your hotel room you quickly turned your suitcase upside down in search of something appropriate to wear. Would a dress be too much? The rest all seemed too casual and you had no idea how fancy that boat restaurant was. The dress would have to do. It was a simple, black, a-line dress but it looked very elegant on your figure. You freshened up in the bathroom and reapplied your makeup, hoping it all looked fine. 

Miraculously you had some time to kill, which basically meant you sat alone with your thoughts. Those that hadn’t stopped running the same sentence over and over after he had said it. Would you like to join me for dinner? You were genuinely confused why he had asked you. Maybe he just didn’t want to eat alone because it would attract extra attention to himself. Yeah. That must be it. And you guessed you were deemed nice enough to have a chat with. Which was great, but everything else was just confusing and slightly stressful. When you finally allowed yourself to go down ten minutes early, you found that Joseph was already waiting there. Dressed in black pants and a dark blue blouse, he looked incredibly handsome. He immediately noticed you as you exited the elevator, his neutral expression lighting up into a smile.

“Y/N, thank god, you made it. I managed to get a reservation in twenty minutes, so I was secretly hoping you’d be early too. They happened to have a cancellation. Our uber is ready too.”

“Oh that’s great! I’m really curious about this restaurant. Is it just docked in one of the canals or does it actually fare?” You asked curiously, while trying to calm yourself down inwardly that you were going to sit in front of this handsome man for a whole meal. Oh god. What if you made a total fool of yourself?

They have a route that goes partially through the canals, so we’ll be able to do a slight bit of sightseeing if we’re lucky. It might be too dark outside already.”

He held the door open for you to slide inside the uber and then joined from the other side. Again. What a gentleman.

“Have you decided on what you might want to visit tomorrow?” You wanted to know. While you hadn’t made specific plans just yet, you wanted to check out some things as well before you had to go back. Your silly brain allowed yourself to hope that maybe you could do some sightseeing together. Not that you were going to ask him that, oh no. That was way too embarrassing. What if he said no?

“I have some time to squeeze in one or two things. Later tomorrow I have an interview through zoom with someone in New York though, and we leave again early the next day. So I have a bit of time but nothing too grand. Any recommendations?”

“I was thinking of visiting Anne Frank’s house. I’ve heard many stories about that. And Rijksmuseum, maybe. Those are things I’d want to do, but I can’t exactly recommend them because I’ve never been.”

“Those were on my list as well as the Vincent van Gogh museum. Haven’t decided yet.”

“I heard there was a special exhibition there, temporarily.”

“Oh, really? Can’t miss out on that now, can I? It’s not like I’m a very artsy person, I don’t necessarily feel things when I look at paintings, but I do appreciate the craft. And Van Gogh does have a nice style. I’ve got a small print of one of his works in my hallway. Sorry,” he winced and chuckled awkwardly.

“For what?” You genuinely wanted to know. He shrugged and avoided your gaze, disguised by looking out the car window for scenery.

“For going on a ramble.”

“Don’t be silly! I’m the same with art. Especially abstract pieces. I try to find a meaning in them but sometimes… a blob is just a blob.” You shrugged.

“Yes!” Joseph seemed happy that someone agreed. You briefly wondered if he was just always happy when he met someone like minded or if he simply had a lot of artsy friends. He seemed to relax after you didn’t make a fuss about him being talkative and suddenly mentioned how disappointed he was in the Mona Lisa.

“She’s just so small. I never expected a huge painting, but I also didn’t expect people to gather in rows and rows to catch a glimpse of this tiny painted woman,” he mumbled. When you arrived at the dock where the boat would set sail from, you both got out and Joseph gallantly held out his arm for you to take.

“I’ve noticed the streets can be pretty uneven here,” he used to reason as to why he provided his arm. You nodded, looking down at your low boots. There was a reason you didn’t wear heels. One, the streets. Two, Joseph wasn’t that tall and you didn’t want to be taller. Three, fine. Maybe you didn’t bring any heels.

“Careful, these stairs are a little slippery,” he warned you softly, making sure he held onto the railing tightly while continuing to hand out stability to you with his arm.

“You look really pretty. I wanted to say so earlier but words got away from me,” he told you right before you entered the boat. A blush tainted your cheeks and you smiled softly.

“Oh— Thank you. You look very handsome yourself.”

“Oh, stop it,” he chuckled abashedly as he let you go in first. After Joseph checked in with the waiter for your reservation under the name of Steven Johnson and sat you down near a window, you couldn’t help but smile at him.

“Should I call you Steven for the time being?” You asked him softly. Joseph covered half his face with his hand and groaned.

“I panicked when they asked for a name alright? I know it’s not the best.”

“It’s fine.”

When the waiter came over for drinks you decided on red wine, while he went with a dark beer. You discussed your food options thoroughly, with Joseph managing to get totally lost into his food related stories at nearly each one. You had had a short world tour of his experiences in several countries by the time you had both made up your minds, nearly able to taste it after Joseph’s detailed descriptions. His eyes lit up when the breadbasket was brought to the table and he eyed it eagerly, waiting for you to go first. You took the butter knife and added salty butter to one, looking up.

“Do you want one too?” You asked politely, holding the one you just smeared out for him to take.

“I’d— Oh, thank you,” he responded slightly flustered, accepting the slice from you and then watched you make another one. When the main course arrived, you were well into your third, maybe fourth topic of the evening. It all felt so natural that you sometimes forgot that you had been putting this man onto a pedestal for some time. Not that he didn’t deserve a pedestal anymore, he was an amazing guy still, but he felt more leveled. Equal. In reach. Quite literally so, but also figuratively. He was just Joe. That’s what he preferred to be called. Though you stubbornly kept the joke up and only called him Steven for the rest of the evening. Whenever there was silence, you would look out the window and admire the city, as far as the darkness allowed you to. The reflection of the windows in combination with the lights from both inside and out made it a tricky view, but a pretty one nonetheless. When Joe’s knee nudged yours, you turned your head to look at him but his eyes weren’t on you. After subtly nudging his leg back with your own, he kept it there. It seemed to be intentional. You decided it was late enough to go for a stroll on your way back to the hotel instead of getting a ride, and found yourselves admiring the pretty lit canals, where you were momentarily distracted by a stray cat. Joe watched you with a calm nature while he smoked a cigarette, passing the time until you had told the cat goodbye. Passing the Dam, you noticed it was still pretty lively, and you spent a bit of time watching a performer dance with fire.

“Oh, it’s my agent, hang on.” Joe excused himself and walked away from the small crowd that had gathered around the performer. While you were curious, you didn’t want to be impolite and stare, so instead you looked around the crowd. After what seemed like ten minutes, the crowd had thinned out and the performer was packing up his stuff. You stood there awkwardly, not wanting to ogle the performer who was clearly done, but also not wanting to bother Joe. Instead, you took some distance from both and sat down on a stone bench. It was obvious that Joe’s mood was sour when he returned to your side, slumping down next to you.

“Turns out I only have the morning left tomorrow. Change of plans. So I won’t be able to check out anything, not enough time. I was going to ask you if you wanted to join me but unfortunately I can’t even do that.”

“Oh I’m sorry, that’s a bummer. Where do you need to be?” It was hard to keep your expression in check. To not look too disappointed at this news while in reality you felt down to cry. The fact that he had wanted to go sightseeing with you possibly made it even worse.

“You can’t tell anyone, but I’ve got a photoshoot for this magazine thing in LA.”

“That sounds, uhm, cool,” you tried to say enthusiastically but failed horribly once you saw his expression.

“Yeah, it is. Just not so fond of last minute changes.” He rubbed his palms onto his knees, trying to shake off the uncomfortable feeling that welled up in his stomach.

“I get that. I don’t like them either. I guess I’ll have to enjoy tomorrow for both of us.”

“Please do.”

You would do anything to get that sad expression off his face. If only you knew how. A random idea sprung to mind and instead of thinking it through like you usually did, assessing the pros and cons and whatnot, you blurted out a question.

“Do you like reading?”

Joe frowned a little at the sudden topic change but nodded. 

“I do, yeah, why?”

“Would you like to check out a bookstore with me? We could have breakfast somewhere and do just that, before you have to leave? Unless you don’t have the time or,” you laughed softly, “don’t really want to.” Joe shifted so he could turn for a better look at you.

“I’d love to.” His voice was sincere. Much more sincere than you had heard him be all day. Apart from during dinner, maybe. It was a relief to see his clouded expression had lifted almost instantly. 

You decided that you both wanted to be well rested for the day after and headed back to the hotel, though there was a reluctance on both sides to work towards the end of today. It was obvious when the two of you parted ways, at the elevators, and even more obvious when you both stole glances from each other at different moments, convinced the other hadn’t looked at all. Even more obvious was the fact that neither of you could fall asleep, not until you accepted that the other person was going to be on your mind all night.

The last morning

Joe met you in the lobby dressed in black jeans, a white tucked in blouse and a coat that was already on his arm, his smile lighting up at the sight of you. 

“Good morning,” he greeted you softly, his voice a little hoarse still. He cleared his throat and reached for his vape, as if that was going to make it better. You smiled softly.

“Morning, Steven.”

“Oh stop it,” he groaned. “I’m never gonna get away with that, am I?”

“Nah. Especially not after accidentally telling me Steven is actually your go to alias and not just one slip up. From Australia, no less!”

“Think of a better name then, on the spot. Go. Go!” He urged you on with a youthful grin.

“Legolas.” You responded deadpanned.

Joe snorted and shook his head, already heading to the exit. “Oh come on, you didn’t even try,” he protested.

“I did! I was trying to think of an easy to remember name for you and couldn’t help but think about that massive cardboard you told me ab—”

“Now you’re just taking the mick,” he sighed. “I need more leverage to do the same to you, this is unfair.”

“I’ll think about it.”

“Thank you.”

You and Joe made your way into the city to find a nice place to have breakfast at and you were quite relieved that you weren’t spotted. You loved watching him devour his breakfast, which was three times as extensive as yours, and see pure joy on his face at each bite he took. Time flew by as you shared more about your lives, and before you knew it you only had half an hour to get to the bookstore before Joe would be picked up to go to the airport. He was apologizing profusely, feeling guilty for messing up your nice idea to spend your morning, and you had to assure him it was okay.

“Honestly, don't worry about it. We had a great time at breakfast too, did we not?” You told him.

“Yes, but now there’s so little time left—”

“Would it be better if we skipped it altogether? I don’t want you to feel hurried,” you offered, as much as you would love to check out some books with him. Joe simply refused.

“No, we’re going to the bookstore. Even if I can only stick around for ten minutes.” He was steadfast and you decided it was best not to argue and lose more time. His concerned face was not something you liked to see on the man. The bookstore had several levels and wasn’t too crowded, but you noticed Joe wasn’t exactly relaxed either.

“Were you looking for something specific?” He asked after you reached the top level. You shook your head and shrugged.

“There are some books I still want to read, but… nothing specific in mind. Maybe The Midnight Library. It’s been out for a few years already but I still haven’t gotten around to it,” you explained. Joe hummed to let you know he heard you and the next moment, he had disappeared. For a hot second you worried that he had ditched you. Maybe for having a bad taste in books, or him suddenly realizing the time and not bothering to say goodbye. Neither scenario sounded very sensible, but your brain loved to make up scenarios that weren't sensible. You shrieked softly when he suddenly popped up next to you again, holding a paper bag with a book in it. The Midnight Library.

“A parting gift,” he said with a small, nervous smile. “A little hurried and a little lame, but there’s no time for something better. I had a great time with you so I wanted to give you a token of my gratitude.”

You stared at him, his big brown eyes peering nervously into yours to figure out your expression, when you suddenly hugged him.

“But I didn’t get you anything,” you mumbled next to his ear as you felt your cheeks grow warm when he wrapped his arms around your waist.

“We weren’t exchanging gifts, so there’s no need,” Joseph said softly into your hair, his hand coming up to the back of your head. There were so many things you wanted to say to him at that moment, but no words came out. Eventually you uttered a thank you as you held on to the embrace that was lasting way too long for it to not be awkward.

Except it wasn’t awkward at all. And you didn’t want it to end. Neither did he, it seemed, when his phone went off and he reluctantly let go of you to pick up.

“My ride’s here,” he announced sourly. You followed him outside, wanting to properly send him off despite the growing lump in your throat. You wanted to say something. Exchange numbers, or whatever, but your fear of having him reject you was too big of a risk. This was it. You should be happy, having gotten to spend so much time with him already, right? So why did it feel like you lost a part of you when he finally stepped into the car after one last, quick hug? When he looked at you through the window and smiled a smile that didn’t meet his eyes? You felt simply horrible. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. It was always much better in fiction, you thought. With their sappy happy endings and people running out of cars or going to airports to confess their love to each other after spending a mere day together. You hated the unrealistic part of it, and yet you craved it like nothing else right now.

A week later

Things had gone back to normal again. All but for one thing. He was on your mind all the time. It distracted you from everything you had to do. Stupid man. With his stupid handsome face and his stupid pretty smile and his stupid gorgeous hair. You never expected to suddenly fly off into the sunset with him, but man did you wish it had gone exactly like that. Instead, you had watched him leave in a car with a sad expression on his face that told you he didn’t want to leave you either. Or maybe you had just imagined it. You never even brought yourself to do more than hold the book, only to put it back in the paper bag that you didn’t want to throw away. It was all you had to go with your memories. To remember it was real. That, and some photos on Getty Images that you found highly unflattering. You had saved them anyway. Deniz had comforted you when you told him about what had happened and he was convinced that you would meet him again.

“He likes you. It’s obvious from what you’ve told me. He invited you to dinner right away, didn’t want the evening to end, wanted to spend his only other free day with you as well and did so until the last minute? Come on. I’m sure the asshat just forgot to give him your number and is eating himself up over it. I promise. I’ll eat my keyboard if you don’t end up dating him.”

You laughed softly and shook your head at him, and you loved him for trying to make you feel better.

“Please don’t eat your keyboard, I am busy enough as it is without getting your tasks piled up on me as well,” you joked. Deniz wanted to respond but suddenly got distracted by a view that was coming into your direction.

“Who do you think that’s for?” Deniz asked, gesturing at the bouquet of flowers that was definitely larger than your head. You shrugged.

“Probably Melody’s. Or Petra’s,” you listed the two pretty blondes in the office. Deniz shrieked softly when the person holding the bouquet passed both their desks.

“Oh my god. Never manifested something so quickly,” he whispered to himself. When they finally stopped at your desk and handed it to you, you were at a loss for words.

“The card, check the card!” Deniz urged on.

You searched through a bouquet of beautiful gerberas, lilies and other flowers you didn’t know the name of and finally found a tiny card. You barely heard Deniz’s confused reaction about the name on the card, as all sounds seemed to die down instantly as you read the card.

Just in case the note I secretly put into your book didn’t make it safely to your hotel for whatever reason. - Steven x

Below his name was a phone number and you recognized the country code immediately. Definitely not Australia.

FIN