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randombush3 · 6 months

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audentes fortuna iuvat

alexia putellas x reader

part one, part two

words: 9541

summary: alexia and you as posh + becks III

content warnings: there’s some (a lot of) cheating + postpartum depression. it’s more frustrating than sad though x

notes: this covers 2019-22(ish). It was SUPPOSED to be the last part. It’s not anymore. I’m gonna do a fourth to deal w the mess I have created in a more self-indulgent amount of words than the 3k i had planned. That will probably have smut in it 😛

“Y/n left me.”

The limousine you are in is completely black, save for the white lines being measured out right next to you.

“What?” says Jenni.

“She left me,” Alexia says once more. The hotel room is a non-committal beige. They lie in the same bed, the older of the two welcoming her lost teammate wordlessly and without judgement. Tomorrow, they will return to Barcelona, losers yet another time. “She moved back to london. She took Nico.”

“She can’t just take Nico, can she?”

“Y/n, how’s Nico?” Your stomach turns, but whether that is provoked by the thought of the baby boy you left crying in your father’s arms or by the white powder outlining the rim of the woman’s nostrils, you don’t know.

Your son’s creasing eyes, red face, and grabbing hands appear in front of you. He screams as you walk away. He doesn’t understand why he has not smelt Alexia in weeks, and he misses the comfort of home.

Everyone waits for your answer. No one comments on the bags under your eyes. “He's fine,” you say with a smile. “He loves it here.”

“I think she is depressed,” Alexia tells Jenni, comforted by the arms wrapped around her waist, holding her close and tightly and reminding her that she is not as alone as you have made her feel. “She told me that she couldn’t be in Barcelona anymore, but she said that without giving me a chance to come with her. Her bags were packed before the conversation started — she might as well have called me from the plane.”

“Are you angry at her?”

“Yes.”

Alexia thinks about it.

“No.”

“No,” you say when they point at your very own line. The drug holds a place of both familiarity and hatred in your heart. The fine, white powder reminds you of greatness – of being the most successful girl group in the UK – but, also, of hospital visits. It’s not a past addiction, but it could have been. You light a cigarette instead, though it will make the vehicle reek. “I can't. I have a son.”

“You’re not a saint.” They boo. “You’re allowed to have fun. I saw you the other day, and you had no qualms with any drugs then.”

“No, I'm not a saint,” you reply. You regret that night — however little you remember. “But I am a mother.”

“Is it that thing? Postpartum?” Jenni asks. “The baby blues are really shitty, I've heard, but they’re not supposed to cripple you. Maybe the relationship has other issues.”

“I'm not angry at her, Jenni,” Alexia repeats. “I miss Nico. He looks like her. He has started to look a lot more like her now.”

“He would definitely suit those sparkly bralettes.” Jenni giggles at the thought.

With an understandable lack of good humour, Alexia ponders something more realistic. “He would suit a Barcelona kit.”

“He would be made for it. You are his mother.”

“I'm not angry at her,” Alexia says for the third time, just to make herself believe it. Just to carve those words into her bones and tell herself that it isn’t anger, what she’s feeling. “I don't want to be angry at her. I think I'm going to see if I can move to arsenal.”

“Don’t you dare.”

“Well, I'm not angry at her.”

“Alexia.” Jenni cups her cheek tenderly. “Ale.” She knows she shouldn’t. She’s not angry at you, and so there is no punishment needed. Not that… Not that kissing Jenni would ever be utilised as a weapon to get back at you. Or that she’d actually kiss her.

“Daddy, I can't get him tonight. No, I don't want to stay over. Daddy, I…” You hate the baby. You hate yourself. You hate that Spain hasn’t done well, and that your fiancée is disappointed that nothing is how it was supposed to be. Alexia is probably lying awake in bed, missing her son, and missing you. You expect one of her teammates to call you soon, and tell her that she needs you. You’re her person. “I'm going to get some sleep and I'll pick him up tomorrow. Probably around lunchtime, okay?”

“Alexia, bésame.”

…

You had passively bought your house. It’s how property sale works when you’re a celebrity. People are always willing to do things for you if you know the price, and it never hurts to use your name to add a new flashy level to whatever stupid business they are running. It’s a mutual exploitation, to some extent.

Highgate is beautiful. The house is beautiful.

The reception room, with its high, decorated ceilings, is your favourite place to numbly take in the twisted jigsaw of your life when Nico has cried himself to sleep. The nursery is on the first floor. He is near enough for safety, but at a distance that allows you to regret all the mistakes you have made.

You watch him roll over onto his stomach, eyes trained on the baby monitor though your fingers graze the ivory keys of your new piano, attempting to compose something worthwhile. At this rate, your solo career is going to fail just like your relationship seems to be doing.

Yesterday, while Alexia seemingly disappeared from the face of the Earth, you came out. It was an off-hand comment during the Graham Norton Show. A quick ‘my fiancée named him. She’s from Barcelona’ was all it took. You hope Alexia, wherever she may be, has heard about it. Jenni would have told her. You trust Jenni to be somewhat on your side because she always has been.

The doorbell rings just as you sniffle, wiping away the tear that slips down your cheek. “Don’t be pathetic,” you mutter to yourself. “You didn’t pay five million pounds to sit here and cry. You chose to come back home.”

Being in England – colder, drearier, lonelier England – has made you realise that your decision was not the right one. Or maybe it was. It has proven that you are as terrible a mother as you convinced yourself you were back in Barcelona, and it has also shoved the cavity Alexia leaves in your life when you refuse her entry right down your throat in the form of a constant lump and a dull stabbing in your chest whenever you think about anything past whether Nico has had anything to eat. You can’t even feed him properly, despite it being supposedly in your nature. You buy formula from the nearest Waitrose.

The doorbell rings again.

The insistence is not uncommon seeing as you are, at the minute, the English press’s number one target. You open the CCTV app on your phone so that you can decide whether or not to ignore the potential stalker, and your heart rate spikes when you see the hooded figure standing on the porch. Back to the door, it is not possible to determine the threat. A well-buried maternal instinct kicks in for once, and you ensure that Nico is still peacefully out cold before getting up to answer the door with the poker from the Victorian fireplace firmly in your grip. Just in case.

You are a mother, in whatever capacity you have decided that role looks like, and so you undo the three latches on the door with brave, protective fingers. The baby monitor’s volume has increased, and the fuzz of white noise is audible if Nico were to make a sound. The vague repulsion at the idea of it all is only an aftertaste in your silent prayer for the hooded figure to not want to kill you. Some sick part of your brain imagines Nico dead, as well. It tortures you.

The poker in your other hand, for the most fleeting of moments, is almost plunged into your chest. The imaginary, self-inflicted wound makes you think of the blood and how the baby upstairs would wail until someone found him. The grimace of annoyance on your lips is nothing new, but you have no more time to torment yourself because the doorbell is pressed again, rather impatiently.

You open the door and the hooded figure is right in front of you. “He’s asleep,” you say, the Spanish foreign on your tongue.

Alexia shrugs, and her hood falls down, revealing the brunette tendrils that hang from her slowly sinking bun. “I came for you,” she replies, so earnestly that it is as if nothing ever happened: past pain forgotten and replaced by sprouting memories of soft kisses and mornings where leaving was too hard to do. Some of them, you think, are not real. They don’t seem to be. Your blank stare is unsettling. You almost don’t believe her. “Can we talk?” she tries, and you notice the team-issued duffle on the tiled floor she is standing on. Then, from the pocket of her hoodie, she extracts a pastry box. The plastic window is filled with circles of different colours, and she holds out the macaroons to you as if to bribe her way into a home in which she is unsure she belongs to.

Stepping aside, leaning the poker against the wall by the door, you scratch at the bare skin of your neck. Alexia, while sweeping an arm down to collect her bag, fixes her gaze onto the ring you are wearing, and the diamond glistens with hope that this can all be fixed. “Would you like to come inside?”

She swallows the whine of anguish that tears her heart open at the idea that this might never be her house to live in, too, and she follows you dutifully as you lead her through hallways far more luxurious than the flat in Barcelona could ever be. This is what you left her for – the person you are, no longer in worn clothing with messy hair, is quite the opposite of the woman with her back to her moments before she had to focus on football. The necklace draped on your sharpened collarbones is new, and she does not dare believe what she has been hearing is true. Yes, there are pictures, but she trusts you. She will always trust you.

“Have a seat,” you say, gesturing to the wooden dining table. It is clean enough for her to determine that it is unused. Alexia places the macaroons in front of her, and aches at how you sit at the opposite end.

“I…”

“I thought you were going to give me all the time that I needed.” It is a statement of distance, as if your location is not enough.

Alexia, eyes widening at how unwelcome she suddenly feels, needs only to remind herself of the impending date of the wedding. It is beginning to loom uncomfortably, with the excitement of getting married drained out like a low tide on a deserted beach. “We have two weeks. If it isn’t going to happen, then you should tell me now. We have to give everyone notice so that they can cancel their flights.” Your silence spurs her on. “You will need to contact the wedding planner, because you refused to let me have a hand in any of it so I don’t even have their number. I’m sorry that you won’t be able to wear your dress. Vivienne Westwood is a big thing for you, I know. I’m sorry that it’s inconvenient.”

“But Alexia,” you whisper, “I don’t not want to get married.”

Her eyebrows furrow, head tilted slightly to the left. “I know. That is why I am saying this.”

Your voice grows louder. “No, no. Sorry, that wasn’t the easiest thing to understand.” Across the dining table, your love that has faltered, that has hesitated and been reconsidered and been stamped down over the past month, extends towards her: its final destination, always and forever. Alexia feels it grab her by the throat, wrenching the words from her before she can even formulate a thought in response, and her body is so drawn to you, in such a powerful fashion, that she pushes her chair out from the table with a grating scrape and is stepping towards you with a finality that makes her wonder if she’ll ever leave your side.

As she approaches, the idea that she is here becomes a little too real. You have played with the fantasy of it, of course, but the tenderness in her usually fierce eyes does not match the anger you had expected, and, in the most feeble fashion, you have never felt more apologetic in your life.

“I’m so sorry,” you begin to say. Tears stream down your face with freed anguish, and the words are so simple yet they bear the weight of your entire soul. “I’m so sorry, darling. I made a mistake, and I have been met with the most crushing of realisations: I can’t do this without you, Alexia.” I still want to marry you, Alexia.

The room seems to close in on your despair, attempting to bottle it, almost, and keep you trapped underneath a haze of emotions you don’t quite know how to sort through. “I… I’m beginning to hate him.” The confession hangs heavy over Alexia’s bowed head as she stands frozen in place, stuck in her journey towards you but unable to arrive. “I’m acutely aware of how cruel it is,” you continue, this next admission being what agonises you the most. It floods the room with guilt, and your voice trembles with self-condemnation that reigns harsher than any other voice in your head.

“It’s ridiculous. I’m evil and I’m wrong, and I just feel like it is inherently in my nature to be like this, as though some fault has been built into me with warning signs we evidently ignored.” You struggle to breathe. “I wish I could take back the day we decided to have him,” you confess, your voice barely above a whisper, lips doused in tears, skin searing with shame when Alexia cups your cheek with a strong, calloused hand. “He should not have to be stuck with me as a mother.”

Your chest heaves, and you are finished. You have never verbalised it before now, and it is impossible to decide whether it has helped remove the lead lining of your heart where it has been bolstered against your will. Her other hand steadily rises to your face, but then, with only a second of hesitation, she is pulling you upwards and enveloping you in her embrace. You feel a little bit closer to her. “Mi amor,” Alexia murmurs, tone cracked with sorrow and regret. “Lo siento mucho. Desearía haber sabido, desearía haber estado allí para ti.”

Gently, she tilts your face upwards to meet her gaze. “You are not evil and no estás equivocada. Estoy aquí ahora, y no te dejaré enfrentar esto sola nunca más.” You collapse into her. “I’m here, cariño, and I am not going anywhere.”

The sentiment is wonderful, and Alexia makes good on her word.

When Nico begins to cry, the sound piercing through your choked sobs, Alexia realises she has missed all of her life with you. Being separated and being apart due to work, she now knows, are two excruciatingly different things. The whiny wails from upstairs visibly jar you, though you pull away from Alexia to attend to him. “I will do it,” she declares, though her firmness is not mean. “Sit down. Eat the macaroons – they’re… ‘to die for’?” You nod with instinctive encouragement. “Sí. They’re to die for. Try. Jenni says that the pink ones are the best.”

“Jenni picked them out?” you ask with a briefly regained humour, eyebrows raising. “Had to get your friend to choose your apology gift?” In truth, neither of you know what Alexia would be apologising for, but Nico’s crying grows more incessant and Alexia is climbing the carpeted staircase before the topic can be discussed.

Alexia reaches her son with tears brimming in her eyes. The failure of Spain at the World Cup is amplified by the idea that she has disappointed him, though he does not yet possess the tools to pledge his allegiance to her country. In fact, Nico has been sleeping in Manchester United attire (your father has been his primary carer of late, and he does not charge you money, so the price is obviously Alexia’s sanity). She is more than glad to smell his nappy, and delighted about the opportunity to change him into something less hideous.

“Mama loves you so much,” she tells him as she manoeuvres his chubby legs into a plain, inoffensive onesie. “I promise, petit. I am going to help her, okay? And we are going to get through this together.” Alexia forgets about the taste of Jenni’s lips and the heat between them. “Mama just doesn’t see the direction she is going in. It is like her eyes are covered, and she is telling herself that she is walking down the wrong path, but this is not true. You are the most special thing in the world to us. You are the sunrise, the sunset, and the hours of the day.”

She pauses to stand him up on his tiny feet, hands hoisted underneath his armpits. He is heavier than when she last held him, but she is stronger than before, too. Women’s football is growing, along with her muscles. Nico babbles out a vague reply, but Alexia hears what he is trying to say. “I agree. We’ll be alright.” And, with all her heart, it rings true.

…

The following day, she calls the doctor for you, script written out on a piece of paper in front of her, translated perfectly so that her concern does not waver the information she needs to tell the receptionist. The clinic is famous and discreet, and they are quick to prescribe you antidepressants before the week draws to a close. You won’t be able to drink at your wedding, and everyone might think you are pregnant again, but Alexia reassures you that it will be worth it.

Wrapped up in your own bubble, the three of you enjoy London in a way that isn’t possible in Barcelona.

Here, Alexia has no commitment to football. There are no training sessions she must rush off to, there are no teammates to pry, and no one else to interfere with your private little routine. You quite like it, and she does too. It is only temporary, before you fly out to Menorca and hand Nico off to Eli in order to enjoy your respective bachelorette parties and then, in exactly seven days, your wedding itself.

“You’re still smoking,” Alexia says disapprovingly, the sleep in her voice enough to make you feel a pang of guilt. It’s late at night when Nico has finally been soothed from his aching gums, and she has been able to climb back into bed expecting to find you asleep already. “Why are you awake?”

“I’m still smoking,” you tell her. She sighs at the way you parrot her words, but presses an affectionate kiss to the junction of your neck and shoulders despite the lingering smell of cigarettes. “If I can’t drink, I’m going to smoke. This is Hollywood.”

“This is Highgate.” Her accent curls around the name with something a little too foreign for her to ever consider this place home. “Why are you awake?” she repeats.

You look down at the open notebook in your lap, the pages either blank or full of crossed-out lyrics. “He was so loud, but I can’t seem to write anything either so, really, it has been quite redundant.”

“I had to get a glass full of ice and hold it to my fingers so that I could help him. I could have lost some very important assets, but it seemed to do the trick.” He’s teething. You’re telling yourself that the antidepressants are little pills of miracle, and have kicked in already. “Feel.” She presses two freezing fingers to your cheek, and you gasp, flinching away from her.

“There’s a teething ring downstairs, you know,” you tell her. She shrugs. Maybe it isn’t clean. “Don’t give yourself frostbite. I happen to quite like your fingers.”

Alexia’s smirk is beyond suggestive, and her lips hit your neck once more with an entirely different heat to them. “Yeah?” You push her head away. “I bet it would feel good. Nice and cold.”

“You’re delirious.”

She continues to kiss you. “I don’t know what that means,” she mumbles into your neck, until her lips reach your face and she is near climbing into your lap – notebook long pushed onto the floor. “Dímelo en español.”

“No lo sé.”

“Ah. Una palabra inteligente.”

“Claro.”

She laughs into the kiss she presses against your lips. She never has never felt like this with anyone else. Never this relaxed, or loved, or safe. “Me vas a matar con tu inteligencia y voy a sentirme estúpida para siempre.”

“I love you,” you state softly. “I love every part of you.” Alexia, in that moment, decides to never do what she did with Jenni again, and to never break your heart by informing you of her betrayal.

…

You’re married.

You’re married to Alexia, a woman who bears the beauty of a goddess and the strength and will of someone who could capture the sun and tame the fire that rages on its surface.

You admire her as she sleeps so peacefully beside you, tanned skin warmed by the sunlight streaming in through the large windows of the hotel room. Later, you will get on the ferry, go back to Barcelona, and then fly to Capri for three days alone before Alexia’s preseason starts. Aside from a few meetings with Dave, you theoretically aren’t swamped with anything. You’ll be joining her in her city with Nico with a bit more permanence than last time.

Alexia buries her face in the covers, crawling into your open arms the minute the sunlight rouses her. “Everything is sore,” she groans, her bare skin slightly sticking to yours, the sweat from last night not yet gone.

“What happened to ‘mi vida, one more time won’t hurt’?” you tease, impersonating her heavy accent over your English with enough drama to get her to elicit another grumble. This time, it’s something about being bullied. “Darling, we have to get up. We’re having breakfast with our parents, and apparently Nico has been upset that we got a night to ourselves.”

“Pobrecito,” she replies with a newfound level of English sarcasm. She spent the wedding reception avoiding the dance floor, engaged in a long conversation with your father. The topics spanned over most areas of life, and briefly touched upon how you are doing now. Alexia, with much pleasure, confirmed the improvement, however miniscule it has been. She is very proud of you, and he is too. “I only want one thing for breakfast.”

Her hands begin to roam, the band of her wedding ring hitting your pubic bone. “Mi vida, one more time won’t hurt,” she mocks you from before but in her sexier, Spanish husk, sucking at your collarbone, straddling your waist.

You replace your near moan with a thoughtful hum. “I really want pancakes. Do you think they’ll make me some?”

Downstairs, where it is brighter and impossible to conceal the hickeys on both of your necks, you greet your parents, brother, Anya, and Gio. Alexia’s mother, her sister, and Jenni are sitting at the table, too. Your baby is pretending he isn’t teething, and grinning like an angel.

“How’s married life?” Anya asks as you take a seat opposite her, Alexia to your right. The table has a gradient of bilingualism, but Gio discovered that she picks up Spanish quite easily considering she can already speak one romance language. “We’ve already found, like, four articles talking about it.”

“How?” you ask, but you are not offended.

Gio shrugs. “Drones, I guess. Nothing bad, though. Some speculation about the other bride – if the article does mention that. Most talk is on the dress.” It was a bloody good dress. “And I suspect that there’ll be a juicy little question about who was your Maid of Honour.”

“Don’t be salty,” you tell her. The MOH issue was sorted out years ago – perhaps 2015 – when you binged Friends together despite having watched it thousands of times before. Anya has been yours, Gio will be hers, and you will be Gio’s. And they say trios never work.

“I left Mia with her dad for this.”

“You shouldn’t have had a baby with a man-slag,” Anya says with a snort, enjoying her second mimosa and Gio’s grimace at the idea of her daughter having to put up with her father’s revolving door of one-night-stands. “You’re one to make terrible decisions. At least our girl over here’s married someone who looks at her like she’s hung the moon.”

Alexia turns to you with a smile, as if on cue, with Nico in her lap. You glance at his rounded cheeks and shining eyes, looking back up at your friends as though to check they are still there. Alexia leans forwards so that she can whisper in your ear. “Te amo. Nico, también. Mi familia es perfecta.”

…

Returning to Barcelona comes with one negotiated condition on your part. You buy a bigger apartment, where there is space for an office and extra bedrooms. Alexia says her teammates will be taking the piss out of her grand new place the minute she sees it, but she is more than content to contribute to the finances with her new-and-improved salary for this season. “It’s weird to think that I’m from Mollet,” murmurs Alexia, standing in the middle of the large lounge area, surrounded by boxes. Most are from your old flat, but a few have been flown in from London. Alexia wanted you to have your Grammy with you. “This place is so fancy.”

“It’s half of what the men’s team get,” you remind her, holding Nico with care as he gnaws away on a frozen carrot. His saliva drips onto you, but the antidepressants are working, and the therapy has been effective enough for you to start taking childcare in turns. (You had tried to previously, but Alexia wanted you to focus on yourself, knowing that things will change for all of you once the season started.) “Hey.” You place your hand on her shoulder. She tickles Nico’s chin. “We deserve this. You deserve this. Why don’t you host one of your team’s dinners? I’ll take Nico round to your mum’s – God knows she’d love to shove some food down my throat, too.”

She shakes her head, strands of brown unstraightened due to the stress of the move and falling out of her bun with a determination to defy her hair bobble. “They would kill me if I did it without you. They’re all far too grateful that you invited Taylor Swift to our wedding.”

“She’s a friend.” If you hadn’t been distracted by various other happenings that night, you’d have clocked that Alexia’s side of the guests were completely up to their ears in celebrities they’d never expected to meet. “Okay, so do you want me to stay here?”

“I always want you to stay here,” she answers.

“Not what I meant.”

“I won’t take it back.”

Nico babbles an incoherent yet cutely Spanish-y noise, though his words are getting closer to being said at the old age of eight months. Then, suddenly, something in him clicks. “Mama,” he squeals, his little fist scrunching up the fabric of your t-shirt. “Mamama.”

“Nicolau!” Alexia replies with just as much enthusiasm, cupping his cheeks. She kisses his nose, and then his forehead, and then his chubby knees and socked feet. “Nicolau, sí, la mama et té a las mans! Bon noi, el meu bon i intel·ligent noi.”

“Does that count?”

“Mama,” Nico repeats, tugging your earlobe. “Mama. Mama.” It is easy to forget about the (lessening) resentment you harbour when he speaks. Alexia gets him to say it as many times as she can before he goes back to his carrot, but, even then, the two of you stay in that spot, marvelling at your creation.

Slowly, she turns around in a circle, absorbing the plain walls and towers of boxes. “This is going to be good. Life is going to be good,” you declare with such a firmness that it has to be true. “Darling, let’s get to unpacking and then we can think about a date for this dinner party.”

“We are going to plan the party?” She raises her eyebrows at you. “Is this party going to start at five o’clock?”

“Not all of us shit yellow and red.” (In a national sense – you’d have haemorrhoids for United any day of the week.)

Alexia takes Nico off you, in a show of cultural dominance. You’re actually outnumbered, considering he isn’t a British Citizen, and though he shares no DNA with your wife, he has inherited the same ability to narrow his eyes just enough to serve absolute cunt whenever he so pleases. If you weren’t feeling so ganged up on, you’d be a little impressed. “Nico y yo vamos a hacer croquetas de jamón. Adiós.”

“Darling, the kitchen isn’t–” But you cut yourself off, deciding that she can discover that on her own, along with the criminally empty fridge. You don’t hide your smugness at all when she finds you in your almost-finished bedroom, wearing a look of utter disappointment and mumbling out a heartbroken request for a food delivery as soon as possible.

…

November marks three years of being together and, also, four weeks of having Alexia’s ‘DNA’ – a pomeranian called Nala, whose Instagram account is run by her favourite parent after you called it silly and told your wife you’d much rather attend to your own seventeen million followers.

Towards the end of the month, after a well-spent morning and then a family outing to Barcelona Zoo, Alexia meets Jenni Hermoso in a restaurant in what Jenni calls ‘your new rich-people neighbourhood’ in her text to Alexia.

Alexia, really and truly, is happy to have her best friend back in Barcelona. She missed her last year, when Jenni had returned to Atleti, and that separation maybe made what happened the night Spain was knocked out of the World Cup just that bit more understandable. “You’re a Culer, no matter how hard you try to fight it,” Alexia had said when she had climbed back into her own bed, not wanting to fall asleep in Jenni’s arms. “It was terrible to not have Y/n or you.”

You and Jenni: Alexia’s people.

“How’s your wife?” Jenni asks with a grin, two glasses of wine into a pleasant evening at an expensive restaurant. “You’ve left her with Nico, so something must be working.”

In truth, you have been determined to get better. There were articles released not long after the photos of your wedding were circulated, and those speculated a lot about how you are finding motherhood. The baby pictured, captured by long-range lenses and invasive drones, was the world’s first glimpse at what Nico Putellas L/n looks like, and reminded many of them that you had a child to care for when in London, yet were frequently spotted at nightclubs and parties. You rise to most challenges, however, and find it a lot easier to adapt to weekly therapy sessions and pills every morning when you have a wrongful image to disprove.

“It’s as if it never happened,” Alexia says, both with pride and surprise. “She now seeks to spend time with him. She takes him with her to the recording studio – the album’s coming along well.” It’s your first on your own. Nico plays with one mixing desk, while Dave (flown in from London with the promise that the Barcelona sun will do wonders for his wife’s misery) plays with another. “And… Jenni, we’ve been talking. The clinic that we used for Nico asked us if we wanted to reserve sperm when we first had him, and now they have called asking if now is a good time. I think… I think that she is really considering it. She told me yesterday that her therapist wants me to sit in on the next session, so we can go over how we can make this time different.”

Jenni frowns, which is not what the woman opposite her had expected at all. “Why are you two having more children? You’re only twenty-five, Ale. Isn’t this going to affect your career?”

“The men do it all the time.” She’s done a spot of research. They are younger than her when their girlfriends start getting pregnant, and they continue to play with the added admiration that they are fathers as well.

“Yes, but they have the benefit of getting paid millions. They don’t have to fight with their federation for pitches or pay, and they can focus on football without their career sparking controversy for even existing.”

“Then my children will grow up with a mother who fights for change.”

“Or they grow up with a pop star who only wants things she cannot have and a footballer who can’t spend any time with them because she is too busy speaking at various conventions so that the next league match isn’t cancelled.”

“Jenni, do you think your opinion would be different if Y/n was a man?”

This elicits laughter from the other woman, who rolls her eyes in a way that can only be described as condescending. “Alexia, you’re forgetting that I’m a lesbian too, which is a magnificent feat.” Jenni references the kiss they shared, and what happened after that. “But, no. I don’t. I want you to be the greatest footballer in the world, and you want that too. What are you going to do when Y/n tells you she wants to move back to England? Are you going to give up your future here for her?”

The waiter interrupts briefly, collecting their empty plates and carting them off with a mission to retrieve the bill after a sharply declined offer for the dessert menu. “You don’t even know if that will happen,” Alexia scoffs, though she is a little sad that her exciting news hasn’t been well-received. “I was going to say that I’d think about the name Jennifer if it ends up being a girl, but now I’m leaning more towards María…”

She is kicked under the table, and she has to hold in her cry of pain because this restaurant is one of your favourite places to eat. “Mapi cannot have this victory over me. She’d be insufferable. Ale, you simply aren’t allowed to do that.” There’s another kick, but it is more playful this time.

Alexia laughs, smiling and thankful that the tension has diffused. “I’m only joking. Y/n has a list scribbled in the back of her lyric book. She’ll probably be called Elena.” That is much more acceptable to Jenni’s ears, and she files that information away for next year, when she’ll tell Mapi that Alexia doesn’t like her name.

…

It works. Alexia and you are lucky. The doctor tells Alexia that, if she were a man, the two of you would have to be extremely careful. Your wife marvels at your ability to destroy your body and stay fertile, but she supposes that you are not the kind of woman to be a lesbian. Sometimes, she wakes up in a cold sweat, believing that you have changed your mind and left her.

The New Year is a fresh start. Alexia decides to fix the (not so) hidden cracks in your relationship. She confides in her newly-acquired therapist. She may have made a mistake once; the secret is sandwiched between her worries about your susceptibility to depression and how Nico is a decided food critic.

Though the therapist, a lovely bilingual woman named Sofía, raises her eyebrows, she does not pry. She slides a paper calling card over to Alexia. The paper squeaks along the coffee table between the two comfortable armchairs of the office. “I specialise in couples. Seeing as your wife is already a client of mine, I think you should consider a joint session.” Alexia is new to the idea of mental health. Before, she had been too focused on football to care about it. Even when her father died, any professional she spoke to was only hearing how her mind worked because she knew it was what was best for her performance. “And, Alexia.” She looks up at the therapist with a small, nervous smile. “Congratulations on the pregnancy. I am sure Nico will make a wonderful older brother.”

Morning sickness drags you out of your shared bed most days.

Alexia asks you about couples’ therapy when you have finished your dry-heaving one morning.

“I mean,” you begin before pausing, gulping down the sour taste in your mouth and hoping nothing else is trying to hit the toilet water until tomorrow. “Sorry.”

“Don’t apologise.” She is dressed in her training kit, but she slings her jumper over your shoulders as soon as you shiver. “Do you think it’s a good idea?”

“It would do no harm.” As long as Sofía does not bring up Alexia’s confession, your statement will ring true. “You book the appointment. It’ll be easier to work around your schedule that way.”

“When are you flying back to London?” Her question is not filled with hatred for the city, but with resignation to the fact that your job involves you being stretched between here and there.

“Not until next month. I thought that I could take Nico to an away game with my dad if I got a flight for Saturday. The rest of the week would be interviews and photoshoots.”

“How’s the album doing?”

So far, your songs are only written when Alexia has paid you enough attention to swirl your thoughts and blur your vision. It is in these moments that the lingering, sinking weight inside of you dissipates. “Dave remains hopeful. It won’t fail, but I need it to be better than what we currently have.”

Shamelessly, Alexia is aware of her effect on your songs. She smirks; “Alba has been begging to babysit, you know.” With no care for your current state, Alexia’s eyes rake up and down your body. You grow embarrassed by how you are slumped over the toilet, and how she is standing above you as though she runs your world. “You look beautiful, mi amor,” she murmurs as you bashfully duck your head between your bent arms.

“You’re a flirt.” It feels too late for her to still be in the flat. “And you’re going to miss training if you don’t get a move on. There are eggs in the fridge, and Nico definitely liked the omelette you made him a few days ago. He’ll be waking up soon.”

A small sigh escapes the midfielder’s lips, but the prospect of the things she loves most in the world appearing in her life consecutively is enough to convince her to pad her way out the bathroom, swanning into the corridor with a little grin on her face as she sings out ‘bon dia’ to an impressively multilingual toddler and heads into the kitchen with the domestic intention of getting breakfast started. She leaves an omelette out for you, which you attack shortly after Alexia and Nico disappear into their daily routine. She drops him off at preschool, and you pick him up a few hours later, taking him first for lunch with Alba, and then to the studio.

You come home to a showered Alexia who is memorising her most recent match. She lets Nico slide into her lap without hesitation, but she stays focused on the football even when he tugs on the strands of hair falling out of ponytail. You marvel at the idea of having enough room in your heart for so much love. You decide that you are not like Alexia, though it is not necessarily a terrible thing. A further observation from watching your wife settle her son with a calm, muttered Catalan telling-off, coaxing him into loving football as though he does not already, is that you are so very content with your life at the moment.

But 2020 kind of sucks.

For the entire world.

You’re cut off from your home in any other manner than a digital one, and being stuck in a luxurious penthouse in Barcelona isn’t the worst fate, but it really isn’t ideal.

Elena, however, has the benefit of coming into the world with ever (physically) present parents, who could recite the java script for Zoom given that they spend hours on therapy calls. Elena, bright and smiley and the picture of her mother, spends the first few months of her life in a happy, happy family, protected by an entire football team and a fierce older brother. (And a yappy Pomerianian called Nala.)

“Y/n doesn’t like the name María,” Jenni tells Mapi when Alexia sends the first picture of your new addition to the Barcelona group chat.

“The next baby is going to be a Jennifer,” Mapi says, to both the forward and the unimpressed midfielder walking a few paces in front of such a silly conversation. “For that, I can only feel sorry for her.”

…

The routine changes the following year.

It starts with an abrupt but expected conversation. One that Alexia has been dreading.

Your album – the first one that is just you – was released two months ago, and it has done too well. Selfishly, Alexia had hoped it would fail. You have enough money, and she is earning more and more each season. Success, unfortunately, means that this little life can no longer exist. Or can it?

“I have to do it,” you whisper to her, tears in your eyes though the smell of sex still lingers. The quietness of a child-free apartment allows for you to hear her gulp. “It’ll be different this time, darling, but I can’t be here anymore. I can’t fly out to London every few days. I can’t leave you with a five-month-old and a toddler when you are training every day and playing matches every weekend. It’s not fair on anyone.”

Alexia kisses your bare shoulder, hands slipping round your waist as she pulls your sweaty body into her. Her chest presses against your back, but she is only behind you in this bed. She does not agree with you. She does not support it. But, like she always does, she bites her tongue. “If that’s what you want,” she replies, and part of you dies with the thought that she does not really care. “I love you. I want what’s best for you. For us.” And she tells Jenni all about it when she goes to see her a week later – the flimsy excuse of meeting a childhood friend for dinner enough to wrap a cloth around your eyes and leave you at home with a screaming toddler and a baby whose only flaw is that she grows distraught the moment she is put down.

In the dimly lit living room, the tension hangs thick in the air. You lock eyes. “Why can't you just move with us? Everyone will want you, darling, and life would be easier,” you plead, a month down the line. The house in Highgate has been readied for your more permanent return.

Alexia takes a deep breath, her gaze unwavering. “Why can't you get it into your head that I'm not leaving Spain or Barcelona? This is my home.”

“What about the children? School? Life? My career? Does it mean nothing to you?”

Her eyes soften. Your heart breaks, and the piece of you that has already died somehow dies again. “I'm thinking of the children. All the time, I think of them. About the reputation of my name – their name. Putellas, the greatest in the world, or Putellas, the one with potential wasted at West Ham?”

“You're being selfish, Lex,” you snap. “This is an opportunity for all of us, not just me. Think about their future!”

“Their future is here, in the culture they know, the languages they speak. I won't strip them of their identity for the sake of a 'better' life. And my career? I've worked too hard to build what I have here. I won't throw it away.” I don’t want to throw it away. Underscored by Don’t leave me again.

The room echoes with the weight of her voice. “Their identity comes from both of us.” It’s too final for either of your liking. Elena begins to cry in her cot. “I want to try it. I want you to be open to trying it.”

She gestures to the suitcases by the door. “Trying it and doing it are two different things. You’re taking them from me!”

“You’re probably going to love life without them anyway!” you shout. You feel like the crying baby, except the tears rolling down your cheeks carry much more suffering than hers. “You’ll – what? You’ll go out with your friends, and you’ll be able to go to the gym whenever you want. No arguing, no crying, no toddler to entertain, no nappies to change. You never wanted children. I forced it upon you. I regret it, and I’m sorry. We’ll go.”

“Don’t go.”

I don’t want you to go.

“I have to.”

You turn your back to her as you fly through the corridor, prepared to console Elena in a taxi. Alexia slips her ring off her finger, and clutches it in her palm instead. Desperately, she searches for a solution. There is nothing within her reach, not even you.

…

She is an island amongst a sea of happy people. She is going to be the greatest footballer in the world. It kills her to realise that she can now focus on football.

Nico starts nursery, attending the same school you once did. He adjusts to life in London seamlessly, and Elena does not seem to care either way. He learns more English every day, and his other mother calls him nightly to read to him.

With childcare more than sorted, you are free to be interviewed, pictured, and invited to events. You rake in the publicity, especially after laying so slow over the course of the lockdown in Spain.

“Alexia.” Jenni’s hands knead her tight shoulders, partly teasing her. Alexia wears a frown, eyebrows knitting together with an emotion she’s not sure she can name. “Ale, it’s the same game as always. Nothing has changed.”

“I know,” she murmurs. “I don’t understand why I feel like this.” She has continued to speak to Sofía, though your joint sessions have now come to a halt while you spend your time doubling as a singer and model. The therapist, try as she might, cannot evaluate the situation effectively enough. Eli and Alba have both tried to help, hoping that weekly dinners and the constant reminder about the invention of aeroplanes would ease the turmoil of Alexia’s mind. It does not. “I am so alone, Jenni.”

Nala is too small to fill the emptiness of the flat. Screens don’t allow for her to kiss you, or play with Nico. She is scared she will miss Elena’s first words.

“You don’t have to be.”

It only takes a month for Alexia to break, and it sort of works.

In Jenni’s bed, it works. Hips keening, soft pants falling from her mouth.

Quiet moans that stay locked in Jenni’s apartment.

Each time Alexia leaves, though Jenni repeatedly requests that she stays, she walks out as half a woman. She blinks back her tears and she checks her phone. When she calls you – not a video call – you are never any the wiser to the scratches down her back.

Alexia remains an island, but the sand beaches are tainted with the arrival of someone else.

In this way, she is functional.

She can do sex. She can deal with borderline romance. She can fill the space that you are tearing open with every passing minute spent in that god-awful country you insist on calling home. She can fix it a little bit with Jenni.

She tells herself that it does not mean anything more than a bandage means to a wound. Who wears the bandage once the gash has healed?

Where does she put the used bandage?

Why is she focused on bandages?! She’s having an affair. It’s not an affair! (It is.) Alexia doesn’t… quite… wanttoadmititjustyet.

…

The buzz of your phone is the final push that gets you to conclude the current interview you are trapped in. Before checking what the notification is, you glance at the time. You have half an hour before you need to pick up Nico, and your parents said they would drop Elena home once they returned from London Zoo.

Alexia: Jenni has had a really good idea

It’s an intriguing text amongst the more practical ones that oil the mechanics of managing the distance. Tonight, Barcelona play their last match of the season. After this, she’ll be flying out to London. You have missed her. The last time you saw her in person was after Barcelona embarrassed Chelsea in Gothenburg. Elated and filled with pride, it was incredibly nice to have the biggest room in the hotel to yourselves. Her medal was almost as beautiful as her.

You: Go on…

Alexia: Just draw a heart on Nico’s hand from me porfa. You’ll see.

You slide into the driver’s seat of your newest self-indulgent car; a Porsche. Momentarily distracted by a camera flash, your turn onto the main road is a little risky, but you manage to make it to the school in time to collect your son.

“Was he good?” you ask his teacher as she hands you Nico’s book bag. You take in the sight of him: hair messy, school uniform stained though they require the little ones to wear aprons for most of the day. “It’s a little different here. I’m hoping that he’s enjoying himself.”

“Our new assistant is from Spain,” says the teacher with a small, tired smile, batting her long eyelashes at you. “We had to pry him off her.”

You let out a laugh. “He misses his mum.”

“He’s extremely intelligent. He knew to speak Spanish to her and English to us.” Though your grasp of Spanish is near-fluent after such reluctance from your wife to try English, you know that the two-year-old has a talent for juggling the three languages he is growing up around. You’re proud of him. “You shouldn’t worry about him. And, speaking of, we have a parents’ coffee morning just around the corner. It’s always great for the parents to get along – it helps the school feel even more like a family. Will it just be you attending?” Nico’s teacher is around your age, and you can smell her rose perfume that mingles with the soft hint of ready-mixed paint. She has deep, brown eyes, and she is definitely flirting with you.

“Next week, right? I’ll have to check with my wife.”

It’s then that a toddler-sized hand grips your fingers and tugs. “Mama, me voy,” he groans; something akin to Alexia’s impatience. It reminds you of when you used to go shopping and she’d herd you out with the threat of getting in the car and driving away. “Venga.”

“One sec, sweetheart.” There are countless ways in which you miss Alexia. “My wife and I would love to come.”

Her smile does not falter on her lips, but there is a greyish disappointment that dulls the warmth of her irises. You smile as you turn your back and lead Nico to the car. You are so excited for Alexia to complete the broken puzzle.

You melt when she kisses the heart drawn onto her hand when celebrating her goal. Nico copies her, lips pursing and sloppily mimicking the action on a similar heart. “For you, sweetheart,” you tell him as he settles back into your side, careful not to jostle Elena who has fallen asleep on your chest (the therapist did wonders for you).

“It was for you,” Jenni tells Alexia after the match. Her goal is now serving as the move Alexia feared she’d make. They have changed and been massaged and done the media the are required to do (women’s football is growing): they are free to roam Barcelona if they so wish.

Her flight is tomorrow evening – “I have a flight tomorrow evening.”

“Come over tonight.” It isn’t a question, yet it is not quite a command. Mapi passes the two of them, eyes narrowing at the way Jenni has wrapped her hand around Alexia’s wrist. The defender is aware that something is going on, though it breaks her heart to imagine Alexia ever doing that to you. Not knowing they are being watched, Alexia steps in; cups Jenni’s face, brushes her cheekbone with a stroke of her thumb Mapi knows is meant for her wife. Mapi’s stomach lurches. She feels sick.

“I need to…” It’s not a ‘no’. “Jenni.” She hates that it is not a ‘no’.

“Ale.” There’s a beat. Mapi blinks twice, shakes her head, and backs away. “I’ll miss you, you know?”

…

Jenni doesn’t seem to mind when, the next day, blurry pictures of you on a family outing make rounds through the tabloids she usually doesn’t read. The fact that, up until now, no one has known that your wife is Alexia Putellas has no effect on her. She was stupid for thinking the last six months meant something. Winning together, losing together. Sleeping together.

In this deal, Alexia has fucked over both women who love her. Except, you don’t know. She hasn’t told you, though Jenni had hoped for it secretly – hoped Alexia chose her – and it is obvious. Obvious to Jenni, who is well acquainted with the blonde hair in the wings of your concert at the O2. Obvious to Jenni, who refuses to think of herself as the other woman.

She consults Mapi.

Mapi, who she has come to shamefully realise already knows.

“I can’t believe the two of you.” The defender is clear in her distaste and disappointment and, honestly, her disgust. “But I am not going to be the one to break that poor girl’s heart.”

“I’m not asking you to.”

What is she asking? What does she want from this utterly useless conversation?

“Mapi.” Jenni closes her eyes, but she sees two faces instead of darkness. Nico. Elena. She’s Elena’s godmother. You decided that – convinced Alexia to choose her best friend over her younger sister, told your wife that there’d be another for Alba to corrupt. “Mapi, I love her. I don’t know what to do.”

“She loves her wife.” The next sentence proceeds to brutally remind Jenni who that isn’t. “Tell her you’re done. Find someone else. Anyone but her.”

That is Jenni’s resolve, because she knows that Mapi is right.

…

June, July, and August pass with bliss.

Everyone says that you are a beautiful couple with beautiful children. Alexia beams with pride as she flaunts her practised English, and gladly claims ownership of Nico when he wins a prize on speech day. Every child in Reception is awarded something but that doesn’t stop her from boasting.

She explores the country with the children while you shack up in the recording studio, and brings hugs and kisses (and Red Bull) every evening after dinner. The visits are what reminds you of the sun Alexia brings, especially as the warmth follows her from Barcelona and London is blessed with golden days. Dog days.

“This isn’t permanent.” Alexia looks up from her phone, comfortable in your bed. The house in Highgate has flecks of Spain woven into the decor now, and you like it that way.

You climb into the bed beside her, and her arm lifts so that you can snuggle into her chiselled stomach (wow, she has been working hard this season). “What’s Jenni saying?” you ask, following your statement and hoping you’ll get her attention. She presses her phone screen into the duvet before you can translate the message – it is too long of a paragraph for you to handle. “Anyway, I wanted to tell you that this isn’t permanent.”

Alexia, over the past few months, has been the most affectionate, loving, amazing person with the same smile and giggle you married. You thought she had disappeared and was replaced with stern, career-focused Alexia Putellas, jugadora del fútbol. You were wrong.

“I’m thinking January is when we’ll come back. Nico’s English will survive.” Your parents are going travelling. They’ve never been on the Orient Express before. “I want to be with you.”

It is a good thing Jenni has just broken up with her.

“I love you,” you continue. “So much.”

Alexia hums. Her heart breaks, and she does not know for whom. “¿En serio?” She is happy, she thinks. Certainly, she is glad that the four of you will be reunited.

You are.

January 2022 ruins things for Jenni Hermoso. She calls Pachuca back.

#barca femeni #woso fanfics #woso x reader #woso #fc barcelona #woso imagines #mapi leon #jenni hermoso #alexia putellas x reader #alexia putellas

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ellabehavior · 10 months

Text

You’re on your own kid ~ Rafe Cameron ☼

Summary: Rafe and you have been best friends since you were young. However, now that he got his new girlfriend you suddenly realized that you could possibly like him more than simply as a friend.

Pairing: Rafe Cameron x Fem!Reader

Warnings: anxiety, mentions of drinking

A/N: Its been a while yall, but i’m back!! I hope y’all enjoy :)! ( i hateee this but i hope y’all love)

angst to soft!

Summer went away,

You’ve been best friends with Rafe since as long as you can remember, but last summer was the summer where everything changed.

The summer before your first year of college.

School was back up and you were also starting to look at Rafe with a different eye. He was taller, tanner, smarter, he’s growing up.

Still the yearning stays.

Everytime you’d pass Rafe in the hallway hed give you a short smile but never really acknowledge you.

You missed last summer when you guys would hang out everyday, tell eachothers every little secret, and have the best deep conversations at 2am.

You knew at this moment that things might never be the same again.

I play it cool with the best of them.

For the first time in months Rafe contacted you, he invited you to go to a party with a lot of people from your school.

When you arrived, that’s when you seen him with her.

He had his arm around her neck and her long blonde hair rested on his lower arm.

I wait patiently, he’s gonna notice me.

“It’s ok, It’s ok” You whisper quietly while gaining the courage to go up and talk to Rafe.

As you walk up to him he gives you a half-hug due to the blonde on his right.

“Hey Y/N i haven’t seen you in a while.” He grins.

“Yeahhh, I guess i’ve been busy yknow with all the test and s-” Immediately you get cut off by a high pitched voice.

“Rafeyyy cmon let’s go play some games this is boring.” She says with a pout.

“Mkay babe. Bye Y/n” The boy said walking away without a glance at you.

It’s ok we’re the best of friends, anyways…

About a week after the party Rafe finally calls to check up on you.

“Hey y/n.” He drowsily says .

“Rafe? It’s 1:00am what are you calling me for?” You voice concerningly

“I just miss my bestie that’s all” He laughs.

I hear it in your voice,

You're smoking with your boys.

I touch my phone as if it's your face.

“Rafe are you high right now?” You almost shout.

“Yes, Maybe, No.” He giggles.

“Rafe do you need me to come get you?”

You rush to grab your keys and your wallet to go pick Rafe up.

“No i’m here with my girlfriend.” He says.

You stop in your tracks, immediately getting a sick feeling in your stomach as soon as those words come out from his mouth.

“Oh Okay, we’ll I’ll talk to you some other time okay?” You suggest.

And with that he hangs up the phone without a goodbye.

I didn't choose this town,

I dream of getting out.

There's just one who could make me stay,

All my days.

As a kid you and Rafe would always talk about how when you guys were 25 you’d move to London together, and to this day that’s still your biggest dream.

You hate this place, it’s full of people who will be rude to you just based off of how you grew up.

Surprisingly Rafe is now dating one of those girls, Lily.

From sprinkler splashes to fireplace ashes

I waited ages to see you there

I search the party of better bodies

Just to learn that you never cared

You promised yourself after last time you would never go to another college party, but here you find yourself at one that Rafe invited you to.

You would be lying if you said you’re here because you wanted to party, you’re waiting to see him.

You see Lily off in the crowd dancing, She’s perfect. You understand why Rafe would pick her. Her hair flows perfectly in the wind, her makeup is never less than flawless, and even though you want to tell yourself that she’s ugly, she’s one of the prettiest girls you’ve ever seen.

As you study Lily you see Rafe come up from behind her and hug her.

You're on your own, kid

You always have been

The whole night Rafe didn’t even bat a single eye at you, so you left.

I see the great escape

So long, Daisy May

I picked the petals, he loves me not

Something different bloomed

Writing in my room

I play my songs in the parking lot

I'll run away

You tried to distance yourself ever since the party, finally realizing this crush is starting to form into something you don’t need right now.

It’s been exactly 2 weeks since you’ve gone no contact with Rafe and if there were 20 stages of grief, you’ve been through 30.

All you want to do is call him, text him, or tell yourself that maybe he’s just using Lily as a distraction because he really likes you.

“Why is it never me.”

From sprinkler splashes to fireplace ashes

I called a taxi to take me there

I search the party of better bodies

Just to learn that my dreams aren't rare

It’s a cycle.

Another party, Another slap in the face.

You can see the other girls also looking at Lily wishing they could be with Rafe.

The realization kills you to know that it’ll probably never be you in that spot with all these options he has.

You're on your own, kid,

You always have been.

It’s a drunken night, and you’ll definitely regret this.

“Rafeyyy babyyy” you slur.

“Y/N? Why are you calling me in the middle of the night?” You can tell he is worried in his tone.

“I don’t like her. She’s rude, you deserve better.”

There is a long pause and then you hear someone speak, “He’s never liked you babe. You’re nothing compared to me, and you know that.”

The phone hung up.

From sprinkler splashes to fireplace ashes

I gave my blood, sweat, and tears for this

I hosted parties and starved my body

Like I'd be saved by a perfect kiss

It’s been hard to do anything since the altercation.

Eating, Getting up, Going to class, Socializing, and pretty much everything feels like a chore.

You’ve tried so hard to get his attention yet he never seemed to care.

And of course as a mean girl, Lily decided to tell everyone about what you said to Rafe. Of course he apologized for what she said, and for what happened but that didn’t stop the whole school for coming at you for a whole week.

The jokes weren't funny, I took the money

My friends from home don't know what to say

I looked around in a blood-soaked gown

And I saw something they can't take away

You received a text message late at night, usual for Rafe.

Rafe: Hey, i’m so sorry for what Lily caused. You’re my best friend and I realized nothing is worth loosing that, me and her are over now after a long talk.. Can we please hang out? I miss you.

Fuck. This is what you’ve been longing for all these months and it finally is here.

You: Yeah sure, Sleepover? my place tmmrw? ;)

Rafe: Ofc. I miss you. Cya.

Cause there were pages turned with the bridges burned

Everything you lose is a step you take

So make the friendship bracelets

Take the moment and taste it

You've got no reason to be afraid

The anxiety levels are high waiting for Rafe to come over, it’s been so long since you’ve had a real conversation through all this time of him being with Lily.

You start to wonder if he still likes Starwars, or if his favorite dancing song is 22 by Taylor Swift.

You then hear a knock on the door.

You're on your own, kid

“Hey!! Can I come in” he says.

“Of course.”

Then the catching up, the apology’s, and the stories start up.

It’s just like last summer.

Yeah, you can face this

While Rafe is telling one of his stories, you start to feel a pit of anxiety in your stomach because you know what you have to do.

You’ve gotten ready for this moment, practiced it in the mirror about 50 times to make sure your facial expressions, or your tone doesn’t sound too weird.

You're on your own, kid

“Rafe.” You stop him mid conversation.

“Yes?” he says with a quirk of his eyebrows.

“All these months i’ve been so distant but really all I wanted was to be near you, since last summer you’ve been the only thing on my mind and maybe you don’t feel the same way but-“

He cuts you off with a kiss to your lips.

“I’ve been waiting since the 8th grade for you to say that” He says as he pulls away.

“So all that practicing in the mirror was for nothing?” you giggle.

“Guess so.”

You always have been

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vampirevatican · 8 months

Text

Heart Don't Stand a Chance

a record player starts, and the countess opens a book. “tonight, you'll hear the tale of two strangers growing closer. i hope you enjoy, delulutober!”

pairing - hobie brown x black! fem reader

genre/tags - MDNI, friends to lovers, unrequited/unconfessed love, smoking weed, extremely touch starved/cuddly but "we're just friends", smut, oral, groping, p in v sex, mating press, foreplay, teasing

summary - he talked you up from the club all the way to your place. you shared blunts, thoughts, and feelings, but somewhere along that road from strangers to friends something started to grow.

notes - 2.5k words, i heard this song. i thought about hobie bc as chill as he is, he carries himself like he's hot shit and even with that there is a depth to him. attempt at his british slang pattern, or bbe (black british english)... mighta blew my best work in the first half, ye.

Tonight was a clubbing kind of night. After the week you had it was crucial to go out looking the baddest and having a night on the town. You couldn't get carried away on drinks, had to drive yourself home, and didn't feel like dealing with ignorant men trying to get you wasted. Infact, you weren't gonna tolerate any nigga that tried to shoot his shot tonight. Yes you were the finest thing out here but that didn't mean you had to suffer their bullshit. Then he showed up, tall, dark and handsome.

"Hey there peng ting," and his voice, "thought I could chirps you for a bit." You let him, but find yourself rolling your eyes. "Alright boy, what's ya name?" You take the bait and with that cute accent of his he says, "Hobie, Hobie Brown. Yours?" Your heart, or something else, was already dead set on how hot he is and if the conversation went nice this exception would be worth it. It was, because he spent that night just talking to you. Sure he flirted but it felt more like a teasing banter than him being desperate for you to be in his bed.

He would've been drinking but decided to hold off for you, "Who needs Vera Lynn, when you're here, I'm already bein' entertained." You laughed and he swore he'd never hear a more beautiful sound. "So where's your ends, would've spotted a pretty bird like you a while ago." Hobie could feel that you were trying to stay guarded but you hadn't pushed him away or backed off. "Islington," She answered and took a sip of her drink with those shiny lips, "From outta the country for a bit. Call it a vacation and business trip." Her voice was like music to his ears and he couldn't get enough, "Ah, you're my neighbor then. Islington a straight shot to London, innit? If you're doing business, what's your business here then?" Basic small talk but he had gotten all the info he needed out of you then and there. Name, Occupation, Intrests and a couple other base line things along with hearing that lovely laugh.

It was far too long for the both of you to have felt such a spark and comfortability between another person. Sure he had his 'bredrin' but something about this was different, it was like there was more to it. The night flew by and even though the club was packed it felt like it was just you and him.

"So you usually frequent pubs like this?" You asked him and he simply shrugged, "A bit of a pass time. I see you've caught up with some of the slang, what do you get up to?" The conversation stayed like this, shooting questions back at each other, "When I ain't busy, I stick to my own. Foreign place and I'm not trying to get in no rubble." Occasionally flirting, "You're looking dench, ya always dress that sharp or is it just for me?" You ask and he compliments you right back. "Got pretty nice garms yourself. If you want it to be just for you, go ahead." He said, not shooting down your advances either.

With a drink or two, low in alcohol, for the both of you he offered to take this night out on the town with him as an escort. Both of you leaning against the bar and looking out at the sea of people he leaned down next to you and said, "Like a suitcase in here. Should head on out if we want the privacy." Something about that didn't sound like a terrible idea, so you agreed and let him hitch a ride in your car. Sharing playlists together on the ride back to your place, since he didn't really mind where he woke up and unbeknownst to you he was looking out for your comfortability and safety.

That was your first night in the UK you didn't spend alone. Yeah you had made some friends over here and sometimes there were sleepovers that consisted of binging shows, doing each other's hair or makeup. Some indoors and sometimes outdoors fun, but this was vastly different. His fine, lanky ass was waltzing through your apartment like he owned the place before plopping down dead center on the couch. Man spreading and arms outstretched on the back of the couch.

"What?" Hobie simply asked when he caught you staring. It wasn't like he minded it, infact he thought it was cute and it gave him time to stare when those pretty brown eyes focused somewhere else. It felt like you were tracing the outline of his body, sketching down the details instead of stripping him bare. " 's rude to stare, leng." He said, propping his hands behind his head and putting his boots on the coffee table, closing his eyes for a second before catching your gaze to see you try and hold back a smile as you rolled your eyes and shook your head. "You're bare brown, a damn mess." The way she mixed his slang and hers was cute too, 'We should mix like that...' he thought but shook it off as he picked up the remote to put something on the TV. Meanwhile in your room you decided to go ahead and unwind because, you're back home, it's late, and you'll be damned if you don't wash your face and get into something comfortable.

Hearing your footsteps he didn't even turn his head to address you at first, "Almost thought you'd leave me he-" He was cut off by a huge bonnet smacking him in the face. "Dumbass, it's my flat and if you spending the night; like i expect you to," you said muttering that one bit of expectations, "then put that on, no need to fuck up those nice locs when we skin folk." He obliged and felt you settle in beside him. It couldn't have been the drinks, so it had to be genuine, because looking at you in your bonnet and a huge sleep shirt was enough to make his heart skip a beat. She was definitely still leng without the makeup, fancy dress or accessories. "A bit rude to stare, innit?" and that beautiful voice.

Since that night you two have had smoke and jam seshes, movie nights, youtube, and streaming binges. You had gotten his number and address and would swing by anytime you could if he couldn't because you were 'neighbors'. Some nights he'd stay and spend some of the morning with you, and vice versa. Other times he had other things to do and so did you, or was it being petty? You weren't sure and couldn't quite understand it either. Though thinking on the nights before, as the sun rose, whenever you got in the shower or took a bath it felt like washing off glitter. Cleaning off the sparkle and shine his very presence filled you with, it was like any other mundane task and life returned to normal, until he came along again. Nights of watching some thing and laying your head on his shoulder, laying down in his lap, being held in his arms. Flopping down on your bed you let out the biggest sigh. If you loved him, it would be too much to handle. He couldn't feel the same way back, he's just really comfortable with you, right?

Tonight was just like any other night but the days before weren't. Each morning or late-night goodbye was reconciling with the thought of something more. Hobie couldn't get you out of his mind and every time you hung out he couldn't stop overthinking exactly what you thought of him. If it wasn't that it was focusing on you. How your soft brown skin felt against him, how you looked up at him, your lips either glossed over or baren, the shape of your body, the way you got more and more comfortable with him. Your head on his shoulder and watching the TV as you both commentated over a show you've seen more than once now. "Hobie?" your voice pulled him out of the trance you had always put him in, though the thoughts of fucking you didn't stop and they were just stronger now with you being so close. "You wanna take a hit or nah?" He could only nod and took the blunt from you, 'I am... way too horny to talk to this woman right now...' This was definitely true but from your perspective, it seemed like any other day, until you went to lay your head on his lap, and in an instant you were sitting on his lap.

You could feel just how hard he was through his sweatpants and now you were both just staring at each other. Brown eyes locked in a staring contest, waiting for a first move while drowning in each other's gaze. His hands slide up and down your sides and settle at your hips and you feel a shiver down your spine. "H...hobs," your voice was like a whisper as he got closer to you, "Yeah?" He broke his stare by looking at your slightly parted lips, and without another word, he kissed you. His kiss trails from your lips to your neck as he makes a low groan from you rocking your hips and wiggling ever so slightly. His hips slightly buck upwards as a whine leaks out from his lips, while he nuzzles your neck and whispers, "This has been on my mind, all day." Both of your grinding stops for a moment as your hands go to cup his face and force him to look at you directly. "Hobie, if you feel the way that I feel... then I trust you." With those words, he felt instant encouragement and a softness in his heart. He kissed you once more, just as passionately but it felt more intimate instead of heated.

Squeezing your hips and caressing your thighs brought the both of you back to your previous activities, and you continued to rub upon his grey sweatpants that had started this mess. Breaking the kiss once more, you rest your forehead on his shoulder and moan out to him. "Hobie, please... more." His hands were playing with the waistband of your shorts and hearing your plea he pulled them down, along with your panties, with your help. Now, straddling him you go to pull at his sweatpants, "Closed mouths don't get fed, if you want me to join ya just say so." He teased and you rolled your eyes, getting up off of him and then getting on your knees as you pulled off his sweatpants. His cock sprung out and you licked your lips, he could've sworn his heart skipped a beat. Stroking him and kissing up and down his shaft, maintaining eye contact you tease him back, "Hm? What is it Hobie, did you want more." You say before licking slowly from the base and up to his tip, feeling his hips shudder and another whine escape his lips. He didn't need to ask, feeling your mouth take him in before he could say anything. His hands gripping the couch cushion he was sitting on as you sucked him off, stopping for a moment and taking one of his hands and placing it on your twists. "You can touch, like I said I trust you." Feeling the long twists in his hands and stroking your head he smiled, "Thank you." Taking his length back into your mouth you hummed in approval, continuing where you left off.

Just as he was about to cum you stopped and he let out a laugh and groan, "What now baby?" Hearing that pet name made your heart soar as you stood up and sat on his lap again, taking off your shirt and bra, back pressed to his chest as you rested your head on his shoulder again. "You're either gonna fuck me hard or reciprocate, Id like both though." Your breath against his ear gave him goosebumps, and he swallowed hard. His hard-on slightly twitched from your words and you slid your slit up and down his shaft, the slick spreading across him.

Without saying a word he started to rub circles into your clit, the right amount of pressure that made you hips chase his hand while still grinding on him. His other hand made it's way to one of your tits as he kissed and licked at you neck. Your moans filled the room and after enough foreplay you guided him into your hole and started to ride him. Hips rolling back and forth as he thrusted upwards and kept you steady on him by holding your hips.

In the moment you turn to look at him and his gaze was focused on where you swallowed him whole, he looked as entranced as any other time you caught him just looking at you. You whisper in his ear, "You fit so good inside, filling me up just rig-ht!" Your voice becomes a slight screm of surprise as he turns you around and picks you up, standing, with him still inside. Feeling you clench around him he chuckles and you drop your head on his shoulder. "Aw, you were close huh?" He coos to you as he moves to your bedroom and lays you down on the bed. When he slides himself out you can't help but let out the most desperate whine, but it's then replaced with some silence as you feel him lift your legs. Knees pressed to you shoulders,"Don't worry, gonna fill you right up again." Your heart beat quickens and your skin feels so hot that only standing in a freezer could cool you down, after hearing those words against your ear. He slams himself back in and sit for a second drinkng in your loud scream and you falling apart on his cock. He then rode you through the mid point of your orgasm, riling you up all over again.

You woke up the next morning with him by your side, your limbs tangled with eachother. Neither of you left eachother that morning and when he had to go he kissed your forehead. The next week that followed was radio silence on both ends and from that night you couldn't deny it anymore. It was more than just the sex, it was his prescene alone in any context that put you on cloud nine. A feeling like this was few and far inbetween and you couldn't resist when he offered to hang out again, this time at his house boat.

Laying side by side on his mattress, looking at the stars through the sun roof, you didn't cuddle up to him like you usually did. "What's wrong?" He simply asked and you looked over to find his gaze lazer focused on you. "You love me right?" Is all you could manage, word vomit, a ridiculous question but he didn't think of it as such. Pulling you closer to him as he wrapped his arms around you and stroked your hair, still in those long and pretty twists. "Of course I do, and I promise I ain't going no where."

#*⁠.⁠✧𝖛𝖛'𝖘 𝖉𝖊𝖑𝖚𝖘𝖎𝖔𝖓𝖙𝖔𝖇𝖊𝖗🍷#hobie brown smut #hobie brown x black!reader #hobie brown x female reader

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mountttmase · 1 year

Text

A Mountain To Climb - Part Eight

Note - happy Wednesday 😘 I’m so excited for this one so enjoy and PLEASE let me know what you think I’m dying to know 😭💙

Pairing - Mason Mount x Reader

Word count - 3.6k

Warnings - series will contain fluff, smut & angst

Masterlist

‘Bens having another party. You up for it?’ Mason told you as you took a bite of your lunch.

It had been just over a week since you had been round to Masons for dinner and you hadn’t seen him in person since. He told you he had another interview near your office and you agreed to meet him for lunch, hence why you were both in the corner of some fancy London restaurant that was way out of your price range.

‘I don’t see why not’ you smiled ‘it would be nice to see Sophia again’

‘I’ll probably stay over again so you can bunk with me like last time’

‘You sure?’

‘Of course. I’m not having you go home alone’ he told you with furrowed brows and you smiled at his protectiveness. ‘You can get ready at mine if you want and then just take a few bits to Bens. Then maybe we can do the same as last time and go to mine after?’

‘You’ve got it all figured out haven’t you Mount?’ You laughed and you saw his cheeks flush liked he’d been caught out.

Lunch was over too quickly for your liking and with a kiss to your temple, Mason was off to his interview and you were back behind your desk. The afternoon dragged so when you got off the train and saw Freya was calling you, your face lit up and you answered with a smile.

‘Hello my love’ you sung and you heard her laugh down the phone.

‘Hello to you too. Someone sounds chirpy’

‘I sound the same as I always do’

‘No you don’t. Let me guess, have you seen Mason today?’ She teased and you rolled your eyes at her even though she couldn’t see you.

‘As a matter of fact we had lunch together. But that doesn’t mean anything’

‘Oh honey, it means everything’ she taunted and you couldn’t help but smile at the way she read you so well. ‘Anyway, that’s not the reason I’m calling. I know it’s late notice but there’s this huge party happening up here this weekend and you haven’t been up here in months so I wondered if you fancied making the trip’

‘Ah, you know I would but I’ve already got plans’

‘You? Plans? Since when’ she laughed and you huffed as you finally sat down.

‘Bens having a party this weekend and we’re staying over. If it was any other weekend I would’ you told her but the line was silent. ‘Hello? Frey, you still there?’

‘Do you hear yourself?’ She laughed and you furrowed your brows ‘we’re staying over. So what, are you finally gonna shag him?’

‘Fucking hell, what is this’ you laughed

‘Babe, answer me this. Do you like him?’

‘Of course I like him’

‘Do you think he’s attractive?’

‘Yes’ you told her sheepishly

‘Have you ever thought about kissing him?’

‘Freya I don’t see how-‘

‘Just answer me’ she cut you off and you groaned before shutting your eyes to answer.

‘Alright. Yes I thinking about it all the fucking time. Is that what you wanted to hear?’

‘That’s exactly what I wanted to hear’ she told you softly and you felt your eyes sting at her tone. ‘Do you know how lovely it’s been watching you open up to someone these past few months? I love you with all my heart y/n and all I want is for you to be happy. You wanna kiss him? So go and do it. What’s stopping you? I’m 1000% sure he wants to kiss you back and if he doesn’t then fuck him. You can’t live your life in your little bubble for the rest of time. Take a chance. I think Mason proved himself to you a long time ago’

‘Frey I don’t even know where to start’ you laughed and she chuckled along with you.

‘You’re gonna go with him to this party. You’re gonna wear that green skirt of yours, you know the one I’m taking about, and you’re gonna let your walls down and think with your heart instead of your head for once’

‘What if it all goes wrong?’ You asked her timidly, the first thought in your mind being the worst possible outcome and you heard her sigh, know you were freaking out already.

‘If it goes wrong then I’ll be here for you just like I always am. But I honestly don’t see that happening. The boy follows you around like a lost puppy and it’s about time you gave him a treat’ she joked and you laughed loudly at her weird analogy. ‘I’m not asking you to marry the guy. Just let your hair down a little yeah? Kiss him, fool around a bit. Live the dream of thousands of girls across the country’

‘I love you, Frey’ you told her sincerely, thankful she was in your life to give you a good talking too when you needed it.

A few days later you were stood in Masons bathroom, applying your last coat of mascara before you were ready to go. You’d taken Freya’s advice and had on the green skirt she’d suggested and as you looked yourself over in the mirror you were happy with how you looked. It was short and showed off enough of your legs and the shirt you’d paired it with was undone to show the girls off but you didn’t feel trashy and you thought Mason would like it.

You padded downstairs to meet him, putting your shoes on as you got to the bottom and walked to meet him in the living room. He was turned away from you, dressed in a brown hoodie and jeans but he still looked gorgeous.

‘I’m ready when you are’ you told him, watching him turn to you and all the colour drain from him face before he was blushing furiously. His eyes were wide in shock and he gulped down a nervous lump before letting out a breath. ‘Do I look okay? I’m not too over dressed am I?’

‘Not at all’ he breathed. ‘You look amazing’ finally smiling as he made his way over to you and now you were the one to get nervous. He was breathtaking and his smile made your tummy flutter just as much as it did the first time you saw it. Maybe it was the nerves of knowing what you were planning tonight that made you extra nervous but you were finding it hard to keep up the eye contact with him.

You walked into Bens house and Sophia was on you instantly which gave Mason a chance to put your things in the guest room before joining you again.

‘Sorry Soph, just need to borrow this one so we can get a drink and I promise I’ll bring her right back’ he told her and she raised her finger to wiggle it in his face, clearly a few drinks deep already.

‘You make sure you’re quick Mount. Don’t hog her’ she slurred and you laughed as Mason led you through the house by your hand, taking longer than you thought as he had a lot of people to say hello too but you were soon in the kitchen, watching him pour you both a drink.

‘Well well well, look who it is’ you heard someone say and as you turned to the voice you saw Ben approaching. ‘Hi y/n, it’s good to see you’

‘Hi Ben. It’s good to see you too. Thanks for letting me stay tonight’

‘That’s alright. Let me know if you get cold again, I’ve got a spare hoodie set out just for you’ he joked and you laughed as Mason handed you your drink, placing a protective hand on you hip and pulling your back into his chest.

‘Very funny dickhead’ Mason mocked as you lent into his chest, placing his lips by your ear to he could speak to you quietly. ‘I’ve packed an extra one so you can have mine if you get cold’ he whispered and you almost lost your breath at how thoughtful he’d been. You didn’t even think when you reached up to kiss him on the cheek but you felt his body stiffen behind you. It was the first time you’d ever shown him affection in that way and you knew it meant a lot to him but you didn’t want to make a big deal out of it so you carried on talking to Ben before Sophia stormed in with her eyes set on you.

‘Mason, I told you not to hog her, you need to learn how to share’ she scolded before taking you into the other room and away from him. You turned to give him one last wink as she took you away to talk to some of the other girls. It wasn’t long before Mason had managed to find you again, slipping an arm around your waist from behind and kissing your temple as he stood and watched you chat with the girls.

‘Mason? You can go hang out with the guys, I’m fine I promise’ you told him softly, turning so you could look at him and his lips were so close to yours you wouldn’t of had to move much to kiss him, but it wasn’t the right time so you held back, turning to face him properly so you could look at him. His eyes were looking down at you so softly and it was taking everything in you not to kiss along the bridge of his nose, following the trail of adorable freckles that adorned his skin.

‘I’m fine here’ he whispered, squeezing your hip and you rolled your eyes with a smile. ‘Why are you looking at me like that?’

‘You have really pretty eyes’ you confessed and you watched his face blush and he let out a little laugh.

‘Is that so?’ He mused and you nodded, taking a drink to hide you smile before he pressed a quick kiss to you hairline. ‘Well I don’t think they’re half as pretty as yours’

‘I think we’ll have to agree to disagree on that one’ you laughed as he pulled you closer to him. ‘I need another drink. You gonna come with me?’

‘Of course’ he told you softly before grabbing your hand and walking you towards the kitchen. You were both in there for a while, half way through your second drink before you thought you should return to everyone else so the pair of you walked into the living room and were instantly met with a small circle of people on the floor and an empty vodka bottle in the middle of them.

‘There you are, you coming to join?’ Ben

‘What on earth are you playing?’ Mason asked, guiding you by your hips

‘Spin the bottle, duh. You gotta kiss whoever you land on’

‘I’m sorry, what?’ Mason laughed ‘have we just gone back in time to when we were 16?’

‘Come on Mason, don’t be a party pooper’ you told him, walking around the circle and taking a seat next to Ben. He looked at you with a shocked face and it was only when he sat opposite you did you realise the mistake you had made. You didn’t want him kissing anyone else and every time the bottle spun round you would pray it didn’t land on him.

Luck seemed to be on your side and you both come out unscathed until it was Masons turn to spin. You were looking at the bottle as if you could change its destination by your thoughts alone and little did you know, Mason was staring at you the whole time the bottle spun. You knew he wasn’t yours and you weren’t allowed to think it but in your mind the bottle wasn’t allowed to land on anyone but you as you didn’t think you could take watching him kiss someone else.

The spin the bottle gods, or Ben as it turned out to be, appeared to be shining down on you today and you had to hold in an excited squeal when Ben stopped the bottle from spinning so it landed on you. You looked over to Mason with a laugh but he didn’t seem that pleased it landed on you. If anything he looked nervous and as if he wanted the ground to swallow him up, but he made the first move, standing up and reaching his hands down to help you stand and face him.

‘We don’t have to do this’ he whispered, eyes searching your face but you didn’t want to back out now.

‘I want to’ you told him firmly, resting you hands on his chest and he planted his on your waist as he searched your eyes for an ounce of uncertainty.

‘You’ve been drinking’

‘I’ve had two drinks, that’s light work for me’

‘I just don’t want you to regret anything’

‘I won’t’

‘But-‘

‘Mason’ you interrupted, placing a finger over his lips to stop him talking before moving you hand to his shoulder. ‘Just kiss me’

And kiss you he did. His lips landed on yours softly and you got lost in each other immediately, both pulling the other in closer and you blocked out the sounds of everyone cheering and whistling as you focused on the feel of the others lips. The butterflies in your tummy were swarming and you were thankful he had such a tight grip on you as you felt your whole body melt into him.

He was so soft, gently brushing his lips against yours before getting a bit more forceful as he squeezed your waist before letting his hands roam slightly lower to your hips. His touch made you shiver but you couldn’t get enough of him as his tongue invaded your mouth causing you to moan. Your hands made their way into his hair to keep him close but you had a feeling he wasn’t pulling away anytime soon. He was devouring you, and it was only when you started to smile did he eventually pull away, smiling himself as you looked at each other with rosy cheeks and loving stares. You’d waited so long to kiss him and he certainly didn’t disappoint

‘Alright, get a room’ Ben moaned and you both laughed loudly before grabbing Masons hand and leading him out the way you came in. You didn’t know where you were going, wanting a bit of privacy so you could kiss him again but you didn’t want to go to your room and get carried away just yet. In the end you took him through to the utility room and shoved him up against the back of the door as you shut it. He looked shocked and when you lent in to kiss him again, you felt his hands push at your waist.

‘What are you doing?’ He breathed, his pouty lips open slightly as he was seemingly still out of breath from kissing you before but his eyes were dark and you knew he wanted this.

‘Do you not want to?’ You whispered, sounding more vulnerable than you thought you be and he was quick to cup your jaw and make you look at him.

‘Of course I do. Like you have no idea how much’ he smiled which made you smile but his face was soon serious again as his eyes flickered over you. ‘It’s just we’ve been drinking and I thought you didn’t want anything more than friends with me. This changes things, you know that right?’

‘I know’ you whispered and a look of relief settled over him. You tentatively reached up, lips ghosting over his gently before you kissed him again. It was much more gentle this time, the rush and urgency of your first now out the way and Mason was pouring himself into you. He pulled away gently, continuing you kiss you all over your cheeks and you giggled at his affections. ‘Mase’ you laughed, his nickname slipping from your lips for the first and he groaned before kissing you again.

You decided to play him at his own game, and after kissing him again for a moment, you trailed your lips across his jaw and started down his neck. He cursed under his breath, hands gripping your waist tightly but you were desperate to have his hands elsewhere. You gripped his wrists, moving them down over your hips towards your bum and you felt him resist a little bit.

‘Mase, touch me please. I want you to touch me’ you told him sternly, attaching your lips to the base of his neck before sucking gently. You’d clearly found his sweet spot as the most delicious sounds began tumbling from him as his hands finally dipped under you short skirt as he gripped your bum.

‘Fucking hell, y/n. You have no idea how long I’ve waited’

‘I do, I’ve waited just as long’ you whispered before he crashed his lips back into yours, the needy feeling from before now overtaking the pair of you as he quickly turned you both so now it was your back against the door and you were just about to dip your hands under his hoodie when a knock on the door snapped you both out of your bubble.

‘Hello? Is someone in there?’

‘Yeah, two secs mate and I’ll be out’ Mason called before pecking you lips lightly and guiding you out of the room. Thankfully no one was around anymore so you got out unscathed but that didn’t mean you were done teasing him.

Every time you passed him, you hands lingered on him in some way, eyes always glued to his from across the room and when some of the girls wanted you to dance with them you best believe you made it as sexy as possible for him to the point he had to come and join you. His lips took up home on your neck as he held you from behind and you skin was covered in goosebumps as he trailed his lips up to bite your earlobe gently.

The hours flew by, the alcohol in your system now a distant memory as you were so full of adrenaline from Mason touching you but you hadn’t been alone with just him since your kiss in the utility room. The boys had managed to pull him away for a little bit as the night was coming to a close and you were sat with Sophia on Bens sofa and she told you embarrassing stories about Kai.

‘I know it’s none of my business, but I think you and Mason look lovely together’ she commented and you smiled widely at her before hiding your face in your hands.

‘You think?’

‘Of course. He’s cute, you’re hot. What’s not to like?’ She laughed ‘listen I don’t know what’s going on but I know he’s super happy when you’re around. Kai said he doesn’t even mind all the teasing at Chelsea anymore’ she told you and you both laughed loudly which caused everyone who was left to look at you.

‘I think I really like him’ you whispered, a feeling of relief washing over you as you admitted it out loud and she smiled warmly at you.

‘Well I know he really likes you’ she whispered back and you both fell into a fit of giggles just as Kai and Mason walked back into the room.

‘What are you two giggling about? You know what I don’t wanna know’ Kai laughed as he reached down to help Sophia up ‘You ready to go?’ He asked and a after some quick goodbyes you were left in the room with just Mason.

You looked at each other shyly, him making the first move to gradually come over to you and hold you by your waist as you wrapped your arms around his shoulders. You both leaned in excruciatingly slowly as you smiled, eyes on each others lips before he kissed you softly and you melted into him.

‘Everyone’s leaving now. You wanna go wait in the room for me?’ He whispered and you felt a tingle down you spine to your core as you knew what you wanted to do next. You nodded and he gave you one last kiss before you padded up Bens stairs and into the same room the pair of you were in before.

You were in the en-suite taking off you makeup when you heard the door open and Masons voice call for you quietly. ‘Y/n? You here?’

‘Bathroom’ you spoke and his head was quick to pop around the door. He was now out of his hoodie and once he saw what you were doing he came you join you, pulling you into his chest and littering your face with kisses.

‘Ugh, what’s on your face it tastes awful’ he laughed whilst pulling a face as you kissed his jaw lightly.

‘It’s only Makeup remover, Mase. I’ll wash it off in a sec’ you told him and he smiled at you before pulling away.

‘I’ll leave you to get changed’ he told you, halfway out the door and you took a deep breath once you’d rinsed your face, game face ready to finally have Mason right where you needed him.

Tagged: @alwaysclassyeagle @ricsaigaslec @cinderellawithashoe @vip-access @majx00

#mason mount #mason mount blurb #mason mount imagine #mason mount story #mason mount series #mason mount concept #mason mount fanfic #mason mount fluff #mason mount smut #mason mount angst #mason mount fan fiction #mason mount x reader #mason mount x y/n #footballer x reader #footballer x y/n #a mountain to climb series

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camywamycam · 1 year

Text

night guys.

short polly!marauders blurb

fem!American!reader implied.

571 words

You and your boys were always together, and I mean always. even before you transferred to Hogwarts in your second year it was rare to find one of the four of you alone without another one of you attached to their side. This year when Liam parker transferred from the American school Ilvormorny you two instantly hit it off. you had known Liam before you moved to London with your parents. it was nice talking to someone familiar, also someone whose accent made you question if you were hearing them correctly. you have to admit now that you were thinking about it, you were kind of distant. you were very open with your boys and you really didn't mean to, you were just spending a lot of time with Liam. "hey Y/n we have this awesome prank planned where we add this to the Slytherin's wash and it will turn their robes red and gold! we just need you to sneak this in" Sirius said smirking while handing you a red little packet of a glittery substance "can't, I promised to help Liam with his transfiguration work, he's still not used to Minneys Scottish accent" "oh blowing us off for him again? yeah go ahead I don't care." Sirius grumbled while Remus and James looked at him shocked "oh well sorry that Im helping someone with their work pads" "it's not just that!" "oh yeah? then what else is it? I'm just helping him adjust he's only been here a week!" when Sirius didn't look back at you you got up and made your leave. who was he to dictate how much time you spent with your friend? you still made time for them you quite literally saw them daily!

you lay in your bed staring at the ceiling awaiting sleep to overcome you. you tossed and turned but eventually, you slipped on your deer slippers and quietly snuck out through the portrait door. you wondered the halls on your way to the astronomy tower still half asleep, that was when someone grabbed your wrist. "Couldn't sleep either? James said with a cheeky grin "I'm sorry about the way i acted i was just jealous." Sirius practically whispered "no no don't apologize I was spending a lot of time with Liam Im sorry" "what you have nothing to be sorry about?" this banter went on for a bit until the four of you basically ran back to your dorms when you heard meowing from down the hall.

"Where are you going princess? come back to ours" Remus said softly while guiding you by your shoulders toward the boy's dormitory. their dorm was clean yet messy? socks and underwear laid tossed around the room, but Remus's corner stayed pristine and neat. the complete opposite of Sirius who had rock posters covering every inch of space around his bed with clothes tossed everywhere. The four of you squished into Remus's largish twin bed which was definitely not meant to fit four people in it. "Sirius I swear to get put your foot in my face again and I'm gonna cut it off" Remus grumbled while burring his face in your side which caused both James and Sirius to shove their feet in Remus's face which caused a little war to break out in the bed. the four of you eventually calmed down as you cuddled into each other's warm bodies "night".

#marauders era #poly!marauders #sirius black x reader #remus lupin x reader #james potter x reader #angst to fluff #fluff #cute blurb #marauders blurb #new writers on tumblr #marauders fanfiction #marauders x reader

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gingerjunhan · 7 months

Note

hello pookie 🤭🩷

it’s 👽 anon, i know its been awhile. could you possible write an ot6 fic where it’s like their love languages and then them acting out said love language? 🤭🤭 peace and love

☆彡 hello 👽anon, welcome back!! I hope you’re doing well :) I LOVED this request!! Hope you enjoy!!!!

word count: 1800 | pronouns used: they/them | genre: fluff, established relationship | cws: (implied) drinking w/ Gunil, reader is sick w/ Jooyeon, not really proofread, lmk if I missed something

goo gunil

okay narrowing down one love language for Gunil is HARD

one of his love languages is clearly physical touch but since he’s the oldest and the leader, I can also see his love language(s) being words of affirmation or acts of service

he’s all over you all the time, be it with hugs, small favors, or praise

Gunil was on his way over to your place to have a very casual date night-in. You were gonna order some takeout, crack into some wine, and unwind from all the things that have been stressing you out this week. You were fixing your hair, and right as you were finishing up, you heard your door open.

“Hello, sunshine!” Gunil called into your home. You couldn’t help but to laugh.

“I’m in the bathroom!” You called out to him. You heard Gunil pad his way down the hall and soon enough he was leaning on the doorframe of your bathroom, watching you fix your hair. “Hello, my love,” you quickly greeted him, looking away from the mirror for a moment to give him a quick peck.

“Looking gorgeous as ever, (Y/N),” he complimented as he stepped into the bathroom behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist.

“Thank you,” you smiled. “My hair hasn’t been agreeing with me today, so I’ve been trying to fix it.”

“I think you look great,” he praised once again, leaving a kiss on your cheek.

“What time is it?” You asked, trying to ignore your butterflies. “I should probably order our food soon”

“I can do it,” he offered.

“Are you sure? I don’t mind.”

“Nope, it’s okay,” Gunil insisted. “You stay here and finish getting ready. I’ll go order some food and pour us some drinks, okay?”

You made eye contact with him in the mirror, “Okay.”

He gave you another kiss on the cheek before leaving the bathroom. “You want your usual?” He called out to you as he left.

“Yes please!”

kim jungsu

Jungsu is another physical touch guy low key

if not, he’s quality time for sure

just by looking at how he is with the others I know he falls somewhere under these categories

you will feel so so loved around him for sure

Sitting in a cafe with Jungsu, you listened attentively as he told you about going on tour- all the things he was excited to do and all the places he was excited to see. Although it made you upset that you couldn’t go with him, you were glad he was getting this opportunity and that he was so excited about it.

“I can’t wait to see what Europe is like!” He mused. “I can’t wait to go to London or,” he gasped, “Paris!” You couldn��t help but smile at the way he was lighting up during this conversation. “I wish I could take you there with me. It is the city of love after all.”

You blushed at his comment, breaking your eye contact with him. As you looked away, you diverted your attention down to your joint hands. At the start of the conversation, Jungsu gently took your hand in his, soothingly brushing his thumb over your knuckles as he spoke. He was leaning into you from across the table, with your legs intertwined underneath it. When he finally caught your gaze again, he smiled at you, squeezing your hand. As he did so, his free hand pulled out his phone, checking the time.

“Oh! We should probably go. They close soon.”

You looked at him, wide eyed. “What? But we got here at 3:00?”

“Yeah?”

“You’re telling me we’ve been in this cafe for over three hours?”

“Hey,” Jungsu couldn’t help but to laugh at your shock. “Time flies when you’re having fun.”

kwak jiseok

I think Jiseok is gift giving but in like a… bird type of way?

like a bird to a shiny object, Jiseok will make sure to pick up whatever makes him think of you and bring it home

I don’t think he would be good with words most of the time (again: reference how he giggles at any mention of girls) so he relies on giving you his love in a physical form

“(Y/N)! (Y/N)! I got you something!!” You turned to see Jiseok jogging towards you from the door of the Heroes’ dorm. You had been hanging out with the guys, and Jiseok and Jooyeon were sent off to get snacks at a local convenience store.

“You got me something?”

“Yeah! Here!” Excitedly, Jiseok held out his hand and dropped a small keychain into your palm. “For you!”

You smiled at his giddiness, examining the small trinket. “Thank you, baby!” You pulled him towards you can give him a kiss on the cheek, causing him to blush like mad.

“A keychain?” Jungsu questioned from the seat next to you.

“Yeah!” Jiseok answered before you had the chance to. “(Y/N) collects them, so when I saw this it made me think of them. Plus, it’s their favorite color and it has glitter on it- and who doesn’t like glitter?”

Jungsu stared at Jiseok, confused by his sudden outburst of excitement. You, however, blushed at the action. You’ve accumulated quite the collection of items- keychains, plushies, anything that made Jiseok think of you. You rotated the keychain in your hand, smiling at it.

“Do you like it?” Jiseok asked, a little more calm now.

“I love it. Thank you.” You gave him a quick kiss again, this time emitting a soft “ew” out of Jungsu.

oh seungmin

Seungmin is literally such a tease that I think he could fall under any of them!

the more I think about it the more I think it’s words of affirmation

I could also see gift giving but again- he’s a tease- the flirting would be relentless

Ahh, Sunday morning. One of the only times of the whole week that you felt no shame in dressing your worst. You were currently in your kitchen, making yourself and Seungmin a pot of coffee. Your hair was a mess, and you were wearing a pair of shorts and one of Seungmin’s oversized t-shirts. You let out a yawn as you poured yourself a cup of coffee.

“There’s my baby,” a voice sounded from behind you. You turned to find Seungmin, also fresh out of bed. He was silent on his way into the kitchen, and the addition of his deep morning voice made you jump a bit. “Why did you get out of bed? I missed you.”

You smiled at his words, “I wanted to make us coffee.”

Seungmin came up beside you and went to grab a mug. You stopped him before he could reach the shelf, presenting him with a mug of coffee you had prepared, just the way he likes it. He smiled at you, taking the beverage.

“I’m so thankful for you. You're the best.” He gave you a kiss on the forehead, and you blushed lightly. “What would I do without you?”

You laughed softly, “Make your own coffee?”

He laughed also. “That’s true. What a sad life I’d live.”

han hyeongjun

quality time!!!

Hyeongjun gives me the vibe that he would love to just sit and hang out with you, since he isn’t necessarily big on physical touch

like, you don’t even have to be saying anything, he’s just happy to be there :)

You were sat at your desk doing work, and Hyeongjun was sitting on your bed behind you, sketchbook in hand. You had been working on an upcoming assignment for a little over half an hour now, and you were finally finishing up.

“I’m sorry that took so long,” you spoke to Hyeongjun, turning around in your chair. “I just need to do some final revisions and then I’m all yours.” Your words make him smile.

“Take your time,” he said simply. “I’m in no rush.”

You went to turn your attention back to your work, but you couldn’t help but let yourself look over Hyeongjun for a moment. You could just barely make out his face through the way his fluffy hair fell over his eyes. What you could make out, however, were his eyebrows knit together in focus as he drew something in his sketchbook. He looked up at you, and your eyes met. He seemed a little surprised.

“What?” He asked.

“Nothing. You’re just cute when you’re focused.” You smiled at him and turned back around in your chair. Hyeongjun stared at you for a second, flustered, before going back to his sketch. He smiled to himself as he began to add more marks to his page. Moments like this were some of his favorites. Moments where, despite working in your own little worlds, you still made sure to try to include him in yours. It was one of the things he loved most about you.

lee jooyeon

physical touch and acts of service

I am a proud supporter of the clingy Jooyeon agenda, and with that I believe that Jooyeon would wait on his partner hand-and-foot

like, don’t you worry your pretty little self about anything bbg because Jooyeon is doing everything for you and topping it off with a kiss on the forehead

You had recently come down with a small cold, and Jooyeon was not taking it lightly.

“Are you sure you don’t need anything else?” Jooyeon was sitting on the edge of your bed, his eyes scanning over you worriedly.

“Jooyeon, I’m fine. Thank you,” you insisted. “I think I’m just going to try and take a nap.” At this, Jooyeon perked up a bit.

“Can I join you?”

“I don’t want you to get sick,” you frowned.

“I won’t,” he shook his head, and you couldn’t help but let out a small laugh. You knew he was just trying to take care of you, but he also couldn’t control if he got sick or not.

“Okay,” you accepted his offer, and he quickly went around to the other side of your bed, throwing back the covers and crawling into bed next to you. He pulled you close to him and began running a hand through your hair. Between the hand in your hair and his natural heat and comforting smell, you fell asleep in no time.

When you woke up again, Jooyeon was still next to you, only he had repositioned slightly. In your half awake state you noticed the water on your nightstand had been refilled with more cold medicine waiting for you next to it. Also, another blanket had been spread out on the bed.

“Good morning,” Jooyeon said with a smile.

“Morning,” you sniffed. “How long was I asleep?”

“A little less than two hours.”

You let out a groan.

“Are you hungry? I made you some food, it’s out in the kitchen.”

taglist: @dazzlingligth , @mini-mews , @mxlly143 , @somethingaboutcheese , comment to be added!⁎⁺˳✧༚

#xdinary heroes x reader #xdinary heroes imagine #xdh x reader #xdh imagines #xdh fluff #ot6

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edosianorchids901 · 8 months

Text

The Epitome of Sloth

For @book-omens-week Day 6: roleswap

“I thought this was just supposed to be about, well. Non-interference,” Aziraphale said weakly, head swimming.

“It is! Mostly.” Crowley was pacing a bit, back and forth beside the bed, which made Aziraphale rather more dizzy. Something about the rapid movement flickering in front of him. “But you’re sick.”

“I’m not sick,” Aziraphale protested, then sneezed. His head began to spin even more. “Angels can’t get sick.”

“Right. Right. Well, whatever you are, it’s not good.” Crowley held up a hand to stop Aziraphale’s protest. “Nonono, that’s not an insult. I just mean you’re in pretty rough shape right now. Not really up to doing the whole angelic blessings thingy. Definitely not up to walking out of London to bless the weary travelers or whatever.”

“Weary pilgrims,” Aziraphale corrected, then had to close his eyes. Oh, he did not feel well. Crowley was certainly right about that, even if Aziraphale had to consider him wrong on most things as a mere matter of principle. “So, what are you proposing?”

“We swap roles, at least for the day.” Crowley plopped down on the edge of the bed, and Aziraphale moaned in vague protest at the swaying movement. “I’ll go off and take care of your angel business. Do up your blessings and miracles and divine ecstasy or whatever other damn thing is on your to-do list.”

That did sound awfully appealing, as sick as Aziraphale felt. He curled up tighter under his blankets, shivering. Crowley laid another blanket across him. “Thank you. But if you’re off doing my job… what sort of demonic things am I supposed to be doing?”

He felt a slight pang of guilt for even considering it, but that wasn’t what worried him most. At the moment, he was so dizzy that he likely couldn’t stand up. He was in no shape to tempt anyone into anything.

“You, Aziraphale, are gonna stay right here in bed and not move until I get back. Get it?” Crowley asked, nudging his arm. Aziraphale gave him a baffled look. “You’re indulging in sloth. Most demonic thing there is.”

Aziraphale tried to rub his eyes, but he was far too exhausted to even raise his hand. “Are you entirely certain that counts? I… I don’t want to let you down. Er. Let down my side of the… thingy.”

“Arrangement. And yep, I’m sure. I’ve got it easy, honestly, nothing could go wrong.” Crowley thumped the mattress, and Aziraphale winced. “You stay right here, got it? Be as lazy as you like. Indulge yourself.”

Aziraphale’s idea of indulging himself involved some rather yummy foods, a good book, and preferably Crowley’s presence somewhere in the same building even if they weren’t in active conversation. But he was too queasy to eat, too tired to read, and Crowley had to leave.

First, Crowley helped him drink water and washed the sweat from his face, then sauntered off to play angel for the day. Aziraphale sank into his own current role, that of the epitome of sloth.

He didn’t quite fall asleep. Wasn’t much fond of sleep, as a rule, and only occasionally dozed off while reading a less than interesting book. Sleep seemed such a waste of time.

But he was in no shape to resist the murky, shadowed land of near sleep. Whenever he opened his eyes, everything went all spinny, and that was not particularly enjoyable. So he kept his eyes closed and let himself drift.

Sometimes, he thought he might have dozed enough to dream. Little bits of pieces of things that didn’t make sense crept into his awareness. Sunlight, or the smell of flowers, or walking down the road. Perhaps he really was dreaming.

When he smelled the blood, he was quite certain it was a dream. There was certainly no reason for there for be blood.

And then the words pierced through his daze, a steady mutter of “ohshitohshitohshit…”

Aziraphale forced his eyes open, blinking several times to try to clear his head. It didn’t work very well, everything still blurred and the room spinning, but things did clear enough to make him rather alarmed. “Crowley? Why are you bleeding all over my bed?”

“Whoops, sorry.” Ashen, Crowley gave a brittle smile. “I’ll go bleed in the corner of the room instead, shall I?”

“No, that’s not what…” Aziraphale managed a weak gesture to the bloody mess of Crowley’s shoulder. “I thought you said nothing could go wrong. What happened?”

“Something went wrong,” Crowley snapped. He was trying to peel cloth from the gash, then apparently gave up and just held a wadded up black shirt against the wound. “Was heading to do the blessings, but there were these robbers…”

“And they tried to rob you?” Aziraphale asked.

“No! They went after the pilgrims. And I was, y’know, supposed to be doing your blessings and everything, protect the weak or whatever angelic shit, so I went up to them.” Crowley was swaying a bit now, and Aziraphale caught the side of his tunic. He wouldn’t be much good if Crowley started to fall, but still. “Anyway, I said, Look, there’s plenty of other people to rob, why don’t you go find some richer targets?”

“And then what?” Aziraphale asked.

“And then they stabbed me.” Crowley sighed. He was swaying more now. “Pilgrims took care of ‘em, I guess. I fainted a little. Got the blessing done, but that pretty much wiped out the rest of my energy, haven’t been able to focus enough to heal this…”

Under ordinary circumstances, Aziraphale would have offered to mend it. Crowley had been tending to him through his illness, after all. But his own energy and focus were quite obliterated. “I suppose you ought to lie down, then.”

Crowley gave him a startled look. “Nnh?”

“Lie down.” Aziraphale tugged weakly at his tunic. “And don’t make me repeat it. I’m tired.”

“Sure you don’t mind me getting blood all over your bed?” Crowley said sarcastically. But he laid down with a shaky breath beside Aziraphale, trembling. “Ooh, ouch. That’s—ngk—really not fun.”

Aziraphale patted his uninjured arm. “You’ll be just fine, dear boy. Rest up. Engage in sloth with me.”

At that, Crowley managed a weak snort. “Guess I will.”

While Aziraphale would have much preferred that his friend not be injured and that he, himself, not be sick, the prospect of engaging in sloth today was rather lovely. Still, he couldn’t quite resist. “And you know, Crowley, that really was quite good of you to come to the aid of—”

“Oh, shut it,” Crowley grumbled.

#good omens #book omens #ineffable husbands #aziraphale #crowley #book omens week

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foxes-that-run · 4 months

Text

18 is the only song Ed Sheeran wrote specifically for One Direction, and only one he wrote from their perspective. To me, it refers to I Wish You Would which Taylor wrote about Harry while on the Red Tour with Ed. Like Tenerife Sea, I think it is about Taylor from Harry's perspective. The Spotify vertical video focuses on Harry and Zayn who primarily sing it:

To Smallzy in September, 2014 Ed said, both that his songs are generally about a specific person and he also talked about writing 18 for One Direction:

"I wasn't gonna do it again because there was lots of ..ah.. basically, my record label got very annoyed that my first #1 was a song that I gave to someone else, and they were kind of like "don't do it. I did Britain's got Talent and basically Simon Cowell invited me up to eat and talk. And he mentioned it and in my head I was like 'I just just want to focus on my stuff' and the next day I was in Copenhagen and I got an idea and I kind of went into the shower room that's big and reverbartive and I wrote it thought that sounds like something for them. It's not something I would use for myself. It was written specifically for them and it's cool" Smallzy asks about Taylor he if he had helped with 1989, Ed "that's all her, all throughout of her doing it I heard little bits of it all throughout. Everything she does is a certain quality, it is going to satisfy any fan of hers."

Simon Cowell tells a similar story. Taylor also told Ryan Seacrest and others she played 1989 to Ed while on the Red Tour together.

The '...ah...' it is interesting, because although Ed and Harry stayed close, Ed did not write a song for Midnight Memories. There is a rumour this is about Don't. Ed did write Tenerife Sea, another song from Harry's perspective about Taylor in 2013 - that's on Ed's Multiply. This helps determine which Britain's got talent appearance he was referring to.

Timeline

Ed was on Britain's Got Talent twice, both were live shows, which narrows down when this song was written to 2 days, the day after:

8 June, 2013, Ed and Taylor performed Everything Has Changed together, or

27 May, 2014, Ed performed Sing.

Either is possible, but I am inclined to focus on 2014, because it's on Four and Ed did not write for Midnight Memories, which June would have made. In May 2014:

24 May 2014 Ed and One Direction both performed on the main stage of the Radio 1 Big Weekend in Glasgow. Harry and Taylor were seemingly back together. 2 squad members, Lorde and Lily Allen, also played. Taylor was in New York that morning then disappeared for 6 days, Harry off 3 of those.

25 & 26 May 2014 - ED & Taylor MIA, 1D have a few days off, Harry is seen in London playing a celebrity football game.

27 May 2014 - Ed performs on Britain's Got Talent in London, Taylor and Harry MIA.

28 May 2014 - Ed said he wrote the song in Copenhagen the next day, he wasn't seen. 1D UK show, Taylor still MIA.

5 June 2014 - Ed seen in London, Simon Cowell said he gave him the song a week after Britain's Got Talent.

Live Performances

Ed has never performed 18, he has performed other songs he gave to other artists, it may be that it was never written for him or it could be that others charted higher. One Direction added 18 to the OTRA setlist with No Control on 13 June 2015, replacing One Thing. It hasn't been on any solo 1D concert setlists. (It's at 33 mins here)

youtube

Since we were 16 honey

Harry once said “I have love you since we were 16 honey” after the chorus. Nothing that the song was only performed June - December 2015 I think Harry is taking the piss of Louis and Larries. 1D met industry people in LA before he turned 17 and Taylor was in town there, and there were times in late 2015 Harry and Taylor were maybe in contact, but I do not think this was serious.

Lyrics

I got a heart, and I got a soul Believe me, I will use them both We made a start Be it a false one, I know Baby, I don't want to feel alone

The opening verse is about a relationship that ended (false start) and not wanting to feel alone. To me, this is referring to the events of 2012/2013 and that relationship ending, Ed, being good friends with Harry while on tour with Taylor, hearing 1989 as it was written would have been keenly aware. He wrote Tenerife Sea in that time.

This verse, like the song to me sounds like it is written for Harry's voice. The verse is describing someone close to the narrator that ended. Later, in Olivia Harry sings of being alone "When you go and I'm alone"

So kiss me where I lay down My hands pressed to your cheeks A long way from the playground

The end of this verse 'long way from the playground' tells us this is a love that started when they were young. Taylor uses school and childhood as a metaphor for One Direction and this young love, including in the MV for EHC which Ed co-wrote, and Suburban Legends.

I have loved you since we were 18 Long before we both thought the same thing To be loved and to be in love All I can do is say that these arms Are made for holding you, oh-oh I wanna love like you made me feel When we were 18

The 1D boys all dated people different ages to them, however Harry and Taylor started officially dating when Harry was 18. I think Ed's simplified this to 'we were 18'.

"Long before we both thought the same thing", to me, is referring to I wish you would and the way Taylor described it. IWYW was written 27 May 2013 while on the US Red Tour with Ed who was likely to have heard it then.

The end of the Chorus is telling us this is a relationship that had come back, much like Taylor had written Style a few months earlier.

We took a chance God knows we tried Yet all along, I knew we'd be fine So pour me a drink, oh love And let's split the night wide open And we'll see everything we can Living love in slow motion, motion, motion

This verse is so much like Harry and Taylors later work which makes me think it must be a referring to a conversation or pattern:

Drinking

Delicate: But you can make me a drink

Satellite: We share the last line / Then we drink the wall / 'Til we wanna talk

Fine Line: We'll get the drinks in and I'll get to thinking of her

Time and slow motion

Olivia: And time is irrelevant when I've not been seeing you

Gold Rush: I don’t like slow motion, double vision in rose blush

Midnight Rain: My boy was a montage, a slow motion love potion

“Slut!”: Half asleep, taking your time in the tangerine neon light

So kiss me where I lay down My hands pressed to your cheeks A long way from the playground

Harry's unreleased Lay down also has arms around his muse, without knowing a clear era for Lay Down the inspiration could go either way with those. "Lay down with me (I put my arms around ya)" I am inclined to think Harry referenced Ed.

#haylor #one direction #one direction haylor

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harrisongslimited · 3 months

Text

George Chapter of the Day #6

I Saw Her Standing There

Trigger Warnings: swearing, adult situations, bullying

Chapter 6

"Where the hell have you been?" Allison greeted her.

"Staying with friends," Joie answered flatly.

"We are supposed to stick together you know," Allison reprimanded.

Joie just smiled. "Well, I'll be staying with some friends periodically. As a matter of fact, we can speak to the chaperone and maybe get you a new roommate."

"Hell no," she shot back. "I like having my own room. I'm gonna land me a Beatle if it's the last thing I do."

"Is that why you came here? To sleep with one of the Beatles?"

Allison waved a hand at her. "Why do you think any of these girls wanted to come? What are you? Stupid? Why the hell did you come?"

"Frankly, to see London..." Joie admitted, then threw in for good measure "and to see some old friends."

"Well have fun, roomie," she said. "I've got a plan I need to work on."

"So who are you after? John? Paul? George, Ringo?"

Allison threw her long blonde hair over her shoulder. "Doesn't matter, does it?"

Joie followed her a moment. "But Allison, they have lives, girlfriends...wives!"

Allison forced a wicked smile and repeated, "Doesn't matter...does it?"

Joie watched her as she followed the group of girls into a dressing room. She was totally out of her element. Yes, she found Paul attractive but it wouldn't go any farther than that. And then peeking in her mind was George. What she felt for him was....was....well, she didn't know what exactly, but she would never try to sleep with any of them. Truth be told, she wasn't ready to sleep with anyone. The farthest she and Charlie got was her battling him to stop trying to unzip her pants. He finally gave up and started dating Sheila Mattes, who boasted about helping boys unzip her pants.

Joie wanted to be in love. She wanted her first time to be something special...not just a quick grope in the back seat of a car during a drive in movie. She wanted flowers and romance and a loving courtship. Like in the romance novels she read or love stories she watched at the movies. Someone to take her away. Someone who would love Jordan and watch football with her dad.

She knew that boy was somewhere. She just needed to be smart and patient. Apparently, very patient.

..........

Victoria Brown was the woman who would show them the ropes at the studio. From what Joie could tell, it would be a lot of standing around, then some running after the boys, then a little screaming. Simple. Except that girls were disappearing at an alarming rate. "Wandering off" they called it. Victoria Brown knew they were trying to get to the Beatles and Victoria also knew the Beatles' wouldn't mind a quick one in the loo before a scene.

They were all instructed as to what to wear, where makeup was, where they were supposed to report and when. It was like a cattle call to Joie, but she didn't care. It was all new to her. Some of these other girls had actually been in movies that had been produced by their fathers, so it was old hat to them. But Joie was amazed at the organization.

By 3:30 they were done. Tuesday was going to be a free day and then Wednesday, they were going to start shooting "B" shots of the girls running, standing...waiting for the Beatles. The last scene, in about 4 weeks, was the concert. Joie couldn't wait for that.

She was getting ready to board the bus to go to the hotel when Victoria pulled her out of line. She instructed the bus driver to leave. Seems Joie was going to have a special driver of her own.

Part of her hoped it was Paul, but another part of her said it wasn't a good idea. She went back into the cavernous studio with Victoria and was told to wait in a small back studio.

And wait she did.

And waited. And waited.

Nothing.

She heard people milling around and finally a man came in questioning why she was there. Joie told him she asked to wait here. She showed him the note Victoria had given her. It said simply, "Wait for me in Studio B, Paul."

The man laughed. "You've been had little one," he said. "Someone pulled a trick on you."

Joie didn't know if she should tell the man that Paul had actually brought her to the studio in the morning...but decided against it. Why embarrass herself further? The man probably wouldn't believe her anyway. So this, apparently, was the way little rich Hollywood girls have their fun and games. Well, fuck you and the horse you rode in on. Their bullshit bothered her as much as a 70° day.

"Can you tell me how I can get a taxi?"

"Where are you going?"

Joie had to think. To Freda's? To the hotel?

She decided on the hotel. It was the easiest place to get to. "Shepparton Inn," she told him.

"I'll drive you."

"That's ok," Joie told him, not wanting to get into the car with a stranger. "I'll manage with a taxi."

The man shook his head. "Look, my name is Dick Lester. I'm directing this movie and I'm safe to get into a car with. Who the hell are you anyway?"

All Joie told him was that she was from California and hired as one of the extras. She added that she had gotten separated from her group.

"I think the group separated you from the sound of that note," he said gently.

She felt foolish and small. All she could think of is going back home and thoughts of home made her weepy. But she wasn't going to cry in front of a stranger. She fought and fought until tears welled in the corner of her eyes.

"I'm sorry," she told him. "I'm just a long way from home."

"For the first time?"

Joie nodded and blinked furiously to dry her tears. She took a deep breath.

"Look," he said sitting down before her. "go your own way. These other girls just want to bang a Beatle and go home. Probably some of them will. Others will make up stories that they did. Just go your own way and you'll be fine."

Joie took another breath and finally smiled. "Thanks Mr. Lester. That really helped."

"And I'll get my assistant to get you a taxi..."

"Thanks again."

"No problem. My pleasure. And don't let those other girls get to you."

"I won't."

Joie waited by the studio gate for a taxi, still not sure of where she was going. She had no way of getting a hold of Freda, who was probably at Brian's office, but Joie didn't know the phone number. The safest bet was to go to the hotel and call Freda later to let her know where she was.

She only waited a few moments when a green mini cooper pulled up beside her inside the gate.

"Need a ride?"

It was George, his dark eyes shining bright as he looked into hers.

Joie smiled in recognition. "You have no idea...."

Joie climbed into the passenger's side and George noticed she seemed to be a bit weepy. "I didn't know where to go."

"Just go to Freda's if anything ever happens or call Brian's office. I'll give you the number to ring."

Joie proceeded to tell him how the girls had tricked her with a note from Paul. And how she thought the note was really from Paul since he had picked her up.

George knew that the note was probably meant to do exactly what it did -- embarrass Joie, with a hug and kiss from the jealous extras in the peanut gallery, but he remained mute.

"How about dinner?" George suddenly asked. "there's a restaurant by our place where we won't be bothered."

"Our place?"

"Ringo's and mine. We live together for now until we find our own places. I'm looking out towards Esher. Ringo likes living in town."

"Is Esher far?"

"An hour outside London," he explained. "Not too far from John and Cyn's."

"We'll stop by my house to see if Ringo wants to come with us. Maybe Mo too."

#the beatles #beatles #george harrison #beatles fanfiction #i saw her standing there #john lennon #paul mccartney #ringo starr #ahdn 1964 #george harrison fanfic #george chapter of the day #fan fic writing #writing on tumblr #writing

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specialagentlokitty · 1 year

Text

Lestrade x reader - wasn’t expecting that

- Lestrade x Reader - best friends to lovers, set after Lestrade's wife cheats - @mxacegrey 💜

It was late, and you so wanted to go home but you couldn’t, you had so much paperwork to complete, and since Sherlock basically forced his way into your case, you now had twice as much.

Looking at the clock you groaned a little seeing how late it was and looked at your empty coffee cup.

You wanted more, but you didn’t want to get up, so you settled for resting your head on your desk with a small thump, letting out another groan.

“Still here?”

You looked up and Lestrade and nodded your head with a sigh as he walked into the office.

“Joys of paperwork, why’re you here?”

“Was just going to stay here tonight and sort out a hotel room tomorrow.”

“You still haven’t found somewhere?” You asked him.

“No, and got fed up of Sherlock rambling. I’d much rather get a hotel room at this point.”

You chuckled a little nodding your head and looked at him again, looking at the large bag in his hands.

“You know you can stay at mine for now? Right?”

“It’s fine don’t worry, I don’t want to intrude or anything.”

Laughing, you shook your head and stood up, pulling your jacket on, you grabbed your keys and bag, throwing the papers into a desk in your desk you turned of your lamp.

“You won’t be Lestrade, it’s fine. I’ve got a spare room you know that, till you get back on your feet.”

He looked a little relieved and gave you a thankful smile as you followed you out of the office, closing the door for you.

“You got your car?”

“Go a taxi.”

You nodded and lead him to your car, letting him toss his bag in the back you jumped in the drivers seat and waited for him.

You guys talked a little on the way to his, and you showed him the guest room, letting get settled in as you showed him where everything is.

“Hate to be rude, but I’m beat, I’m gonna get some sleep, you should too.”

With that, you offered him a smile and wondered away.

Lestrade woke up before you the next morning, he decided to to make you breakfast and looked around you kitchen which was pretty empty.

“Bloody bell what do you eat…?”

He settled for just ordering breakfast and set your stuff on the table when it arrived.

“Damn you actually found food…”

He turned to the doorway of the kitchen where you were stood rubbing your eyes and letting out a loud yawn.

“No i ordered some. Why’s your kitchen so empty?”

You shrugged a little and sat down, rested your head in your arms and he laughed, pushing your coffee towards you.

You grumbled a little and he smiled, patting your head as he sat down on the opposite end side of the table and you sat up.

“Thanks for breakfast.”

“No problem but since we’ve got the day off I am begging you to go get some shopping.

You smirked a little and shrugged your shoulders, sipping the drink before grabbing one of the pasties from the bag.

“Yeah I guess we can.”

“Thank you, I would prefer to be able to eat. I’ll start looks for places today as well.”

You waved your hand dismissively as you shook your head.

“Don’t rush it, take as long as you need.”

“Thank you, honestly.”

Lestrade helped you around the flat, he cleaned and you took turns cooking, when you forget he would get the shopping and remind you to keep a list of things for when you ran out.

Days turned into week and eventually he had been living there for a half a year and it was a safe to say that you two were best friends.

You decided since it was so hard to get a flat in London he was just going to stay with you, you guys would split bills and such and if he ever changed his mind or found somewhere he liked he could move out at any point.

It was a good little arrangement and it made life easier when you two were working the same case.

You had a weeks holiday, so you passed the time sleeping, playing games and sometimes going out to meet John or Mycroft for lunch when Lestrade was busy.

Humming to yourself, you stood in front of the mirror looking at the outfit you were wearing and frowned trying to figure out if it was what you wanted to settle for.

“Hey (Y/N) you still here?”

“Yeah I’m in my room!” You called back.

Lestrade padded over and knocked on the door before pushing it open slightly, keeping his head turned away.

“You can come in.” You laughed.

He smiled and opened the door fully, walking in only to stop when he saw you dressed up.

You weren’t dressed too fancy, but he would have to admit you definitely looked nice.

You wore jeans, a white shirt with the top button undone, and a black leather jacket, you hair had been done in your favourite style and you had a few other outfits set out on the bed.

“Does this look nice? Is it too casual?”

“Depends. For a work meeting, yes, for meeting friends, no.”

“How about a first date?”

Lestrade felt something in him when you said date, he couldn’t quite place what it was. Was it sadness? No, no it couldn’t have been.

“Date?”

You nodded your head and turned back to look in the mirror with a frown.

“Yeah, I’m meeting a guy for drinks. A friend of Molly’s actually.”

“Right, right.”

Lestrade stared at you back.

“Yeah, yeah it looks nice. Good for a first date.”

You smiled and turned around, walking over you out everything else away again and grabbed some shoes from the corner of your room and pulled them on.

Heading over over to the door, you smiled at Greg again.

“Thanks, I’ll be home in a few hours.”

“Be safe.”

You nodded and left the flat and he just stood in your room for a second before he left and closed the door behind him.

He sat in the sofa, nursing a beer as he idly flicked through channels on the tv.

He couldn’t get it out of his head.

You on a date. You, going out dating. He couldn’t believe it.

He knew it was stupid, of course you would be dating people, you were single, you wanted to meet people, get out there and maybe find someone to settle down with.

You were a few years younger than him, you had been friends ever since you joined the force, but he’d never actually seen you with a partner.

He thought maybe you weren’t interested in dating, and since moving in with you? His marriage having fallen apart and his divorce having just been finalised it made him realise he didn’t have anyone now.

Did he want to start dating again? Did he want to put himself out there again?

He never really thought about that, he just assumed he’d be with his ex wife for the rest of his life and now he didn’t even have that.

He had you, John, and as much as he hated to admit it, Sherlock, that was it. You were us only proper friends that he spoke to.

Lestrade shook his head, maybe he was overthinking it, he didn’t need to worry about that right now, he just had to focus on himself at the minute, dating shouldn’t be a priority.

A few hours slipped past and even though he was turned he didn’t want to go to sleep, he wanted to stay awake, make sure that you got home safely.

He looked at the time and frowned.

“Jesus (Y/N) you should be home by now.”

He went to call you, but you came stumbling through the door not even a minute later, you came padding into the living room and looked at him.

Lestrade just blinked, looking at your wobbly form, the lopsided grin on your face as you walked over and pretty much fell on the sofa next to him.

The moment you dropped down he could smell the alcohol seeping from you.

“Bloody hell did you drink the whole bar?” He asked.

You pat his thigh and laid down, using his leg as a pillow as you dangled you arm over the edge of the sofa.

“I… I think.. two…?”

You sounded confused and you words were slurred.

Sighing, Lestrade placed his hand on your head which made you hum a little as you closed your eyes.

Looked down at you, Lestrade just smiled and shook his head.

“You can’t sleep there.” He whispered.

He pushed you up, and stood up, helping you get into your room and sat you in your bed.

He took your jacket off and placed some more comfortable looking clothes he managed to find on the bed and looked at you.

“Get changed, I’ll get you some water and bowl.”

He left the room, and he grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge, some pain meds and large mixing bowl from under the sink and walked back into your room.

You had changed, the clothes you wore out tossed all over the room and you were laid on the floor staring at the ceiling.

“(Y/N)?”

Lestrade crouched over you, and you moved your eyes to look at him.

“You want some help to the bed?”

“N.. no…”

“You’re going to sleep here?”

You nodded a little and he sighed, setting the things nearby, he grabbed the pillow and placed it under your head, then grabbed the quilt and gently covered you up.

He crouched next to you again and you carried on staring at the ceiling.

“I.. you stay here…?”

“You want me to stay here?”

“Ye…”

He smiled and gently pat you cheek as he stood up.

“Give me a minute then.”

Lestrade went to get changed and came back with his pillow and his own quilt and laid next to you both of you just staring at the ceiling.

You soon fell asleep, Lestrade falling asleep not long after you.

You woke up to the sun coming through your blinds, and you groaned a little really feeling the hangover you slowly sat up and looked around.

Finding some water and meds you quickly and gratefully took the meds and downed the water before taking a break for breath.

You looked around the room again and stopped when you saw Lestrade on the floor next to you.

Putting the cap on the bottle you set it aside and looked at him, trying to figure out when and how exactly you ended up in your room but you couldn’t.

You tried to figure out why he was sleeping in your floor but you came up with nothing.

Shrugging, you laid down again needing more sleep.

You looked at him, arm tucked under his head, his other arm holding the quilt close to his chest and you smiled.

He looked pretty cute like that.

You closed your eyes and easily drifted back asleep, and when you woke up again Lestrade was already up and gone and you sat up again.

“Hey you’re up.”

He stopped walking and stood in the doorway, and you smiled nodding your head.

“Thanks for the water and meds.”

“No problem how’re you feeling?”

“Like a train wreck.”

You held out your hands and he walked in, helping pull you up before helping you out everything back and you guys headed to the living room.

“How much did you drink? You were pretty much gone to the world.” He laughed.

“I may as well have drank the whole bar, honestly the whole night is just blank. I remember meeting the guy, then we bumped into so random women and then I think we went in and out of a bunch of clubs?”

He laughed again and shook his head at you, handing you a controller and taking the other one of the table.

“Sounds like you had a pretty good night.”

You hummed a little and nodded your head.

“Hey were you sleeping in the floor with me?”

“Yeah you asked me to stay and I was worried about leaving you to sleep alone.”

“Thanks.”

“So you think there’s gonna be another date?”

He was nervous, unsure about what he wanted to hear but he tried to hide it from you.

“Yeah, we’re going out for dinner tonight actually.” You beamed.

Lestrade felt fallen at that, of course the guy would want a second date why wouldn’t he?

He pushed the feeling away and focused on the game.

Over the next few weeks you went on a lot of dates with this guy, and Lestrade had to accept the fact that he wasn’t okay with it.

He was actually sad about it.

But who was he to stop you? You weren’t his. You had a right to date.

You were actually on a date right now, and he was trying to work through the things he was feeling and pushing them away.

While he was lost in his head he didn’t notice the door opening, but he noticed it slamming shut.

Immediately his head shot up.

“(Y/N)?”

Lestrade got up and went straight for you room and looked around, finding you throwing your jacket on the floor and sitting in your bed, holding your face in your hands.

“(Y/N)?”

He slowly walked in, kneeling down in front of you, pulling your hands away from your face to hold them as he looked at you.

“What happened sweetheart?” He asked softly.

“That bastard was making out with some other woman.” You laughed angrily.

Lestrade’s blood boiled, how could anyone do that? Especially to someone like you. Yes, he was angry when his ex wife cheated on him but knowing someone did that to you? He was furious.

He shoved his emotions down and took a deep breath.

“Am I just someone to talk over? Am I not pretty enough? Did I do something?”

You rambled your insecurities and worried to him and he stood up, pulling you up with him he quickly hugged you and you more than happily hugged him back.

“No, no don’t think about yourself like that okay? Don’t let some asshole of a man do that to you sweetheart. You aren’t someone to walk over, you didn’t do anything wrong.”

Lestrade took a small deep breath.

“You’re absolutely beautiful (Y/N), and if he can’t see that he’s stupid.”

You sniffled a little, nodding your head as you carried on hugging him.

“I just… can I just.. I want to go to bed…”

“Alright, get some sleep okay?”

He let you go, wiping your tears with his thumbs and he kissed your forehead.

He went to leave but you stopped him.

“Stay…?”

The small crack in your voice was enough for him, he nodded and tucked you under your quilt and he laid on top of it, wrapping you up in his arms.

Neither of you said anything, but even after you fell asleep he didn’t move, he stayed there.

He made sure to get up before you and make you breakfast and you didn’t say a word, you ate silently and he decided to give you some space.

He did everything he could, but it took you a while to feel better and he was there with your every step of the way.

“Do you think I’ll find someone Greg?” You asked one evening.

He looked up from where he was sat on the floor.

“Of course you will, I know you will.”

“Doesn’t seem like it…” you mumbled.

You got up and walked into the kitchen and he quickly followed you.

“Look, you’re smart, okay? Your smart, creative, funny, brave, absolutely beautiful. If you don’t find someone then this world has gone mad.”

You turned around and set your cup down.

“Really? You mean that?”

“Of course! Of course I mean it (Y/N) because it’s true. Everyone who hurts you, everyone who doesn’t decide to stay with you they’re absolutely stupid because you are amazing in every sense of the word.” He smiled.

You smiled and nodded your head, taking a sip from your drink before you set it back down.

Lestrade walked over and stood in front of you, placing his hand on your cheek, letting you lean into his touch as you closed your eyes.

“I know there’s someone out there who’s going to always think the world of you.”

“How do you know?” You asked softly.

Lestrade thought for a moment before he took a deep breath, closing his eyes for a second before he looked at you.

He couldn’t stop this anymore.

“Because he’s looking at you right now…” he whispered.

“Greg?”

You opened your eyes and he cupped your face in his hands.

“I’m sorry I can’t keep holding it back anymore. Seeing you get hurt like that, seeing you crying, I can’t stand it. You’re too beautiful to cry, you’re too beautiful to be treated like that sweetheart. I promise you now I’d never do that to you, if you’d give me a chance that is.”

You just stared at him and he quickly backed away, heart racing in his chest realising what he just did.

“I.. I know I’m a few years older than you and I’ve been married and my divorce was finalised a few months ago…”

“Greg…”

“If.. if you don’t want to that’s okay too!” He panicked.

“Greg.”

He quickly turned around, running a hand down his face.

“Oh crap I’m so sorry I shouldn’t have said anything.”

He carried on rambling and you walked over, placing your hand on his shoulder you turned him around.

He stopped talking and looked at you.

You looked at him back.

Placing your hand on his face, you ran your thumb along the skin of his cheek.

“(Y/N)…” he breathed out.

You moved your hands and lightly grasped his collar and pulled him closer.

Lestrade cupped your face again and leant down nose brushing against yours.

“Greg…”

“I need you to say it…” he whispered.

You smiled and instead of speaking you leant up and that was all the permission he needed.

Quickly he kissed you back, letting all the emotions he had been feeling for a while came pouring out.

It felt like forever, as if the world slowly down and finally he pulled away, eyes half lidded and you looked at him with a smile.

“You talk to much…” you whispered.

“Maybe I need a reminder why I shouldn’t talk so much?” He smirked.

“I think you do.”

You smirked back and quickly pulled him down to kiss him again, pulling him closely to you and he smiled into the kiss.

He definitely wasn’t expecting that

#bbc sherlock #bbc sherlock x reader #bbc sherlock x you #bbc Sherlock imagine #bbc Sherlock Lestrade #Lestrade #greg lestrade #lestrade x reader #Lestrade x you #Lestrade imagine

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val-made-a-mistake · 1 year

Text

❝the garrison rat❞ CHP 14

THE FINAL CHAPTER

summary: torn apart by an unexpected loss, you find yourself unable to leave birmingham. you’re aware that people notice you drinking in the garrison every other night, you’re aware they call you nicknames, but you don’t care about any of it— at least, not until you start speaking to john shelby. he’s looking for a wife and you vowed to never love again, which makes things a bit complicated.

warnings: smut, cocaine usage, infidelity, angst, brief mention of prostitution...if you’ve made it this far you’re probably not going to be surprised by anything in this chapter

word count: 5.6k

tag list: @datewithgianni @1950schick @clementinesjourney @cbouvier23@smailaway @cedricscoffin @buckysjuicyplums @belledawnidk @wandering-poetess @bobafett-tea @esposadomd

a/n: holy shit, where do i even start??? it’s hard to believe that a one-shot turned fic series i only wrote as a distraction because i was mad that my movie date got cancelled got here today. thank you all for the support since september 2021, because the amount of people who have enjoyed this series and keysmashed over it and dmed me to say that they stayed up all night reading it is crazy, you guys blew me tf away. i’m kissing you all five times and doing the Hand Squeeze™ with everyone who has supported me over the past five hundred something days TGR has existed. i would gladly make plans to run away to paris with you. :)

//////

“Are you running away? Because it really looks like you’re running away.”

Your suitcase shut with a sharp SNAP. “It’s only temporary. And you keep your mouth shut about this, you hear me?”

Esme held up her hands like you were pointing a gun at her. “Okay, okay, I just really don’t think this is a good idea.”

“It’s only temporary,” you muttered to yourself, preoccupied again as you shoved another cigarette into your mouth, your fifth of the evening. You were refusing to voice your thoughts aloud: you were already thinking about finding a new place to be from. “London’s not that far away from here, is it?”

“You have no family in London, and no friends,” Esme replied. “Y/N, just stop packing the goddamn suitcase.”

You snorted as you lit your cigarette. “It’s funny how no one around here gets that there’s a whole world outside of Small Heath.”

“Yeah, and there’s a whole world of rock bottoms outside of Small Heath,” Esme shot back, flat and unconvinced. “You gravitate towards shitholes, y’know. You’re only just gonna make life worse for yourself all over again.”

“I need to get out of here,” you repeated stubbornly, exhaling a thin plume of smoke. “For just a week.”

“Jesus Christ, Y/N, this is going to go terribly,” Esme muttered under her breath, absently pouring a miniscule amount of the powdery white substance she had in a tiny vial onto her knuckle. “How are you not thinkin’ of the kids? Fuckin’ four of them and John still doesn’t know how to take care of them.”

You barely heard her; you were staring at the vial of cocaine.

You almost hesitated, but pointed at the table. “Bring it over here.”

Esme gave you a weird look, and there was a tense beat that made you think she wasn’t going to do it, but she pressed her knuckle to her nostril and sniffed with barely a flinch, then poured out a jagged line for you on the table behind her.

“Y/N, I…”

“It’s fine.”

You were already searching your back pockets for a bill, or some kind of thin object that could be rolled into a cylinder.

It didn’t feel good to do it, but one last time couldn’t hurt, right? You were a changed woman now, and you could control yourself - no matter how badly you wanted just another line, like you already knew you would.

Your freshly lit cigarette still burning between your two fingers, you rolled up the bill into a tight cylinder with the precision of someone who had done it hundreds of times before, leaned over the desk, and sniffed up a thin line of cocaine.

Like always, it hit you all at once, like a bolt of lightning. Oh, God.

And then everything became clear.

If there was one think you knew, it was that you were getting out of Small Heath tonight.

“Barely hit,” you muttered, looking up at Esme with dilated eyes. “Can I see the vial, please?”

//////

John was deep in the forest again, his bare feet caked in mud and moss and leaves, and he was going out of his mind with want.

“I miss you,” Martha purred like some long-lost, ethereal creature, and her cold, dainty hand glided around his shoulder. She had been circling him for the past ten minutes and yet her footsteps made no noise - she was pure magic, that woman was, and she smelled something sweet, like pound cake. Dizzy in her presence, John blinked hard as something in the depths of his mind purred happily, something primal and hidden blossoming to life, making him feel everything.

She was in her dress that she had worn to her wedding, the brilliant purple-pink wildflowers were braided into her hair like not a day had gone by, and John forgot that those flowers were actually dried and pressed into some obsolete book in the betting shop in the Parlour.

“Do you miss me?” she whispered, her cold hand on his other shoulder now, and John felt the skin there erupt into gooseflesh.

Martha sidestepped quickly, mystically as ever, and suddenly she was in front of him again. She had asked him a question, and he hadn’t answered.

Her hazel eyes glowed so brilliantly and ethereally that he was sure she made his blue Shelby eyes look hazel too, and he had to pause for a moment to take in her glittering beauty, her fair and freckled skin, her thin lips that had somehow been an insecurity of hers when she’d been alive, like they somehow hadn’t fit perfectly on her face and John hadn’t wanted to kiss them whenever he stared at them for too long.

John knew that he had opened his mouth to say something, but he wasn’t quite sure what had happened: either the words had come out as though he was underwater, a distorted, gibberish mess, or he had simply opened his mouth and not said anything at all.

He was suddenly aware of his heart pounding harder in his chest, and he tried to say, I do, I do, I do, but for some reason, the words couldn’t force their way past his lips.

“Clearly not, since you’re with that rat bitch,” Martha snarled, and it suddenly dawned on him that this wasn’t reality at all, not a lovely dream but a nightmare, and he started breathing hard until he was nearly hyperventilating, something like a panic attack settling in.

“No,” John tried to say, but his throat had closed off and he felt like he was screaming underwater. No. No. No.

This wasn’t the first time he’d felt something like this because he suffered from the soldier’s disease, but just because it was the hundredth time he’d experienced it didn’t mean it got any less terrifying. There was a whirlwind in his brain, a headrush so powerful like everything was incoherent, unreal, and he couldn’t– fucking– breathe—

“Kitchen towels!” Polly shouted from somewhere afar, scaring him awake. “For fuck’s sake, John, where are the bloody kitchen towels?”

John launched himself out of his chair and looked around: Polly wasn’t in his office, where he’d been sleeping for the past several weeks, but she was still shouting loud enough to be heard in the betting shop, so he straightened his cap and smoothed his rumpled suit like he hadn’t been asleep at all and hurried out of the door.

It’s too bloody early for this, he thought angrily.

When John got to the kitchen with the roll of kitchen towels from the betting shop, the first thing he noticed wasn’t Polly hurrying around with a broom, clearly agitated, or a cup of tea overturned everywhere on the kitchen’s pristine tile, but Esme standing in the open doorway of the Parlour, breathing hard, looking pale and panicked. He checked his watch. 6 AM. It was the middle of February; the sun hadn’t even risen yet. What the hell was going on?

He took another look at Polly, the cup of tea shattered on the floor, and Esme, his head swiveling back and forth between them like he was watching a ping-pong match. “Fucking hell, you lot, what’s the matter?”

His voice was groggy and dehydrated, but he blinked hard and tried to ignore it.

You’re awake. You’re awake. You’re awake.

“Y/N is fuckin’ missing, that’s the matter,” Polly snapped, venom seeping through her voice as she snatched the kitchen roll from his hands to clean up the mess of liquid and ceramic shards on the floor, “Esme here storms in at six o’clock in the bloody morning, tellin’ me all fuckin’ panicked that she woke up at the Lee house down the street and Y/N wasn’t there when she was spendin’ the night, and she was goin’ on about how she wanted to leave Small Heath before she fell asleep…”

A fresh round of cold, unsettling panic doused John, and seeing the darkening look on his face, Esme grimaced sympathetically at him. “A part of me thought she was joking, I tried to talk her out of it. I’m sorry, John.”

“Well, what’s done is done,” Polly snapped with the air that she was only becoming more pissed with every word Esme spoke, and straightening, she slammed the roll of towels on the counter and chucked the shards of ceramic into the garbage. “Gather Arthur and Tommy, we need to have the Blinders looking for her. The earlier we can find her, the better.”

He nodded.

“Arthur!” he bellowed down the hallway, without a care in the world for his kids or anyone else. “Get the fuck up!”

//////

Understandably, there were no trains running at three in the morning, the time you’d left a sleeping Esme at the Lee house on Watery Lane, so you simply shifted your bag higher on your shoulder and decided to find another place in Small Heath to camp out until the sunrise.

Still on your cocaine high, you refused to look at your reflection in the windows of the shopfronts you passed. You already felt disheveled and bloodshot, you didn’t need to see it.

Eventually, you settled on an alleyway some three blocks away from the station. You pressed your back against the wall and slid down it until you were sitting on the damp stretch of dirt, dead grass, and litter.

You moved your bag from your shoulder to your lap and inhaled sharply: if you were aware of your body for too long, the cocaine pain in your ribs made you feel like your entire body was on fire. You had a small bottle of vodka in your suitcase to ration, and you’d feel even better after a few burning gulps from the bottle, but you resolved not to start drinking at least until you got on the train.

The cocaine high would have to be enough for now, you decided.

You sighed as your head suddenly spun, and the hazy feeling of unreality settled deep into your chest, making your heart pound harder and harder until sweat was dampening the back of your neck. Your brain was throbbing hard, but euphoria pulsed through your entire body, and for that feeling alone, it was worth it.

God, cocaine was terrible, but simultaneously beautiful. You’d almost missed it.

Sure, you definitely hadn’t missed always feeling like you were on the verge of fainting, nor the aching and the itchiness and the cold liquid that seemed to bubble in your veins after you came down from your high, indicating that you were sober again, but whatever, it was three in the morning in a shitty corner of England, you were alone and staring up at the glinting stars in the sky, inhaling the ever-present scent of manure and cigarette smoke, and your cocaine-fucked brain promptly decided that nothing else mattered but this moment.

The year is 1920, you thought dumbly, in that same blearily existential way only someone who was extremely high could. Will people still appreciate the Earth’s beauty a hundred years from now?

You probably wouldn’t be around to see it, but you hoped they did, and you squinted up at the sky to scope out any possible constellations. You’d never had a chance to notice it before, but this was a Nevada kind of view, which made you think of a moment five years earlier where you were lying in the great expanse of desert beneath the stars, watching Sam’s chest slowly rise and fall as he slept, swiping at the mosquitos whenever they got too close.

You weren’t all that aware of it, but your entire face stretched into a tired smile, making your cheeks ache. Goddamn, I love cocaine.

The next moments passed in a blink: suddenly the sun was rising, and you were at the station again, and you couldn’t remember how you’d gotten a ticket in your hands but you were already carrying your things onto the train, and vaguely acting sober, you stumbled into the first empty carriage you saw, all while your body didn’t feel like your own and you were simply a spectator to your own activities.

Which, honestly, you preferred. You had no fucking time to regret any of this.

//////

“Y/N?” John shouted, shining a flashlight down the long, empty hallway of the old Lee house. He’d stomped in there the minute the car had rolled into the field, so fast and panicked that he hadn’t even bothered to turn on the lights, meaning the house was shrouded in darkness. “Y/N!”

“Are you absolutely sure you didn’t see her at the train station?” he heard Esme snap at some Blinder waiting outside.

“Why would I lie for the fuckin’ Garrison rat?” John heard him reply before he stepped out of range, and scowling, he burst into the bedroom Esme had said you’d slept in days ago.

It was stripped bare, not even your scent had been left behind, like you’d never been inside the room in the first place, which only made the dread crawling down his back worse.

You’re a fucking knobhead, John scolded himself, pivoting on his heel to exit the room. A fucking knobhead, you know that? What kind of husband has their wife walk out on them?

Regretting his excessive drinking and smoking, sleeping in his office, booking his favourite whore at Zhang’s, and avoiding his wife like the plague, John ran back onto the field with his knuckles aching to kill something.

He took his cap off to smooth his hair back. “She’s not there.”

“‘Course she’s not,” Esme said resignedly.

“Where the fuck would she had gone?” John shouted at her, resisting the urge to grab her and violently shake her, purely to keep the peace between the families. “Esme, did she tell you any place that she was wanting to go?”

Esme opened her mouth and closed it.

“London,” she whispered back, her eyes wide. “She told me she wanted to go to London.”

“London!�� he yelled in disbelief, whipping around. “Oh, for fuck’s sake.”

“The trains start early in the morning,” she bit out, twisting her hands together. The Blinder beside her was staring at her, wide-eyed, as though trying to find a way to insert himself into the conversation, but both she and John ignored him. “John, if we can’t find her, that means she already went.”

Unadulterated rage swept through him, bitter and blinding, but John choked it down. “Fuck.”

Ducking out of the way so they wouldn’t see his glossy eyes, he started to stomp away. “Get back in the fucking car.”

//////

London was sprawling and gleaming when the train noisily rolled into the station, and in your threadbare, dirt-stained skirt and cardigan, you felt like you weren’t expensive-looking enough to fit in.

No matter, you told yourself, but the voice in your head was much too pleasant and lacking the predisposed anxiety and misery to truly sound like yourself. You can simply buy new clothes.

Plus, you already knew you weren’t planning on staying in London for long anyway.

You hummed a quiet but hopeful folk song you’d first heard at the Garrison to yourself as you retrieved your things from the compartment, your heart already pounding hard with excitement at the thought of leaving the train. As you hummed out what little lyrics you could remember, a pang of sadness hit your gut for the first time since you’d snorted cocaine: you’d miss Grace, but you were happy her beautiful voice had become engraved in your memory.

Her voice was yours to keep forever.

Smiling, you carried your bags through the narrow hallway and descended the train.

And sweet Jesus, the air of London smelled like the most refreshing summer breeze simply because of the absence of manure and furnace smoke. The station was still overcrowded with people, which normally would have alarmed you had you been sober, but this time you didn’t even care, it almost felt like you had snorted another few lines of cocaine as you waded through the onslaught of people, a dumb grin plastered on your face.

Girl, you are high as balls.

You caught sight of a husband waiting at the gate with a bouquet of flowers for his approaching wife, and quickly glanced away. You didn’t need anything like that to bother you right now.

“Airport?” you asked aimlessly to the people around you. “Does anyone know how to get to the airport from here?”

After a minute or two of wandering around and shouting among the onslaught of people, a man not much older than Tommy Shelby finally turned around.

“Airport?” he asked, squinting down at you. “You’ll need to go to Croydon.”

“Where is that?” you asked sweetly, layering on the Americana glitter in your charming Garrison rat voice, batting your eyelids at him. “It’s my first time in London, you see.”

The man smiled and extended his hand. “I can take you there, miss, for a fee. I’ll carry your things for you.”

“How much quid?” you asked absent-mindedly, peering down into your bag to find your change. “I can give you, uh, maybe twenty-”

“I’m not talking about money,” he cut in, and your head snapped up like a deer in headlights. How dare he, knowing that you had a very expensive wedding ring glistening on your fing–

You stopped yourself.

You weren’t wearing your wedding ring.

It was rolling around somewhere in the depths of your bag.

Time seemed to slow down and your heart pounded even faster, cocaine influence or not, but what shocked you the most was the odd sense of relief, making the ugly scar stretching across the length of your abdomen tingle.

Men still desired you.

With your head slightly spinning and the residue feeling of your body not being your own anymore, it was the most chilling reminder that you weren’t sober: you suspected that in any other state of mind, you would feel differently about this, but right now you didn’t care.

Wasn’t the whole point of coming to London that you didn’t want to feel chained by the Shelbys anymore?

“Take me there,” you heard yourself say after what felt like a century, and the man’s grin widened. “Of course, ma’am.”

Please protect me, God, a voice whispered in the depths of your mind, and accepting his outstretched hand, you let him guide you out of your train station.

//////

Tommy Shelby pushed the heavy mahogany doors of the Garrison open with a flourish, stepped into the pub, and promptly bellowed at the top of his lungs, “Everybody out!”

It had been bad enough losing his own love to a mind-boggingly similar situation two months ago, but Christ, how likely was it for John boy to go through the same goddamned thing? He wasn’t sure if he was impressed or annoyed. What had gotten into the women of today? Was this something he seriously had to be worried about?

The few number of patrons at 11 AM on a Wednesday morning quickly made themselves scarce with a frightened look on their faces, and for the first time that morning, Tommy had a chance to sigh before he approached the confused and frightened barmaids behind the bar.

After Grace, he felt a deep inner hatred more intensely than he had before her, and this morning was no exception.

“Have you seen Y/N Lee around these parts in the past few weeks, ladies? Y/N Shelby? The Garrison rat?”

The two barmaids looked at each other, puzzled, and one opened her mouth but promptly closed it.

“You,” Tommy said, pouncing on her. “Did you see the Garrison rat at all?”

“I…uh….” she stuttered, and Tommy cocked his head in anticipation for her words. Where was the easy grace that all of the barmaids seemed to have whenever a Blinder visited? “I…”

The barmaid gulped and stared at the floor. “She came in here once, lookin’ like a mess, and said she was getting out of here that night.”

“What kind of mess was she?” he pressed, leaning forward. “Drunk? Sniffing snow?”

“She - she was covered in blood,” the barmaid choked out, and he recognized the telltale signs of an anxiety attack as she started shaking. “Covered in blood. And vomit. And dirt. And twigs. And she had this…crazed look in her eyes. None of the drunks have it, so I knew she wasn’t drunk. She meant what she was saying with a burning passion. She wanted somebody dead.”

Tommy thought back to the night that pathetic boy was killed, the way he’d wailed and screamed and cried as John pummelled him. It had been a real mess when you’d ran off like that, and there was no signs that you’d even been bothered until before then.

He eyed the other barmaid, who was pale as a ghost.

“Go make a drink for your friend,” he told her. “Ma’am, what’s your name?”

“Edith,” the sniffling barmaid replied, staring at the floor.

“Edith,” Tommy repeated. “Well, Edith, thank you for your time, but I’m afraid that the Garrison rat has fulfilled her promise as of this morning.”

With a haunting sort of finality, he replaced his cap and turned on his heel to exit the Garrison.

//////

“Fuck!”

Before John could stop it, a long, frustrated, angry scream ripped out of his throat, and it was so loud within the confined space of his office that it made his own ears ring. He was the only one here now, and it had been that way for an hour: the rest of the family had gone out looking for his wife.

His vision suddenly blurry with tears, he punched his desk over and over again, screaming at the top of his lungs, his hands stinging, his heart pounding, everything spiralling out of control at once. All of his emotions had been pushed as far as they could possibly go ever since he woke up, and at 4 PM in the afternoon, this was the only opportunity he’d had to let them out.

“Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!”

John felt blood trickling down his knuckles and he finally stopped, cursing, hating himself. Why did he have to be like this? He would feel nothing but indifference for weeks on end until it all came rushing out of him like an avalanche.

Well, some part of him knew this explosion was warranted. It was forever frustrating being back to square one: without a wife, without a stepmother to take care of his kids, without love and painfully aware that he was without Martha.

It wasn’t the first time he’d felt it, but it was the first time the feeling seared through his chest like a volcano erupting: he’d wished he’d never had kids.

“Why am I so stupid?” John shouted at himself in the thick silence. “Fucking hell, why am I so fucking stupid?”

Get it out, some type of comforting voice told him in the back of his head. Get it all fucking out.

His knuckles were pouring blood now, screaming for bandages, but John leapt from his chair and shoved everything off his desk in a giant sweep.

He picked up an empty vase behind him and threw it as hard as he could at the wall, where it exploded in a shower of glass.

He ripped open all the cabinets of his desk and yanked out all of the files, lobbing them at the wall, throwing them on the ground, tearing them in half, and when that wasn’t enough, he lifted his office chair and pounded it into the ground as violently as he could.

“Fuck! Fuck! FUCK!”

He couldn’t even remember when he’d started screaming anymore, but his throat was raw as he lobbed the splintered, broken pieces of the chair at the wall.

His hands were covered in blood, and he had a sobering feeling that maybe he should stop now, but no matter how self-destructive he was being, the rage was addicting, and he was throwing various detritus from the wreckage as hard as he could at the wall. The rush of pain flooding to his knuckles was almost gratifying— thank God, he could still feel things. Even if he was feeling too much, he was feeling, and that was good.

Tears were streaming down his face, and when he tried to inhale through his nose, his nostrils were blocked with snot, but he couldn’t stop. His entire face was red from overexertion and his hands were bleeding and he couldn’t stop shaking and he couldntfuckingbreathe, like he was a little kid throwing a tantrum, and—

If his throat was raw when he’d had the energy to destroy things, it was nothing like how it felt now. “Fuck!”

Maybe this is how Y/N felt when she saw me kill that monarchist fucker, John thought dumbly, and he sank to his knees in his demolished mess of an office, a tide of regret crashing through him unlike anything before.

This feeling hit him like it was trying to kill him.

//////

The car was parked in the parking lot of the airport, and it hadn’t moved for the past ten minutes.

It was cramped, uncomfortable, and questionably damp, but the man who’d driven you there-- Billy, you’d since learned his name was-- wouldn’t buy the plane ticket for you until you gave him your payment, and you had nothing left to lose. With Paris being a hefty cheque away, a daring trip that you could just barely afford, you had weighed your options and promptly decided fuck it, just get it over with.

Without breaking eye contact with him, you licked a thick stripe up the underside of his length before pulling back to suck the tip, darting your tongue around it, producing the filthiest slurping sounds he’d ever heard as you bobbed around him. He wasn’t longer than John, but a little thicker, and it was an interesting change to feel how his cock felt in your mouth.

“Fuck,” Billy murmured, weaving a hand through your hair as you swiped his cock over your wet lips, teasing it over your warm mouth, smearing your red lipstick further down your chin. “Fuck, just like that - gonna - fuck-”

He came fast with barely a warning, warm droplets of come spilling onto your tongue. Knowing you were almost done, you wrapped a hand around his length to jerk him off, gulping him down as best you could while he kept his hand tight in your hair, ensuring that you swallowed every last bit.

Saltier, you noted. Well, that’s a bit disgusting.

//////

He had her on her back so he wouldn’t have to look at her, but it was still so hard to pretend that she was someone else: the dark curly hair spilling over her shoulders that looked nothing like her hair, the breathy little moans that fell from her lips that sounded nothing like hers, even the way her pussy squeezed his cock, they were all dead giveaways that she wasn’t who John desperately wanted her to be. And no matter how hard he tried, she wouldn’t be.

“Oh, God,” Esme moaned, grabbing the headboard to keep herself from falling over as John fucked into her just a little bit harder, and his hand was wrapped around her neck before he even registered it being there.

“Shut up.”

She wasn’t listening.

“Fuck, John, I’m gonna-” –With one hand on the headboard, she was furiously rubbing her clit now– “I think I’m gonna - oh fuck -”

She collapsed from underneath him as her orgasm rushed through her body, but in a split-second he’d yanked her upright by her hair, back to her original position, except her arms were pinned behind her back.

This was about control.

Fucking her even harder now, his voice was furious in her ear as he whispered:

“Next time you come, you’re gonna ask for my permission, yeah?”

//////

Paris was golden.

Golden and full of pickpockets, that was for sure. The one drawback of such a fashionable, progressive city, you had to keep a tight hold on your purse as you made your way to the closest bar, or the bar à cocktails, as you frequently heard the locals call it.

Three months into living in Paris, you fit right in with the people born and raised here: they tended to go all out in comparison to Birmingham, their wardrobes were fashionable, flashy, and fancy to the point where a floor-length dress, your most expensive pearl necklace, and a glittery headband had become your drinking attire. You couldn’t imagine the stares had you worn the Garrison rat’s usual outfit of trousers and a blouse anywhere in Paris.

So, when it came down to it, you didn’t mind being bold, not at all. It was the années folles, after all, and life was good.

The same way British slang had slowly seeped into your vocabulary when you were an American trapped in Birmingham, your accent was starting to change the longer you stayed in Paris. Words like “quid” and “fucking hell” were slowly starting to disappear in your internal monologue, instead being replaced with “franc” and “merde”. Eventually, your American accent wrapped around the French words you spoke with a kind of ease, your thoughts came to you in French more than they did in English, and it dawned on you one day that you couldn’t have imitated the sweetness of the Garrison rat’s voice if you tried.

Honestly, you couldn’t care less. Maybe it was for the better.

You gently pushed open the glass door to the bar and, smoothing your dress, walked inside.

Lilting jazz, warm golden light, quiet conversation, respectful barmaids, a wide array of bottles at the bar, and best of all, sparsely populated. You loved coming to this place— you were already a couple of shots in, of course, but you enjoyed the French stuff.

You carefully sat down on your usual barstool to the left of the barmaid and calmly told her, “Comme d’habitude.”

She nodded without looking at you, emotionless. “Pas de problème.”

You settled back onto the stool, content to think about nothing for a moment as your drink was being made, but you sensed him approaching you before you saw him. Even though you had to tell yourself that you weren’t the Garrison rat anymore, that mysterious charm hadn’t been lost on the men of Paris, clearly.

The new man— dark hair, gray eyes, nothing remarkable — sat on the stool to your direct left, with the kind of forced confidence that immediately told you he had to practice it before coming over to sit with you, and you refused to look at him.

The barmaid slid a shot over to you, and the mysterious new man held up his hand, as though to intercept you from paying. “Je vais le payer.”

Looking anywhere but his face, you didn’t stop him as he handed over a fistful of coins to the barmaid.

Why should you? It was free drinks. That was welcomed in Las Vegas, New York City, Small Heath, and Paris.

As the barmaid walked away to attend to a new customer, his attention was on you now.

“Vous venez souvent dans ce bar.”

It was a statement, not a question. You looked at him, your face completely blank, and said nothing.

He smirked at you. “Vous aimez cette musique, oui? Le jazz est toujours beau. Bon pour danser.”

When you still said nothing, growing slightly frustrated now, he asked, “Quelle est votre histoire?”

You scoffed, and finally decided to speak.

“C’est une longue histoire. Une trop longue histoire. La seule chose que je sais, c’est que je ne tomberai plus jamais en amour, donc si vous pensez m’inviter à danser, n’essaie pas.”

The man looked at you for a long moment, before getting up from the stool and walking away— wordless, the kind of complicated look on his face that you didn’t understand. And it pissed you off, really, not understanding why he had the audacity to look hurt.

With the drunken blurriness of your vision, as the man retreated into the distance, his silhouette seemed to be absorbed by the gleaming, golden light, and you let out a low sigh of relief as you were left alone again. Alone with your thoughts.

You turned back to the bar and found yourself lost in the murky depths of your drink that he’d paid for. Through the haze, you blearily noticed that you’d started thinking in English again. Blunt and short sentences, but still: English.

I’m never going to love again.

//////

AUGUST 1920 - SMALL HEATH, BIRMINGHAM

I’m never going to love again, thought John as he stared moodily across the length of the merry Garrison. Grace may not have been there anymore, but the roaring folk songs every night had remained in her memory, and someone had clearly written a new one for the drunks to sing.

The only person there that wasn’t singing, John couldn’t help but roll his eyes. He wasn’t in the mood to act as though there weren’t any horribly-concealed glances in his direction every few minutes. Though, as time went on, they were becoming lesser and lesser, the Garrison rat was disappearing into a mythical woman that belonged to the folklore of Small Heath. Honestly, in the months without her, sometimes it was hard to believe that she had ever truly lived.

The song roared on.

“Oh, the Garrison rat, the Garrison rat, she left at twilight and we haven’t seen her since that…”

#john shelby #john shelby x reader #peaky blinders #peaky blinders fanfic #joe cole #john shelby x y/n #john shelby fanfic #john shelby imagine #peaky blinder imagine #peaky fucking blinders #peaky blinders imagine #tommy shelby #arthur shelby #polly gray

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mcflymemes · 1 year

Text

NATIONAL TREASURE: BOOK OF SECRETS PROMPTS * assorted dialogue from the 2007 film

maybe one day i'll wear this to a party i'm actually invited to.

this is the right place.

did no one read my book?

let me guess! it's the wrong time! it's the wrong place! i'm wrong again!

it could contain something dangerous!

we're in england.

you fell in love with me on a treasure hunt.

then fine! if that's what you want, then let's have it out right now!

i flew all the way to london to offer my help, and you don't need it?

if you were trying to convince me, you'd have less evidence and i'd already believe you by now.

concealed in those pages is the key to something much, much bigger.

that was not love! that was excitement! adrenaline! tequila!

you're the one making a scene right now.

i was going to have the movers bring them to you next week.

you know what that means.

you have his number on speed dial?

take it from the best. you're a natural.

that's very nice, but it's kind of a bad time right now.

you're so good at puzzles, i'm sure you'll figure it out.

i want you to do something for me.

death and despair. mostly death.

you guys are so great together.

i get lucky a lot.

all of you will get credit for this discovery.

it's a little golden man.

you're wrong to assume i'd like the chair.

your dad called me.

just promise you'll come back for me.

did you get a chance to look at page 47?

you're wearing the perfume i got you.

the fire alarm's gone off.

this doesn't involve another treasure hunt, does it?

well, would you look at that.

my first felony.

just because you may know what my answer is going to be, doesn't mean you don't have to ask me.

what is going on with the education in america?

the past is filled with incredible mysteries.

everyone listen to this.

what's the final clue?

even if something like that really did exist, why do you think i would actually just give it to you?

i was going to say you could keep them.

we gotta be on the other side of that door!

so when did you realize it was a fake argument?

you did that in twenty five seconds.

they want to believe it.

two hundred people know you held me against my will.

i'm gonna kidnap him.

you've got to find where that leads before they do.

you always seem to know what's best.

we won't leave you behind.

get out of there. i had to move the car.

just because i answer a question quickly doesn't make it wrong.

all i need is a few minutes with the president.

are you talking about the book?

god save the queen.

sorry. couldn't resist.

i need to see that book.

just have a look at that.

where's the phone?

that's what couples do.

my girlfriend kicked me out.

this could be a horrible trap.

oh, now look what you've done.

wait, is there more than one?

been drinking, have we?

nobody leaves unless i say so.

dismount the bannister!

you can do that?

what did you find now? atlantis?

when i assume i'm right, and it turns out my assumption is correct, how is that wrong?

one of us is going to have to stay behind.

we have thirty seconds to disable the alarm.

oh look. my tax dollars at work, coming to arrest me.

people don't believe in that stuff anymore.

there are three, actually.

so i guess my opinion doesn't matter.

that door's not gonna stay open by itself.

i can't find anything in this mess.

when you make a decision without asking me, and you happen to be right... you got lucky.

no, i'm just kidding.

is that for us?

the last time i checked, we make our living off crazy.

wouldn't it just have been easier to make an appointment?

i think it smells kind of pretty.

well, you never know.

we both know what has to happen here.

it's only temporary until i can find a new place.

the following conversation never took place.

when did you realize that i was actually arguing during the fake argument?

what book?

i'll drive.

one of us stays behind.

what's new with you?

that's not true.

someone else is after the treasure.

maybe you could come and move back in with me?

you think we don't know about it?

i've been doing the math here.

when you say "so" it means you're angry.

do you know the origin of the expression?

it's sort of like a puzzle.

history can remember you forever.

why would i overreact to that?

how'd they find us so quick?

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bloodyknucklesforme · 7 months

Text

Don't Blame Me 2.0 | Sneak Peak

So here's just a little sneak peak of my re write of Don't Blame Me. I've been wanting to revisit this for a while. I will post the rest of it in one go probably on Ao3 for ease but here's just a little peak of some of the extended stuff I'm doing. This is probably chapter 1 or 2. I haven't decided the order yet. It is 100% new material and I hope it gives a good example of what the rest of the re write is gonna be. Hope you enjoy 💕

Word Count: 2k

Nina stared up at the ceiling. It was ugly. Grayish plaster smeared across to form a minuscule mountain range. She was angry at them with their manmade topography. She wanted to climb up and scrape them smooth. She wanted to destroy something without consequence.

The bed in the safe house was too hard and the covers were too thin. Made it impossible to sleep and yet she’d spent the past three days laying in it. She missed the warm comfort of her old bed, layers of wool blankets and a fluffy down mattress. She missed the feathers that poked her in the middle of the night.

Kyle, sat guard by the door - rifle in hand. The curtains always drawn close. She’d long lost track of time, only gauging when offered food. Shopping bags laid scattered across the floor. Price had bought clothes, guessing her size and getting it wrong most of the time. She’d finally asked for something warm and big.

He’d come back with a large navy sweatshirt and grey sweatpants. They were nice and soft and the sweatshirt was large enough she could tuck her knees inside of it and pull her hands into the sleeves. A small comfort.

She didn’t like it here but she wasn’t given a choice. Hunted like an animal across countries and continents. All because of her father. Some people may be attached together with red string but he was the rope around her neck.

The house somehow felt more sterile than the hospital they had her at initially. She didn’t like it there either with doctors and nurses constantly prodding her. Taking blood for various tests, physical exams where she was expected to strip for strangers. Their hands were always cold.

A week ago she hadn’t even seen another person in years and now she didn’t think any part of her had gone untouched. She’d fought and screamed every time they pulled another needle out. They’d had to sedate her after she kicked a nurse in the shoulder and almost knocked her over. Price stepped in at that point and refused to let them do any more tests or exams until she’d relaxed. She never got the chance.

She woke up to a man forcing his way into the room. Kyle dragged her out of bed and into a corner, ripping an IV out of her arm. Price had met the man at the threshold. The intruder got one good hit in before Price slammed his head into the door.

Her stomach flipped, hearing his skull crack. Death wasn’t an unfamiliar face but she ached having seen him so often recently. How many just in the past week? She’d lost count. Blood dripped down the door, like a bug that got squished.

Kyle was holding her arm, bandaging where the IV got ripped out.

“We’re moving her.” Price said. “Now!”

Kyle scooped her up easily, carrying her bridal style, down the halls and stairs of the hospital.

“Kate, I need a safe house.” Price barked into a radio. Nina clung to Kyle, letting herself get carried away once again. It had been futile to fight previously so she allowed it now. She also didn’t want to complain about not walking across the parking deck barefoot.

Price drove while Kyle sat in the back, having her lay down on the seats next to him. She stayed quiet, she was good at that. Quiet and surviving. They drove what felt like hours around London in order to lose any possible tails. Eventually Price pulled into an underground parking deck and they switched cars.

The Russian was driving this time, she believed his name was Nik. A large white utility van. She sat with her back against the side. Her feet were cold. Kyle and Price flanked her. She felt like she should be wearing a black bag over her head.

It was dark when they got to the safe house. A coat was thrown over her head and she was kept bent over as they led her inside. Lights off until the blinds could be pulled shut.

“You should be safe here. Kyle will keep watch over ya,” Price assured, holding her shoulders. She was older than he was when they last saw each other. A stranger but the only person on Earth who seemed to remember her name. A friend of her father’s, his sergeant. He’d stop by their on base house often enough to be a familiar face. He got her a birthday gift once or twice. He’d had dinner with her family. She felt ashamed to say she hadn’t thought about him in years yet there he was at the edge of the world to hold her on the helicopter ride home. “How are you feeling Nina?”

“I’m okay.” What else was there to say? It felt like the ground was constantly collapsing under her and she was treading ice water. “I’m tired.”

“Let’s get the bedroom set up for you.” He rubbed her back as he led her upstairs. She waited in the hall as he checked over the room and pulled the blinds shut. She was glad they left her alone to sleep, even if one of them was always outside the cracked open door. She’d barely left the bed since. Kyle had moved a chair in at one point.

“Just keeping you company.” He smiled. She imagined the true reason was so he could stop her if she tried to kill herself. There was a reason she had to ask for any pain medication, there were no knives in the kitchen and the sweatpants came without strings. Truthfully she didn’t have the motivation for all that.

She thought about taking another shower or maybe a bath. Hot water on demand was another comfort. Something she’d missed.

She got up wordlessly and walked into the ensuite bathroom. Bottles, jars and tubes also scattered across the counter. Kyle had explained what it all did. Moisturiser, cleanser, masks and other words she didn’t remember. She slathered it all on anyway. It did make her skin feel less tight. If it made a physical difference, she wouldn’t know. The mirror was gone.

Kyle had taken it off the wall the day before. She’d needed his help turning on the water. Her reflection frightened her. She knew she was older, a woman of twenty five. She still expected to see a little girl staring back at her. In a way there was, how small she looked. How starved she looked. She didn’t like her skin or hair or her face at all really. Price had remarked how much she looked like her mother. She couldn’t even hold her face in her mind. She knew that she never looked sick like this. As tattered and forgotten.

She’d hung a towel over the edges of the mirror. Kyle took it down and she put it back up. He seemed to understand and it was laid in the hallway facing the wall the next morning.

She filled the tub with steaming water and squirted some soap into it. She wasn’t allowed to lock the door so she left it cracked to let the steam out. She sunk down till her nose barely scraped the water’s edge. She soaked until the bubbles all popped and disappeared and her skin was pruned.

There was a knock on the door.

“The captain is going to be back soon with food,” Kyle broke the hours-long silence. He was extraordinarily kind to her despite having not said more than a couple words to him over the past days. “He asked if there’s anything else you want or need.”

“I’m okay,” she said. She didn’t know what she needed or wanted. Everything seemed like a distant dream, half real. She thought about the things she ate as a child and wondered what was real and what was some elaborate coping daydream. It all just seemed out of her grasp.

“…Nina?” He asked. It still felt weird to hear people say her name aloud. It was something she had kept like a secret for so long. “Do you like cake?”

She could hear the smile in his voice. She didn’t remember the last time she had cake. Her 11th birthday maybe.

“I can have Price pick some up for you. I’d say you deserve it.”

“I’d like that…thank you, Kyle.”

“I’ll text him.”

Price arrived a little less than an hour later. She was back in bed, wearing the same sweatshirt and pants. Kyle had shown her how to work the telly. There was nothing familiar on.

Price had given up on getting her to eat anywhere but her bed, bringing up the food with a tray.

“Thank you,” She said as he laid a plate of lamb, rice and veggies in front of her. The three of them ate in silence as she periodically flipped through the channels on the telly.

“What day is it?” she asked as another holiday ad came on.

“December sixteenth,” Kyle answered around a bite of lamb.

She didn’t realise Christmas was so close. She changed the channel again, wanting to avoid any possibility of raising hope.

“Gaz, take the dishes downstairs. I need to talk to Nina.” Price said as they finished eating. She thanked Kyle as he took her plate and pulled her knees to her chest.

Price had a serious look on his face, more serious than usual.

“We have to move you again.” He said. She nodded, chewing on the idea of having to leave again.

“Why?”

“My contact in M16 believes there’s a leak and you’re at risk again. They shouldn’t have known what hospital you were in.” He sat down on the edge of the bed. “These men are dangerous, Nina. They believe you know where your father is.”

“I don’t.”

“I know you don’t, love. We’re working on tracking them down but until we do you need to be kept safe. You’re going to the United States tomorrow afternoon.”

“The United States? Why all the way there?”

“It’ll be easier to hide you. You’ll be under cover, new name, travelling with one of my mine.”

“Kyle?”

“No, unfortunately I need him here.”

“Then who?” She wasn’t sure if she trusted anyone else. She wasn’t even sure if she could trust Price.

“His name is John.”

“Your name is John.”

“Different John.” He chuckled. “MacTavish. A scot. He’ll look after you.” He patted her shoulder. “Get some rest. We’ll talk more tomorrow.”

“Price?”

“Yes, love?”

“Will I ever be safe?”

He laid his hands on her shoulders and got eye level with her.

“I will make you safe.” He said firmly, like he believed it to be true. “Try to get some sleep. Lots to brief on tomorrow.”

The idea of having to move again twisted her stomach. More helicopters? More high speed chases down mountain roads? More bullets whizzing by? Her hands were shaking already. She pulled her arms into her sweatshirt and scratched at them. Every red line was a release of tension in her body. Another strange man who’s side she would be tucked into. She knew Price wouldn’t put her with someone who would hurt her, at least not knowingly.

There was a knock on the door.

“Nina? Can I come in?” Kyle asked.

“Uh…yeah…you can.” She pushed her arms back through her sleeves. He was smiling as he came in. A pastry box and fork in hand.

“Price says you need protein but cake has eggs so I think it counts.” He handed her the box. She laid it in her lap and opened it. It was a small chocolate cake with chocolate frosting and cadbury flakes on top. Her mouth watered. She wanted to feel the sugar grit against her teeth.

“Thank you, Kyle.” She said, holding the box close. There was a time when she was younger and she used to close her eyes and imagine a great big party with cake and balloons and streamers and friends and her family. She held onto that fantasy for a long time. She hoped the cake tasted as good as it did in her head.

“Eat it all if you want but don’t get sick, yeah?” He handed her the fork before going to leave. “Soap’s a decent bloke. He’ll take care of you.”

What a stupid nickname, she thought as she stabbed her fork into the centre of the cake and dug out a chunk.

It was better than she imagined.

I would also like to shout out some of the people who've supported this story over the past year. There are more than I could ever list (I'm adding as I remember usernames) but thank you all so much

@macravishedbymactavish @queen-ilmaree @argella1300 @purplemarmar @devcica @avidreadee123 @water-bearz @glitterypirateduck @murdersheghostwrote @sea--biscuit @coolmaybelateruniverse @pssytrux @mykneeshurt @yearningforsappho @celestiialspheres @fleetwoodmoth

I appreciate more than y'all could ever know 💕

#soap x Nina #Don't Blame Me 2.0 #Don't Blame Me

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