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janeyseymour · 2 months

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Love Thy Neighbor- pt 10

Part 1. Part 2. Part 3. Part 4. Part 5. Part 6. Part 7. Part 8. Part 9.

Summary: With your ex-husband in town, this is sure to be interesting.

WC: ~2.4k

I’m in Philly this weekend. We should talk.

The good mood that you were in from waking up in your girlfriend’s arms sours at that text, and she notices.

“Hey,” she whispers as she kisses your temple, also rolling out of bed. “You’re upset.”

“I’m not,” you shrug. “I’m fine. Just… thinking.”

“About?”

“It doesn’t matter,” you sigh. “I should probably go check on El. You comin’?”

The redhead nods and follows you into Ellie’s room, where she’s playing on the floor with a few of her dolls.

“Momma! Mel!” she grins up at the two of you. Immediately, she’s launching herself at you, and if either her or Melissa notice the way that you cling to your daughter only a bit desperately they don’t say anything. You lift your little girl onto your hip and hold her close, smoothing down her wild locks and kissing her temple. Melissa follows suit, and she grins when Ellie kisses her cheek back.

“Breakfast?” your daughter looks to your girlfriend with those sweet eyes of hers.

“Obviously,” Melissa chuckles. “And what does the princess want?”

“Chocolate chip pancakes!” Ellie cheers. When you give her a look, she quickly adds on a, “Pretty please!”

The three of you head for the kitchen, and while your daughter and your girlfriend mix the batter together and start heating up the griddle, you stare at your phone contemplating what you should do.

“Penny for your thoughts, hun?” Melissa breaks your trance as she sets a plate full of the breakfast food in front of you. Ellie comes bouncing over with the butter and syrup a few short moments later.

“We can talk later,” you tell her softly. “When we take El to the park.”

Once you finally get Ellie ready for the park and get yourself ready, you head out. Melissa drives the two of you there, and as soon as she can, Ellie is running for the swings. You and your girlfriend walk hand in hand to find a park bench to sit on and keep an eye on your little girl.

“So, what has my girl down?” the redhead asks you once she’s sure your daughter can’t hear her.

“Jared texted me. Said he’s in Philly, and we should talk.”

Her face flickers through a few different emotions before settling on a neutral face. “And how do you feel about that?”

“Honestly? Like I never want to see him again, but I also have El to think about. He is still her father.”

“And he gave up his parental rights,” she reminds you. “Willingly, and without hesitation.”

“I know, I know,” you sigh as you set your head on her shoulder. “But if he wants to reach out in order to stay in Ellie’s life, I cannot deprive my child of her father.”

“You can,” she tells you.

“But it wouldn’t be right… especially because El… she loved her Daddy before everything got messy.”

“It’s up to you, hun,” your girlfriend says. “But I would be cautious.”

“I know, I know,” you mutter.

Ellie has a blast at the park like she always does, but after about an hour she’s running back to you with rosy cheeks and telling you she’s sleepy. Melissa carries her back to the car, and in the short ten minute drive back to the apartment complex, she falls asleep in her carseat clutching one of the stuffed animals Melissa keeps in her car now. You lift her out of her carseat and hold her tightly as you make your way up to your apartment. You settle on the couch with her, still in your arms while your girlfriend heads for the kitchen.

“Are you good if I make eggplant parm?” she calls softly.

“That sounds great,” you sigh out.

As she cooks dinner, humming quietly to herself, you continue to torture yourself with the pros and cons of texting Jared back. Ultimately, you tell him that if he’s serious, you can meet him for coffee tomorrow- preferably around the time when Melissa will be going to mass.

His response is almost an immediate one. So the two of you set a time and a place, and you know that come tomorrow morning, you’re going to have to make an excuse to your girlfriend as to why you can’t join her for the church service tomorrow.

Ellie stays asleep up until Melissa calls in that dinner is ready. She clings to the redhead through dinner, claiming that she’s warmer than you are. Despite Melissa trying to get her to stay with you (she knows you need Ellie to keep you grounded right now), your daughter insists on staying in her lap.

Your routine through the end of the night goes on as usual, and when you and Melissa finally lay down for bed, you have an awful pit in your stomach as you prepare to lie to her.

“I don’t know what’s happening,” you mumble with your head on her chest. “But I’m not feeling too great right now.”

“Oh?” Melissa looks at you. “What’s goin’ on?”

“Just… cramps. Probably PMS.”

She’s immediately out of bed and grabbing some ibuprofen and the heating pad, and you feel even more guilty at your lie. Melissa is so willing to take care of you and love you through everything.

You’re lulled to sleep with the extra warmth provided by the heat on your abdomen as well as your girlfriend gently combing her fingers through your hair and her soft humming.

The next morning, you wake up and you wish that you were lying to Melissa when you said that your cramps were awful- they really are. But you also know that this is going to be the perfect way to get out of going to the long church service with her, and you know she’ll take Ellie with her to let you ‘rest’.

She does, and you stay in bed until they both head out. And then you run around like a maniac trying to make yourself look presentable to meet your ex-husband.

You arrive at the coffee shop you agreed to meet at, and he’s already sitting with two cups in front of him. You drop into the seat across from his, and he pushes one of the cups in your direction.

“Hey!” he smiles at you, and it’s that damned charming smile that made you fall for him in the first place.

You stare at him for a few minutes in a steely silence. Why did you come here? “What do you want?” is all you ask him as you take a sip of the coffee in hopes of it soothing your nerves. You cradle your abdomen in hopes that your cramps begin to subside soon.

“Damn,” he chuckles. “I come all the way out here to meet you, and that’s the greeting I get?”

“I didn’t ask you to. What do you want?” you ask him again.

He looks a bit stunned that this is the approach you’ve decided to take with him. He’s so used to you being meek and mild, warm and gentle. “I just wanted to catch up.”

“I’m doing just fine out here, with my daughter,” you say shortly.

His eyes go soft. “How is Ellie?”

“She’s fine.”

“C’mon, Y/N,” your ex sighs. “Listen, I’m sorry about everything that happened.”

“You should be,” you laugh bitterly. “You broke apart our family, and for what? To go fuck someone newer and younger? Tighter?” you quote back one of his texts to Jen that you saw after you caught him in bed with her.

“Y/N, I was an idiot,” he tells you. You nod with a smirk. “I came out here to tell you that I want us to get back together.”

“Not a chance in hell,” you snort.

“Then at least let me see Ellie,” he tries. “C’mon. You owe me that.”

“I don’t owe you shit,” you tell him. “You cheated on me, and then signed away your parental rights without hesitation. And I’m still waiting for all of your child support money. So, I see it that if I don’t have the money in my hand by the end of this meeting-”

“Where is Ellie?” he asks quietly. “I was hoping she would be with you.”

“With our neighbor,” you say. “Not that it’s any of your business.”

“You left her with your neighbor?” he asks you incredulously.

You nod. “I did. I trust Melissa- my girlfriend.”

He raises both of his eyebrows at that reveal. “Moved on so quick?”

“You moved on before you even took your ring off, so don’t give me any fucking shit, Jared,” you hiss out. “Babysitter fucker.”

“I didn’t realize you still swung that way. I thought I fucked the gay out of you,” he smirks.

“Oh, eat shit,” you stand from your place and throw your hot coffee in his face. “Don’t bother getting in touch unless it’s to fork over the child support. If I don’t have it by the end of the month, I will be getting a lawyer.”

You head out to leave the shop, and who do you run into on your way out the door but Melissa and Ellie. Your girlfriend gives you quite the questioning look, considering you were sick in bed an hour ago.

“Momma!” your little girl shouts as she slams into your body to hug you.

You groan softly at the contact, but lift her into your arms and hold her tightly, praying she doesn’t see her father. Melissa kisses you at the same time that Ellie gasps, points, and shouts, “Daddy!”

You close your eyes and give a face of pure defeat. You were just caught.

“Ellie girl!” your ex-husband replies with the same amount of enthusiasm, and your daughter is wiggling her way out of your arms to run over to her father. He scoops her up into the biggest hug, despite the fact that he’s still covered in your beverage.

“You came here to meet Jared?” Melissa whispers as she eyes the man.

You nod sheepishly before attempting to make your way over to the two of them. You have to stop about halfway there, gasping in pain as your stomach twists in knots. Your girlfriend follows, an arm wrapped around you protectively.

“Daddy, you’re all wet!” Ellie giggles.

“You know Daddy,” he chuckles in the easy way that he used to with her. “Clumsy, clumsy.”

“Silly Daddy,” your little girl playfully rolls her eyes and sighs dramatically.

“How are you, little girl?”

Your daughter grins as she launches into her stories. “I love it here! I love school, and Momma and I go to the park all the time with Miss Mel like we are today!” she points to Melissa. “That’s Miss Mel, and I love her. She’s my favoritest person in the whole wide world!”

You have to bite back a snort when you see the hurt expression on his face, and you beam when you see your girlfriend’s proud look. You don’t even care that you aren’t your daughter’s favorite person right now because at least it isn’t him.

“And Miss Ellie’s favorite person in the world brought her down here to pick up some coffee and doughnuts for being such a good little girl at church today,” Melissa cuts in. “Which I think we should do, what do you think El?”

The little girl absolutely beams as she remembers why they’re here, and she runs for the redhead.

They head off towards the counter, and your eyes turn to stone again as you face your ex-husband.

“I don’t know what kind of game you’re trying to play here, but quit it. You’re not getting her back,” you hiss. You turn on your heel and make your way up to where your girlfriend and daughter are ordering.

“I already ordered your coffee,” Melissa tells you with a kiss to the temple. She readjusts Ellie so she can grab her wallet from her pocket, but before she can insert the card, Jared is there handing over some money.

“I got this one,” he says cooly. “For my little girl, and my wife.”

There’s a fire in Melissa’s eyes, and before she can get anything out, Ellie pipes up. “You and Momma aren’t married anymore!”

Your mouth, along with Melissa’s and Jared’s, form into shocked faces. Your little girl is right.

“But thanks for breakfast anyway,” you laugh in his face. “Bye.”

You hope that he’ll just leave in anger, but he doesn’t. Instead, he turns his eyes even softer and his voice even smoother. “Well, I was hoping that I could maybe tag along to the park to spend some time with my little girl who I’ve missed so much.”

Fuck. Now he’s using Ellie against you, and you know your daughter will beg you to let him come.

“I missed you too, Daddy,” your daughter whispers softly, but she keeps her hold on Melissa.

“Not today, sweetheart,” the redhead says quietly as she runs a hand through your daughter’s hair. “Your momma isn’t feeling super well, so today is going to be an easy day.”

You nod along.

“Maybe another day this week then,” he shrugs. He isn’t giving up. “I’m here all week for a work conference.” With that, he kisses Ellie’s head, kisses your own, and then heads out.

A tense silence washes over Melissa and you as you wait for your coffees to finish being prepared. Ellie just hums to herself softly as she lays her head down on the redhead’s shoulder and fiddles with the ends of your girlfriend’s hair.

Your names are called, you grab the coffees, and make your way out to her car- you silently thank God that you won’t have to take the Septa now.

No words are spoken between you and your girlfriend for the entirety of the drive home, and when you make your way to your apartment, she turns for her own door.

“You aren’t coming in?” you ask quietly, and you hate the way that your voice breaks.

“I need ten minutes,” she says scarily calmly. “To change and collect myself.”

Fuck. She’s mad. Deciding that it’s best to give her the ten minutes she’s requested, you unlock your own front door and take Ellie to the kitchen table to enjoy her breakfast.

Tags (and let me know if you want to be included!): @schemmentis @thesapphictimelady @marvel210 @itisdoctortoyousir @morgana-larkin @thesamesweetie @doesthatsuggestanythingtoyou @marvels--slut @gwennybriggs @megamultifandomtrashposts @nothere1111 @lemz378 @http-sam @melissaschemmentisbranzino @imaginesmultifandoms @sexysapphicshopowner @lilfartbox1 @maybe-a-humanbean @imlike-so-gaydude

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justagalwhowrites · 6 months

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Halcyon - Prologue: Prom Night

Your best friend, Joel Miller, takes you to prom. The first chapter of Halcyon, a modern no outbreak AU TLOU fic found on Tumblr here.

Pairing: Joel Miller x Female Reader

Warnings: Modern No Outbreak AU, No use of Y/N, Slow burn, 18+ only, Minors DNI

Length: 3.7K

AO3

A/N: This fic is a modern no outbreak AU fic. All but this chapter will be set in 2022/2023

Austin, Texas

May, 2008

“I can’t believe you still have the keys to the press box!”

“Shhhh!” You hissed at your best friend as you climbed the stairs to the top of the stadium, the bottom of your blue satin prom dress clutched up around your thighs so you wouldn’t trip. “Just announce it so the whole school can hear why don’t you.”

“No one is over here,” you heard him roll his eyes. “Everyone is still at the dance there’s no one here to hear me. I just can’t believe golden girl Goldie didn’t return the keys…”

“Shove it.”

“Stealin’ shit,” he teased.

“Joel…”

“This is probably breaking and entering, you know,” he said cheerfully. “They can try us both as adults now since you caught up…”

“Fuck you, Miller.”

“Awfully adult language comin’ from that smart mouth…”

You rounded on him, taller than him for a change from your perch a few steps ahead.

“Didn’t you just say they could try us both as adults now that I’m 18, too?” You raised your eyebrows at him. He rolled his eyes. “Pretty sure that means I can swear. And if you’re not careful and I’ll shove you down these stairs…”

Joel scoffed.

“They’d try you as an adult for that, too.”

“Not once I testify about how annoying you are they won’t.”

He scoffed again. You turned back around and kept climbing the stairs.

“This view had better be worth it is all I’m saying,” he said, sounding short of breath.

“Oh quit your bitchin’,” you replied, hoping you didn’t sound breathless, too. “Which one of us is in heels?”

“Yeah, yeah.”

You made it to the top of the stadium and dropped the hem of your dress before selecting the large, utilitarian key from the keyring in your clutch, letting yourselves in.

The press box was dark and so was the field below. You gathered your dress again and made your way to the windows, the city lights beyond casting the desk against the glass in a warm glow.

“Damn,” Joel whispered, coming up alongside you and looking out at the view of the city.

“Told you,” you said, smug. But you were awed, too.

From here, you could see the Capitol all but glowing in the distance, the skyscrapers lit up along the Colorado River beyond, the UT tower standing tall.

“Never seen it without the stadium lights on,” you said quietly, looking out at the city. “Wanted to experience it at least once before I left.”

“See why,” Joel said, serious for a change. You could feel his eyes on you. “Can’t deny that view.”

You felt your cheeks get hot for a moment and Joel cleared his throat.

“So,” his teasing tone was back. “Could you even tell it was me playing from up here?”

“Oh sure,” you smirked, glancing at him for a second before pointing at the sideline. “You always rode the bench right there on the end…”

“Shut the fuck up,” he elbowed you lightly and you laughed.

“No, I could tell it was you,” you smiled up at him before looking back out at the field. He’d gotten so much taller since you’d first met him, shooting up half a foot over the span of a few months after you became friends in the first place. “Always head and shoulders taller than all the other jocks out there, spaghetti noodles for arms… Also the fact that you have a number on your shirt helped, you dork.”

He snorted and you looked back over at him again, the way the light fell on his skin. It was almost like he was glowing, too, like he was made up of everything on the horizon in front of you. He turned to look at you, smirking.

“Wanna drink?”

The two of you perched on the desk against the glass, facing out toward the city. You bunched the restrictive skirt around the top your thighs so you could actually move and Joel loosened his tie and unbuttoned the collar of his crisp white dress shirt before reaching into the pocket of his suit coat. He pulled out a flask wrapped in worn leather, the name Miller elegantly stamped into the front of it, and offered it to you.

“Fancy shit,” you said, taking it from him. You took a swig, cheap rum burning as it went down. You handed it back to him. “Where’d you get it?”

“It was my dad’s,” he said, looking at it for a second, his eyes tracing over the lettering before taking a drink himself. He flinched as it went down. “So was the rum, actually. Not sure what I’m gonna do once we burn through it all, my mom never buys the shit. Lucky for me that means she never checks it, either…”

You laughed a little. He held the flask back out. You took it.

“Yeah, that would not work in my house,” you said, taking a sip. “Even when we were living with my dad, my mom watched that shit like a hawk. Never had a chance. Now it’s just not allowed under her roof. That’ll be one perk to college, I suppose. Don’t have to dodge him and don’t have to hide the beer from her.”

You passed it back. He took it and took a sip before he wrapped his arms around his knees in front of him and sighed.

“So you’re really leavin’ huh?” He asked, looking over at you.

“Yup,” you nodded. “Getting the fuck out of this damn place.”

“So sorry to be such a let down,” he teased, but there was a hint of hurt in his voice.

“Hey,” you looked over at him. “You know you’re the only thing I have here that makes life worth living, right?”

“You’re just sayin’ that because I was willing to be your back up prom date,” he smirked. You rolled your eyes.

You weren’t joking when you said that. Joel was, easily, the best thing in your life. The only thing you’d really miss when you moved away to go to college.

When you’d moved across the city just before your sophomore year of high school, you’d expected it to be hell and you’d been right. The school you transferred to was cliquey and close knit. Everyone had known each other all their lives, they had their own groups and ways of doing things and you were an outsider, an interloper.

Which would have been fine if they’d have just let you keep to yourself, but they weren’t content with that, either. One of the guys at school grabbed your ass as you stood at your locker your second day of class and a friend of his girlfriend saw it. The girlfriend decided it was far better to hate you, the new girl, than actually confront her shit head boyfriend and you were suddenly stuck bearing the brunt of her toxic relationship’s misery.

That’s how you’d met Joel. This girl - fucking Hannah - had sicced her older brother and his friends on you. They had you pinned down against a stadium wall, your heart in your throat as you clutched your diary to your chest.

“Like tryin’ to take shit that ain’t yours?” The biggest boy - more man, really - said as he crowded in toward you. “Maybe I should…”

“Hey!”

The new voice was surprisingly deep, you half expected a teacher to come running over. Instead it was a boy about your age, baby fat still on his stomach and cheeks, his curls messy. But he didn’t move like a teenaged boy, he moved like a grown man who knew how to bend the world to his will. The others seemed to recognize it, parting like water, giving him a clear path to you.

“The fuck you doin’, Young?” He demanded. “Threatening some girl?”

“Fuck off, Miller,” he snapped. “Not you business.”

“Makin’ it my business,” the newcomer positioned himself in front of you. The first boy had a few inches on him and plenty of muscle but it didn’t seem to bother him. “Happy to make punching your fuckin’ face my business, too.”

“You think just because…”

“Think coach’ll let you play Friday if he finds out you were gonna hit a girl?” The boy cut him off. “Heard UT is already scoutin’, don’t think they’ll be interested in some jackass ridin’ the bench.”

The older boy glowered at him but, eventually, looked over him to you.

“Keep your hands off my sister’s boyfriend.”

You didn’t bother to fight him on the specifics of what happened. You weren’t sure you were able to speak to do it, anyway. Instead, you just nodded and clutched your diary tight to you. He nodded once, face stern, and stalked off with his posse, leaving just you and the other boy. He waited until he knew they were gone to turn to face you.

“You OK?” He asked, looking you up and down. You just nodded again. “Good. You really go after Hannah Young’s boyfriend?”

“No!” You said, your ability to speak almost surprising you. “I’m not going after anyone’s anything, he just grabbed my ass yesterday in the hall and…”

The boy laughed.

“I’m fucking with you, Goldie,” he smiled. “No one in their right mind would go after him. Bryce is a jackass and Hannah’s a dumbass. They’re a match made in heaven. I’m Joel.”

You frowned.

“Nice to meet you,” you said. “But my name isn’t Goldie…”

“Be a hell of a coincidence if it was,” he smirked and nodded at your diary, the cover gold glitter with an elastic loop holding a matching pen. “But sure seems like you like the color well enough.”

You looked down at the diary, your prized possession, the one thing that kept you sane. You wrote in it constantly, everything from your thoughts to what happened to you during the day to ideas for stories to poems. You filled up the notebooks that slipped into the gold cover in a matter of weeks, had stacks and stacks of them sitting in your closet at home. It had been the one thing you’d made sure you packed when leaving your dad’s house.

You looked back at Joel and gave him your name and he nodded, like he was considering it, trying to figure out if it suited you.

“You’re new,” Joel said after he’d apparently decided about your name. “Freshman?”

“Sophomore,” you said. “Just moved.”

“Me too!” He said, sounding a little excited. “Well, not just, we got here about 2 years ago now but feels like just. Everyone here has known each other since they were fuckin’ born. You get used to it.”

Joel showed you how to get into the stands even when the main gates were locked and sat with you, telling you the basics about the school, figuring out that you’d moved into an apartment complex that was only about a five minute walk from his house, learning that you both were excited about the new Curtis and Viper movie coming out in a few weeks.

“Have you watched the director’s commentary for the third one?” You asked. “It’s like that man thought they were making the next Citizen Kane, it’s hilarious…”

“Miller!”

Joel’s head snapped around to the field where a bunch of other boys in uniform were flooding out of the locker room and onto the turf.

“You just itchin’ to go on tour?”

“No Coach!” Joel said.

“Then get your ass dressed!” The man yelled. “Move it!”

Joel jumped up and waited for the coach to turn his back before turning back to you.

“What’s on tour mean?” You frowned. Joel laughed.

“He means runnin’ all the stairs in the stadium. His favorite punishment. If you wanna hang out for a bit, I can give you a ride after practice. I technically don’t have my license yet but I’m turning 16 in a few weeks and I already saved up for my truck and my mom’s so busy she’s just happy she doesn’t need to haul my ass around anymore.”

“Yeah,” you smiled. “Yeah, that would be great. Thank you.”

“Cool,” he smiled back.

“Miller!”

Joel flinched.

“Yeah, I gotta move my ass or it’s gonna get chewed out. But I’ll see you in a bit, Goldie!”

You watched him jump the railing at the base of the stands onto the track below, making you gasp and scramble to your feet to see if he was alright. But Joel was already jogging into the locker room when you made it to the end of the bleachers, like what he’d done was nothing at all.

The two of you had been inseparable ever since. He dropped you off that night and, the next morning, you opened your front door to find him there, playing his steering wheel like a snare drum with his fingers, like the plan had always been to pick you up and drive you to school. Even when you started working at the school paper and Joel made it to the first string of the football team you saw each other every day. You didn’t knock when you came to his house, you just let yourself in, his mom calling you Dorada - golden in Spanish - and telling Joel to listen when you tried to get him to study. Your little sister, Anna, had Joel wrapped around her finger to the point that he had a stash of fun sized candy bars in his locker that he’d raid before coming to your apartment so he had one to present to her.

Even when you started dating Steven, your now ex-boyfriend, you saw Joel all the time. Steven never seemed to like him much but, to his credit, didn’t seem threatened by Joel.

Which made sense. You knew better than to think Joel was interested in you that way. You were certain he saw you like a sister, like family. You weren’t someone he could look at and want. He was Joel Miller. He was handsome and funny and scored the winning touchdown in the playoff game that sent your school to the final. Boys like that weren’t interested in the girls who spent all their spare time with their nose in a book and tracked the GPAs of the other top students in the class to know where she fell in the fight for valedictorian. You were lucky he was friends with you at all. It didn’t matter how you felt about him, you weren’t about to press your luck.

But when Steven dumped you two weeks before prom and you showed up outside Joel’s last class with eyes that were red from tears, he jumped up, grabbed his backpack and just gave his teacher a wave before slinging his arm over your shoulder and guiding you to his truck.

“You know what’s so stupid?” You sniffed, perched on the gate of his truck as you poked at the Blizzard you’d gotten at Dairy Queen but couldn’t bring yourself to eat much of. “I think I’m more upset about the fact that now I can’t go to prom and I got the best dress for it. I know it’s insane but I was going to actually look kinda hot and I’ve never gone to a dance with a guy and…”

“Why can’t you go to prom?” Joel frowned, reaching his long, red spoon into your ice cream cup. You rolled your eyes and tilted it his direction.

“Because you can’t go by yourself,” you said. “That’s pathetic. Especially not when you just got dumped.”

“I’ll go with you,” Joel shrugged. “My mom keeps sayin’ that she thinks I could wear some of my dad’s old shit now, he had at least one suit.”

“I’m not about to ask you to cramp your style with the ladies by being my prom date,” you rolled your eyes. Joel had gone out on at least one date with every hot girl in your year and a few of the junior and sophomore girls, too. The longest anyone had lasted was Carly Smith, who held the prestigious title of Joel Miller’s almost girlfriend for 10 days and the three class periods before lunch when he told her he wasn’t interested before asking you if you wanted to run to Whataburger.

He scoffed.

“Not interested in any of them,” he said. “Setting my sights a little higher these days.”

“College girls?” You teased.

He laughed, reaching his spoon over for your ice cream again. You tilted it in his direction and shook your head a little as you did.

“Somethin’ like that,” he said. “C’mon. Let me take you. It’ll be fun and you can still wear the fancy dress.”

You ate another bite of your Blizzard, thinking for a second as you sucked on the spoon, the plastic edges sharp on your tongue.

“Alright Miller,” you said eventually. “Let’s do this thing. You and me at prom.”

“Gonna be fun, Goldie,” he said. “Promise.”

He was right. It had been fun. Really, really fun. Honestly, way more fun than you’d ever have with Steven, anyway. Joel picked you up in his suit that was a little big around the middle but actually fit his broad shoulders and long legs. He’d gotten his truck washed and he’d even vacuumed the inside and he came to your door with a corsage in a box that was still cool from being kept in his fridge until he came to get you. Your mom took pictures of the two of you together and you hoped you didn’t look as stupid as you felt when you posed with your hand on Joel’s chest, tucked against his side like a real date while your heart was beating so fast it felt like it was threatening to burst from your ribs. Your dress was long and sleek and fit you just right, highlighting the womanly curves you’d grown into through your teenaged years. Your mom styled your hair so that it was elegant but still framed your face just so and you spent an hour working on your makeup.

“Steven is gonna feel like a total fucking dumbass,” Joel said as he drove you to the hotel near campus where prom was being held. “You weren’t kidding about that dress.”

You laughed.

“You clean up pretty good yourself,” you said and he winked at you, making your heart flutter.

The two of you danced and laughed and you took silly pictures next to the over the top decorations with the disposable camera you’d bought just for the occasion.

But as prom wound down, Joel talked you into slow dancing with him, his hands warm and soft besides the callus he had from playing guitar and football on your exposed back. You had to fight to stay focused on the fact that it was Joel. He was your best friend, not your boyfriend. He was slow dancing with you because that was the nice thing to do when you took someone to prom, not because he was interested in you. Even though his eyes were on yours in a way that didn’t feel like was just to be nice and the way his fingers sank into your skin made it seem like it was more than just being nice.

“Wanna get out of here?” He asked quietly as the song wound down.

You tried to think of a place you could go that wouldn’t just be his truck or wouldn’t involve the two of you humoring Anna or his little brother, Tommy. For some reason, you wanted to be with just Joel.

“Yeah,” you nodded. “Think I know a place.”

You looked at the Capitol dome in the distance, the soft glow of it, and sighed.

“You don’t have to leave, you know,” Joel said quietly after a moment. “Could just go to UT. Shit, we could even be roommates, I’ve already got a job lined up…”

“If I stay I’m just going to get swallowed up by my mom’s needs and Anna’s and my dad is going to keep trying to fuck everything up…” you sighed. “And do you really think you’re going to move out? Or are you going to end up basically living at home so you can help your mom with Tommy?”

“I’d move out if it was with you,” he said.

You scoffed.

“Sure you would,” you said, incredulous. “Joel, I love you, but we both know you’d be right back at home the second Tommy acted out at school again.”

Joel sighed.

“He’ll get his shit together eventually,” he said. “It won’t be forever. Stay.”

“I can’t just be in one place my whole life,” you said softly, looking over at him. “I need to try to be someone somewhere that isn’t here.”

He sighed heavily.

“I know,” he took another drink. You scooted closer to him and rested your head on his shoulder, taking a deep breath as you just looked out the window a bit longer.

“I don’t know what I’m going to do without you,” you said softly after a few minutes.

“You’ll be fine,” he waved you off. “You’re the smart one, the one with the real skills and shit. You were always going to do great things, Goldie. Just liked being close enough to you to see you do it.”

You tilted your head just enough to see that he was looking at you, watching you, his brown eyes glistening in the hazy light of the city. You realized, suddenly, that you were close to him. Very close, so close that your nose brushed his cheek when you lifted your head from his shoulder, your eyes still on his. Your heart was pounding.

“Joel…” you breathed.

Your heart kept pounding as your best friend kissed you. It didn’t stop pounding for a while.

A/N: Welcome to Halcyon! This is a totally different kind of Joel Miller and I'm so excited to share him - and Goldie - with you all.

You can expect weekly updates as we watch these two try to navigate all the curve balls life throws their way.

Thank you thank you thank you for being here! Follow my updates account here and subscribe to get alerts when new chapters are posted.

I can't wait to go on this adventure with you all. Love you!!

#fanfic #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #slow burn #joel miller x oc #high school best friend!joel miller x you

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rosewaterandivy · 4 months

Text

dread the comin’ of the night

summary: “In summer's heat, I learned to dread, the comin' of the night / The awful things we do to make the head go quiet” from To Someone From A Warm Climate (Uiscefhuaraithe) - Hozier

w.c.: 1.5k

a/n: 😬😬😬

Cool water washed against your prickled skin, beads dropping in soft rivulets down the drain. It had long since lost its red tint, fading to a dusty pink and eventually running clear.

You didn’t know how long you’d been here.

You couldn’t recall how you’d gotten here.

Only that you were here and Eddie—

The door of the bathroom banged open to reveal a bloodied and battered Steve Harrington.

His eyes flit from the crumpled heap of blood-stained clothes on the tile, to the smeared trail your fingers took as you eased into the shower, finally landing on your prone form huddled underneath the spray of water.

”Are you—“ He begins before stuttering out into silence. Apparently, whatever he was about to say was of no use.

Instead, he takes a hesitant step toward the shower, fingers resting against the handle of the stall door. Eyes never leaving you, but simply assessing. Finding you rinsed clean of blood and shivering on the floor.

Wait, that can’t be right. The water was hot when he left you, the stall door fogged up with steam. But not any longer, he can see clean through now, can hear the chattering of your teeth.

”Fuck,” He scrubs a hand down his face at the realization.

How could he be so fucking stupid. Leaving you alone? After everything?

The door yanks open, bringing a push of cool air against your chilled skin. A large hand moves to turn off the tap, muttered curses falling from bitten and bloody lips. An arm weaves across your back, another scoops under your knees.

You don’t look up. You don’t react.

Carried down the hall and through a large bedroom, Steve deposits you on a tufted stool and warps you in a towel. You see his lips moving, but whatever he says is lost on you, a staticky sound filling your ears.

He turns and fusses with the taps on the bathtub, fingers running underneath the flow from the faucet, the water coming away tinged red. Deeming it a decent temperature, he plugs the drain and turns to you once more.

You remain immobile on the stool, back to his mother’s vanity table. Steve knows something is wrong, hell, everything is wrong, sees how you clutch the edge of the seat, but you’re not saying anything and you’ve got this far off look in your eye like—

He softly calls your name, “I’m coming to you, alright? Just stay there.”

A solitary nod is all you can give him in the two strides it takes Steve to reach you. He wraps the towel around you, settling it against your shoulders and tugging it tight. Collapsing into his arms before he gets the chance to lock them around, you press your face into his shoulder, scrubbing your brow against the smooth leather.

His hand cradles the nape of your neck, damp hair tangling in his fingers. His thumb rubs in soothing arcs against your skin, a steady pressure against the pounding of your skull.

Your teeth still chatter as you shiver in the balmy air.

Reluctantly, he parts from you to test the water and turn the taps off. Turns back to find the towel slipping from your shoulder again. Gently, Steve holds your hand in his, takes one step and then another leading you to the hot bath he’s prepared.

Tentatively, you step into the water, steam rising from the basin and let a hiss escape from your clenched teeth. Before he can offer to change the temperature, you slip into the tub, hair fanning out in tendrils against the water.

Steve knew you were beautiful. Had seen it year in and year out until you’d gone off to college last fall. But he’d never seen you like this, not even at the senior bonfire last year. Slipping off your shirt and shorts on the dock of Lover’s Lake, the moon seeming to shine from your skin. A screech as you and the other girls jumped into the chilled water, eyes dancing with mischief as you dared the boys to do the same.

But tonight you’re distant— eyes vacant and searching, voice a far memory he’d rather not recall despite it rattling around his skull.

He makes to leave, or at least give you some privacy. A clammy hand tugs at his own, nails digging into his skin.

“Don’t leave me,” You beg, raspy and low. He’d only heard that gravel in your voice once before.

He stays. Shucks his jacket and settles against the cool basin of the tub. Your hand never strays far from his, desperate for a point of contact for proof that he’s there and he’s real. Heart shattering at the sound of your grief, infrequent sniffles accompanied by tears spilling from your eyes and drying along your cheeks.

For lack of something to do, Steve does what he can. Squirts a dollop of shampoo into his hand and works it into your scalp. He feels you tense at the movement, unaccustomed to his touch. Knows it’s not familiar for you, and bites his cheek.

It’s silent in the master bathroom, save for the occasional sloshing of water and sound of the shampoo sudsing up in a lather. You lean forward before he can ask you to, his hands full with your hair. Drawing your legs to your chest, your chin rests against your knees.

And Steve knows he should say something, anything to comfort you. But he lacks the words, couldn’t possibly articulate how sorry he is for you and Eddie getting tangled up in all of this. How could he be of any solace when your best friend is gone, and it’s all Steve’s fault?

Your head dips beneath the water to wash the suds from your hair. As you surface, you rub your fingers against your eyes, lashes coming away wet. Your hand links itself inside of his as you tug him toward the soapy water.

”What’re you—“

”Steve,” You say and he savors the sound as it falls from your lips.

The water moves in small ripples as your fingers dance along his palm, as if you were measuring your hand against his, and he finds himself remembering something about pilgrims and palms.

A flush creeping along your skin, another time and another place. Lips, teeth, tongue, and the lilting sound of your voice:

“For saints have hands that pilgrims’ hands do touch, and palm to palm is holy palmers’ kiss.”

But now, your chin is tucked into the hollow space of your collarbone and shoulder, eyes clear and steady.

”You’ve always been so good,” A loud sniffle, a choke.

A shake of his head and your eyes turn cold, your grip tightens on his wrist.

”Don’t you fucking dare, Steve.”

Desperate, again.

”Okay,” He breathes, eyes trailing after your fingers as they dance along his arm. “I won’t.”

Mollified, you let out a sigh and slip your hand from his. Back sinking against the tub, Steve works some conditioner through the ends of your hair. He’s not sure how long you languish in the cooling bath water, opting for a quick shower to scrub himself off.

When he steps out, he finds the bath drained and you back on the stool. It doesn’t startle him, seeing you there. He scrubs the towel through his hair before wrapping it around his hips and stepping toward you.

Somewhere between Steve washing your hair and stepping into the shower, your eyes had grown wet and glassy again.

“What is it?” His hand rubs your jaw, tugs it gently upward until he can see your eyes crawling with veins and lined in red, puffed, swollen. As if you’d never stopped crying.

Steve’s heart breaks with dread when he thinks about why your face split open in acute grief. His tongue feels heavy, laden with lead, always falling short of the right thing to say.

You’ve burrowed into his chest, trying to tuck yourself away in his arms. The fabric of an old Tigers shirt rubbing against his damp skin. Your lashes wet against his neck, tears falling along red raised skin.

“Can we go to bed?” You sob suddenly, shivering in his hold. “Please, I can’t—“

“Sure,” He murmurs, one hand cradling your head. Quiets your rambling and tucks you in bed. You grip his collar and tangle your hands in his hair, press your forehead against his.

Holds you in an attempt to tend to your own heartbreak, clutches you tight rubbing his hands up and down your arms, as if you could sink into his chest. Stay safe inside of him where the pain couldn’t find you.

It’s silent after you distraughtly sobbed yourself to sleep. Steve trying and failing to alleviate your distress. He can hear the crickets and cicadas outside the window, coming alive in the night.

He watches the way you bend and fold in on yourself, curling like a wounded animal. Wonders if you're lost in memories of hands that are more careful than his.

Eventually, Steve turns away too, runs his hand through his hair, and worries himself to sleep in the inky dark.

#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington fanfic

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thefatedthoughtofyou · 2 months

Text

A Sweatervest and Squeaky Shoes

Gator Tillman x Kirby Rivers (OC)

[ Kirby's Bio ] [ Part One ] [ Part Two ]

♤ Summary: Kirby sneaks into the hospital to see Gator after everything that happens at the ranch.

♤ Warnings: canon x oc paring, nonbinary/trans oc, oc uses he/they pronouns, mentions of Gators torture, blind Gator

♤ A/N: once again for you my dearest! @jozstankovich 💚 Reblogs and comments are cherished and loved! 💖🍒💖

♤♤♤♤

Kirby's shoes squeak against the shiny hospital floor, he winces, runs his hands down his front for the millionth time since he left home. They feel ridiculous, a fucking sweatervest over the one, semi nice, t-shirt they have. He huffs, takes a deep breath, and ducks into the elevator.

It hadn't been hard to find out Gator's floor and room number. All the FBI agents milling about weren't exactly quiet. The issue would be getting into the room.

Kirby's fingers drum against his pant leg, his only nice pants as well. Black jeans, a little baggy, but they looked nice with the outfit. He tugs at the neckline of his shirt, uncomfortable, always are when they're wearing so many fucking clothes.

The doors slide open and Kirby pops his head out first. Checking both ways like he's crossing the street. Nobody there. Not a nurse or doctor in sight. He steps out, aims for casual as he walks down the hall, following the signs to the room number he'd overheard.

The nurses station is empty as well. The first person he sees is the gaurd on the door when he peeks around the corner. Kirby drops their head against the wall.

"Fuck." He breathes, his eyes move down the hall and land on the still empty nurses station. He runs back to it, hears footsteps behind him and ducks behind the desk.

He watches the guard walk around the corner and down the hall they'd come from.

"I'm headin down now." The man says into the radio on his shoulder. The radio crackles, Kirby doesn't understand what's said, but hears the man's response.

"Oh who cares if the door isn't guarded for ten fuckin minutes. Where's he gonna go? He's can't fuckin see. He ain't goin anywhere. I'm comin down." He's annoyed, Kirby hears the elevator doors open, and then close. They shoot back to their feet and run, their shoes squeaking the whole way. He rounds the corner too fast and nearly falls, runs into the wall and rights himself before jogging the last few steps to the door.

"Ten minutes." Kirby whispers to himself, rests his hand on the doorknob, just now realizing it might be locked. His heart pounding in his chest, he rests his head against the door, digs his teeth into his lip, and presses down.

The handle moves. Kirby nearly yells in celebration but hunches his shoulders and holds it in, pushes the door open the smallest possible amount, and quietly ducks inside. He turns once he's in, rests his back against the door, tries to catch his breath.

But his eyes adjust to the dark quickly, and he sees the curain pulled around the bed. His stomach twists, his heart kicking back up again. Their hands are sweating, they wipe them on their pants and take a few small, squeaky, steps forward.

"Who's there?" Gator's voice. He sounds scared, Kirby hears rustling as he moves on the hospital bed.

"It's me." Kirby says, his voice small to his own ears, and he realizes that might not be enough.

"K-Kirby?" His voice falters and shakes and it pulls Kirby forward. They move fast, ducking under the curtain, nearly getting tangled when they stand back up. His hands find the foot of Gator's bed and he pulls himself up, swats at the curtain until it falls away from his shoulders and then he turns.

Gator's eyes are covered, bright white bandages wrapped around his head. His hair is no longer neat and slicked back, strands falling into his face where they've come loose. There's dirt, and blood, Kirby's sure, staining the skin of his face and hands.

Kirby hears the whimper that leaves him, his hands clutching his stomach as he takes a few steps around the bed. Gator's head turns with the sounds of his shoes. And seriously what the fuck was on his shoes that was making them do that?

"Yeah." Kirby finally says,

"It's me." Their voice soft. Gator listens to the last few steps, and then hangs his head.

"How'd you get in here?" He asks, his fingers, dirty and bloodstained around the nails, pick at the sheets. Kirby swallows, hard, wipes at the tears falling over his cheeks.

"I uh," he clears his throat, tries again,

"I snuck past the guard. He went downstairs. Someone else is comin up I guess. Ten minutes." He repeats the time again, glances at the door, has no idea how long it's been. Gator nods, slowly.

"You'll be in trouble if they catch you in here." He's frowning, Kirby can see his eyebrows drawing down, pressing into the bandages.

"I've been in trouble before." Kirby says, teeth worrying into his lip, their hand twitches toward Gator, fingers jumping and dancing near his leg.

"Not this kinda trouble." Gator says, turns his head away, stubborn as always. Kirby huffs, grabs the chair by the bed and drags it loudly across the floor, scoots it close to Gator's bed and throws himself into it.

"I don't care! Gator. I just-" he sniffles, wipes at his face again.

"I saw the ranch on the news. They said people were dead." Kirby bites at the last word, takes a deep shaking breath he knows Gator can hear. Gator drops his head back onto the pillow behind him.

"I'm not dead." He sighs, fingers twitching on the bed sheets, and Kirby can't take it, he reaches out and grabs Gator's hand, presses his palm flat over the back of it, curls his fingers under and holds on. The rough material of the cast presses deep into his skin, he doesn't care, barely feels it. Just feels the skin underneath.

"I can see that. And I knew that. They said- they said you gave him up. Roy. On the news. They said a lot of other stuff. But I didn't really hear it." He cleared his throat again, another sniffle.

"Are you cryin?" Gator asks, his hand pressing up into Kirby's.

"No." Kirby denys immediately, watches the corner of Gator's mouth twitch.

"Shut up." He says, squeezes Gator's hand.

"I'm okay." Gator whispers it, turns his hand under Kirby's and slides his fingers between theirs, the best he can.

"Are you? What happened? Did your dad do this to you?" Kirby sniffles again, drags his free hand under his nose and keeps his eyes on Gator's face. He shakes his head slowly, his messy hair bunching up against the pillow.

"Not him. Same guy who did this." He wiggles his arm genlty, his hand clenching Kirby's as he moves it.

"Wh- I don't- why?" Kirby stammers, hates when he does that. Scrunches his face up at the bad memories of stammering through school, and rubs at his eye, pushing his knuckle deep for a distraction.

"Cuz I fucked up. I couldn't let it go." His lip wobbles, Kirby watches him pull it between his teeth and slam his head back into the pillow, once, hard.

"Hey! Don't. Just- don't do that." Kirby's on his feet now, his hand on Gator's head, moving some of his hair away from his face.

"I'm so fuckin stupid. I just couldn't let it go. And he fucking left me there. He just left me." His voice is strained now, Kirby can see his throat clenching. They bite their own lip, watching Gator's face, can he cry like that? Is there even anything behind the bandages to cry.

Kirby swallows around the fire in their throat and leans down, tucks their head against Gator's neck. He feels Gator's arms move around him slowly. His cast hard against their back, his other hand on their shoulder, gentle, moving slow, so he doesn't dislodge the IV in his hand.

"You're not stupid. You're just- so fucking stubborn Gate." Kirby sniffles again, rubs his tears and his nose on Gator's shoulder and pulls back. Gator's hand moves down his arm as they pull away, not wanting to stop touching him. Kirby doesn't ask who left him. Doesn't need to.

Kirby sees the small smile fade as Gator sits there. They move their fingers over his forhead, then along the bottom of the bandages. Kirby cups his face, smiles when Gator leans into the touch.

"Thanks for comin to see me." He mumbles, his casted hand moving to cover Kirby's, genlty, pulling it away from his face. He rests their tangled hands on the bed again as Kirby sits back down.

"Wild dogs couldn't have kept me away." Kirby sniffles again, but his chest feels lighter, with Gator in front of him, awake. Alive.

"What about a room full of spiders?" Gator asks, his finger pressing into Kirby's palm, just feeling him, touching him.

"Oh fuck that. You would'a been on your own sir." Kirby tells him, matter of fact. The laugh that bursts out of Gator makes Kirby smile so big his cheeks burn, tears falling again as Gator snorts and rubs at his nose carefully, shaking his head gently.

"Gee thanks." He says, voice flat.

"Hey. I got past the wild dogs man. Okay? I tried. I did my best." Kirby teases, bites his lip. Pulls Gator's hand to his mouth and kisses across his knuckles. His stomach fluttering when Gator presses his fingers into his lips, moves them up to his cheek, his thumb moving over Kirby's lips in their place.

"Seriously." Gator says, his head leaning forward.

"Yeah. Anytime. Told you I'd be there for you." Kirby shrugs, knows Gator can't see it. It doesn't matter.

"Are you- will you be able to see? When those come off?" Kirby asks, they pull Gator's hand back down, resting on the bed again. Gator's fingers twitch in his hold, he sniffs loudly, his other hand moving to fiddle with the bottom of the bandages resting on his cheek.

"They don't know yet. Not for sure. Said my left eye looked promising. Whatever that means." He shrugs, leans his head back again, sighing deep in his chest.

"I think it's what they say when they mean it's better than nothing." Kirby shrugs too, their eyes glued to Gator's face, their fingers twitch against the bedding. Curiosity burning under the surface.

"What did he do? Exactly. To your eyes?" Kirby blurts, cringes when Gator turns his head toward him slowly.

"Sorry. Don't- you don't have to- answer that. Sorry." Kirby frowns down into their lap, shaking their head at themselves.

"He heated a knife in a fire and cut my eyes out. Or... he tried too. Guess he missed the left one." Gator's voice is emotionless.

"Jesus christ. What- fuck." Kirby says, oh so eloquently. Gator snorts, nods.

"Yeah. That sums it up pretty well." He says, noding again, his mouth a tight line.

"I shouldn't have asked." Kirby says, voice quiet.

"You wouldn't be you if you didn't." He says, quiet, Kirby's head whips up, there's a small tilt to Gator's mouth, like he wants to smile. Hell, that is a smile for him.

"Yeah?" Kirby asks, smiling, feeling giddy. Gator's not mad. Not mad that he can't control his fucking mouth. Gator nods, gives Kirby's hand a squeeze.

"Wish I could see you." He sighs, head falling back again.

"Oh yeah? How come? I haven't changed much in three days." They tease, teeth digging into their lip. Their cheeks feeling warm at the thought, that Gator wants to see them.

"Just tryin to image the looks people gave you when you walked in." Gator muses, his head turning, toward Kirby, even though he can't see them.

"What do mean?" Kirby frowns.

"Your clothes aren't usually hospital appropriate, is all." He shrugs again. Kirby makes an offended noise in his throat.

"I have nice clothes ya know? I'm actually dressed quiet well, currently. Thank you very much." Kirby scoffs, yanks his hand away from Gator's and crosses his arms over his chest. He watches Gator smile, can tell he's doubtful, even without the normal look in his eyes.

"Oh yeah? What'er you wearing?" He asks, voice teasing already. Kirby looks down at himself, at the sweatervest he immediately regretted, and grimaced.

"Umm ya know what? That's not- that's neither here nor there. I'm here. With you. That's really all that matters." Kirby rambles, pats at Gator's hand. He chuckles, grabs for Kirby's hand and misses.

"Are you wearing something embarrassing?" Gator asks, smile on his face.

"You have to tell me if you are. I'm wounded. It's only fair." His hand reaches toward Kirby. They scoff again, tucking their legs up under them on the chair.

"How's that fair? I didn't wound you!" He swats at Gator's hand gently as he laughs.

"C'mon. Tell me what you're wearing." Gator pushes, his voice all curled at the edges and sweet. Kirby sighs.

"Ughh. At least buy me dinner first." Kirby mutters, scrambling around in the chair til his knees are tucked up under his chin, Gator's eyebrow twitches up, clearly amused.

"I'm wearing a sweatervest okay? Do not laugh! It's from one of my foster moms and it's very cozy. Okay? So just, hush it." Kirby points at Gator, accusingly. Gator can't see it, but he raisies his hands in surrender anyway.

"What color is it?" Gator asks, biting his lip.

"It's like a blue grey color. With black and white argyle down the front?" Kirby looks down at himself, smoothes his hands down his chest again, his feet falling to the floor.

"What's- which ones argyle?" Gator asks, frowning.

"The diamonds." Kirby tells him. He nods, seems to think for a second.

"Is it soft?" He's worrying his lip between his teeth again.

"Yeah. Here." Kirby stands, walks the two steps to the bed and takes Gator's hand, moves it to rest on his stomach. Gator's brows twitch again, suprised at the softness against his skin.

"I got a black t-shirt on under it." Kirby mumbles, ignores the way Gator pressing his fingers into his stomach makes him feel hot. More hot than all the fucking clothes he's wearing.

"And just some black jeans. No holes or nothin in 'em." Kirby scratches at the back of their neck, watches Gator pull the materal of the vest between his fingers, then watches him smooth it back down. His hand presses to Kirby's stomach again and he ducks away with an awkward giggle, rubbing at the spot Gator's hand had touched.

"Sorry. Ticklish." Kirby explains, grabs at the chair and scoots it a bit closer, til his legs hit it and he falls into it.

"Figures." Gator sighs.

"What?" Kirby frowns.

"The one time I can't see you, you're actually wearing clothes." Gator shakes his head.

"I wear... clothes." Kirby drawls, knows it's only a half truth, really, at best. Gator snorts a laugh.

"Sure ya do. Pretty sure this the first time you've ever worn an actual shirt around me." Gator says, the eyeroll is implied.

"You got a problem with my clothes man?" Kirby asks, tucks one knee up under his chin, smiles when Gator moves his head toward him again.

"No. I'm just sayin, ya know, just my luck that I can't see ya when there's nothin to look at." Gator's fingers move nervously against the sheets, tapping out random little rhythms.

"I mean not that I was... lookin. I'm just- just sayin." He sighs deeply, turns his head away as his cheeks and neck turn red. Kirby bites their lip.

"I saw you looking Gator." Kirby says, through a smile, presses his lips to his knee when Gator turns back to him.

"What? When? I thought I was bein subtle." Gator scratches at his cheek, his fingers brushing the edge of the bandages again.

"You weren't. At all. Like, not even a little." Kirby shakes their head at him.

"I saw you looking like, the second time you came to me for weed dude. It's why I invited you inside." Kirby tells him, chin resting on his knee now, he sees Gator's eyebrows jump up his forehead.

"What did you- did you think somethin was gonna happen?" Gator asks, sounding scandalized. Kirby laughs, shakes his head.

"No. But I figured inviting you in might make you relax. Get your hands out of your pockets and your shoulders down from around your ears. You were so tense man." Kirby chuckles at the memory.

"I didn't know if it was because you were buying weed. Or because of me." They sigh.

"Saw you lookin and figured maybe it was cuz of me. Or maybe it was both. Either way, inside was away from prying eyes." Kirby shrugs, reaches out and takes Gator's hand again.

"I didn't mind you looking. Just- wasn't sure what you were thinkin when you were." They squeeze Gator's hand, he squeezes back.

"I wasn't sure at first. I mean I wasn't- that's not something- that's allowed. In my house." Gator shakes his head. Kirby nods.

"I know. That's why I never did anything. Or said anything. I figured- if you wanted to do something about it, I'd just let you." Kirby turns Gator's hand in his, his fingers walking over the cast, moving to his arm and up his shoulder.

"Let you go at your own pace. Find your own way." Kirby scratches at Gator's shoulder and then drags his hand back down his arm, Gator sighs, leans into the touch.

"I'm just glad I figured it out." Gator mumbles, rubs at his nose.

"Glad I was brave enough to do somethin about it. That night. After the lake." Gator smiles, his body relaxing into his bed more.

"Me too." Kirby smiles, watches Gator for a moment.

"I should go. Let you get some rest. Are they- are they taking you away?" He'd been afraid to ask, his voice shaking a little, his heart picking up again.

"Yeah. Don't know how long. But my step mom. Or- my old step mom. Nadine. Or- she's goes by Dorthy now. Dot. She's- she said she'd visit. Bring me cookies. Anything else I need too." Gator shrugs, tries to play it off. Kirby sees his chest flutter, watches his lip wobble.

"I'll come visit too. Everyday if you want? I'll visit so much you'll get sick'a me." Kirby perks up, scoots forward in his chair, perched on the edge like a bird. Gator frowns, his hand going still in Kirby's.

"You'd come visit?" He sounds uncertain, like he thinks it might be a trick.

"Course I would. Snuck in here to see ya didn't I?" Kirby assures him, watches Gator's lip tremble again before he drags his teeth over it, he nods, swallows hard.

"Okay. Th-thanks." Gator stammers, Kirby opens their mouth to answer but the door clicking open cuts him off. Gator squeezes his hand, hard, Kirby's eyes are locked on where the door would be if there was no curtain.

"Shit." He breathes, barely makes a sound.

"Don't you worry. I won't be a minute." A woman's voice says, high and thick with that accent Kirby's come to enjoy so much. He moves his eyes to Gator when he loosens his grip. The door clicks shut again. Footsteps, coming toward them. The curtain pulls to the left and brings them face to face with a small mousy woman. Her eyes widen when they land on Kirby.

"Oh. Hey there." She says, easy, her suprise fading fast. She glances at the door, then back to Kirby.

"You sneak in during the shift change?" She asks, voice lowered. Kirby swallows, nods, too frightened to speak. She nods back, gives him an adorable smile.

"That was my plan too if they wouldn't let me in." She scrunches her face, her eyes land on Kirby and Gator's hands, their fingers still laced together, Kirby pulls their hand free quickly, shoves both hands into his lap.

"You a friend'a Gator's?" She asks, sweetly, as she moves around the other side of the bed.

"This is Kirby Na- sorry. Dorthy." Gator grimaces at his mistake. The woman doesn't seem to notice, just smiles at him, and then at Kirby, her hand moving to Gator's head, fingers dragging smoothly through his hair.

"It's a pleasure to meet ya Kirby. I'm Dorthy. Gator's... Gator's friend too." She hesitates, her eyes dropping to Gator's face and then back to Kirby.

"I saw you on the news ma'am." Kirby says, manners from a foster home long gone kicking in. She smiles at him again, and it's soft, and warm, and feels safe.

"Oh yeah? I'm sure I looked a mess." She shakes her head, laughs a little.

"You looked fine. Looked nice. Just- looked like a mom." Kirby shrugs, and she had. She'd looked a little rough around the edges, but ultimately, she'd looked like a mom, trying to get back to her kid.

"Well that's sweet of ya to say." She waves him off, looks back to Gator, her hand still in his hair.

"There gonna be takin him in about ten minutes. I just wanted to say goodbye. Til I see ya again." She leans down, kisses Gator's forhead. He smiles, nods, his teeth embedded in his lip so hard Kirby's worried it'll bleed. He's trying not to cry. Can't speak because of it.

"If you give me five minutes I'll distract 'em so you can sneak out. If ya want?" She's looking at Kirby again. He stares, doesn't mean to, but she's... odd. In a good way. Like she understands things, sees things the way Kirby does sometimes.

"Okay. I mean yeah that'd be- thanks." Kirby nods. She nods back, kisses Gator's head one more time, walks around the bed to Kirby.

"It's very nice to meet you Kirby." There's a weight to her words that Kirby feels deep in his chest. She doesn't know him, doesn't know them at all, but she means it. Kirby reaches out, takes her hand, shakes.

"You too ma'am. Really." He stands, she smiles, tugs him into a quick hug, just a tight squeeze, and then she's gone. The door shutting slowly behind her. When Kirby turns back, Gator is reaching for him, casted hand outstretched. Kirby grabs it immediately, crowds close to him on the bed.

"You gotta go." Gator whispers, pulling Kirby's hand to his chest.

"I know. I don't wanna." Kirby breathes, his head dropped to Gator's shoulder.

"Will you do me a favor? Before you go?" Gator asks, his voice shaking, Kirby can feel him trembling.

"Of course. What is it?" They ask, leaning up so they can see him. Gator's head is turned towards him, if he could see, he wouldn't be looking quite at him, just off to the side.

"Will you kiss me?" He licks his lips.

"I mean like really kiss me. So I know what it's like? So I get to have that? With you. Before I go." His head droops, his shoulders shake, Kirby thinks he might be crying, best he can. They take a deep breathe, and reach out, cupping Gator's face and tilting it up again.

"I'll kiss you anytime you want." Kirby whispers, breathes it like a promise against Gator's lips and then kisses him. Slow and deep. Gator clings to him, both hands fisted in the back of his shirt, pulling them closer. He whines into Kirby's mouth and groans when he pulls away.

"Any time you want." He breathes again, teeth dragging over Gator's bottom lip as he pulls back. Gator chases his lips, leans forward and groans again when Kirby presses their hand to his chest, stopping him.

"I'm gonna miss you." Gator breathes, and it sounds broken, his voice wrecked.

"Naw, you won't. I'm gonna be there every day 'memeber?" He moves his hand up, from Gator's chest to his hair, moves his fingers into it, scratches them against Gator's scalp and smiles when he hums, presses into the touch.

"You'll be sick'a me in no time." Kirby leans down, presses another quick kiss to his lips. He sees Gator open his mouth, to argue, he's sure. When they hear a crash in the hall, voices yelling, moving away from the door.

"That's my cue. I'll see you soon Gate. Real soon." Kirby squeezes his shoulder and moves away, keeping his eyes on Gator til he's at the door. Gator's hand raises in a wave, his fingers wiggling over his cast as the other hand presses to his lips. Kirby smiles, tears falling down his cheeks, and ducks out the door.

He steps into chaos, Dorothy is down the hall a bit, laying on the floor, hand to her head. The gaurd on Gator's door and three nurses surround her. She meets his eyes through the guards legs and winks. He nods to her, still smiling, and bolts down the hall, his shoes screeching against the tiles as he runs and runs, ducking into the elevator and out of sight.

#gator tillman #gator tillman x kirby rivers #gator x kirby #oc: kirby rivers #gator tillman x oc #gator tillman x original character #my ocs #my writing #mine #my fic #making them a ship name now cuz i think its funny are you ready!?!?!#rivergator #get is cuz gators ... its fine I'll go. hahaha

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miyuhpapayuh · 1 year

Text

17. Meetings.

A week later.

"I'm glad she apologized to you. She doesn't like admitting when she's wrong." Stevie laughs, fixing the collar on Rod's shirt.

Both Stevie's parents and Rod's mom decided to finally sit down and get acquainted. The pair were a little apprehensive at first, but figured now's a better time than any.

"She's funny. I didn't notice that, when I first met her," he jokes, earning a rough smack on his arm.

"You and these jokes." She heads over to her full length mirror and smoothes her hands over her crème colored pants and fixes the collar on her silk, olive button-down.

"What shoes should I wear?" She asks, kneeling down in her closet.

"I know you wanna wear heels, so grab the black ones." She laughs and grabs the shoes, sitting at the foot of her bed.

"Gimme your foot, girl." She hands him a shoe and he slides it on her foot, lacing it up just the way she likes, before doing the other.

Pulling her to her feet, he smooths his hands over her bone straight hair. "You look beautiful." He kisses her forehead.

"Thank you, handsome. I might have to fight a bitch with how good you look, though." He chuckles, pulling her to him by her waist.

"No need for all of that, babygirl— as much as I'd love to see you beat some ass." She rolls her eyes and gives him a once over; dark green dress shirt, black slacks and matching dress shoes.

"You should let me dress you, more often."

"Why, so we can match all the time?" He asks.

She hums a laugh, shaking her head. "No, silly. You just look really good."

"You comin' at the way I dress, girl?" He asks in faux hurt.

"Boy," she rolls her eyes and grabs her clutch, walking out of the room. "Come on."

"Don't walk away from me, girl."

"You're being annoying." She heads downstairs.

"I listen to you, when you're being annoying." He throws back as she starts laughing.

"We're gonna be late and you just keep on playing."

"Keep on and ima make us real late." He throws her a wink.

"Ugh," she unlocks the door and pushes him out of it, grabbing her key off the table to lock up.

Forty-five minutes later...

"What's taking them so long?" Victoria asks, taking a sip of her champagne.

"The traffic's pretty bad out there," Viv adds, "I'm sure they'll be here, any minute."

And soon enough, the couple come waltzing into the restaurant, still bickering like a married couple as they approach the table.

"Hush!— hey, guys!" Stevie greets everybody with a hug and kiss.

Rod hugs his and Stevie's mom and watches as Stevie's dad stands to greet him. "It's nice to see you again, son." Gene holds his hand out for Rod to shake.

"It's nice to see you again, too." They shake hands and take their seats; Stevie across from her mom and Rod across from her dad, while his mom sits at the end of the table, right beside him.

"Sorry it took us so long. The traffic was backed up on main." Rod explains, fixing the collar of his shirt.

"That's what I told them," Viv adds.

"You did." Gene replies. "So, kids... how's everything?"

"Everything's good. School's good,"

"Job's good," Rod adds.

"We're really good." They both smile, subconsciously.

"Awww," their moms coo, causing them to laugh. Gene offers a soft smile, seeing his daughter shine with happiness.

"Six months in, yeah?" He asks.

"Yes sir."

"You love her?"

"With all my heart," he pats her knee, "I really do."

"You love him?" He nods in Stevie's direction.

"He aight." She giggles, covering her face as Rod gives her a stale expression. She pats his arm, shaking her head.

"You know I love you, boy!" She says through her laughing fit.

The waiter comes to the table, making his way around for everybody's drink order.

"How's the poetry coming, darling?" Viv asks Stevie.

"I actually wrote a couple pieces, a few days ago. This one keeps encouraging me to get on stage, but—"

"But, what?" Gene asks.

"I don't think I'm ready. You know how I was the last time I got on a stage. I completely choked."

"Stevie, you were twelve." Victoria adds. "That was almost ten years ago."

"Right, and I puked my entire life in the girls' bathroom."

"Was that really the last time you were doing your poetry?" Rod asks with a raised eyebrow.

"Performing it, yeah. I have the worst case of stage fright."

"Why didn't you tell me? I feel like I've been pressuring the hell outta you, now."

"No, don't do that. You didn't know."

"Why didn't you tell me?" He asks, again.

"Well, I just started opening up about my writing. It's not that easy to just come out and talk about it. It's a personal thing for me."

"Well, I'm glad that you're letting me in." He leans to kiss her cheek, causing the butterflies in her stomach to swarm like crazy.

"You two are so in love, it's insane." Victoria exclaims, watching her daughter's face flush a slight red.

Stevie softly rubs her thumb against the back of Rod's hand, smiling like an idiot.

"Cut it out, please."

The waiter comes back with everyone's drinks and begins taking their orders, giving Stevie a slight break.

Fortunately for her, the attention is placed on Rod.

"If you don't mind my asking, what are your plans for the future, just in general." Gene asks.

"Well, I'm currently assistant manager at Lee's, but I plan on being bumped up to manager before I'm twenty-five."

"Why a hardware store?"

"When I was little, I used to always be the one to help my mom around the house. Unclog drains. Watching the professionals fix the pipes and the gutters and it always fascinated me."

"Your father wasn't around?"

"Dad.," Stevie warns.

"It's fine, baby, it's just a question." Rod assures her. "And, no.. he wasn't around."

"I'm sorry to hear that, but from what I see, you turned out great, without him." Rod gives a flat smile in return, pulling at his collar.

"Thank you, sir." He looks over at his mom, who's still got a smile on her face.

"I'm proud of you." She says.

"Thanks, ma."

Stevie glances at her mom, who's full on staring at her with a weird look in her eyes.

"Ma... you okay?"

"Are you pregnant?" Stevie's eyes almost pop out of their sockets as Rod looks between the two, with an equally surprised look on his face. Viv brings her water up to her lips.

"What?"

"Cause, you definitely have the glow going on... your hair is very shiny, too. You look like I did when I was pregnant with you."

"I'm n-not pregnant." She stammers.

Gene's stern eye catches Rod, but quickly softens as a look of panic washes over the young man's face.

"Are you sure? You did say that you felt nauseous last week." Rod adds.

"I'm positive.. besides, we're not ready for a child— we're still children, ourselves!" She whisper-yells.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said anything." Her mom quickly apologizes.

"No, ma. It's fine."

"You think he'll like me?" Rod asks, driving down the street per her direction.

"Yes, babe. He's gonna love you, simply because I do." She hums as her thumb glides over his jaw.

"Okay.," he sighs, slightly gripping the steering wheel. She stares at him with a furrowed brow.

"Are you nervous?" He comes to a red light and glances at her.

"Honestly? Yeah."

"Why?"

"I don't know. I guess, meeting the parents is one thing, but it's a different ballpark when you're introduced to someone who's like a grandparent to that person. That's major pressure."

"Awww, baby! That's so cute!"

"Ugh," he groans, turning into the neighborhood.

"Relax, okay? You'll be fine, I promise."

"Okay."

Silence fills the car, yet there's a question that's been on his mind, since they left the restaurant.

"Vie,"

"Mhm?"

"Are you sure you aren't pregnant?" The concern in his voice causes her throat to dry up.

"I don't know. I haven't taken a test yet."

"Why not?"

"I'm scared." She looks over at him and back out the window, sighing as he brings the car to a stop, near an empty driveway.

"Why'd you lie to your mom, then? Aren't you two supposed to be working on patching things up?"

"We are. I just don't need her in that part of my business. If it turns out that I am, then we'll have that conversation, but for now, she doesn't need to know anything."

"Okay." He continues driving. Stevie frowns as he pulls into Joe's driveway, cutting the car off.

"Rod?"

"Yeah?"

"Are you ready for kids?"

"I will be if you turn out to be pregnant, but if you're not ready, then it's okay. We can wait."

A tiny tear falls, but he wipes it away. "Don't cry, Vie. You wanna talk about this later?"

"Yeah, I'm sorry." She gives a slight laugh and wipes her face. "I didn't mean to make that decision for the both of us— we just never talked about it."

"You're right, we haven't. But, it's okay." He opens his door and hops out, heading over to her side and helping her out of the car, before locking it up.

"You ready?" She asks.

"Wait," he gently grabs the side of her face and presses his lips against hers. Her hand covers his own as she smiles against his lips.

"What was that for?" She asks as he pulls away.

"Just cause, I love you more than anything in this world." He holds his hand out for her to take.

"You're gonna make me cry, again! I love you." She giggles as they head up the winding sidewalk to the front door.

"Is this his house?"

"His daughter's." She replies, before knocking on the screen door.

The door opens and the deep bellowed hey causes Stevie's hands to stretch towards the heavens at the sight of her former manager/non-related grandpa.

"Joe!" The six foot something, olive toned man wraps her up in his arms as if they haven't seen each other in a lifetime. Rod smiles at their interaction.

"It's been so long, dear. You look great!" He compliments.

"So do you!" Moving back beside Rod, she latches onto his arm and cheeses, widely.

"Ah, so this is the reason for the glow, yeah?"

"If I had a dollar for every time I've heard that, lately, I'd be rich. Joe, this is my boyfriend, Roderick. Rod, this is my favorite old person, next to my grandma."

Rod chuckles, extending his hand towards Joe, who gives it a firm shake. "It's nice to meet you, sir. Stevie's told me all about you."

"It's good to meet you too, son. We've had plenty of conversations about how madly in love she is."

"Joe!" Stevie covers her face as they head inside and sit around the quaint dining table.

"Sarah made a cake. It's buttercream. Would you like some?" Joe asks, pulling the glass dome off the pretty white cake.

"Sure!" Stevie replies, watching as Joe goes into one of his drawers and hands a knife to Rod, throwing him a look.

"Cut that pretty girl a nice slice, would ya?" Stevie giggles as Rod does so, laying it on the awaiting plate that Joe pulls from his cabinet, sliding it across the table to her.

"Thank you, baby."

"Anything for you." He smiles and sits next to her, draping his arm around the back of the chair.

Stevie cuts into the cake with her fork and sticks a piece into her mouth, humming at how good it tastes.

"This is so good!" Joe places the dome back on the cake and sits across from them.

"I'm glad you like it, dear," he turns to Rod, "you didn't want any?"

"I'm not big on sweets, like that."

"Yet, you snatched up the sweetest woman in the world." Joe laughs, shaking his head.

"That was a good one," Rod admits, chuckling. Stevie joins in on the laughter.

"You two look like you went to see the queen— dinner with your parents, huh?" Joe gives Stevie a look that makes Rod choke.

"Cut it out. She's trying to do better."

"I'm sure you're holding her to that.,"

"Hanging it over her head, like a dark cloud." Stevie blinks, eating more of her cake.

"Taste it," she cuts a smaller piece and holds it up to Rod's mouth, "please?"

Without hesitation, he allows her to feed him the sweet cake. She smirks as his eyebrow lifts, meaning that he likes it.

He shakes his head as she swipes the icing off his lip and secretly licks it off her thumb.

"What do you do for a living, Rod?"

"I'm an assistant manager at Lee's hardware store."

"That's impressive. You wanna move up to manager some day?"

"I wanna own it, someday... but, manager's cool, too." They share a laugh.

"That's mighty big shoes to fill, young man."

"I'm ready for it, whenever God gives me the opportunity."

"A man of God, too? You're good in my book."

"My mama raised me right."

"She sure did. How long have you two been together?"

"Six months." The smile that spreads across Rod's face makes Joe's heart warm.

"You'd think it was six years with a smile like that," they all stand once Stevie finishes her cake and goes to put her plate in the sink, "Keep making my Stevie happy, okay? I wouldn't wanna have to rough you up." He laughs, giving Rod a playful punch to the arm, half-serious.

"You have my word, sir." They slap hands just as Stevie returns.

"What were you two talking about," she asks with a curious look.

"Nothing but boring man stuff, baby girl," he wraps her in a bear hug as she comes closer, "I'm glad you stopped by to see your grandpa Joe. I know you've been busy with school and work."

"I'll always make time to see you, Joe," she gestures toward Rod, "Now I'll be bringing this knucklehead to keep me and Sarah from driving you crazy."

"Thank you!" They share a laugh, and Joe walks them to their car.

"Take care, you two," he waves them off, and they make their way back to their side of town.

Two weeks later.

"Am I gonna see you later?," Rod asks his girlfriend while on his break.

"Yeah, babe," she replies cradling the phone between her ear and shoulder as she laces her sneakers, "Me and Tyler are just going to the mall because she needs an outfit for this date she has tomorrow night."

"Can we make sure he ain't crazy?"

"Shut up, Roderick!"

"Chill, vie. I'm just joking."

"Yeah keep on, and it's gonna be you and that big ass bottle of Queen Helene tonight."

"Please, you know this dick is your best friend."

"Boy, you are so nasty!"

"Am I wrong, though?" He waits for her response, to which he's met with silence. "That's what I thought."

She could hear the smirk on his face through the phone, making her roll her eyes to the back of her head.

"Them things gon’ pop right out ya head, baby." She equally loved and hated just how well this man knows her, and they aren't even a year in.

She settles on a simple whatever as a response.

"I love you, too mama. See you later."

"Later," she hangs up as Tyler bounds down the steps.

"You finished talking to loverboy?" She asks, pinching Stevie's side.

"Yeah. Imma fight him one day."

"Yeah, naked." She bursts into laughter, Stevie hitting her with the stalest face.

"Let's go broad, before I change my mind," she pops her ass, walking to the front door.

Four stores in, and while they both have a couple bags, Tyler hasn't found what she deemed the perfect outfit, yet.

Coming across a fairly new store they have never seen before, Heaven’s Closet, Tyler stops in front of the window perking up at the looks on the mannequins she sees.

"Oh, we gotta stop in here!"

"I'm right behind you, girl."

Tyler grabs several options and Stevie follows her to the fitting rooms in the back that are big enough to fit the both of them.

Every look was gorgeous on her. Stevie loved them actually, but even she could tell they weren't Tyler.

"What's going on with you, Ty?"

"What do you mean?"

"These outfits, girl."

"I thought you liked everything, so far?"

"Yeah...for me. I mean, Tyler...a black, cashmere sweater dress that goes past your knees, a navy, long-sleeved jumpsuit?? Navy?? Pants?? For a date? Tyler Camille, do you have a fever?" Stevie places the back of her hand on her forehead.

"Girl gone somewhere!," she laughs playfully, swatting her hand away, "I get it. I'm just not tryna be so...extra with it, I guess."

"Ty, baby, I could look up extra in the dictionary and see a catalog of your pictures. Where's this coming from?"

Tasha hooked up to a bunch of machines clinging on to dear life.

"I mean...we all gotta grow up at some point, right Stevie? I can't just be the party girl, the good time girl my whole life, can I?" Her eyes are fixed on her hands as they fiddle with the hem of an olive cable-knit sweater she was wearing, not believing the words she allowed to come out of her mouth.

Neither did Stevie.

"Tyler, how long have we been friends?"

"A long time," she responds, her eyes remaining downcast.

"Right. So, can you talk to me like I'm your best friend?," she pleads softly.

She remains silent for a beat before muttering phrases that sounded like she was trying to talk herself into it. She lets out a harsh breath as her eyes start stinging involuntarily. "Shit!," she curses under breath, hating it when she cries.

Stevie softens further when she sees the dam her friend built start to crumble in front of her, but she stays seated, allowing her the space to get whatever it is out on her own.

"I did-," she clears her throat, her voice coming out lower than she intended, "I did a lot of thinking, soul searching when Tash got into that accident...seeing her lying there. The constant beeping let me know she was alive, but...she looked so cold. She looked nothing like the girl I knew. All I could think was, what if she never woke up?” The crack in Tyler's voice makes Stevie's heart crack just the same.

"What would I do? Who would I be anymore? So many people I've lost or could've lost throughout my entire life just hit me all at once and I couldn't--I couldn't take it. So I ran. One of the most important people in my life needed me and I left her." She slid down the large mirror, putting her head in her hands. "Tasha didn't deserve that. Tia doesn't and neither do you. I don't know how I'm gonna do it, but I can't be that person anymore, Stevie."

"With help," she sniffles, joining her on the floor. Linking their hands she continues, "you're gonna do it with help from me and everyone else that loves you. Okay?" Tyler nods in understanding, and Stevie brushes away her tears with the back of her fingers.

"Let's get off these people floor before somebody thinks we're crazy." They laugh, getting up from the ground and making sure their faces are clear.

She ends up choosing a lilac two-piece set with deep purple, strappy block heels to go with it. Pleased, they hit the food court for Chinese.

Since Tyler knew what they both wanted, she got in line while Stevie picked a table. She plucks her little anniversary gift from her bag, and flips to a fresh page, a new poem flowing from her mind with ease she called, 'Mended'.

She feels a presence before she sees the face it belongs to, but she doesn't need to because the same uneasiness from the coffee shop fills her.

"Fancy seeing you here, Stevie." She never thought her own name would sound like a curse to her ears, but here she is.

She finishes the line before she looks up.

"Can I help you?" She tries her best to keep the fear from her voice and replace it with annoyance.

"Maybe." He smirks, and it feels sinister. "You should let me take you out."

She'll play in traffic before she goes anywhere with him.

She flips her hair with the hand her ring is on and palms her chin.

"My boyfriend already does that."

His brows raise, but he otherwise seems unfazed.

"Hmm. I hope he's on his job. Anybody would be willing to come in and take your pretty self for themselves."

"He'd kill them first," she smiles, full of venom keeping her voice light.

"Hm. My kind of guy." Something about his tone makes her cold to her bones, but she hides it well.

"Mine too. Now I think you should leave."

"Damn. Mr. Boyfriend don't let you talk to anybody."

"My friend said leave, bruh." Tyler walks up with their food, placing it on the table. He looks up at her amused, "English not your first language? Skedaddle, playa."

He raises his arms in mock surrender and walks off.

“Who the hell was Fredro Starr with dreads?," she asks when she sits down.

"I don't know. He came into the shop one day. Now I see him again here. He gives me the fucking creeps."

"Me, too girl. I don't like him. I say you tell Rod. Men are crazy."

"I think I might," she responds.

She really doesn't like this guy.

@blackerthings @thegifstories @sheabuttahwrites @nahimjustfeelingit-writes @ghostfacekill-monger @soufcakmistress @twistedcharismaaa @blowmymbackout @chaneajoyyy @abeautifulmindexposed @awerkofart

#soulff #miyuhpapayuh #poc writers #blackwriters #black romance #rod x stevie #black fiction #black writers #stevie x rod #joey bada$$#joey badass fic

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toournextadventure · 1 year

Note

I saw this and immidiatly thought of birb. (Stolen idea)

Wednesday teaching Eugene: "Nothing is free in this acursed world."

Enid: "Love is free."

Bianca: "Knowledge is free."

Birb: "Everything is free if you run fast enough..."

Killin' time until next chapters come out, got braincramp waiting for it. Big smooches once again!

👥 (Maybe my emoji if you may allow one more?)

Birb comin in clutch to ruin an otherwise wise lesson 😪

Big smooches to you too, bestie! This next chapter will be chaos, I'm trying to give yall as much warning as possible. Not bad chaos! Just... a lot is going on at once 🤔 (absolutely, yall can always join the club)

#birb quotes #👥️

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recordkeep-ler · 2 years

Text

(mini-fic abt the aftermath of rec’s deal with archive)

Rec arrives back at his tent in a burst of bright light, still clutching the orb protectively and with the card still in hand. Taking a look around, he finds that his records have (thankfully) remained undisturbed.. but the rest of the tent is a mess. Chairs knocked over, shed feathers everywhere, places of the tent that are disconcertingly wet— he prays to whoever is up there and listening that it was courtesy of the Hummingfish and not something wrong with the plumbing— and his bed has a conspicuously Barb-a-loot-shaped imprint in the middle of the mattress, like some kind of bizarre inversion of “Goldilocks and the Three Bears”.

He sets the orb and card down on his desk before preparing to shoo any lingering animals back outside.“Guys— c’mon, just because I said you couldn’t touch the records doesn’t mean you get to touch everything else!” He sighs, starting to mutter to himself. “I mean, I guess I set myself up for that one. Now that I think about it, can most of you even read?”

Before he can muse further about whether or not the animals can read (he’s certain the Lorax himself is literate, that’s for sure), the Lorax himself marches into the room, furry arms crossed over his chest. “Where’ve you been, Beanpole?” He asks, his voice caught between genuine concern and annoyance.

Rec bites back the urge to laugh at the Lorax asking him of his whereabouts like a jilted housewife interrogating her husband after a rough night— in his mind, the only thing missing from the mental image is the presence of a set of hair curlers. Or fur curlers. Moustache curlers? Oh right, I’m in trouble. He remembers. “Out..?” He hazards. Clearly the wrong answer, judging by how the Lorax’s expression remains unchanged. Rec huffs. “Look, it’s none of your business! I haven’t cut down any trees or done anyth—that much to harm the forest! You speak for the trees, not my well-being.”

“I know that, but I’m pretty sure it’s my business if I see a glowing green light comin’ from inside your tent and then you going missing for the next several hours! What were you doin’ in there anyway, crafting some kind of radioactive—”

“It was this light I got for my room!” Rec exclaims— a little too quickly, judging by how the Lorax looks taken aback by the volume of his reaction. “It’s to help me sleep! It doesn’t even use that much electricity, it’s very eco-friendly—”

“Really? What’s it look like?” The Lorax asks.

“I can’t show you right now, it’s..” He struggles for a moment before landing on what he thinks is a reasonably plausible answer. “It doesn’t look as nice at this time of day.” He lies, bending down to “subtly” shuffle the Lorax out of his room. “Trust me, it’s really underwhelming! Not remotely impressive. You wouldn’t even believe me if I said ‘it looks better at certain times of night’!”

The Lorax reluctantly shuffles out of Rec’s room, but spots something green and shiny out of the corner of his eye. “Waitaminute— what’s that over there?”

Rec freezes as soon as he mentions the orb, ironically giving the Lorax even more time to look at it. “It’s one of those seaglass float— things. It doesn’t have a net on it, but it will have a net on it soon once I pick up knitting again and don’t worry about it going in the river, it’s not going in the river or any bodies of water for that matter, it was a gift from my— I don’t know, one of my aunts and I don’t even really want it but I’m keeping it because she sent it all this way and I’d feel bad if I got rid of it—” he rambles, pushing the forest guardian out of his room so quickly that he’s practically bowling the poor creature.

“Alright, just thought I’d ask!” The Lorax protests once he’s out of Rec’s room. “I worry about ya, Beanpole.” He sighs, departing for the forest outside.

Rec watches him leave, sighing in relief. Well, this was gonna be a nightmare to keep secret. The Lorax will probably find out about the orb and the reality of Rec’s documents sooner or later, and who knows how he’d react to it? But at the very least, he got him off his back this time.

#lerkimpails #recordkeepler #scrap folder.. (non starter writing)#ooc: for the Full Experience read the lorax’s lines in frank reynolds’ voice

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meant-to-be-a-hero · 1 year

Text

Season Six, Episode Twenty: The Wolves Of War

Last one! ;_;

I had a lot of thoughts on this one.

This is the second of two episodes that were longer than the usual forty minutes.

I don't usually comment on the recap, but Lydia says Ethan and Derek, but the screen shows Derek and Jackson. Oops?

Oh good, some bad matting for the finale. At least we're consistent.

Hey, it's the Deadly Class kid. Benjamin Wadsworth?

Well, doesn't all this look familiar.

Vague Allison reference so she's present in the finale in some form :)

"How does it end?" - :(

Meanwhile, picking up where we left off...

"You didn't think you were doing this without me, did you?" "Without us!" - Best entrance, welcome back guys.

I love that Stiles took the time to go get Roscoe for himself.

Yeah, you better all run!

Twisting the knife with Deuc. But at least he got a proper send-off.

The Guest Starring roll for this episode is Very Long. Almost everyone's here again.

"Cry havoc, and let loose the dogs of war..." - Chilling.

Gerard, you enormous cunt. I've held off on saying it, but he really is.

Eichen House, getting in on the finale action after all.

Time to split the party, that always ends well.

Gerard really has no idea what he's unleashed, or what's coming for him.

No Deaton for the finale? He was only in like one episode in this arc I think, probably too busy on Walking Dead.

Stiles and Derek are doing a "The Man Who Killed Batman" thing, with the different perspectives on the same experience.

Eleventh hour I love yous are the best. Mason and Corey are so cute.

MELISSA MCCALL IS BEST MOM.

They're all surprisingly capable without you actually, Stiles.

Kind of fitting for everything to end at the high school. Plus it's one of their four sets, so y'know.

There's our first Anuk-Ite victim of the night, RIP Peter (for now).

Oh, this guard with Jackson was the idiot with the rifle in Eichen House.

"I can't drive sports cars any more. There's no room for my tail." - Iconique.

My first thought here was that they'd do a Medusa and make the Anuk-Ite look at itself.

Stiles, don't ruin Lydia and Jackson's reunion! He's actually a bit of a tit this episode tbh.

"I thought you'd never figure it out!" - Well that's certainly one way of coming out to your friends.

Gabe's gun is HUGE, that thing looks like it fires grenades.

Theo, comin' in clutch.

Monroe, you are also an enormous cunt.

Invisible boyfriends!

Liam and Theo in the Hellevator once again.

Melissa and Nolan (!) with the save!

Oh burny Wolf's Bane bullet time. At least Monroe only had the one.

Parrish-cicle Mark II.

Noah gets his BAMF moment, well deserved.

"What are you, like 60?" - Oh you idiots are cruisin' for a bruisin'.

Malia's down. Lydia's vision is coming true.

Jackson, defeated by love.

I think the only time we actually hear the Anuk-Ite's real voice is when it was talking to Gerard a few episodes ago.

Dad team-up, team-up of the dads.

Oh hey Jennifer. It's a shame Braeden didn't come back, or even get a mention. Presumably she and Derek broke up at some point, she's obviously not Eli's mom.

Derek, undone by temptation and/or stupidity, delete as appropriate.

Mutually assured destruction for the two Evil Argents.

Void Stiles being Scott's greatest fear, his best friend being corrupted by evil, is kind of fitting actually.

And here's the Nogitsune.

Oh, there's a proper Allison reference. Considering he was the only villain who actually killed a main character (and it stuck), him being part of the finale is neat too.

Scott doing the Wonder Woman bit. What a fucking hero.

Monroe sacrificing her own soldiers, just like Gerard taught her.

Oh we're doing the Villain Greatest Hits - there's a Berserker, an Oni, a Dread Doctor. Marti Matulis is pulling overtime.

Say it Gerard, say it! One last time! MOUNTAIN AAAAASSHHHH!

Little Stiles spark to save the day.

Oh hi Coach! I know he's a recovering alcoholic, but honestly he deserves a drink after what he's been through.

I do want to feel bad for Gabe. But I do also feel like he was kind of a fucker even before the Anuk-Ite and Monroe got their claws into him, unlike Nolan who was just scared.

Raeken's Redemption :)

There's actually a villain from every season in this episode when you about it. Peter, Chris, Kate, Gerard, Jackson, Deucalion, Jennifer, Stiles, Theo, and Monroe. I think we're just missing a Ghost Rider, unless they were in the fight scene and I missed them while I was taking notes.

Au revoir, Gerard. I hope it fucking hurt.

Hellhound Used Heat Haze! It's super effective!

"You lost!" - Liam forgot to add "you absolute fucking bitch" to that, but it's an MTV show so I guess he couldn't.

I guess this is why they had to pair Scott with someone, so they could do this whole power-of-love bit to repair his eyeballs.

Although we did know he was fine, since he had eyes in the framing sequence.

"I am a great coach." - What a dickhead, I love him a lot.

Oh, there's Deaton, they used some stock footage from earlier this season.

Chris + Melissa confirmed <3

That entire little montage is so good, tbh.

"They're my friends. My pack." - I am going to CRY.

"You're not a monster. You're a werewolf. Like me." - Okay, NOW I'm going to cry. I forgot we ended on that, fuck sake ;_;

What a finale. Wraps up all the loose ends, while leaving the show open for a revival (or a movie ;) ). Everyone gets time to shine, and some screen time to themselves, plus Scott gets to be the True Alpha Of My Heart all over the place. My only complaint really is that the Anuk-Ite gets captured a little too easy, but the fight scene beforehand makes up for it.

I'm glad I rewatched this tbh. It's reminded me just why it's one of my favourite shows.

#Teen Wolf #Lem's Teen Wolf Rewatch #Beware The Liveblogging Lem

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sublimecatgalaxy · 2 years

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a daryl dixon request! can be anything:) maybe him confessing his feelings for the reader during a run and you could take it anyway you’d like from there :)!!

You are indeed my favorite person for helping me feed my obsession. Thank you for making my dreams come true :D

This one is actually proofread and actually lengthy for once, over 2k! Guess it takes the right character to get me out of my funk😂

I didn't realize how much I needed him until The Saviors took him into custody at their so called Sanctuary. It was months on end, the same daily routine while he was gone; asking Rick what the plan was, chastising Rick for not having a thought out plan, crying to anyone, Rosita mostly, about the lack of leading our 'leader' was doing at the time.

Rick eventually had enough of me, giving me senseless, mindless chores to fill my time to keep my mind from wandering to the probable torture and pain that Daryl could be undergoing. He was a strong man but everyone had their breaking point and there was nothing that Negan loved more than to push someone to the edge.

I knew that by the time he returned, free from the clutches of evil itself, that I would be itching to ask him questions, to bug the shit out of him and ensure that everything he was feeling, everything he had experienced, was heard and handled. Daryl has always been and will always be the master at holding in feelings and handling trauma in the poorest way possible. He didn't talk to anyone, only Rick and only Carol but if you where to ask Rosita, she'd claim that Daryl never looks at anyone like he wants to open up to them but me.

The jury's still out on that.

Though my intention was to grill him for details, to ask him a plethora of questions, when he actually came home and walked through the gates, I wanted nothing more than to just sit with him. He looked broken, clinging onto Rick with tears shining in both of their eyes. I had never seen him so distraught, not since losing Beth. It was as if he lost another part of himself under the care of Negan and I realized the last thing he probably wanted to do was talk about it.

So I avoided the topic all together.

He picked up on my nervous and curious glances over time, knowing that I wanted to ask him how he was more than anything, how he was fairing since he returned to reality-to normalcy- while the man who did this to him was still out there. He would simply respond with a grunt or a small shrug, silently telling me not to worry about him, that he was fine and that he would be.

"What's got your mind occupied over there?" Daryl's grumbling voice snaps me out of my memories, his brows raising simply at me as he leans over the stream, washing his hands of blood in the rushing water. I fight the urge to become embarrassed, not wanting to fess up and tell him that it was him that was running through my head, not when he's feet away from me.

"Just thinking." I shrug, returning my attention to the bag at my feet, collecting the plants and herbs that I was instructed to get by Siddiq. I was supposed to be on this run by myself, purely capable and able without the help of anyone else escorting me. But the minute that Daryl found out from Siddiq that I was leaving, he was hot on my trail, following me through the forest. Daryl was instructed and urged to stay safe and sound behind the walls, none of us wanting Negan to get his hands on him again while we were all still going at it, knowing all too well that Daryl wouldn't survive if he was captured again.

"Figured. I can see the smoke comin' from ya ears." A mixture of a scoff and a laugh rumbles in my chest, my eyes rolling at his sass as I lean against the tree behind me. I watch him as he mirrors me, legs folded with his arms resting on his knees, eyes pointed up at the trees above us. "Nice to be out of solitary." He mutters, a hint of sincerity behind his words as he sighs, running his fingers through his tousled hair, bicep flexing in the shadow of the sun.

"They're just trying to keep you safe, you know? People care about you and don't want to see you get hurt." Toying with the grass beside me, he tilts his head a bit, tongue darting out to wet his lips before he speaks.

"People? Or you?" He offers, my eyes widening a bit at his sudden, but true, comment. He doesn't seem phased at my shock, but just nods slowly, almost as if my lack of response and parted lips answered his question silently. "Rick, uh, told me," he adds, my audible gulp filling the forest around us as he pauses, "said you were scared shitless every damn day I was gone- that he had to give you shit t'do to keep you from cryin'." My eyes quickly fixate on anything but him, my head swimming with embarrassed and intrusive thoughts, wanting nothing more but to get up and walk away, and possibly off a cliff. "It true?" I contemplate my answer carefully but with every moment that passes and the realization that passes across his handsome face, I know that nothing I could say would convince him that I didn't lose my cool for the time he was gone.

"I was mildly upset at Rick for not having a plan of attack." My nails are red from picking at them, the nervous tic being a dead give away that I was underplaying the severity of the panic attacks and dreams I was having at that time, all about him and his lack of safety. "Maybe more than mildly upset. If I remember correctly, Rick threatened to knock me out with a bat if I wouldn't stop crying." I snort, watching as Daryl's lips curl up into a simple smile, his eyes hooded as he watches me shift uncomfortably in my seat.

"Why didn't ya tell me you was that upset?" He quizzes, the question making my heart pound against my ribs so violently that I'm afraid it might shoot right out of my chest and land at Daryl's feet.

"You were literally held captive, D. The last thing you needed was me sobbing hysterically as a welcome home." My chest deflates as he shakes his head, my brows pulling together at his disagreement.

"You were the last person I expected to hold out on me." He clicks his tongue in fake disappointment, a small smirk on his lips as my brows lift, urging him to go on as he rolls his eyes. "C'mere." He urges, nodding to the open spot of grass beside him as I hesitate, my knees suddenly wobbly at his invitation. Nonetheless, I find my way to my feet, stepping across the stream of water to sit myself carefully beside him. "Shoulda told me. Wouldn't want to be upset 'n not tell me." He mutters, raising his arm to fit me into his side, his hand rests around my waist, fingers messing with the strings of fabric that hang off of the cuts on my denim shorts. His head is dipped down, eyes trained on the ground as I take a quiet deep breath in, relaxing into him and the tree behind us as I watch him intently. "Shouldn't have to hear it a month later from Rick." He nudges me playfully but there's weight behind his words, disappointment almost.

I didn't tell him how I was feeling and he wanted me to.

The realization floors me, not realizing he cared that much about how I was feeling at that time. My belief was that he was too caught up in dealing with the trauma that occurred to him, too caught up to answer questions or relive the past.

"Didn't jus' happen to me. Happened to you too." The words are validating, my brows pulling together as I tilt my head to look at him, eyes flickering over his face as his eyes hit the sunlight, nose only inches from mine.

"I was worried sick. Physically sick, Daryl." I whisper, relief filling me at my honestly, needing to get the weight off of my shoulders and finally tell him the truth. His palm flattens against my waist at the confession, almost as if he was steadying me silently. "Rosita had to hide the keys to any vehicle in the vicinity because I was so ready to march down to the Sanctuary and offer myself up instead." He quickly shakes his head in disapproval, clearing his throat as his head leans to rest against the tree, curious eyes flickering over my face.

"That's the stupidest shit I've ever heard come outta that mouth'a yours." He mumbles, meaning for it to come off in a playful, condescending way but as his words run through my brain, I sense nothing but concern for my safety. "Negan woulda had a field day with you- pisses me off just thinkin' about that. He would've had to kill me himself to keep me from tearing his head off his neck." His violent words don't spook me nor are they unsettling, they only remind me of the anger that he holds towards the infamous man.

"Well I'm here, safe and sound so." I shrug, my hands reaching out to rest on my thighs as he huffs, blowing some hair from his eye line as he nods slowly.

"You don't wanna waste your life worryin' about me, Y/n- don't roll your eyes at me, woman, seriously." I laugh but he just sits up straighter, his shoulders rigid in annoyance. "Seriously, don't get yourself into shit for me, it's not your job."

"It is my job." I respond simply, my voice monotone as his chest rises and falls in quick, frustrated breaths.

"You're fired then." Smart-ass. Sitting up straighter, I turn completely to him, my body twisting in his hold as his hand rests on the grass behind me, his body angled towards me with a tilted gaze, waiting for my snarky response.

"You're gonna have to kill me to fire me, Dixon." He curses under his breath at my rebuttal, my arms folding over my chest as a proud smirk lands firmly on my pouted lips. I watch him as his eyes flutter shut, his fingers reaching up to pinch the bridge of his nose.

"You're such a pain in my ass." He blows out a breath as he grumbles, tugging me back to him as my head hits his shoulder, instinctively chuckling under my breath at his defeat. "I went to the Sanctuary in the first place to keep your ass from gettin' hurt-"

"What a hypocrite. If I'm not allowed to stick my neck out for you then the same goes for you." My brows pull together, the dots in my head disconnected as I search for an answer in his eyes. Rick originally told me that Negan was planning something and that Daryl went ahead and acted as damage control when he was captured. To make it about me, to make sacrificing himself about me is ridiculous.

"It's my job-" He starts with a mocking tone but I put a hand up, his lips parting but no words come out as I force out a simple reply.

"Bullshit."

"It's not the same as you stickin' up for me against Carol when she's teasing me or threatening to come save me like I'm some damn damsel in distress. I'm not doin' it cuz I want to." He concludes but it only confuses me more, a small scoff leaving my lips.

"Then why?" I ask, frustration and anger bubbling in my veins at the thought of him putting himself in harms way for me. I watch him take a deep breath in as my heart beat picks up, his eyes finding mine as the trees sway around us.

"You know why." He mutters, eyes stuck on mine as my lip pulls in between my teeth, my brows wobbling a bit as my gaze quicks between his genuine eyes. They're soft, not angry or frustrated like he was just moments ago, instead he looks tired and gentle. His hand moves to rest on my back, thumb rubbing into the exposed skin where my shirt bunched up.

"Oh." My voice is meek and the response comes out almost as a reflex as my body relaxes, the intention behind his words suddenly so clear.

You know why.

"Why didn't you say anything?" I ask, pulling my knees up to my chest as his eyes settle on his hands resting in his lap, biting at the inside of my cheek as I wait.

"Why didn't you?" I laugh quietly, suddenly feeling overwhelmingly bashful and coy as the distance between us suddenly feels so close. "Gotta cut me some slack here, not good with this shit." He chuckles, chest rumbling as my face warms at the sight of his smile.

"I get what you're saying." I shrug, watching as his brows tick up, tongue sweeping out over his lips as he nods.

"Ya do?" Bobbing my head in a simple nod, his shoulders relax, fingers slowly reaching out to intertwine his with mine. With a blithe smile, I relax into him as my job at hand is disregarded, our silent confession filling the air around us as we fall into a comfortable silence.

。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。Taglist:@bubblebuttwade@rafelover2405@leslienjazzy@sorceresss@grxnde-dwt@alex–awesome–22 @bunnietoof @niyamar1e @serialghost @plantlungs @geniusohn @akaliltimmytim @lilaalouuxx @xshariex @elliotsbeigeguitar @elle4404 @lelieja @srhxpci @joselyn001 @taysirene @spinkspanther @thedivineuphoria @peter-maximoffs @tsukishimawhore @poohkie90 @szlaco @distantsighs @nstyles4299 @wolflover384 @givemefoodandlovesstuff @vane28282 @yeswhatever33 @amirrahfranson @vvaalleennttiinna @f-mu @yaspillz @jeyramarie @skylievin @abbybarnes17 @jointherebellion215 @visiondaddy @steezysimfinds @its-ya-gay-boi-luigi @crunchytoenailsyum @glizzymcguirex @beth123lg @melovesmut @rafecameronswhore @ariianelle @write-from-the-heart @vampviolets @haylee-e @popehaywardssecretgf @honee-chai-tea @lokiandbuckywife @smoke-and-fire @officiallyunofficialperson @heyaitsklaudia @rosepetalsparks @bluetreecloud20 @scenesofobx @double-shot-of-tequila @1dluver13xx @colbysbrocks @iamasimpingh0e @smoke-and-fire386 @chiyongberry @id-3-kbro @diorsitgirl @errorfound101-allideasburnedout @neverwillknowme18 @ellyskey @taylors-folk @loversjoy

#daryl #daryl dixon #daryl x reader #daryl dixon x reader #daryl the walking dead #daryl dixon the walking dead #the walking dead #the walking dead fic #daryl dixon x y/n

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mysticalrambling · 2 years

Text

Broken Promises Part 3(H.S)

Part 1, Part 2

My Main Masterlist is here.

Harry Styles Masterlist is here.

Summary: You and Harry get into a heated argument regarding the past and you instantly regret the words you spoke out of anger.

Warnings: angst

._._._._.

The last few days have been a little out of the norm for you. Before, it had just been you and your daughter; it was easy, you were used to it. Harry hadn’t been a part of your life for the past two years and suddenly, seeing him on a daily basis made you realise that you didn’t ever get closure. The feelings for him never really went away but instead, got buried beneath the deep trenches in your heart. Now, that once closed door was being pushed open again and you just know, that all the emotions will take control and overpower you. Loving Harry Styles was never intended to be easy, for loving him meant surrendering all self control.

Your brain, while rational, was simply not in dictatorship of your actions, rather your foolish heart was.

Harry has been trying his best to retire himself to a mundane routine but it was proving to be difficult. After the divorce, Harry had kept himself busy with several projects so he didn’t have to come back to an empty house. It was merely a cruel reminder of what he used to have. A reminder of what he lost. A reminder of what he ruined. Sure, he missed out on moments with Sophia but he couldn’t change that. He was trying now.

Spending the last week at your house was a little weird because whenever Sophia was down for a nap, you both tip toed around each other. Except for a few awkward sentences and some quiet glances, you both avoided each other. It mostly ended with Harry leaving to steer clear of the whole situation.

“This li’l devil needs t’go down for a nap before we g’to the park.” Sighing frustratedly, you tried to pick up the cranky baby from her play mat.

“Why didn’t she ‘ave her nap at her regular time?”

You didn’t mean to snap at him but when you are kept up all night with a cranky toddler and in an attempt to finish a work project that was stuck midway, you tend to take everything the wrong way. “Maybe because she didn’t want to and I can’t just force her.”

“Whoa. Where’s this comin’ from?”

“I’m- I’m sorry. It’s just that she won’t g’to sleep without you and it’s very frustratin’.”

“Who’s fault Is tha’?”

Clutching the roots of your hair, you tugged on them with genuine frustration. “I can’t believe y’right now.”

“(Y/N), I didn’t-“

“Save it! Y’can put her to bed without me.” You barged out of the house and went to sit on the swing set in the backyard. If you would have stayed in there any longer, you would have bashed your annoying ex husband’s face in the wall. You already had to take care of one child, you didn’t need another one. Him blaming the divorce entirely on you just proved that you had done the right thing.

Harry instantly felt regret creeping up on him and his first instinct was to follow you but he didn’t. He had no right to speak to you like that but he couldn’t hold back. You were telling him that his daughter missed him and that she couldn’t sleep the whole night. He was being left out and there was nothing he could do about it. Helplessness wasn’t an emotion he felt on a normal basis so he took it all out on you. Instead of talking to you and sorting it all out, he let his emotions get the better of him. The comment was completely uncalled for and he knew he had to make up for it.

“Daddy!” A pacifier hitting the back of his head stopped him in his tracks. All of this would have to wait because Sophia Styles was getting cranky and she needed a nap.

“W’don’t throw things at people. It’s bad manners, pet.” He used a soothing tone to get his point across but the little miss was having none of it. Instead of mumbling a ‘sorry’ and nuzzling her face into his neck like she usually did after a scolding, she started tugging on his hair with hot, red tears streaming down her face. “Ow! Stop, you’re hurtin’ daddy!”

“No! Bad!”

He finally freed himself from the toddler’s death grip and held her at an arm’s length. Damn, she really was a mini replica of you. Her looks might resemble Harry but in terms of her attitude, it was all you. Although, you might kill him for even thinking about it.

“Y’need to go on the steps for two minutes. Y’hurt daddy and that’s absolutely unacceptable.”

Harry’s heart was breaking into pieces when Sophia stomped her feet on the hardwood floor as he plopped her down on the last step. Loud wails escaped her puffy lips as she fixed him with a death glare. If looks could kill, Harry would be six feet under. His willpower crumbled a little every time a tear escaped her delicate eyes but she needed to learn. You both had agreed on this punishment for whenever she did something wrong because you didn’t want to raise a spoiled brat.

As soon as the alarm rang, Harry knelt down in front of her and made her look him in the eye. “W’don’t hit people when we’re angry, pet. This isn’t a way t’express your feelings. Do y’understand daddy?”

Harry doubted she understood half of the things he said but they had to instill these things in her from a young age. In a way, he was glad that you weren’t here because he had an opportunity to be a parent to Sophia as well.

Sniffling, she extended her hands towards him and well, Harry knew he could never deny her anything. This little girl owned half of his heart and her mother owned the rest of it (even though he couldn’t admit it in the open).

Getting her to sleep without her mother was a Herculean task but Harry managed. He knew bringing her with sweets was a wrong thing to do but he needed to talk to you and well, Harry was never a patient man.

“Can w’please talk?” Sliding the glass door, he found you sitting on the porch swing with your legs tucked underneath you. It was getting a little chilly but you were too stubborn to go inside even though it was your house.

“I don’t have anythin’ to say t’you.”

“Please, I want t’apologise. I don’t know what took over me. ‘m sorry, love”

“How can y’blame it all on me?” This is the only thing that has been on your mind for the past hour. His comments were unfair and totally uncalled for.

“I- I don’t blame you but maybe we could’ve worked it out.”

You looked at him in disbelief because he was being ridiculous right now. “We could’ve worked it out? Worked it out? Were we in the same relationship?”

“(Y/N), I just meant tha’ you rushed into t’divorce. M’tour was about to finish and I would’ve come back t’you.”

“We weren’t happy, Harry. It wasn’t just the tour, it was everything. Y’stopped making me your priority and giving me time. Instead of coming back t’me when you were free, you decided to spend time with y’friends. Taking on projects without even discussing it with me had become your thing. For god’s sake, I got t’know about Pleasing through Sarah and not you. It wasn’t working out.”

Harry knew that you were making valid points but he couldn’t bear to think that it was all his fault. That he was the one who ruined everything. Instead of owning up to his mistakes, he started getting angry. Why was he to be blamed for everything? You could’ve given him a chance to rectify his mistakes but you didn’t want to listen to anyone. You didn’t give him another chance. You all could’ve been a happy family right now and he didn’t have to go to an empty house every night.

“Y’didn’t want it to work out! You could’ve told me where I was goin’ wrong and I would’ve paid attention t’it. None of it matters if you aren’t there with me and I would’ve left it all in a heartbeat. Admit it, you didn’t want it t’work out.”

Slightly taken aback from his outburst, you took a few seconds to gather yourself. “I didn’t want it to work out? I was the one who travelled across t’world to just be with you. You were the one who didn’t even come back to the hotel room when I was there.”

“I was busy with rehearsals. I have t’work with the schedule t’management gives me.”

“Of course, the management! They were the ones who had control over us. Y’let them take control of everything.”

“I ‘ave a fuckin’ contract. Can’t just go against ‘em. Y’didn’t even tell me you were pregnant even though you knew. You knew before the divorce. You knew before everything went down. We could’ve worked it out. We could’ve been a family, for god’s sake.”

The veins on his neck looked like they were about to burst but you weren’t going to back down today. You weren’t going to be intimidated by him, not today. “I didn’t tell y’because you would’ve wanted to stay married. We both weren’t happy and I didn’t want t’stay in a relationship where I wasn’t wanted.”

“All relationships need work, (Y/N)! I can’t be with m’daughter every single day because of you.”

Tears were brimming in both your eyes and you both didn’t care that your screaming match could wake up Sophia. “I couldn’t be with you! Y’were suffocatin’ me!”

The tension in the room could have been sliced with a knife or maybe that knife could’ve stabbed you so you couldn’t have this dreadful conversation. Harry didn’t want to admit it but your words hurt him deeply. He was suffocating you? He drove you away and now he had nothing. It was all his fault.

“If m’presence is too suffocating then I better leave. Going t’take Sophia with me because this is m’day to have her.”

“Harry-“

“I can’t- I can’t talk to y’right now.”

He trailed up to the nursery and took Sophia out of her crib. She was still deep in sleep so she didn’t stir a bit. Her diaper bag was already packed for the day out in the park but there were going to be slight changes. He couldn’t pretend to be civil with you today and it was better if he just left.

You came to the garage and stood awkwardly by the entrance as your ex husband carefully strapped the baby in the car seat. “So I’ll pick her up tomorrow morning?”

“Fine.”

“Harry, I-“

“Save it!”

The whole day you kept thinking about your heated conversation and how you could’ve handled the situation a little better. You did hurt his feelings but you just wanted him to feel how you felt when he blamed everything on you. This wasn’t the type of closure that you needed and you knew you had to make it up to him. You would get up early in the morning and bake him some croissants because he really loved your baking. You were determined to make this work because you had to co parent and this was not fair to your daughter.

Getting up early wasn’t a problem for you because you didn’t get much sleep all night. You were out of the house as soon as the croissants were ready so they were still hot when you got to Harry’s house. You called him through bluetooth when you were ten minutes away. “H, I’m on m’way. Please get Sophia ready and I’m really sorry about yesterday.” The roads were a little slippery today because of the rain but thankfully there wasn’t much traffic on the streets today. While sipping on the coffee, you waited till the light turned green.

“She’ll b’ready. I know how t’be a parent”

You sighed at his curt reply because you knew you had a lot more work to put in this than some croissants. “I didn’t meant it that way, H.”

The light turned green and you started to make your way down the road. “Y’ don’t mean-“ A loud crash interrupted his rant and the line suddenly went dead.

“Hello? (Y/N)? (Y/N)?”

._._._._.

A/N: Hi lovies!! Here’s part three for the series, “Broken Promises” and I can’t wait for your thoughts and comments on this piece. A special ‘thank you’ to @peculiarpenman and @pettinesspersonified for helping me with the ideas and editing. I love you both!! Please send in general comments or things you want to talk about.I am open to suggestions and I’m here to chat. Love y’all!!

Like, comment and reblog.

#rachelleblodgettwrites #my thoughts #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles one shot #Harryween #harry styles angst #harry styles fanfic #harry styles husband #harry styles au #harry styles fluff #harry styles boyfriend #harry styles blurb #harry styles x you #harry styles x reader #harry styles x y/n #harry styles x fem!reader #dad harry styles #dad harry #broken promises

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muffindaddystyles · 3 years

Text

LOST IN ITALY.

Where Harry's cute assistant gets lost in city of Italy and the thought of loosing her drives him bullocks.

Flatulent gust of breezy wind kept wiggling through Harry’s coffee lovelocks, sunshine bounces against his soft skin and his pink heart-shaped mouth stays puckered as he takes in the beauty of his surroundings with his cheek smashed over his wrist – which’s resting atop the rooftop of yacht and his head perks up puppy like when tufty giggles maroons in his ears.

He gazes his cute assistant from under his ray bans and skims back a timid smile when her face beams with glee, her cotton puffy sleeved sundress blows away from the breeze giving glimpses of her plump thighs and Harry sucks in a breath snapping his eyes away.

“Harry look s’beautiful!” She squeals taking another picture of landscape with her grandpa's vintage Yoshika camera and Harry just rumbles his lips, shrugs and slumps back, a lazy mumble of “mehhh” elicits past his lips.

She’s just so endearing, and cute and fucking adorable it’s hard for Harry to keep from not babying her.

When he first went to sets of My Policemen he considered her rather unprofessional, as everyone kept on finding her but it seemed like she vanished into thin air, turned out when Harry took a break in his cubby she was lighting up saffron and black scented candles, “Oh! Thought you’d like comin' back to nice smelling room —-- holy fudge .... by the way, me Y/N your new assistant for the meantime.” His all grumpiness defused into bunch of reverence for her.

She'd always beat him to bringing in brekkie and smoothies for him and her fellows, sometimes giving him the velvet muffins before he goes back home --- Harry became such a drooly lovey puppy for her that he decided to keep it stern from then.

He’s trying. He’s prolly gonna fail.

Y/N isn’t very immune to water trips and she was well aware that a sickness is coming – but so soon? She didn’t know that!

So, when she chokes onto nothing and then gags driving Harry into fritz. Harry tries to keep his balls in place and not panic because that’d just spill his secret and expose him.

He quickly facades himself under stoniness, “Christ! Y/N if you die on me —-,” Though, grabs her elbow lightly and walks her to the edge of the deck.

Y/n smacks his hand away. Glares him and grunts pushing her hair away aggressively, “Don’t tell me what to do I’ll die wherever the hell I want!” His pupils resembling to that of clashing waves of sea blows away comically as she huffs and pushes past him.

“Better die and ghost you for life.” She gags into her elbow again and he rushes to grab her hand, when she pulls away with a tut he rolls his eyes brings his glasses to the bridge of his nose and looks at her from under the brown sunnies, “Jeez just holdin' a hand, not gonna slip a ring, ‘s that what yer afraid of.”

“Just admit you’re desperate to hold my hand.” She smirks up at him and he cackles, then dims into nervous chuckles because oh fuck he’s getting caught red handed.

“No.” He mutters.

How much she resists not to pout and turn all fussy over his denial she ends up doing so and it’s his turn to smirk cheekily at her.

“Are you mad? You look mad.” He wiggles his finger at her and she grumbles folding her arms infront of her bosom and cranes her head to side, “I’m not mad.”

“Yer pretty face’s all screwed up, like you’re mad.” He nibbles at her and she glowers him --- sighing at last, the wisp of her hair falling in her eyes, her lips plush and glossy from sick.

“I’m perturbed, not mad.”

Then there’s an overrated pause of silence and heartbeats before Harry pokes her knee.

“You still look mad.” His face splits into a wide cheeky grin – showing his bunny teeth and she stands up hastily wobbling a little.

“’M’not mad! But I’ll be soon Harry Styles!!!!” She goes for smacking him at chest but he jerks back and sneaks his way out squealing annoyingly, “Mommy come save me from this feisty sea-creature.”

“You mean a mermaid?” She giggles.

“No. Frogfish.” He deadpans.

“I’m not talking to you ever again!” She cries out and turns away from him but he barks out a laugh --- riling her up is the most entertaining thing and seeing her make cute fussy faces another.

“’Kay, sorry! Wouldn’t do it again.” He toddles behind her and glides his forearm against her clavicles bringing her to his front, “Says this everytime!” She squirms pushing him away but he’s ten times stronger than her and even if she’s ... she’d want to spend some more time like this.

“Wouldn’t call ye' frogfish —-.. from now on.” She nods. Humming in agreement and he turns her, holding her from shoulders and looks down at her with glinting eyes and wide toothy mouth.

“How ‘bout blobfish? They look more funny.”

“I’m gonna kill you, Harry Styles!”

They were given a loft infront of the shore 10 minutes drive away from the shooting place and after fighting over who'll occupy the bed, bickering and pillow fighting over it and almost making it creaky loose bench Y/N went back to living room telling him that he snores so much, “Sorry but ‘m too sensitive to piggy snorey noises – better sleep outside.” He was fuming and gritty mess, flailing his limbs like a baby because he was “the hair on his directors head” away from sharing the bed with her.

“Whateva! your loss. Don’t come t'me beggin’ to pop your backbones.” He told her in high pitched mimickness and flumped under cool sheets.

His one hour nap turned into two then three. In the meantime, Y/N made a sandwich from the fresh veggies piled in the fridge, sipped onto her matcha drink sitting beside the window and enjoyed he view, even went through her socials.

Realized that she’s missing him around her terribly even if it’s just jokes and giggles and shit, whatever, so she took her camera and went outside to take pictures of shore and the purple sky battling with hue of clouds.

She got so charmed with Italy's beauty that she kept on walking and taking pictures, only to realize when the bustle of crowd dropped into tranquil quietness and she found herself into some unknown street.

She’s fucked.

She’s lost.

She has got nothing,

Not even her phone.

She contemplates to knock on the house doors and ask for locations but she’s petrified of the idea and tries to find some shop, so she could call someone and ask them to pick her up.

Dumb. Dumb. Dumbest decision, she has ever taken in her life.

When she sees no passer by, none tourists no-one in sight and the daylight defusing and darkness laughing and taunting her tears springs in her eyes --- bubbling at the corners and weeping down furiously.

Her heartbeats drops dead when she sees a group of men approaching towards her. She runs away hiding into the dark tunnel and clamps her mouth shut from crying out loud when they walk away -- they weren’t about to do anything to her – it was just her feared instincts.

“Harry ......” She whisper-cries into her wrist, her legs weak and trembly making her tumble down into dusty stoned pavement, her back getting scratched from the bricked wall of tunnel.

Harry woke up to pin-drop silence. Void of the sun that was once glimmering through the window, “Y/N.” He grogs out, knuckling the sleepiness away and trudged out finding the room empty.

It startles him. Waking him up properly now. A sweat flushes down his spine when he couldn’t even find her in the washroom and at the door-steps.

He dials her number and finds it at the coffee table, gruff cruses breathes out from his mouth at that.

FuckFuckFuckFuck.

His heart feels like someone’s squeezing it mercilessly in their grip when he goes outside, but couldn’t spot her and he finds it difficult to breathe, chest heaving as he snaps his head in every direction to look for the face he’s oh so in love with.

Where are you, Y/N?

Maybe, she’s angry with me? Did I hurt her in any way? Oh, fuck. I’m such a bitch.

Now, she’s angry with me and hiding in some corner cursing me out.

I have to bring her back.

So, he calls anyone in connection with Y/N in hopes that she’s with anyone of them and when there were, “no mate --- maybe check in the washroom...” and “last time she texted, said she’s going out to take pictures.”

Harry’s face pales at that. Sick to his stomach. His fists tighten by his sides to keep his calm the world around him spins for a moment and he stables himself with the nearby railing.

Bad thoughts spirals in his mind, how much he avoids them it frightens him like his worst enemy.

What if she’s hurt? It hurts him in heart even to think that.

Got into an accident and they took her?

Fuck.

What if some mafia has kidnapped her.

Obviously, Italy is famous for mafias ..... No!No!No! Harry shut up, shut up, shut uppppp!!

He screams internally to pause everything and think rationally.

He searches for her everywhere. In every street. His feet hurting until now and he chokes onto a sob, not even wanting to think of getting police involved and still not able to have her back.

He shouts for her name. Halting past anyone looking like her, that mini dress she flaunted infront of him with a gorgeous smile –-- asked him how it looked on her and he wasn’t very interested to give a response.

If he could take all of it back and praised her like his life depended on it, only if he’d told her how much he loves her, her making sure he’s comfortable in his cubby, her bringing cold milk drinks for him, dividing her oreos with him.

His hands shakes by his side, his lip twitching constantly and his legs trembles pathetically with each step he takes.

He stops. Narrows his eyes to squint through the darkness and he feels like someone blew oxygen back in his lungs, his knees weakening at the sight of some girl sitting on the bench, her shoulders slump and her head downwards as she clutches the edge of bench, rocking on it with quite sniffles.

He prays that it’s her.

Upon, hearing the footsteps Y/N looks up and those sweet eyes are enough for him to recognize her in between many people.

“Harry?” Her voice feeble and scared.

“Oh baby .....” He mumbles. Rushing towards her, stumbling back a bit when she flies in his arms and latches to him like the missing piece of her body.

His palms curves into her ribs, her face smashed into the crook of her neck – her tears wetting his skin instantly and his cheek squished atop her sweaty hair, he hugs her for dear life making her legs dangle in the air, she sobs nuzzling deeper into his throat and he caresses her shoulders to soothe her cries down. Kisses the side of her temple with tender affection and sighs in relief.

“Shhh. Shh baby, ‘s okay. I’ve found y’now ..... ‘m here sweetheart ‘s alright.” He doesn’t stop splodging soft pecks to her forehead – scared that if he’ll she’ll get lost from his arms again.

Her hiccups painful not letting her take a breather and Harry puts her down on her feet gently, taking her face in his clammy hands and hooks his thumb into her hair gazing into her glassy eyes intensely, “Hey look at me lovie’ just .. focus on me alright?” She nods at his plea grabbing his wrists and follows his breathing pattern.

He glances back at the bench and goes to grab her camera but she cries out fisting the hem of his corduroy shirt in her tiny hands, “No!” could barely choke out from her dry throat and he turns his attention back down onto her, strokes the rosy apple of her cheeks and pets her head.

“Not leavin’ yer side baby .. was bout to get your camera fo’ you. Could come with me if you don’t like stayin' away.” He assures her softly and trots towards the bench with his arms still around her as she keeps on hiding her face into his bicep.

They walk down the street like that, she has calmed down letting a sniffle slip here and there --- this kind of scenario has never happened to her before – she has never been outside of her home city before too.

He feels her tummy screech for food so asks her, chin butted atop her head, “You’re hungry, petal. Let’s get pizza.” She doesn’t feel like eating though. When she shakes her head – squeezing him more. He takes her from shoulders looking down at her with gentleness and brushes a strand of hair behind.

“Just a tad, darlin'. I know a delicious take away round the corner ... could eat it sittin' by shore.” He offers her with a smile and punches the air happily, whistling when she agrees.

When she giggles softly, defrosting back from numbness Harry spins them a little overly gleeful.

“Got me sweet girl back.” He exclaims ducking down to kiss her cheek and now when she’s less wobblish, her lungs fills with bunches of butterflies.

Blush splatters on her features. As Harry aligns his tanned arm with her delicate one and locks their fingers together lulling it backs and forth between them lovingly.

He keeps her tucked under his chin and snuggled in his arms all the time, even while waiting in the line for the take away.

“Ow!” Squeaks, “Ow. Ow.” Jumps on his tippy toes upon balancing the hot pizza on his palm.

Grins like a mad man when succeeds in making her laugh, takes her hand and helps her climb down slippery stones.

Goosebumps arises on her skin from shyness when he coils his strong arm around her to pick her up, with pizza in his other hand and giggles breathily in her ear upon hearing her squeals.

She sits in between his knees. Leans against his chest and inhales his woodsy vanilla scent, nibbles onto the crust while hearing his heartbeat.

“You scared the living hell out of me, lovie’ ... thought —-... thought I’d never be able to have you back again ... proper vanished.” He croaks out. Runs his nose up and down the sweet curve of her neck.

“Made me realise ... that I don’t want to be away from you, ever.” Y/n's breath hitches at that and she turns in his embrace. Looks at him with surprised doe eyes and coos when his eyes gloss over with wetness, that he’s forcing to keep at waterline.

“I really like you, Y/N.”

“You do?” She gasps.

He bobs his head giddily, “Can you picture it? You and I together?” He murmurs mellow street light dancing between them.

“’Us'? I like the sound of that....” She smiles searching for his hand and he grasps it eagerly like he was yearning for it.

“Kay then, when could I take you on a date?” He grins. Dimples mauving deep and pretty.

“This isn’t a date?”

“We’re in Italy. The sky's so romantic and I’ve got you, seems like a date to me....” She peppers kisses to each rosy gap of his knuckles and his inside bursts like they never did before.

“Kay then. It’s memorable too, you got lost on our first day –--”

“Harryyyy....” She whines nudging him in belly with her elbow. “’Kay we could change that.” He laughs. Showering her in kisses and her laughs whirls loudly into quite air, trying to squirm away from his tickles.

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applesontheground · 2 years

Text

touch your lips to mine 🕯️

this is what i’d consider my first smut with some sort of plot, haha! i tried to include a little bit of everything in here. a little bit of fluff, a little bit of angst, and a whole lot of horny. all part of a balanced slasher x reader fic 🥣😂

NSFW | Word Count: 3,481 | Bo Sinclair x GN Reader

contains: drinking (shots in specific), overstimulation, praise, soft dom!bo (aka my favorite fucking bo), eventual degradation and hard dom!bo

🎼: x

Vincent’s hand stopped dead in its tracks, embedded into the cheekbone of his latest work in progress, when he heard a knock against the ceiling. It wasn’t the act itself, but rather that it was followed by something he only heard once in a full moon. It might as well have been as elusive as a werewolf.

His brother was laughing.

“Y’can’t say that! The hell’s wrong with you?” Bo was barking with a brash voice, but shivering coughs between his breaths signaled that he wasn’t angry. He was recovering from a fit of laughter, making his brother creep up from their father’s office to investigate. He stalked to the mouth of the hallway that lead to the living room, and sure enough the man was sitting with you on the space of floor between the sofa and the coffee table, splayed out in an informal manner.

You immediately turned to look when you caught him in the corner of your eye. “Hey, Vincent. We aren’t being too loud, are we?” You asked, face a little flushed but a smile was fighting to keep from showing on your lips. Before he could say anything, Bo clutched your shoulder. Shaking you playfully and eliciting a giggle, he muttered, “This fucking [lady/guy/kid] just said the most vile thing I think I’ve ever heard, Vince. Shit, I’on’t think I can even repeat it, and you know that’s a lot comin’ from me.”

He could see the faded smirk on his brother’s face, and then noticed the shot glasses and the good whiskey sitting on the table. It all fell into place, and he gave a wave of his hand. No problem.

You assured him, only now half-embedded in the conversation as you played with the tiny glass in your reach, “Really. We’ll keep it down. I know you have work to do.” Despite your intoxication, Vincent could feel the malleable kindness that the sober you would exert, soft to the touch and extending to everyone in your wake. It was always there, but especially apparent in this state. Even despite the horror you had been put through while finding footing in the Sinclair home, you were still somehow quick to perk up, which made life for everyone a little easier. It was almost like how he shaped the wax he worked with to bend under his will, but he wasn’t sure that he was the artist in this case.

Another hand touching you, gripping your thigh with a warmth that was rarely shown by Bo, revealed itself. The minute your kindness had been taken off him, he was making you look back with the way he squeezed your leg.

“Don’t apologize all the damn time, [Y/N].” He leaned into your face, obscuring you from Vincent’s view, and you gave him a fond tip of your chin. The amused smile didn’t hide itself, glints of your teeth mere inches away from Bo’s sloppy speech as he sighed, “You don’t have to be sayin’ sorry all the time, you hear me? You ain’t sorry for nothin’.” He laughed again, the sound once again piquing his twin’s curiosity, “But you should apologize for that fuckin’ shit you said before he came in here…Filthy fuckin’ mouth.”

You shrugged, smiling innocently at first, but then turning your attention to the whiskey. Bo glanced at Vincent, flashing him a knowing sneer. His brother looked from you – to him – to the table – then back to him. He lifted his hand carefully and signed quickly once the words found themselves.

“Be careful. Try not to break anything.”

“Sure thing.” Bo shrugged, watching you slowly direct the nozzle of the open bottle to the glasses. You were in the valley between knowing your level of drunk, but too giddy on the buzz to actually care about how close you were to the edge. He was surprisingly patient, hand nudging yours with flattened fingers when you were close to missing the glass.

With that image on his mind, Vincent slipped away again.

There was a difference between drinking alone and drinking with company. He hadn’t done it a lot growing up, and honestly neither did his brothers with the experiences they had from their parents’ habits. Still, there was a sliver of something separating him from Bo and Lester in a lot of things. Bo would brag that he frequented bonfires in high school and sometimes blacked out at them, but he never went further than that. Lester had been eager about “bar-hopping” when he was in his early twenties, but as time went on it got harder and harder to convince his brothers – or anyone that he knew for a matter of fact – to go with him.

In the wake of you, though, Vincent had begun to see this difference in Bo specifically. Whenever he did drink, he had caught his twin sitting by himself in a similar way late into the night. He would be slumped into the couch and staring at a lit candle on the coffee table, not saying a word but obviously easing a particular thought with the same bottle. Sure, he could always find him, but Vincent knew a lot of unspoken things Bo didn’t find the need to say.

But you? You had to be filled in – at least to a certain extent. It was going to be a slow process regardless; you still only knew about as much as they had let on. Every once and awhile, you’d see a crack in the picture of Ambrose. The scars on everyone’s bodies, the way that every old family photos left out in the open were covered in layers of dust, and the way that Lester and Bo’s smiles never quite reached their eyes when they talked about “old times”, their stories never really finding their solid endings...

You hadn’t seen the highchairs yet. If Bo had his way, you never would.

“Don’t overdo it, you’re gonna be throwin’ up all night if you ain’t careful.” Bo tried to sound daunting, but he couldn’t help but let his head fall to one side, eyes gentle as you grimaced from the overwhelming burn and bitters of the whiskey. When you finally recovered, you croaked, “‘M alright...”

“Yeah, you are. Atta [boy/girl/do it].” The hint of teasing in his voice made you look up at him again, taking in the way his eyes didn’t quite focus on anything in specific. He was taking you in as a whole, eyes fighting a genuine crease at the corners, the smirk coming and going as he waited for you to say something else that he could guffaw about.

You had nothing, you found, so you instead scooted a little closer and asked him, “What, I got something on my face?” He huffed through his nostrils at that, but then mumbled, “No. Not allowed to stare just because I think you’re [pretty/good-lookin’]?”

Your eyes flickered to glance at his lips, and just as they came back up he had moved in silence to push them against yours. Even before you realized it, you were meeting him with shivering strains of your neck, his own craning a little awkwardly. Inhaling sharply through your nose as you started working against him with closed eyes, relaxing again as you found your place, and immediately wished you could be doing it all night.

His tongue starting slipping past your teeth, dragging against the roof of your jaw and wherever it could establish ground while his lips still nipped and closed around yours. You shivered as your back rubbed against the side of the couch. When your palm flew into the floor, trying to prop you up after sensing you had started to slip, he roped his own around the small of your waist. One hand pressed against your stomach while the other one found home on the side of your neck. He smirked against your mouth when he felt a thundering pulse.

“You like this?” He asked, a little unsteady with his intonation and breathing through a partially open mouth. His hair had fallen from its pushed back state and flicked at his forehead, bangs disheveled but not yet plastered by sweat. They swayed as he tilted his head again to look at you better, flashing the top row of his teeth when he saw something he liked. You couldn’t even answer, whimpering as he went back in to suck your bottom lip.

Your head had already been spinning from the alcohol; now it stood no chance as his fingers became restless against your skin. It was good luck for him to find the two places that made you squeal. The moment he had started to tickle his fingertips against your stomach and along your neck, you began giggling, heaving against his lips as they tried to bring your focus back. He broke from the kiss and teased, “You a little too drunk?”

“Too drunk f-for what?” Your face was flushed, and you pressed your hands against his chest as you looked into his eyes, genuinely confused for a moment. He gave you a careful look up and down and sighed, “Think you know what I meant.” You smirked, and shrugged with a roll of your neck, “I mean, I understand if…you don’t want to. We’re both kinda getting there, Bo.” He was flush against you now, and mumbled against the side of your head, “Oh, you know I want to...”

It was all you needed to hear, and when he saw you reach to start tugging at your belt, his hands slid from your body to do it for you. Albeit he was a bit rough, fingers encircling with a clumsy ferocity, you immediately let your own grip fall away, knowing it was best to leave him to something when he got this dead set on it.

When the latch was finally undone, he moved both of you up onto the couch, pulling you by your shirt in a way he liked to do sometimes. You were able to follow without much of a fumble, even though one of your legs had in fact fallen asleep, numbly buzzing as you readjusted. “See that?” He tutted, wiggling between your legs and yanking your pants down from your hips so they rested at your knees. With another sharp tug, he got them even lower, settling on your ankles. He assured you, “You’re alright, if you ask me.”

You gave a daunting glance from where you were leaning against the couch cushions, propped up by your elbows and feeling five different things causing the color to rush to your face.

His fingers found your sweet spots immediately, a little lost as they traced around the area between your legs for a few laps just to watch you struggle to hide the way it was making you begin to shake. He had a chuckle sit in his chest, holding you steady with a hand on your stomach. Restless, his thumb couldn’t help but start tracing the skin there too. “Not even touchin’ you yet. Stay still for me.” In the dim light, he was realigning his hips, and his hand that had been teasing you down below was now on himself.

You felt the cock against you before he warned, interrupting an inhale that he took as he started spitting into his hand with a whimper. His blue eyes shot to you again, and when you tried to move from the intrusion, his brow came down slightly. His hand encircled your hip to keep you in place, feigning on the rough side now with a grip that suffocated the skin underneath, and instead of trying to quiet you with words he only moaned over you as he rubbed his hand over his length and promptly let himself slide in.

“Easy. Easy, [girl/cowboy/baby]. You can take it.” He murmured, smiling with his encouragement as you writhed from him settling his base against your crotch, “You’ve done it before. Yeah?” He started to work, only giving a few teasing pulls and shoves for good measure. It was bliss for him, and he made sure you knew, groaning and huffing over any gasps that came from underneath him, like he was in a pissing match with you on who could be the loudest. For someone who hated anyone else even looking at you too long, he sure liked it when people knew what he did to you. If your head wasn’t already cloudy, you probably would’ve grown nervous to remember his brother was just a staircase away, and if he had heard Bo laughing that easily...

The noise was becoming too much, and your hand was soon skittering up to press over his mouth. Bo’s eyes glowered down at you, hands going tighter where they had been settled around your [pecs/breasts] and squeezing until the skin underneath flashed from the pressure. Still, he let you press your palm against his mouth, but upped the ante in other ways. Licking against the grain of your hands, moaning even louder in a desperation that you weren’t sure was real of not. Letting himself get sloppy, you felt yourself clench around his cock to see a few strands of slobber fall from your hand. When his eyes finally rolled ever so slightly, peeking the whites at you while he let out a particularly pained noise from his cock sheathing deeper inside of you, you finally released him.

One hand, his own, circled around your wrist and shoved it down to your side, holding like you had just tried to hurt him. “What was that for, huh? Ashamed of me lettin’ everyone know how good you fuckin’ feel?” He mumbled, chin tipping down from the absence of pressure, bangs falling over his forehead. They finally had enough sweat in them to begin licking at his eyebrows, pressing around his temples. He huffed through his nostrils, pursing his lips as he continued to carefully rock back and forth, looming over you with an expression flushed with color and glistened with sweat. As you let another pathetic noise out, feeling everything at once that stirred the electricity underneath your skin, his countenance was unable to stay tense as he melted further into your walls over and over again.

Your voice trembled, and in a fit of desperation you pushed against his stomach. “Bo, it’s too much. S-slow down, sl-” You tossed your head back and cried out again as he kept fucking into you, only picking up the bucking of his hips and readjusting to the sound your pleas. A hot rush came to your neck as he rubbed his palm gently along the side of it, and hushed you in a gentle voice, “It’s okay, you’re okay-“ His other hand pinned your shoulder, just hard enough to make you roll it back from the weight. Everything was so easy to move when your body felt like jelly, your eyes flickering to the whiskey glinting in the dark of the living room.

The sweet little coos and shushes coming from him only spurred the heat in your stomach, pricking and shivering over your body as you moaned loudly again in a demur. It elicited another hush that sounded like it was only tiding you over rather than coming from a place of genuine comfort. Shh sh-sh-sh.

He slid even deeper, and your hands flew over your eyes as a final pained moan tore from your throat. “That’s a good [girl/boy/baby], you’re bein’ so good for me now.” Bo praised, his voice quiet again. The hand that had been caressing your neck was down to your abdomen, feeling your entire body shake at his touch. He pressed his warm palm against your wriggling hips, snapping to look up again as you mewled to the touch. Just another sensation to send tidal waves through your body. He was jostling you up and down against the sofa cushions, and when he finally pulled you up by your back to sit you on his cock, it struck the final nerve.

Your mouth fell open as the cry startled both of you, rising up from the festering burn in your body alongside the alcohol, and you didn’t quite register that you had begun to spin out until then. The waves of intense sensations surging from your sex to the rest of your body was turning you into a mess within seconds, moisture smearing against the base of his cock as you started moving on your own, chasing that itch that was being scratched by his length and almost feral for more. Your muscles had locked up under his hands, cumming in long and desperate moans that were forced out through heaves of your chest. You were unable to stay still, even as his hands were back at your neck and shoulders, egging you on, dragging their calloused heat over them in an attempt to slow you down.

He watched with a dazed grin, the statement sitting on his tongue as he tutted at you. The orgasm came crashing down as you fell into his shoulder, still shaking and breathing with a sharp whine in your voice. He held the back of your neck, and you thought the softness he had showed was something true in that moment, his other arm coming around your side to support your back as he pressed small, feather light kisses into the side of your head.

“Oh, beautiful…” He then swooned, and his tone shifted back to a hungry groan, “You know I ain’t done.”

He hiccupped somewhere deep from his chest, and suddenly had you on your back again, nearly laying on top of you as he began slamming his hips forward at a new pace, meeting your overstimulated entrance over and over again and securing you with his hand around the front of your neck, squeezing brutally.

When you gagged, nails sinking into the side of the couch, he started nipping against your neck. “Take it, I didn’t settle down just to fuck a quittin’ little whore.” He whispered, huffing hot breath into your ear. Your eyes snapped open, and your walls were seizing with sharp pain, but willing to take the burn with a satisfied hiss and affirmations that came in breathless gasps. “Okay, I will, Bo. Okay-”

“That’s right, show me what this perfect [pussy/hole] can do for me.” He demanded, and suddenly he was rolling in his movements as he paused in the sucking and licking against your throat, breathing with an open-mouthed exhale and bathing your skin in burning breaths and tense grunts.

You were tired, you were spinning from the booze, and you still burned. You started crooning desperately, feeling your chest and stroking your own skin for comfort. “Come on, Bo. Please, I n-need it.” You looked back up for a moment, and his pupils had grown at the begging. You started clenching your muscles down below, and he responded by baring his teeth and immediately stilling. His grunts almost carried a broken edge to them as he only wiggled his hips now, emptying into you with long growls, attempting to speak but unable to between noises. He hadn’t even finished before crashing on top of you in a heavy thud of skin touching skin, sticking together immediately from sweat and bodily fluids mingling with one another.

You were gone, barely registering the way your body was screaming, shaking at the knees as they rubbed and settled against his sides. You caught your breath slowly, but even as you came back to earth your vision was starting to spin. Whiskey snuck up on you like that sometimes, and it hadn’t helped you had been taken for quite the ride on top of that.

You then turned your attention to the weight against your stomach. “…Bo?” The long, deep sighs that were being huffed against your chest along with a hand that didn’t even try to jerk away when you accidentally touched the scar tissue shackled to his wrist told you that he wasn’t going to be going anywhere for awhile.

With you underneath, you realized that that made two of you.

The smile started, then grew. Soon, you were giggling under your breath as you reached for the blanket resting on top of the sofa. The buzz was coming to its end as you covered your exposed bodies for the time and snuggled against the clammy skin of Bo’s shoulder. He subconsciously pulled his arms around you, holding on as if he was worried you were going to try and get up from how you adjusted.

“Hey. I’m not going anywhere, Bo.” You assured, half awake yourself and still a little tipsy as you leaned in to press your lips to the crown of his head. The dizzy smile you got in return was genuine enough to finally ease you into sleep.

#bo sinclair x reader #bo sinclair x y/n #slasher x reader #slasher x y/n #notsfw #✏️#🕯️#this wasn't supposed to be this long tbh #i swear i will write someone other than bo when i come back from the holiday lol...#and as always i encourage criticism if i'm writing the reader too AFAB-coded when i tag it as GN ;-; ♡♡♡#because ngl this was originally gonna be for my eyes only so i have some lingering AFAB-coded stuff in here probably

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vanderlustwords · 3 years

Text

We're Going There || part i

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader

Please do not repost/translate anywhere. Reblogs/Comments are much welcomed ♥

Masterlist || Taglist

Summary: Bucky's just bidding his time because something's always in the way. When you have someone, he doesn't. When he has someone, you don't. But the way you look at each other, Bucky knows exactly where it's going. [angst with happy ending]

Note: Inspired by the song 'There's No Way' by Lauv ft. Julia Michaels. Bucky as an ex is unparalleled. There'll be 2 or 3 parts to this! Comment to be added to a taglist for the next part! :) *psa this isn’t a cheating fic*

If any of you watch psych, know that I extra love you LMAO

Warnings: Pining, a lil spicy, petnames (honey, doll, baby), a lil angst.

Count: ~3k

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You fall back against the wall, chest heaving heavily.

You try to pull back, but there's nowhere to go. You don't think you want to go far, anyway. It's evident in the way your hands are clutching his dress shirt desperately.

"We shouldn't. This is a bad idea," you whisper.

His eyes open, and you feel your heart flutter at his cobalt eyes, dark with desires as he stares at you. You can feel his breath on your lips as he pants.

Bucky grins at you, encasing your head between his arms. "Is it, though?" He brushes his lips against yours, sending chills down your spine. "Or has it been a long time comin'?"

Bucky keeps pressing his lips against yours over and over in short, chaste kisses. "I haven't stopped thinkin' about you since the day you left, honey."

He tastes like whiskey and mint, and your hands clench tighter unwittingly. Your body feels flush with heat. You still stand by your words—this was an undoubtedly bad idea. There had been a reason you left after all.

"Admit it," Bucky lifts one of his hands from the wall, cupping your jaw lightly as he caresses your cheek with his thumb. "Six months of all that tension has just been a lead-up to this. We're going there, honey. We're going all the way for good this time."

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You felt your heart fluttering in your chest, filled with nerves and anxiety.

It's been two years—two years since you've been James Buchanan Barnes.

Two years since you've broken up.

You run your hand through the side of your hair nervously, trying to not think about it. The last argument, the last words, before silence.

"Are you okay?"

You turn your head over and smile at the concerned look.

"Yeah," you put your hand down in your lap. "It's just been a while since seeing the entire team, you know? So much has changed."

There's a deep, gravelly laugh before a large hand settles on top of yours. "Yeah, you probably weren't expecting to be in Santa Barbara that long, but chasing powered serial killers take longer than you expected, huh? Also doesn't help you met an incredibly handsome man. You nervous about introducing me to the team?"

You cock your brow at him with a smirk. "You nervous about meeting a bunch of superheroes?"

"Oh, but sweetheart, I'm also a superhero," he puts his fingers up dramatically to his temples. "A psychic."

You roll your eyes playfully as your shove him with a laugh. "Santa Barbara may buy that, but I saw through that schtick after our first case. You know Wanda and Vision will know immediately too, right? In fact, many of them will be able to figure it out."

"Well, I mean...psychic is such a loose term. Who can truly say my skills of deduction aren't visionary?" He puckered his lip in avoidance. "What matters is that my visions stay visionary in Santa Barbara. So..."

You sigh, "Already ahead of you. I've already emailed Natasha that my boyfriend, Shawn Spencer, is a fraudulent psychic and to please ask the team to say nothing about it."

Shawn whines, "Babe! You're not going to even try to let me see if I can trick 'em?"

"Shawn...there is a literal magical witch, an AI that can read your mind, a God and multiple trained biologically enhanced agents. You're not fooling anyone here."

"You, my dear, are a spoiled sport," he sticks his tongue out at you, and you laugh as he leans over and kisses your nose. "I'm really glad I could come with you."

You continue to smile because you like Shawn, and Shawn likes you. Despite everything that had happened, Shawn wanted to try to make it work even though you were being hauled back to New York.

You wondered if it would work. After all, you were anxious to see Bucky again, and Shawn had been anxious to leave Juliette behind.

"Me too."

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Bucky checked his reflection in the mirror for the 16th time that day.

He just freshly got a haircut and had that stubble you always liked. He wasn't trying to do it for you per se...but knowing you were coming back after all this time, Bucky was nervous as hell.

Two years of silence gave him a lot of time to miss you. Shit, he'd been such a punk. He should've let Steve and Natasha smack him upside the head when it was all going down.

Knock some sense into him that he was losing the best thing in his life.

Honestly, the worst part is that Bucky doesn't even remember what the two of you even argued about daily. There had been deep, underlying issues that you had tried to bring up and that he was trying to suppress.

The nightmares.

The lack of communication.

The mandated therapy.

You had felt alone.

Bucky sighed. Shit, he really was an asshole.

But Bucky was ready to prove to you that he's changed. That losing you had changed him. He had gone to therapy religiously and done the work to help himself.

He'd also seen people on and off, no one ever really sticking the landing for him. Bucky knows it's probably because he's holding out for you.

There was a sudden knock on his door.

"Come in," Bucky said as he tried to fix up his hair one last time.

"Hey."

Bucky could see in the mirror that it was Nat. She looked rather tense as she had her arm crossed.

"What's wrong?" Bucky asked as he turned to her. "We should probably head down soon. She's gonna be here in an hour."

"Yeah," Nat said softly. "About that..."

Bucky's heart immediately starts to speed up, worry wracking through him.

"What? What's wrong?" Bucky immediately asks again. "Is there something wrong with her flight? Is she—Did she decide she's not coming back?"

Nat shakes her head. "No, no. She's coming back. I just checked my emails, though, and thought I should warn you."

Bucky stares at Nat, silent as he waits for her news—bad news, it seems.

"She's dating, Buck. She's bringing her boyfriend home with her."

⊶⊶⊶⊶⊶✞⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷

Everyone was outside the Compound, ready to greet you, when your cab pulled up.

"It's been way too long," Natasha said as she pulled you into a tight hug. Wanda hugged you right after Natasha let go.

"It's not the same here without you," she said in your ear, and you smiled and patted her back.

"Yeah, I'm really happy to be home too," you say.

Steve pulls you into a hug that lifts you off the ground and a spin. "Good to have you home." He lets you down before he joins Shawn in pulling your bags out.

"I got it," Steve said as he clapped Shawn on the back in greeting and pulled out the bags at once with ease.

"I could've lifted it," Shawn says with a joking jilt of his chin.

"But I just wanted to see your muscles in action. I'm trying really hard to not have a man-crush on you right now. Can we take a picture? Gus is going to be so jealous."

Steve laughs with a shake of his head as he sets the bag down and leans into the frame of Shawn's phone for a photo.

You sigh as you turn to everyone. "Well, this my boyfriend everyone. Shawn Spencer, everyone. Everyone, Shawn Spencer."

"Nailed the introduction, firecracker," Tony smirked as he bumped fists with you and turned to Shawn. "So, this is the famous psychic we've heard literally nothing about except for a paragraph long email today?"

"That would be me," Shawn dramatically bowed.

"Don't buy it one bit," Tony puckers his lips. "But I guess it's just observation skills, meh."

"Please do not reduce my powers to such things, Mr. Stark. In fact, let me get a reading on you," Shawn brings his fingers to his temple, and you sigh again as Tony looks curious.

Shawn does that thing where he squints, and you try to not roll your eyes with a laugh. "You, Mr. Stark, have had three and a half cups of coffee, you've been wearing the same shirt for 3 days now, and you're in the midst of a breakthrough on your prosthetic project but your lovely wife has specifically threatened to strangle you and leave you in the dog house if you didn't take a break. You're supposed to call in and check in with her in the next..." Shawn hums, "ten minutes to let her know how my lovely girlfriend is since she couldn't make it."

Tony's mouth drops. "What—How did you—"

Shawn looks so smug as he cockily swipes his thumb under his nose. "What can I say, the spirits speak to me."

"And it's your B.O. that we can all smell, the coffee stains on your pants and tremors in your hand, you're still wearing a prosthetic prototype, and you keep checking the time so you don't miss check-in time with Pepper," you drawl.

"Ugh, babe!" Shawn whines, but there's a twinkle in his eye.

You shake your head as everyone introduces themselves to Shawn. As people begin to crowd around him, you're finally left with the last person in view.

Your breath hitches in the back of your throat.

Bucky Barnes stands in the back, looking equally winded by seeing you.

He looks...good. Healthier, happier than the last time you saw him. The dark circles have vastly reduced, and while he was always muscular, he looks like he hasn't skipped any meals. He's not as pallor.

The chattering becomes a distant noise as Bucky approaches you.

"Hey," Bucky says first, and his tone is so gentle, so soft that it makes you sigh with relief.

"Hey," you give him a small smile. "You look really good, Bucky."

He smiles back at you, genuinely happy, but there's something sad just underneath it. "Thanks. After you—uh—left, it kicked me into gear to get the help I needed. I don't even have to see my therapist anymore, but I still check in every three to four months."

Your smile gets wider, but your eyes are slightly sad. "I"m really happy and proud of you, Buck," you say, and you are. You really are. But at the same time, you can't help think there's a little tragedy that you had to leave, that things had to end for Bucky to decide to want to help himself.

Bucky swallows. "You look good, too. All that California sun did you good, huh?"

You bring your hand to your mouth as you laugh a little. "It did. It was a good change of scenery."

"Happy to be home, though?"

You stare at Bucky for a long moment before you nod.

"Very happy."

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Bucky stares at you in the distance as he holds his drink and lingers at the bar.

He watches you laugh and something Natasha says and watches your boyfriend place his hand on the small of your back.

It's just a small get-together to welcome you home, though the floor is packed because so many people are happy to see you. You were always the brightest part of people's day. Of course, they're so glad for you to come home.

Bucky tries to not feel devastated about the fact he probably dimmed a little bit of your light the last few months before it was over and before you left.

But that light looks like it returned, and Bucky is happy for it as much as he's heartbroken. Because it's not him that helped you get that light back. It's your boyfriend, who seemingly only has a wardrobe of oversized jeans, run-down sneakers, and dress shirts. It's a very odd combination.

"How you feelin', pal?"

Steve slides up to Bucky, drink in hand as well, and Bucky just shrugs. Steve knew that Bucky had been so excited for you to come home, so excited to try to make things right and win you back.

"Think I blew it," Bucky admits as he keeps watching you. unable to rip his eyes away. "I should've called her, should've gone to Santa Barbara but I really wanted to get my shit together before I saw her."

Steve purses his lips as he looks down, unsure how to comfort his best friend.

"It'll be alright, Buck," he says as he bumps his shoulder against Bucky's. "If it's meant to be, it will. If not, you'll have her as a friend if you want and there's plenty of fish in the sea."

Bucky snorts. "Now that you're dating Sharon, you're full of wise dating advice now, huh?"

Steve grins. "Can't always be a punk."

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"You sure you're good out here?"

You nod as you kiss Shawn on the cheek. "Yeah, go on back inside. I know you want to try to lift Thor's hammer. You've got to facetime Gus too so he can be here in spirit. Gus'll never forgive you if you forget."

"Oh, right," Shawn laughs. "Alright, see you in a bit?"

You nod again.

When you're left to your own devices, you let out a sigh.

Things are strange. A part of you doesn't really know if bringing Shawn was the right idea—if trying to make it work was the right idea.

You had seen his phone earlier, just by coincidence, when he pulled it out to check who was calling him.

It was Juliette, probably checking to make sure things were okay.

You love Juliette, you do, and you respect her as a colleague and a friend you've gotten to know. You just try not to think about how she's probably still in love with Shawn, that the reason they had only split up was that she wasn't ready to get married when Shawn popped the question six months ago. Shawn said she had stuttered when he tried to ask her when she'd be ready.

It was surprising to everyone.

You think Shawn's probably still in love with her, too, but he's just too good of a guy to not try to make this work between the two of you.

You can't blame him.

After all, one look at Bucky Barnes had you swallowing back all the feelings, the denial you were still in love with him too. But you were still going to try to make it work with Shawn because you think there's just too much history between you and Bucky to try to make it work.

There were too many hurt feelings, and things left unsaid when it was over.

The balcony doors open, and you jump in surprise.

"Oh, shit—sorry, I didn't think anyone was out here."

You place your hand over your heart and calm yourself when you realize it was Bucky.

"Just getting some fresh air. It's getting a little overwhelming," you let out a chuckle.

"Yeah, you're definitely the center of attention tonight with it being your party and all," Bucky grins, and you grin back.

Bucky comes and joins you over the railing as you peer out into the distance, into the trees and night sky.

Silence envelopes the two of you.

You suddenly feel more melancholy.

"I'm sorry," Bucky suddenly says.

You turn your head and blink at him.

"Sorry?" You repeat unsurely.

Bucky turns to you fully and nods somberly. "For everything that led up to you leaving. For the terrible, terrible things I said. For how I really hurt you when you were just trying to help."

You instantly feel something raw claw at the back of your throat, something stinging in your eyes.

You suddenly hear the last words Bucky had said to your flash in your mind.

"Jesus fucking Christ! Do you know how unbelievably aggravating it is to have you bring this up every other day? I'm not one of your little projects for you to fix. I've asked you to leave it be for me to deal with and you're constantly getting on my case about it. I can't get a moment of peace with you around!"

You pinch your forearm subtly. That had been two years ago. It didn't hurt as much anymore, but it had been those words that pushed you to the outside.

But Bucky is standing before you now, apologizing and looking better, and you just want to let it go.

"It's okay," you give him a small smile. "I know you were just hurting."

Bucky purses his lips because it's not really okay, it'll never be okay, and he wants to make it up to you even if he doesn't know how exactly yet.

"Are you happy?" Bucky asks, and you look surprised.

"Happy?"

Bucky nods. "No one deserves to be happier than you, not in my book anyway. Even though you were gone, I never stopped caring. I'll never stop caring."

The words ring your heart painfully.

A part of you wished Bucky never said that, and a part of you can't help but be elated.

But caring hadn't been enough the first time around. It's probably not enough now.

"Yeah, I think I am," you tell Bucky. "Shawn...gets me. I get him. We're working with what we have and I think that's enough for me."

It's a strange answer, but Bucky nods because despite him thinking you deserve more than that, you said it was enough for you.

Bucky wonders if he should hold on or let go.

But as you smile at him before turning back, the moon illuminating you with a slight breeze, Bucky doesn't think he can ever let go.

So, he's content to watch you.

"I'll always care about you too, Bucky," you say softly. "I hope we both get to be happy. You deserve happiness too, more than anyone. At least to me."

Yeah, Bucky thinks as he feels an odd pang thud in his chest, right against his ribs. He's content to watch until he knows he can't anymore.

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes angst #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes fanfic #buck barnes imagine #bucky x you #avengers x reader #shawn spencer x reader #avengers imagine #v.myfic #s.weregoingthere

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ichigoromi · 3 years

Text

𝐖𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐛𝐞𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐬𝐢𝐜𝐤 𝐝𝐮𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 | 𝐒𝐚𝐤𝐮𝐬𝐚 𝐊𝐢𝐲𝐨𝐨𝐦𝐢 𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧| 𝐇𝐚𝐢𝐤𝐲𝐮𝐮 𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧 | 𝐀𝐋𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐍𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐕𝐄 𝐄𝐍𝐃𝐈𝐍𝐆

Alright, just want to put out there that I do NOT SUPPORT cheating. I'm going to write one where I might just lash out at OMI. Hmm, I don't like cheating for personal reasons, but I just don't think it's right.

So, for my previous post, I want to clarify that he did not full-on kiss the close friend but maybe like a lip to lip touch only; that was what I was going for initially.

Now, I want to write something that really hurts because I'm just reminded of something.

But, this post might be triggering and sad.

Warning (s): mentions of cheating, strong language, hospitals and breakups.

a/n: omg i didn't know i was going to write this long. just's a heads up, i used the she/her pronouns!

Enjoy...

Sakusa Kiyoomi

You felt like your relationship with Sakusa was slowly breaking down.

It was becoming toxic for you and him; it was not working out like last time.

When you guys fought in the past, you two would make up the next day, but these days, he stays out and comes back once every few days.

You tried calling him and even staying up to wait for him, but he never came home.

All the stress from your work and your relationship problems were becoming troubling for your body.

Still, you want to make this relationship work. You have been together with Sakusa for five years, almost half of your youth.

You two have been with each other through ups and downs; you guys can work this out.

Or so you thought.

It has been weeks that you tried to meet him and call him to have dinner together so that you two can have a proper conversation and makeup.

He never replies to your texts or calls.

When you are out at work, he only returned to the apartment to collect a change of clothes and belongings.

You noticed that his stuff was slowly getting removed, and you dread the worst.

Hell, you really wanted to confront him and ask him for the truth.

How did you two end up in this state?

You confide in your best friend that you consider as your sister from another womb. Since you only have brothers.

Your boss was being extra generous and gave you half a day off, considering that you have been overworking and decided to make his favourite dinner.

You bought tons of food so that you two can bond again and work the problems out.

It was a good day, and you were feeling hopeful.

Oh, hell no.

You felt your stomach dropped as you noticed the familiar pair of heels and that customised sneakers.

You heard giggles and moans.

There he was, half-naked and full-on making out with your best friend that you consider as your sister.

She hurriedly stops Sakusa when she noticed you.

Your knuckles were turning white from your grip.

"So this was why you have been avoiding me? I see two of my best friends hooking up. Ah, you must be glad that I was a fool so that you two can fool behind my back, huh?" You let out a bitter laugh and took a deep breath.

"How long has this been going on?" You asked the two of them.

"Six months."

They have been seeing each other for six months, and you spend all your tears on these two people you trust the most. They were your world.

"Was it fun? Hmm, Hanari? Tell me? How was it fucking your best friend's boyfriend knowing all of our relationship problems? Six months...I can't believe it. I must look like a fool where I pour my heart and tears to you about my relationship, and you two were fucking behind my back." Your eyes have gone completely dull, and the tears were threatening to spill.

"Kiyoomi, I was the one trying to work things out and trying to make this relationship work. What about you? I know that you are tired from your practice, and you could not even bother trying in this relationship?

How about me, huh? I am exhausted from taking care of patients and trying to please you. Was this relationship all about you?

Hanari, I know you like him since high school but just didn't have the balls to confess before I did. I felt bad, but now, I don't. But, as my best friend, how could you?

I am over this. Enjoy my sloppy seconds, Hanari. I hope you two are happy. Thank you, you assholes."

You flipped them off and turn your back on them. Before you even reach the door, you felt a sharp pain on your right cheek and taste blood in your mouth.

"Well, I guess you can't even handle words that you need to resort to physical violence." You threw her a nasty glare and walks out of that apartment and both of their lives.

Once you reach your car, you collapse on the car seat in excruciating pain.

It started when you confront them, and you felt the sharp pain in the lower right side of your abdomen. You could not raise your voice at them as it worsens the pain.

Your hand trembles as you reach for your phone to call someone to come and get you as you can't drive due to the pain.

"Oh, why are ya callin' me? Did ya miss me?"

"Tsumu, can you come to the parking lot in my apartment building? It's urgent." You requested, trying to pace your breathing.

"What's wrong? Are ya okay? Hey, I'm comin', hang in there."

You ended the call and laid back on the seat. It hurts so much that you feel like fainting.

Though it was only a ten-minute wait, it felt like ages for you.

"Oh lord, I'm glad I pull Samu along. Can ya walk?" He asked you, and you shook your head. He tries his best to make a minimal movement, but he sees you grimace at every small movement he makes.

Osamu got behind the wheel, and Atsumu cradle you close to his chest.

You whimpered in pain and clutch on to his sweatshirt tightly.

"Where's Omi? Didn't he went home earlier to get ya?" You shook your head, tears slowly trickling down your cheeks.

He knew something was wrong but decided to not probe you anymore.

You were immediately wheeled in, and Atsumu were left to handle your paperwork. Osamu sighed and started contacting his girlfriend that he might not return back today.

Hearing that you were hospitalised, she told Osamu that she would be driving up there.

Atsumu tries not to show his nervousness, but as his twin, Osamu clearly knows that he is distraught for you. Your boyfriend was supposed to be here, taking Atsumu place, but instead, he was nowhere to be found.

You were in so much pain that you could not even drive and had to ask Atsumu, who is an amateur driver.

"Doctor y/l/n requires immediate operation since she has a ruptured appendix. May I know who is her next of kin?" The assistant doctor asked and Atsumu followed after him to wrap up the paperwork for you.

Atsumu watches you slowly breathe in and out in a constant manner and gently brushes your hair away from your pale face.

He called and informed Sakusa about your hospitalisation, but his teammate just told him that he was just exaggerating and you were just down with the flu.

You were still in a deep sleep from the anaesthesia.

"Hey, how is she?" Mira, Osamu's girlfriend, asked Atsumu.

"She just came out from surgery about three hours ago. So, she's still asleep. Her brothers are coming tomorrow." Mira lets out a sigh and gently holds your hand.

She heard about Sakusa from Osamu and almost wanted to storm to his apartment and drag his ass here.

"I think the two of them broke up. She called me and asked me to pick her up, and she was hunched over in pain. Sakusa left practice early saying that he was going to pick her up, but it was a lie."

Mira lightly pats your hand and heads out of the private ward.

After Mira left, you squinted your eyes and grimaced at the faint pain on your right side.

"Oh, thank the lord you're awake! Do you know how worried I was? What happened between you and Omi?"

"We broke up. He cheated. I'll be fine." Even though you say that you would be fine, you can't help but feel the hot tears spill.

Atsumu pulls you to his chest and pats your back gently.

"Hey, I'll be here for ya. Don't ya worry, 'kay? Don't waste yer precious tears on someone who doesn't deserve it. Take care of yourself, 'kay?" He gently wipes the tears away from your cheeks and places a light kiss on your forehead and heads out of your ward for you to rest.

It's all going to be okay, you still have other people that care for you.

He never came to the hospital to check on you after you collapse in the parking lot. In fact, he released an announcement about the breakup.

Your brothers held back a lot when they went to pick up your belongings.

Atsumu offered for you to temporarily to stay at his place until you find a place for yourself.

You knew that Atsumu has been by your side this whole time and his feelings for you, but you just need to confirm it.

"Hey, ready to go?" He arrived just in time.

"Tsumu, I want to ask you something and you have to be honest with me." You pats the empty space beside you. He sat down beside you and you took his hand and held in your small hands.

"Do you have feelings for me?"

He froze and blinked at you.

"I know. Since a long time ago." His face fell and he braced for the rejection that was going to happen soon.

"Loosen up. I'm not ready for a relationship yet but if you can wait, I'm taking that confession."

Atsumu's expression lights up and he threw his arms around you, careful to avoid your stitches area.

"I'll wait! No matter how long it is, I'll wait for you!"

Alright, I hope this does not change your mind about Omi. ITS ALL AN IMAGINATION. I love Omi with all my heart but I had to break to y'all the harsh reality. Being cheated is never pretty and with the right support system, everything will all work out fine.

This has been the alternative ending that I would have written for my previous post.

Thank you for reading.

Stay safe and healthy!

With love,

Rosalie🍓

#sakusa kiyoomi #sakusa headcanons #sakusa angst #sakusa x reader #sakusa x you #sakusa x y/n #sakusa kyoomi headcanons #haikyuu!!#haikyuu hcs #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu angst #msby black jackal #msby headcanons #msby sakusa #msby atsumu #atsumu haikyuu #atsumu x you #atsumu x y/n #atsumu headcanons

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hotwings0203 · 3 years

Note

as ur irl bestie i am cashing in my favor and am asking- no begging for a dilf damon fic pls <3

😑fine fineee I guess I can take a quick break from writing BNHA stuff for you🙄

CW: NSFW, Damon Albarn being an a-hole, manipulation, gaslighting, language minor stuff like that

The studio itself was pretty spacious, you couldn't lie. As much as you loathed to give this cursed group any more credit, you were hard-pressed to remember the last time you´d been called into such a professional recording booth. You were used to dingy atmospheres, crumbling walls, stained carpet, and even cramped garages at times. It felt like your years of meticulously swaying your hand back and forth on the rosin and tuning your strings until they damn near popped were slowly going down the drain, lost in spaces of screaming adolescent boys and shady market agents. The streets of London were unforgiving for a young musician like you, no room to turn to since others were exactly in the same position as you.

It was by pure coincidence that the day you had played for a local cafe for a small commission, Graham fucking Coxon was sitting in the back of the run-down joint, sipping a murky glass of Bourbon.

You didn't notice him at first, of course. You had simply let the music in your mind travel from your head down to your arms, and allowed it to move through your fingertips to your bow. The serene melody that sang through the air had turned his head to face you, the shitty drink in his hand stopped halfway to his mouth.

Your solo was only a couple of minutes, but the second you were done and packing your bags to head out, the brunette made a beeline for you, blocking your exit.

¨Uh, can I help you?¨ You cock your head and shift your violin case.

¨Yes, you can actually. Listen, I know this is gonna sound a bit straightforward, but I really liked your piece. Did you compose it yourself?¨ He sounds quiet and sounds nervous, with him barely looking you in the eyes.

¨Yeah, I did!¨ You can´t help but beam-it took you several days just to perfect a few meager lines, but in the end you were content with the piece.

¨Wow...that's serious talent right there,¨ He opens the door for you, and you nod before you head out, him trailing behind you as he leaves with you.

¨You make a good amount of money doing small jobs like this?¨ His voice is nasally and low, but with a slightly higher pitch than your typical London accent.

At this, you squint your eyes a bit and turn your head at him. It was nice of him to be interested in your work, but for someone you don't personally know, the idea of talking about your small gigs that merited little to no money was not something you were fond of.

He senses your hesitancy and immediately withdraws. ¨I´m sorry, that was probably rude of me to be so blunt about it. Actually, I don´t think I´ve properly introduced myself.¨ He stops to face you, and you do the same.

¨I´m Graham Coxon. You may or may not have heard of me, but I can assure you that I too enjoy music, as an understatement.¨ He extends a calloused hand and smiles a little bit, adjusting the blocky glasses on his face.

Graham...Coxon? Graham as in....oh, holy shit.

¨No way.¨

¨Er...unfortunately, yes way.¨ His soft voice lilts as he holds back a laugh, and you gape at him.

¨Oh my god!¨ You drop your violin case in the excitement of eagerly returning his handshake. ¨You-you're from Blur! I know you!¨

¨Was from Blur, and ´careful now, don´t wanna ruin your instrument. But listen, I´m kind of in a bind here so I´ll get to the chase. We´re working on a few chords here and there back at the studio, and I´ve been on the lookout for a while for someone who fits our tune. ´Thing is, the deadline for submitting our song is comin´ up fast, so we only have a couple weeks left.¨

You raise your eyebrows, heart pounding in your chest as you listen to his proposition.

¨So I´m thinking, you sound pretty good, it's exactly what we need to fill in our bridge. I´d love it if you came in and played a tune for us. If we like you and you´re cool with it, you could feature on our song.¨

It feels surreal. Were you hearing right? Graham Coxon from Blur asking you to play on his song? This had to be a prank.

¨Ẅait, but you've only heard me once, what if my sound doesn't match what you're actually looking for?¨ You stammer, palms clammy as you wipe them off on your trousers.

¨Well, that's what a rehearsal session is for, lovely,¨ He chuckles nervously and slides his slightly foggy glasses up his nose. ¨So, you wanna give it a go?¨

You think for a moment, biting your lower lip. There wasn't exactly anything stopping you now, was there? I mean, sure, the prospect of playing in front of one of UK's most famous bands was daunting, but this was your chance to finally be recognized!

Taking a deep breath, you pick up your fallen case and nod. ¨Alright, I´m in. When you do wanna meet up?¨

Graham visibility deflates in relief, letting out a shaky exhale. ¨Great. I'll text you the time and place, yeah? The boys and I´ve gotta get a few more things set up, so we´ll be in contact soon.¨

You both exchange numbers, your phone tingling in your hand long after you bid farewell and drive home in a buzz.

When you finally get home to your apartment, you throw your keys onto the counter and flop down onto the mattress. What a fucking day.

So many thoughts bounce around in your addled head. You want to do well, but obviously you don't have their kind of experience in the industry. Should you play more in tune with their song, or continue with your own sound? An idea pops into your head amidst your lunch, a few hours later. Why not just do some more research on the band themselves? Then you'd know exactly what kind of music they're looking for.

The boys and I´ve gotta get a few more things set up.

Oh yeah, who else was in the band? It's not like you didn't know who Blur was at their peak, but you paid more attention to their music rather than their faces. Truthfully, you never really basked in tabloids and newspapers purring about the next big scandal, or the top dogs of Britain´s industry when that stuff was relevant.

You abandon your pathetic sandwich and make your way to your laptop, sliding into a chair and getting down to business. After a few quick searches, you pull up a couple tabs around the name Blur.

Graham Coxon- Recovering alcoholic. Big fight with Damon Albarn.

Alex James- Cute boy turned conservative. Classic case.

Dave Rowntree- Mainly untouched. Became a successful lawyer. Good for him.

Damon Albarn- A fucking mess.

Puffing up your cheeks and putting your hands behind your head, you lean back in your chair. Good god, this man is a wreck. Headlines from decades ago swim in and out of your eyes, loud, obnoxious neon prints of Justine and Damon broken up again? Suede claps back!, or Will the Blur Brothers ever come back to each other? Find out first-hand from Coxon himself!, and worst of all, Albarn relapses again, Damon Albarn from Blur goes head-to-head with Liam and Noel-news flash, the brothers win!

You think you see something about him and a potential wife and child, and that's when you decide it's time to sleep.

After all, there's no point in getting caught up in any of their backstories.You were just there to play a solo and get out. Nosing around in their lives was more trouble than what it was worth, anyways.

Which is exactly what you kept trying to tell yourself as you walked into the modern studio two weeks later, its grey soundproof walls and white floor screaming fancy and rich to you. And fancy and rich didn't come without grit and experience, which you had none of. As if to emphasize your inexperience, you went into the wrong halls twice before you exasperatedly checked your messages with Graham and saw that no, it wasn´t room 311, it was room 113.

Finally, finally, you came across your designated room. The mahogany door was closed, and you placed a hand on the silver knob. You could faintly hear the sounds of a guitar being played from the inside, and it was curiosity above everything else that compelled you to push it open.

From behind the clear window that separated the booth from the recording area, you see them. Graham, Damon, and other men you don't recognize are all in the midst of the song, the same song Graham had texted you the PDF of for the violin notes. You sheepishly take a few steps forward and clear your throat to catch the attention of a bald man leaning back against his chair right in front of the glass. He turns around and you give a weak little wave, clutching your case in the other hand.

¨Hey, I´m here for-¨

¨-Yeah, yeah, Graham told me all about you. Go on ahead and join in, they just started.¨ He pulls a toothpick out from between his lips and gestures to the door of the divider.

You feel your heart pounding in your chest as you make your way through the second door, and the second you step inside meekly, Damon and Graham´s eyes are on you.

Graham continues to play the guitar, only lighting up his eyes and giving you an encouraging nod when you step in, and the other two men on bass and saxophone also give a quick smile in greeting. And Damon…well.

Damon barely acknowledges you.

He continues to sing and stare straight ahead at the wall in front of him as if there's an interesting scene being played out on the grey paint.

You´re unsure of whether to catch his attention and give a proper greeting, but you decide not to as it would interfere with the song. So instead, you quickly grab a nearby chair and stand and set up your rosin and papers.

Your timing is perfect; the bridge is about to come up. Just to be certain, you look up from your poised position and catch the eyes of most everyone except for Damon´s. They all give you a quick thumbs up or an expectant look for your confirmation of playing.

And then, it comes. Damon stops singing, and your cue to sweep your bow across the horse hairs of your strings comes.

Melodious, whole, fulfilling, it was. Graham´s guitar chords harmonized with the tones of your violin, and music that you´ve never dreamed of creating was made by your hands exceptionally.

Everyone was in awe of your raw talent, from the way their gazes were rapt onto your bow, moving back and forth,staying still in some highs and whittling away at the lows. You even thought you saw the producer from inside the booth turn his head towards you from the corner of your eye, but you couldn´ be sure.

Everyone except Damon Albarn.

The song ended a minute later with the signal of a fading out bass, and then there was silence.

¨Right on with that tune.. ´Thought we'd be fucked ova´ if we didn't find someone to take that melody.¨ The bassist with long shaggy hair grinned and you returned one back.

¨Yeah, I was kind of hesitant when Graham ´ere told us he found one to take this position on, but I'm pleased.¨ The saxophone player scratched his chin and hummed his agreement. You felt relief.

Until he spoke.

¨Is this your first time playing?¨

You look incredulously over at him, looking straight on at his face. Sandy hair, lines on his cheeks, slight scruff around his chin, he looked older than his online pictures.

¨Uhh, no?¨ You laugh a little, trying to keep the annoyance out of your voice. ¨If I was, I doubt Graham would think I´m good enough to play with you guys.¨

¨I don't think Graham is the only one who needs to think that.¨ Everyone shifts uncomfortably, looking nervously from Damon to you, and Graham tugs his collar as if the temperature had gone up.

But nonetheless, you don't back down.

¨Oh yeah? How so?¨

¨You played the G-string too high,¨ He deadpans, looking utterly bored amidst oceanic hues.

¨What?¨ You flip your music pages a couple of times until you find the page where you played that part. ¨No I didn´t, I was right on tune-do you even know how to play the violin?¨

¨No,¨ he smirks, and with your blood boiling steadily you open your mouth to argue, but thankfully Graham butts in.

¨Damon, don´t be a prick, she played fine. Unlike you, who fucked up on the 5th verse.¨

The man in question lazily stretches his arms above his head, causing his white tee to rise a few inches over his belly button. You can´t help but glance at the skin-it's smooth, cleanly chiseled with part of his v-line showing, a happy trail rising from the juncture.

¨Oi, sweetheart, eyes up here.¨

You snap your gaze back to his smug face, cheeks burning.

¨I didn´t-¨

¨Sure you didn´t. Just like how I didn't mess up on the 5th verse, and how you didn't ruin the song with your shitty violin, yeah?¨ He simpers, and you almost rise out of your seat to snarl at him before Graham jumps in between you two, scolding a very inappropriately-grinning Damon.

You get up out of your chair and huff, shoving your belongings back into your bag as everyone else packs up, the men bickering and playfully throwing shit at each other.

The producer even congratulates you on your successful first day, and everyone cheers and pounds you on your back, your hair falling in your face and gracefully hiding your 120k watt smile.

Damon shoulders right past you, knocking your case right out of your hands. You grapple with it for a second before it hits the ground, and when it does you whip around and shoot him an icy glare.

He's not even looking at you, he's already out the door.

It's quiet for a moment.

¨Well, there he goes again being a dickhead. Classic Damon, you got.¨ The saxophone player points to the leaving blond and grins sheepishly at you.

¨What's his problem?¨ You ask in disgust, shaking your head as you join the rest of the boys leaving.

¨Uh, well...¨ Graham scratches the back of his head and avoids looking at you. ¨He's always been kind of like that, y´know, so don't take it too personally, but between just us four, his wife´s been on his arse for a bit about um...some...domestic affairs.¨ He finishes lamely, and the other two men guffaw at your raised eyebrow.

You don't have a chance to press further as to ask what domestic affairs, exactly because a loud clap of thunder shakes you all to your cores as you step outside.

¨Aw, come on!¨ You stamp your foot and hold out your hand for confirmation of the raindrops about to drop on you all. ¨I didn't know it was gonna rain today,¨ you grumble.

Graham squints up at the sky and wipes some droplets off his blurred glasses, covering his head with his jacket hood as he begins walking to the parking garage. ¨I´ll see you lot in about a week, yeah? Just keep practicing, good rehearsal we had today!¨ He waves his hand and dashes off.

¨Good job on your first day, Y/N. Fancy the weather on your walk back for us!¨ The sax and bass player bid farewell and also do a sprint to their respective cars, splashing through the puddles and sending muddy water on your pants.

¨Urgh!¨ You raise your hands to try and protect your bottoms but to no avail- London's sewage strikes again.

Sighing in defeat, you walk through the rain towards your car, succumbing to the grimy walk. Unfortunately you didn't think to use the parking garage due to high nerves when you first came in.

You walk for about 5 minutes, the rain drenching your hair and clothes and chilling you to your bones.

Could this day get any more annoying?

Oh, but you should´ve known that it could.

Because right at that moment, a black limo swerves right next to you on the sidewalk, sending a massive wave of gutter water right your way.

You swear loudly and jump back, barely managing to avoid the remnants of the sewage tsunami crossing your feet.

Looking up wildly at the offensive vehicle, you make a fist and flip the window off, your lip curled up into a snarl.

The obsidian glass rolls down.

¨Well that's not very nice, is it? Nasty weather we got going on right now, careful it doesn't get on your clothes.¨

Oh.

¨It's you,¨ you monotone, less than pleased to see his salacious grin at your predicament-which was being soaked to your undergarments in brown muddy water, your hair clinging to your face and your violin case lugging down towards the ground, its weight proving mutiny against you today of all days.

¨In the flesh,¨ Damon beams, and you scowl at his cheery attitude.

¨You almost drowned me, asshole,¨ You turn your nose up in scorn, and he chuckles in his baritone voice.

¨Nah, cant´ve love, I can't drive,¨ he clicks his tongue and jerks his thumb to the seat in front of him, where you assume his chauffeur is.

¨Oh, so it was under your orders that your poor driver practically waterboarded me?¨ ¨Well, yeah, I mean what else do you expect me to do when I see a pretty lady walking so harmlessly in the rain?¨ Your voice catches in your throat for a second from his words and the way his glacial eyes twinkle for a moment, but then he erupts in dry chuckles at your demeanor and you throttle your hesitancy at speaking.

¨Shut up, you're absolutely vile, y´know that?¨ ¨So I´ve been told, but to be honest sweetheart, I´d rather hear that in bed, where I´m used to hearing it. Now are you going to get in or shall I talk about my sexual prowess with you the rest of the afternoon?¨ He opens his door from the inside and mockingly winks at you.

You feign a gag, but still decide to jump in the spacious limo when a flash of lightning lights up the sky.

He scoots back to give you space to sit and adjust your violin case on the seats in front of you, but just as you´re about to close the door, he leans in right next to you and reaches behind you to pull it shut himself.

You´re caught still as he draws close, you´re extended hand frozen in midair as his arm against your back flexes and stiffens with it pulling the door. You can feel his breath against your neck as he exhales, can feel some of his hair tickling against your ear and cheek. You hold your breath, not daring to move lest you accidentally brush up against his proximity.

The loud slam of the door causes you to jump, and he laughs a little at that, signaling his driver to go.

You don't quite face him, your gaze down in your lap as his entire body is facing you, still stuck in its position when he was closing the car door.

¨Not nervous, are you?¨ He murmurs in your ear, and you can´t help it when your whole body shivers at feeling the rumble in his gravelly voice.

¨N-no, I´m not. Do you have to be so close?¨ You stammer, barely giving him a sideways glance which eggs him on, much to your displeasure.

¨Not really. But if you´re not nervous, then it shouldn't be a problem, right?¨ He says quietly and leans around to catch your eye.

Before you can lose your nerve and jump out of the car, you snap at him. ¨You just don´t quit, do you?¨

He finally relents and the side of his pink lips lift lazily as he stretches his knees out and practically manspreads across the expanse of three seats. ¨Nope. Not that you really were against it though, ´could feel your heart pounding a mile a minute sweetheart. Trust me, I´m used to making girls nervous, I would know.¨

You sneer at him. ¨Don´t call me sweetheart, and yeah, I was nervous about getting some disease-ridden prick like you getting close to me. God knows how many STD´s you've contracted from bedding some poor groupies.¨

¨Only one way to find out, right love?¨ He leans his head up to the car ceiling and lets his tousled golden hair flop back, his jawline accentuated by the cream-colored seats contrasting with his tan skin.

You catch yourself staring, and shake your head quickly.

¨You must´ve been more hopped up on heroine than I thought if you think I´d ever fuck a self-absorbed, narcissitic bastard like you.¨

The words leave your mouth before you can stop them, but once they do your eyes widen and you clap a hand over your mouth in horror.

Damon lifts his head and slowly turns to face you, his mouth set in a thin line.

¨A self-absorbed, narcissistic bastard whose limo you're riding in, need I remind you, so I can´t be all that bad. ´Can't say I haven't heard any of that before love, but most girls who say that end up in my bed anyways.¨

You open your mouth to argue but he cuts you off.

¨Although, ´hopped up on heroin´ is a new one. Just exactly how much research have you done about me so far?¨

Your rebuttal dies in your throat. You were caught.

Your ears burn and your face flushes as you bite your lip in embarrassment. Maybe you went too far, and on top of that you let it slip that you knew about him beforehand.

But you refuse to kowtow in humiliation to this idiot, so you think quickly.

¨I doubt you´ve got your head that far up your ass to disregard how half the world was tuning into your personal life when Blur was big, Damon.¨

He looks unimpressed with your excuse, but before he can open his mouth to question you further, you hurry up with another save.

¨Also, where are we going? You never asked me where my car was.¨

Bingo His eyes brighten and he shouts at the driver, harping on about him being a brain-dead idiot for driving in circles the past 10 minutes.

What a save.

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

The moment you step into the booth next week, a drumstick is lobbed at you from seemingly nowhere. You yelp and hold your case up, blocking the weapon as it bounces off your makeshift shield. You bring the case down and shoot a glare towards the only man you know capable of acting so childishly at his grown age.

But he´s already scrolling through his phone, looking for a measure to start from.

¨You´re late.¨

¨Hardly,¨ you mutter, glancing at the clock on the wall. Two minutes past shouldn´t be an excuse for having a drumstick pick out your eye.

¨Good to see you again, Y/N,¨ Graham pipes up softly, sending you an apologetic glance from Damon to you and you stick out your tongue in faux annoyance.

The other two members of your group greet you as well, and you all begin practice. Notes begin harmonizing together, voice and sound coinciding to make music you´ve swayed your hips and nodded your head to on blue nights.

It´s a hot day, humidity clinging to your skin akin to the perspiration hanging off your forehead, and halfway through the song you decide to take off your sweater. You´re wearing a white tank top underneath, nothing too revealing save for the slight dip in the V-neck, but you couldn't care less about modesty at the moment when your fingers were literally slipping in their grasp on your sweat-slicked bow.

During a quick break in your part of the song, you slip off your sweater and fan yourself out. It feels good, but you feel a pair of eyes staring at you. Following the laser gaze, you turn your head to face Damon, but he´s nose-deep in the lyrics sheet, warbling about a broken love or friendship.

Huh, must´ve been imagining it.

Your solo comes up, and you prepare yourself for tackling the notes to your best ability, keeping up with Graham´s rapid guitar pace. Sweat continues to build on everyone´s vicinity when the rapid movement of arms waving around their own instrument causes more body heat to suffocate you all.

Miraculously, the song finishes, and you collapse in your seat like the rest of the men, panting and wiping slick off your foreheads. You reach for a bottle of water on the floor and unscrew the lid, grimacing at its lukewarm temperature but drinking it nonetheless.

For the second time, you have an unnerving feeling of being watched. This time, you whip your head to the side and catch him staring straight at you.

Damon´s face is flushed, his hair tousled, his rose colored glasses steamed up from the muggy aura in the room. His denim jacket is hanging off one shoulder, the rest of his torso covered with a sheer wife beater that accentuates his chiseled dad-body.

But he just stares you down, saying nothing. You frown at him a little bit and shift your body away from him, feeling vulnerable to his laser-gaze. His eyes darken, but Graham speaks, cutting him off from whatever he was about to say.

¨That was pretty good, you lot. Greg, Taz, hold off on the third beat of the fourth measure. We´ve gotta crescendo slightly-¨

¨Y/N, do you have a job?¨

Damon's voice cuts off Graham, and everyone falters as they look at him and then you in surprise.

¨I don´t know what you mean,¨ you respond coolly, knowing that whatever he was about to say wasn't good.

¨I mean, do you have a job? Because as far as I know, most people who work don't dress like whores at their job.¨

His eyes travel from your face down to your slight cleavage, and you sputter in rage as the rest of the boys shift uncomfortably.

¨Damon, for god's sake what´re you on about?¨ Graham asks wearily, taking his glasses off and rubbing his shiny neck.

¨I could ask you the same thing, actually. Because as far as I know, you've fucked enough women in your lifetime that one would think you could keep it in your pants for five minutes without acting like a twelve-year-old. Oh, but unless that´s too professional for you? I guess you´re not as serious about your work environment as you claim.¨ you laugh, and the sax player, Greg, snorts into his water bottle.

Damon sneers, ¨How could I forget, you actually have done your research about my life and sexual endeavors, what a cute little fangirl you are. If you wanted an autograph, you could've just asked, sweetheart.¨

¨Go fuck yourself,¨ you snap. ¨You´re all wearing wife-beaters anyways, what's the difference?¨

Damon starts again but Graham claps his hands loudly, startling you all.

¨Enough, both of you! What's gotten into you? Need I remind you that our song is due in less than two weeks? We need to finish this shit and get on with it. Stop acting like children.¨

You mumble under your breath and Damon shoots a dark look to his childhood friend, but the brunette doesn't back down, and continues to give advice on how to improve their song. You don´t look at Damon the rest of the session out of pure spite, but that doesn't stop him from shamelessly staring straight at you, right until it's time to leave.

The second Graham checks his watch and exclaims that it's a quarter past twelve already, you´re already bolting out of your seat and shoving your violin in its case, eager to get out of the disgustingly hot room.

Fortunately, this time you had the right idea to park in the garage like everyone else to avoid any other unwanted encounters, but unfortunately while it was nice to not be waterboarded on your walk, it wasn´t enough to stop said unwanted encounters from occurring.

Take right now, for instance.

As you stumble to your car in the blistering weather, your energy depletes faster and faster, causing you to be light headed. Practice was already tough enough in the sweltering heat, but after Damon's little scene you don't have any energy to even walk.

You crash blindly into your car, the metal of the doors burning your skin as you make contact with the handle. You hiss and jerk back, swaying slightly as your head fogs up. You can barely see, you feel like your clothes weigh a ton on you, so you slide down the vehicle and sit up against the tires, throwing your head back against the car and groaning. The idea of unlocking your doors and sitting in the seat where no doubt several temperatures higher will be settling on the dashboard and in the front row is nauseating.

Weather-2

You-0

You don't know the building well enough to know where a vending machine is, and even if you shot Graham a text, you don't have enough energy to wander around and scout for it.

And lo and behold, from a distance, a figure approaches. You squint as it draws nearer, and let out a laugh as the features come into familiarity.

The heat must be getting to you worse than you thought, because you´re certain you´re hallucinating Damon Albarn of all fucking people swaggering towards you, one hand holding his denim jacket over his shoulder, and a shit-eating grin on his face as he comes to stand in front of you.

All you can do is pant like a dog, looking up at him with unimpressed eyes.

¨Oi, G-String. ´Brought you some water.¨ he holds out a hand, and you choose to ignore the offensive nickname, insead noticing the large bottle in it, cold condensation covering its expanse.

Your eyes widen and you lick your lips unconsciously, holding your hands out for it.

Damon watches your tongue poke out and loses focus before snapping back to reality and moving his arm above your head. You pout and try to reach for it again, but he laughs and holds it even higher.

You glare and turn your head away from him, suddenly remembering how he embarrassed you earlier.

¨Go away. I don't want it anymore. You´re an asshole.¨ you mumble, perspiration hanging off your lip as you lick the salty beads away once again.

Damon´s eyes never leave your mouth as he listens to you and watches the pink appendage make its appearance again, and his mouth hangs open slightly unbeknownst to you for a second. You cross your arms and glare at the empty parking lot, silently willing him to go away.

He snaps back into focus yet again and shakes his head at you. ¨Oh come on love, I´m just teasing. You look like you´re about to die anyways, might as well make this your last meal-er, drink I mean.¨

¨I´m not taking anything from a complete dickhead who enjoys harassing women about their clothes. You know, for such a womanizer, you act pretty clueless about how comments like that would make a girl feel. No one else but you had an issue with it, or rather, had the audacity to point it out.¨ You cough at the last word, your dry throat and heavy head making it harder to talk.

He sighs and crouches down, balancing on the balls of his feet. He pops open the cap and gently turns your chin towards his face, much to your surprise. You´re genuinely too weak to protest, but when you look at his concerned face, eyebrows scrunched up and accentuating the lines on his forehead, you don't think you'd want to turn away even if you could.

He coaxes your agap mouth even more open by dragging a rough thumb down over your lips, and you obediently open your mouth, mesmerized by his eyes. His movements are soft and slow, as if you were a fidgety rabbit about to run off at the slightest touch. He scoots closer, right over in front of you as you simply gaze up at him, allowing him to pour cool water down your throat, quenching your bone-dry palate.

For a couple of seconds, water floods your mouth but all you can do is stare up at him. The light rays are reflecting off his back, casting a yellow glow around his silhouette and he almost looks like an angel. His hair is mussed as if he'd spent the day running his hands through the golden locks, and the scruff on his face peeks through soft-looking skin.

¨Swallow, or I'll really waterboard you this time,¨ he says lowly, chuckling a bit as he catches you staring so adamantly right in his face. You jerk back to consciousness and swallow hastily, accidentally choking on the gulp in your rush.

He laughs even more and lets go of your chin much to your disappointment as he adjusts himself to sit next to you, not seeming to mind the scorching car metal. The absence of his hand on your face leaves a cold, empty feeling in your heart despite the heated blush on your cheeks

¨You´ll burn yourself,¨ you mumble, lolling your head over to look at him.

But he looks straight ahead and shrugs casually. ¨Not any more than you.¨ You both sit in silence for a few minutes, occasionally sipping from the bottle he passes towards you and watching cars go by.

¨You didn't answer my question. Why do you harp on me in the studio? You act like a normal human being here.¨

Damon looks thoughtfully at a white sedan passing by, then speaks.

¨As I´m sure Graham has blabbed to you already, I´ve been having some...trouble with the missus, let's say.¨

You say nothing and raise a questioning eyebrow.

¨For the shitty attitude,¨ he mutters and swipes the bottle from your hand, taking a large swig himself.

¨And, like you said earlier, I am an asshole. Of course I´ll enjoy harassing pretty women over their revealing clothes,¨ he smirks and gives you a once over.

There it was again, pretty woman.

You scowl and get up to leave, but what he says stops you in your tracks.

¨Taz was lookin´ at you,¨ he says quietly, suddenly very interested in the now-empty bottle. ¨´Didn't like it, but I couldn't say anything to him. Graham likes him too much.¨

Huh. Maybe the pair of eyes you felt back in the room didn't only belong to Damon.

He cracks a small smile and looks up at you, his face adorably innocent and wide as he sheepishly admits, ¨I´m used to butting heads with blokes like him for women.¨

You jerk back up to your feet, brushing off any insinuation he was giving and pat his knee awkwardly, ignoring the fire now igniting once again in your chest.

¨Thanks for the water, I needed it. You might wanna move if you don't want to get run over by my car.¨ You reach down and pick up your case as Damon clambers to his feet.

He looks amused as you fumble for your keys, nervously turning the lock and sitting in the hot car, obviously eager to get away from his intimidating gaze.

¨I´ll see you next week, yeah?¨ You laugh breathlessly and roll your window down to call out to him.

He says nothing, but merely cocks his head at you, his eyes now obscured by the rose-colored glasses he puts over his eyes. He waves a little and watches as you drive away a little too fast.

But as it turns out, you don't see him next week.

******

It was just your luck that one of the cutest guys from your work asked you out on the very same week you had practice with the boys. You contemplated moving the date to another time, but...you deserved to have some fun time off too, right? It's not like it would make too much of a difference in your skill, anyways, you´ve gotten all the strings down and such.

So, you decide to go on this date. It goes well, the dude was cute, dorky, lacked a little pizzazz but nothing a bottle of fancy red wine and a night of movies couldn´t coax out of him. It honestly wasn't anything too big, you exchanged numbers and made plans to meet up again soon. After parting ways, you threw yourself back into the regular regime of practicing your violin and meticulously listening to the booth recording every night, just so you could perfect your part to a T.

The day came where you had to go back to practice, and you were ready, veins pumping with determination to make these last few sessions the best you´ve played yet. You texted Graham that you´d be there soon, and he gave you a thumbs up in return. When you finally arrived in front of the room, you were 10 minutes late. The boys were already playing, by the sound of the percussion booming outside the door. You grimace and take a deep breath, turning the handle in and hurrying inside the booth.

No one really spared a glance at you, so you assumed you were okay in terms of punctuality. You opened your case and started strumming your strings, counting the measures and beats until it was your turn. Damon´s voice rang out, melodious and airy as ever, dropping octaves and floating on soprano tones. Your bow moved across his words, accenting his tones and adding emphasis to his sorrowful song. And then, after a couple of minutes, it was done.

¨Alright you lot, pretty good for today. ´Specially you, Y/N, you caught up pretty quick, I expected you to slack behind but I'm actually impressed.¨ Graham flashed you a nervous grin and you beamed back at him in return.

¨Yeah, speaking of, why were you gone last week? I expected someone who makes below the poverty line would actually want to work for their money,¨ Damon chuckles a little meanly.

You feel your smile drop a smidge.

¨Well actually Damon, not that it's any of your business, but I went on a date.¨ You smirk at him, enjoying the way his mouth opens slightly and moves silently.

But he regroups quickly and glares at you. ¨None of my business? The deadline is only a few days away, and you´re whoring yourself out and going on dates? I guess you´re not as professional as Graham thought.¨

Everyone shifts uncomfortably, and blood rushes to your face, anger clouding your mind. Why was he being like this? He was fine the last time you saw him, you actually thought maybe he was going to change the way he addressed you.

Graham speaks up. ¨Damon. You´re overreacting man, I gave her the okay, and she played fine today. No harm done, seriously, there's no need for that kind of language towards her.¨

¨Actually, there absolutely is a need. If I knew you were going to invite a prostitute as our sub-in then I would´ve never agreed to have her here. Didn´t know you were so low on money Y/N, I would´ve spared you a couple pounds.¨ He sneers.

¨Damon!¨

You laugh bitterly and rise to your feet. ¨Oh that's rich, coming from the man who fucked half the continent just because he couldn't get over one girl. No wonder every real woman in your life including your wife wants to leave, nothing is ever good enough for you. Except heroin maybe.¨

The words leave your mouth before you can take them back, and there's a pin drop silence as if a bomb had been dropped. In a way, it kind of did.

Damo glares at you. Everyone is holding your breath, including you.

¨Get out.¨

¨Hey,-¨ Taz tries to gently interject but Damon throws the mic at him.

¨I said get the fuck out. You´re not practicing with us anymore, you can pack your shit and leave.¨

Tears brim at the corners of your eyes, and you choke out a small ¨Fine.¨

You hear Graham berating him behind you as you fly through the door, telling him that they need you, it's too late to change people, but the words jumble in your ears as the door slams shut. You don't hear what Damon says, if he even says anything, and you aren't interested in his comebacks right now.

It's only when you leave the car, tears streaming down your face in rage and embarrassment that you groan to yourself, your hands reaching an empty seat with one foot out the door-

You forgot your violin case.

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

It's nighttime.

The crickets chirp as you creep silently through the parking garage, the soft thud of your shoes echoing a lot louder than you wanted in the empty lot. The studio itself wasn't closed, but you were sure Damon must have informed the manager there not to let an ex-musician like you back in there.

Wearing a black hoodie and black pants was a smart move- you blended in with the shadows well. The doors weren't locked, and you hiss out a small ¨yesss¨ as you slip inside the mostly dark building. Needless to say, you were proud of yourself for navigating through the windings pitch-black hallways to your old booth.

Testing the handle lightly, you sigh out in relief when that too gives way. Unfortunately though, the second the door shuts behind you, you immediately stumble forward and fall.

The room is dark, darker than the other hallways so you can barely see your hands. The only source of light you´re granted is the dim red bulb on top of the booth door. And speaking of, that's exactly where you need to go...which proves to be harder when you keep bumping into random shit and cursing when you feel potential bruises forming on your shins.

Miraculously you stagger through the next door towards where you last sat, and blindly feel around the floor and chairs for your violin case. You feel nothing there, but panic starts settling in your heart when you can't find it.

¨Looking for something?¨

You scream and lurch backwards, knocking your head into some kind of stand. Groaning, you rub your head and hold a hand on your racing heart as you squint into the dim red room, placing the voice to the person.

¨D-Damon?¨

¨In the flesh sweetheart. ´Knew you'd come back for this, s´just my luck I came back to get it tonight so I could give it to you personally in case you wanted to be stubborn. But this is even better than I could´ve hoped.¨

You make out his silhouette in the obsidian abyss in front of you. He's sitting with knees spread on a chair, a few feet in front of you as he leans his head back on the wall. Your precious violin case is being held hostage in his arms, and it's the absolute love you have for the brittle instrument that propels you to your feet and moves you to get the hell out instead of interrogating him.

¨What, so you were just here the whole time listening to me falling around like an idiot?” You laugh incredulously, and you see the area of his shoulders move up and down.

¨Was pretty funny to watch, honestly. You sound cute when you curse.¨ He stands up to his fullest height now, the red light bouncing off his back, giving him a sort of demonic halo.

You knew it was actually time to leave when you felt those stupid butterflies in your stomach rise up again.

¨Right, well, I´ll be on my way then. Good luck with your song and whatever, I´ll just take the case...¨ You trail off as your extended hand is left in midair, no violin case reaching it.

He cocks his head at you. ¨Why are you in such a rush to leave?¨

You can´t help the scoff that escapes you.

¨Are you serious? You were such an absolute dickhead to me this afternoon, you said all sorts of horrible things to me, and you even fired me for Christ's sake! I want nothing to do with you, so could you please give me my case back so I can go?¨

He's silent for a moment before answering. ¨Are you done yet?¨

It isn´t just the light that's making you see red now.

¨Fuck you, honestly.¨ You whirl around and stomp towards where you guess the door is, ignoring the clatter behind you and bingo you locate the handle, but as soon as you turn it-

A hand reaches from behind you and pulls the ajar door shut.

¨Don´t go. I´m sorry.¨

You´re absolutely still as you feel him towering over you, his arm dangerously close to your midriff as his hand remains on the knob.

His voice is low, and you can feel him breathe against your neck, mere inches away. You can´t help the involuntary shiver that passes through you, and he feels it too, inhaling deeply when he gets close to your ear.

¨You smell so good.¨

¨Leave me alone, Damon,¨ you whisper, your voice catching in your throat from the overwhelming onslaught of emotions passing through you.

He breaths in and slowly lets his hand rest on your side.

¨I can't do that. You know why. You have to have known by now.¨

You tremble in his touch, yet allow his hands to wander down to your hip, the other coming around in a sort of hug to pull you closer to him.

¨We can´t.¨

¨Sure we can.¨

You can feel his erection bumping against your ass.

¨You´re not worth this.¨

¨I´ll make myself worth it.¨

And as soon as he latches onto the back of your neck, you´re like putty in his hands, a moaning mess as he sucks galaxy-colored hickies on your skin. You can feel yourself grow wetter as he shoves his hands up your shirt and teasingly pulls down the bridge of your bra, letting the weight of your tits fill up his hands appreciatively. He starts rolling your hardened buds in between his skilled calloused fingers, and you whine and throw your head back when you feel him rut against your ass, panting raggedly in your ear.

You rub your thighs together, desperate for some form of friction as he squeezes your tits, and then letting one hand ghost across the expanse of your stomach, down to brush against the rim of your panties. Damon chuckles meanly in your ear when you buck against the stilled hand over your mound.

¨You want this?¨ He lightly nips your ear. He smells like old spice and sandalwood.

You nod desperately, frustrated with him not giving you his thick fingers already.

But it's not enough for him. ¨No no, pretty girl, use your words now. I´ve barely touched you yet and you´re already moaning like a wanton little slut for me? And here I was thinking you weren't that easy.¨

You stop jerking your hips and blood rushes to your face at his insulting words. You try to move out of his grip, huffing and regretting the whole thing but he outright laughs now and spins you around, tugging you forward until your chest is slotted against his. You pout at him and look away, but he's quick to grasp your chin and pull you in for a rough yet sensual kiss.

Pushing you backwards against the wall, he deepens the lip-lock, tracing his tongue over your lips, nipping at the soft flesh and darkening his eyes when you whimper and look up at him.

He knows what he´s fucking doing when he again drops his hand under your pants and over your panties, his other palm wound up firmly through your hair. He pulls your head back and lets you breathe for a second from his kiss of death before he speaks again.

¨I didn't hear an answer, slut. Do you want this?¨ He leans forward until his nose brushes against your neck, flicking his tongue out to taste your saccharine flesh.

You tremble against his firm body when he pushes his pelvis against you, letting you feel how hard he is for you.

It doesn't matter anymore. Maybe he was right, maybe you were just an easy slut putting up a facade for him, but when his clothes erection grinds up against your pussy you can't care less.

¨Y-yes, yes, ´want you, please,¨ you pant, frantically gripping the back of his cropped hair as his head descends to mark your neck again.

¨What a good girl,¨ he whispers, finally allowing his digits to oh-so-slowly trace over your mound, pressing down harder when you jerk against him. He finds your wet clit and flicks it a few times, snickering when you gasp and moan. Your body writhes in place but he holds you literally between a rock-or, wall- and a hard place, preventing you from scampering off.

He drums his fingers against your folds, paying no attention to the way you grip his head tighter against you, silently begging him to go further.

But he relents eventually and retires from just pushing and prodding your folds, allowing his slicked fingers to slowly dive into your drooling hole. You whimper and bite back a string of curses when you feel him fill you completely, scraping against your walls for that one special spot.

His mouth moves off your neck and he rises to face you, a stupid smug grin on his wet lips, his eyelids lowered and trained on you. You flush at his lustful expression and gently push his head away, not wanting to accept his victory yet.

¨My fingers are literally fucking you right now, and you still won´t let me look at you? What, too embarrassed you couldn't continue being a stone-cold bitch for long?¨

You open your mouth to snap back but right at that moment he curls his fingers and grazes your G-spot, simultaneously grounding his wet palm against your clit.

With a loud gasp and the sluttiest moan you´ve ever made, you cum hard, your mouth open in a silent scream and your tongue hanging out like a bitch in heat as you do so. You fall forward against him.

You don't even need to look up to know that he has a shit-eating grin on his face.

¨What was that sweetheart? Sorry, ´couldn't hear you over those slutty moans. I think even the pornstars I´ve been with would give you a standing ovation if they heard what you just sounded like.¨

Your words are slurred as you curse nonsense at him, yet you´re still gripping his forearms to keep a hold on yourself. Your ears are ringing and you see spots as you come down from your climax, and surprisingly enough, Damon holds you close and doesn't let you slip down to the ground as you expected to when your knees start to give out.

Instead, he lifts you up quite easily and carries you over to a table in the corner of the room. You don´t know how he even navigates his way through the dimly lit room, but you suppose after almost half a lifetime in studios he knows his way around.

You offer no resistance as he sets you down gently and begins to lift your shirt off of your body. You manage to lift your arms weakly up in the air for easier access to stripping, but when he starts to kneel down to take your pants off you stop his hands at your knees and look at him with scrunched eyebrows.

He stops and looks up at you. His eyes aren't so darkened anymore, they´re wide and imploring, probably noticing your hesitation.

¨Damon, I...¨ You trail off as he maintains eye contact with you and slowly lowers his pursed lips to your calf, lightly pecking his way up to your knees and ensuring that you´re watching his every move.

Your breathing increases again as his pink appendage darts out, his saliva cooling on your exposed thighs. He sucks on the plush skin and turns his head upwards to face you.

You want to run your hands through his hair.

¨You have a wife,¨ You breathe.

¨Not for tonight I don´t.¨

Your voice gets caught in your throat at that. He positions his hands at the side of your knees, fingers curling around the hem of your pants in a second attempt.

¨Let me make you feel good, love.¨

His answer is in the form of your hand reaching for his collar and pulling him up into a standing position until he towers over your seated form, once again breath stolen in a heated kiss.

Damon fumbles with his zipper as you shove your pants off, fully ready for him now, your dampened panties solid evidence of your need for him.

He pulls his cock out and it bounces out, slapping up against his stomach.

You do a double take. The tabloids were right. He was absolutely huge.

It was disgusting almost, it was insulting really. How the fuck could he be that big? You lose count of how many inches he is when you start to get light headed, realizing with a jolt that he plans to put that monster inside you.

And fuck, why did it have to be so pretty too? Normally you wouldn´t use the word pretty to describe a dick, but fuck, that´s the only appropriate word that came to mind as you admired the white flesh as it mixed in with a dull pink flush turning into an angry shade of red as your eyes progressed up to his tip...which was soaked with precum, mind you.

He was neatly shaven everywhere, including his plush balls. No wonder he got to fuck half the continent.

Damon notices your gawking and smiles lazily, taking a fist around his prick and stroking lethargically up and down.

¨You gonna just stare at it all day or are you going to spread those cute legs for me?¨

Spoken like a true middle aged fuck-boyman.

You look up at him beseechingly, thoroughly intimidated by his length. He merely scoffs, winking at you when he wrenches your tightly closed knees apart.

It's almost like he falls into a trance when he presses his now-naked torso against your chest, when he slots himself between your legs and drags his tip through your sloppy folds and up onto your clit. His mouth falls open slightly and he moans when your juices coat his dick, making it slippery and easy to push the first few inches ever so slightly into your spasming cavern.

He can't help but want more, need more as he practically smothers his weight onto you, forcing you to lie back on the table and letting your legs dangle off the edge. He hunches over you and thrusts minutely into your pulsing folds, groaning when you whine and lace your fingers around his neck and tangle your legs around his back, dragging him impossibly close into you.

For a moment it´s just the sound of you two panting and moaning like inexperienced teenagers, and a zing of pride zips up your spine at the realization that Damon Albarn, one of the world's most renowned playboy is whining and humping against your pussy, reduced to nothing at your hands.

He takes your hands from around his neck and grips your wrists, forcing them above your head on the table. He leans down and kisses you, hard. You give him back the same energy when your hips move up and down along his length, pushing your inviting hole towards his eager and jumping dick.

¨Pretty little girl,¨ he murmurs against your lips, and you nip his bottom lip playfully in retaliation. He slowly starts to sink himself into you, and you practically purr at the feeling of his veiny member dragging against your sensitive walls until he stops.

You look at him questioningly, and blanch when you see the mischievous glint in his cobalt eyes.

¨I want you to count for me.¨

¨Count…?¨ You shake your head in confusion and he pulls out, making you groan in annoyance.

¨I want you to count every inch I put inside you. Unless your slutty mouth can't even do that? I'd be surprised if you couldn´t, you usually have so much shit to say.¨ His voice is low yet teasing, and a shiver passes through you when the rumble of his chest vibrates against your nipples.

¨F-fine, I´ll count.¨

He hums in approval and regroups, guiding his length into your awaiting pussy once again.

It´s almsot torture how slow he goes, and your toes curl at how vivid the sensation is at this pace.

You almost forget to do what he asks until he ducks his head down and teeths your bud.

¨Ah, fuck! One!¨ You yelp, writhing to get away from his lecherous gaze and hold on your poor tit.

He tuts and licks the swollen area until the pain subsides a bit, and then he continues to push.

¨T-two,¨ you moan and let your head fall back. It's unfair how tightly he´s holding your reins-you want him to plow you down, not take his sweet time in this punishment.

¨Damon, can´t you go any faster? Please, I want y-¨

¨-I didn't take you for a masochist, Y/N, but I´m happy to play around with these cute tits if you want to bitch more.¨

Your scowl is cut off when he suddenly shoves two more inches into you, and you mewl loudly at being filled so much.

¨Three! Four! Fuck, oh god, please,¨ you babble nonsense as he curses above you, his form shaking in an effort not to push all the way in.

¨Doing so good sweetheart, you´re almost halfway,¨ he smirks and you gape at him in disbelief.

Halfway?

Five, six, seven, eight, and nine go painfully slow, and by the time he´s fully sheathed inside you, plush balls pressed against your ass, you´re an incoherent, drooling mess.

Your hair is in your face, your cheeks are flushed, and your body bounces up and down as he begins to rock inside you, finally giving you what you want.

His name is chanted like an obscene prayer from your mouth as he grunts and shakes the table. Your legs are wobbly and unable to do anything except press him tighter against you to the point where he can barely move back. The skin of his stomach slaps against yours, his balls slap against the crevice of your ass, and your pussy practically sloshes with every stroke in and out.

He fists your hair with one hand and pulls your neck up to meet his searching lips, his other hand holds your wrists fast against the table. You want to touch him, you want to explore your body as he has conquered yours but he doesn't let you feel anything else apart from the rapid thrusts inside your battered body.

Damon switches positions and lifts the back of your knees up and pushes them forwards until they meet your chest. He lets his body weight rest on the back of your thighs as he pulls out and pushes back impossibly close inside you, closer than he did in missionary.

You sob with need as he plunges into you and reaches a higher spot than before, his tip grazing your cervix. He pounds into you, and you thrust your hips up to fuck back into him, calling out his name as if he were your god.

It´s a good thing the rooms are soundproof.

You feel your second climax comes when he paves way through your tight walls and batters your uterus. It doesn´t hurt so much as feel intense, and your choked moans become panting gasps when he brings a hand down to swirl his thumb over your aching clit.

¨You´re not going to meet with that prick from your work again, yeah? Say it. Say it if you want me to let you cum.¨ He could have been speaking an alien language for all you knew. Your poor addled brain didn't pick up anything except for the word ¨cum¨, and you were a goner.

¨Yes, yes, anything you say, anything you want, just please let me-¨

And oh he does.

It comes over you like a tidal wave, your mind going blank, your eyes seeing white as your legs shake from your earth-shattering orgasm. You feel like you´re going down a rollercoaster, and you never want to stop dropping.

Distantly, you hear him groan and say your name. You can feel pulsing in your filled walls, with what you assume is his ropes of cum. It feels like when you came, it practically squeezed all his cum out with your clenching.

He lets out a shaky breath and falls forward, his nose inches from yours, his breath puffing in your face.

Your eyes are glazed over, but you´ve never seen anything more clearly before.

Maybe Damon Albarn really was worth it.

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