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ijustmissyouraccenths · 1 month ago

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One More Round (Then You)

Where Y/N and Harry get bored, get drunk, and get each other.

Content Warning: Smut, Oral (f receiving), Semi-public intimacy, alcohol use, swearing.

Word count: 2,469

It started with a sigh. A loud, dramatic one from your end of the couch.

Harry glanced over, one arm slung over his head, the other lazily scrolling through his phone. “That bored, are we?”

You stretched out your legs until your toes hit his thigh. “We haven’t left this house in days. I’m starting to forget what outside smells like.”

He smirked, tossing his phone to the side. “You say that like we’re prisoners. You’re in my hoodie. We’ve got snacks. And I just beat your ass in Mario Kart.”

“Twice,” you said, sitting up. “And I let you win the second time because you were getting whiny.”

“Oh, whiny, was I?” His voice dropped to that playful growl, and he reached out to grab your ankle.

You giggled and jerked your foot away. “Let’s go out.”

Harry blinked. “Out?”

“Yeah. Like, out-out. Let’s go to a pub. Or five.”

He stared at you like you’d just proposed streaking through the streets of London. “It’s Thursday.”

“And we’re alive.”

He snorted, shaking his head, but the way his mouth twisted into a grin gave him away. “Alright. You’re lucky I fancy you.”

You grinned, already standing up and tugging off the hoodie you’d been living in. “Give me twenty.”

“Make it ten,” he called after you. “Or I’ll start without you.”

Pub one was quiet. A dimly lit corner spot with sticky floors and cheap pints. You played a few rounds of darts (badly), and Harry took a shot every time you hit anything but the board. You were giggling before you even left.

Pub two was livelier. A crowded spot with fairy lights strung across the ceiling and a jukebox that somehow only played 2000s throwbacks. You both sang at the top of your lungs, Harry slinging an arm around your shoulders as you butchered the chorus to “Mr. Brightside.” When he kissed your cheek mid-song, you knew the night was only going downhill—in the best way.

By pub three, you were tipsy and warm, your hand glued to his, your laugh easy and loud. Harry ordered whiskey for both of you, nudging the glass toward you with a raised brow. “Reckon we’ll regret this in the morning.”

“Probably,” you grinned, clinking your glass with his. “But I’ll have fun tonight.”

And then came pub four.

This one had a dance floor.

You didn’t plan on dancing. You were just going to sit, maybe get some fries, rest your feet. But the second the bass dropped and the lights flashed pink and gold over the crowd, Harry looked at you with that smug, dimpled smile and tilted his head toward the chaos.

“C’mon,” he mouthed.

You didn’t need convincing.

He led you into the crush of bodies, his hands immediately landing on your hips as you started moving. The music was loud enough to drown out your thoughts, and the whiskey made you bold. You turned around to face him, letting your hands slide up his chest, looping behind his neck.

He pulled you closer, your bodies flush, your movements synced. It wasn’t graceful, but it didn’t have to be. You were laughing, drunk, wrapped around each other like you couldn’t get close enough.

Harry leaned down, his breath hot at your ear. “You keep looking at me like that, we’re leaving this place in ten minutes.”

You arched a brow. “Only ten?”

His hands gripped your waist tighter. “You’re testing me, aren’t you?”

You leaned in close, brushing your mouth just barely against his. “Maybe.”

It didn’t take ten minutes. It barely took five.

You left the pub breathless, his hand wrapped tightly around yours as you weaved through the crowd and out into the cool night air. The moment the door swung shut behind you, the noise cut out and all that was left was your laughter echoing down the street.

Harry tugged you close as you walked, arm slung around your shoulder, his lips occasionally pressing to your temple, your cheek, your jaw. He couldn’t seem to keep his mouth off you—and you didn’t want him to.

“God, you’re clingy when you’re drunk,” you teased, bumping your hip into his.

“Clingy?” he scoffed, stopping short just long enough to spin you toward him. “You’re lucky I don’t take you right here.”

You grinned, feeling the heat rise up your neck. “Kinda sounds like a threat.”

“It’s a promise,” he muttered, kissing you again—this time deeper, slower. The kind of kiss that made your knees wobble and your stomach dip.

You pulled away with a laugh. “C’mon. Before we get arrested.”

The walk home was messy—arms around waists, off-key singing, Harry stopping to dramatically reenact a scene from Titanic in front of a confused-looking cat on someone’s porch. You couldn’t stop giggling. Your cheeks hurt. Your feet ached.

But when you finally made it through the door of your place, slamming it behind you with a breathless gasp, the mood shifted.

Harry turned to look at you, his curls a mess, his eyes dark and lazy with want.

“You,” he said, voice low, “have been driving me mad all night.”

You backed up slowly, until your legs hit the couch. “Yeah?”

He stalked toward you, one step at a time, like a warning. “Dancing on me like that. Whispering in my ear. Acting all innocent when you’re not.”

Your grin widened as you sank back onto the cushions. “So what’re you gonna do about it?”

He didn’t answer right away. Just raised a brow as he pulled off his jacket and let it fall to the floor.

You stretched out on the couch, kicking off your shoes with a grin. “You’re staring.”

“Can’t help it.” His voice was a rasp now, rough from the whiskey and the night. “You look smug.”

“That’s ‘cause I won.”

“Won what?”

You shrugged lazily. “Whatever game we were playing.”

He huffed a laugh, stepping between your legs. “You’re so full of it.”

“Still came home with me, didn’t you?”

That earned you a low groan and his hands on your thighs, fingers dragging up slowly, gripping just a little too tight. “You’re a menace,” he muttered, dipping his head to kiss just under your jaw, lingering when you sighed.

“I barely did anything.”

“Exactly the problem.”

He kissed your neck, slow and smug, taking his time like he wasn’t in a rush. You shifted under him, fingers slipping under the hem of his shirt, teasing at the warm skin there.

He pulled back just enough to look at you. “Thought you were the one who won. Shouldn’t I be the one lying here while you make it up to me?”

You smirked. “Is that what you want?”

He tilted his head like he was thinking, but his eyes dropped to your mouth. “I want you,” he said softly, “but I like it when you make me work for it.”

You leaned up, your lips brushing his. “Then get to work.”

He laughed under his breath and kissed you again, hungrier now, his hands sliding beneath your shirt as he pressed you down into the cushions. Every move was slow but deliberate, like he was savoring just how wound up you’d made him. Your hips arched into his, and he grinned against your mouth.

“Still smug?”

“A little,” you whispered.

He tugged your shirt over your head. “We’ll fix that.”

His hands slid under the waistband of your jeans, fingers warm and slow, thumbs brushing over your hips like he had all the time in the world.

You bucked a little beneath him, impatient, and he smirked. “Easy,” he murmured, mouth grazing your ear. “Didn’t you say you liked it when I worked for it?”

“Yeah,” you breathed, “but I didn’t say drag it out like some dramatic slow burn.”

He laughed—low, dirty, breath ghosting over your neck. “Tough. I’m enjoying myself.”

He popped the button on your jeans with one hand, the other slipping between your legs, pressing just enough to make you gasp. You arched into him, and his smile deepened.

“There she is,” he murmured, kissing down the side of your neck. “Thought I lost you to all that attitude.”

You grabbed a fistful of his shirt and tugged. “Shut up.”

“Make me.”

You kissed him hard—teeth, tongue, all heat and challenge—and he moaned into your mouth like he’d been waiting for it. His fingers worked you over your underwear, slow circles, maddening pressure that wasn’t quite enough.

“You’re teasing,” you whispered, breath hitching.

“Course I am.” His voice was gravel now, lips brushing yours. “You think you can grind on me all night and then just have me?”

You whined, and his fingers slipped under the fabric, finally touching you bare. Your back arched, and his mouth dropped open like he couldn’t help it. “Fuck, baby…”

You grinned through the haze. “Still making you work for it?”

His jaw clenched like he was holding something back. “You’re gonna regret saying that.”

And with that, he slid two fingers inside you, slow but sure, his thumb stroking at your clit like he knew exactly how to unravel you. You moaned, loud, not even trying to hide it, and he kissed you again—filthy and deep, all tongue and breath and heat.

He didn’t let up, kept working you on the couch, one hand down your jeans, the other holding your thigh open. You were panting into his mouth now, shaking under him, your hands clawing at his back.

“Say it,” he murmured.

“Say what?”

“That I won.”

You shook your head, even as your body betrayed you, grinding into his hand. “No.”

He chuckled, wicked and proud. “You will.”

You barely made it to the bedroom. Your jeans were halfway down your legs, and Harry’s shirt was somewhere in the hallway, forgotten. He kept kissing you between laughs and half-stumbled steps, like he couldn’t stop—like not touching you for more than a second was physically impossible.

The second your backs hit the mattress, it turned needy.

Harry hovered over you, eyes trailing down your body like he was deciding where to start. You reached up, curling your fingers into the chain around his neck, tugging him down.

“Still feeling smug?” he asked against your mouth, voice low and wrecked.

You nodded. “I’m literally sprawled out naked in your bed. You should be the one feeling smug.”

He grinned, dipping down to kiss your stomach, lower and lower, until his mouth hovered between your thighs. “Trust me, I am.”

Then he licked a slow stripe up your center, and you swore loud enough to make him laugh into you.

You bucked up, but he pressed a firm hand to your hip, pinning you down. “Let me take my time,” he muttered. “You asked for this.”

And he did. He kissed and licked and sucked until your legs were shaking around his shoulders and you were gasping his name like it was the only word you remembered. He didn’t let up—not until your fingers tangled in his hair and you came against his mouth with a soft, broken cry.

When he finally pulled back, his lips were slick, his smile shameless.

“You look fucked already,” he teased, crawling up your body.

You grabbed him by the neck and pulled him into a kiss, tasting yourself on his tongue. “Get inside me,” you whispered. “Now.”

He groaned—actually groaned—like the words knocked the breath out of him.

He lined himself up without breaking eye contact, sliding in slow, giving you every inch like it was a gift he wanted you to feel. You gasped, nails digging into his back, and his mouth dropped to your shoulder.

“Jesus,” he panted. “You feel—fuck, you feel too good.”

You locked your legs around his waist, urging him deeper, faster, but he held steady. Grinding into you slowly, dragging it out.

“Harry,” you whined.

“I told you,” he growled, voice right at your ear, “you’d regret teasing me.”

But he was unraveling just as fast—his rhythm stuttered as you clenched around him, your hips meeting his in perfect sync, skin slapping, breath mingling, all heat and rhythm and want.

He kissed you hard when you came again, swallowing your cry, and then it was his turn—his body jerking, muscles tight, breath catching in your mouth as he came with a low, desperate groan.

He didn’t move for a moment, just rested his forehead against yours, both of you slick with sweat, still tangled together.

“Worth it?” you murmured.

He laughed, breathless. “I think I won.”

You kissed him again. “We both did.”

The room was quiet but buzzing, the air thick with sex and sweat and something warmer that neither of you ever put a name to. Just feeling. His body was still pressed to yours, both of you slick, pulsing, breath coming down slowly.

Harry groaned softly and rolled to the side, his arm sliding under you to keep you close, the other dragging a lazy hand down your spine. You hummed, curling into him, letting the silence stretch.

His fingers dipped lower, tracing lazy, gentle circles just above your backside. “You alright?”

You nodded against his chest. “More than alright.”

He kissed your forehead, lips lingering. “Didn’t hurt, did it?”

“No,” you whispered, nuzzling into his skin. “You were perfect. A little smug, but perfect.”

He chuckled, the sound low and warm. “You’re not one to talk, love. You had that look on your face like you’d just won a game of chess and seduced the opponent all at once.”

“Is that not exactly what I did?”

Harry laughed, head dropping back onto the pillow. “Can’t take you anywhere.”

You lay like that for a while, skin on skin, his fingers still idly stroking you, this time over your hip and down your thigh—more soothing than suggestive. The room smelled like you both, the sheets tangled beneath you, and there was something addictive about the weight of his body beside you—how completely unrushed he was when he touched you after. Like he wanted to stay in this bubble.

After a bit, he pulled the blanket up over you both, pressing a kiss to your temple. “C’mon. Lemme clean you up.”

You groaned but let him go, watching him pad off to the bathroom—naked, hair a mess, scratches down his back, and still somehow smug about it.

He came back with a warm cloth and a sheepish grin. “Don’t look at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like you’re about to drag me back in.”

“Maybe I am,” you smirked.

He took his time wiping you down, kissing the inside of your thigh once he was done, just because. And when he finally climbed back into bed, you pulled him close again, tangling your legs with his.

“Stay here forever,” you murmured.

“Done,” he whispered back.

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orchidniins · 10 months ago

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Cupid Clarkey | Chris Dixon

Summary: George Clarke plays matchmaker for his best friend and his flatmate. Pairing: ChrisMD x f!Reader, Best Friend!George Clarke Warning: Fluff Word count: 9.3k+ A/N: Thanks anon for this request! The timeline in the fic sorta jumps forward quickly (just don't think about it too much😗 ). This is my longest fic ever and I would really appreciate feedback on it! Hope you enjoy it!

Masterlist

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

“Can you get off my Hinge already, Y/N?” George's annoyed voice cut through the blaring music of the pub as he tried (and failed) to snatch his phone out of your hand.

“I'm trying to find you a girlfriend, Georgie,” you retorted, laughing as you dodged his attempts.

You were currently squished into a booth in the pub, sitting next to George, both of you a few drinks in (though you were definitely more drunk than him), swiping away on his Hinge profile and bickering like you two used to back in uni.

Having just moved to London a few weeks ago, tonight was a reunion of sorts. You were meeting up with George and a bunch of other friends from your uni days.

You and him had met in the first week of school, initially sitting next to each other in class, which turned into late-night study sessions and eventually blossomed into a close friendship.

George rolled his eyes. “Oh please, like you’re any better at this than I am.”

“Better at what? Being single or being hopeless at dating?” you shot back, smirking.

“How long has it been since your last relationship?” George challenged, raising an eyebrow at you.

You scoffed and looked back at him. “And how long has it been since you’ve been laid?” you teased, swiping left on yet another profile.

“Oh, trust me, Y/N, I get action,” George shot back, a smirk playing on his lips.

“Oh please, the only action you’ve seen is from your right hand,” you said, laughing at him.

“Well, that’s a lot coming from you,” George countered. “You haven’t dated since that prick from uni.”

“I actually enjoy being single,” you said, shrugging. “All you do is cry about it. You always say you want a girlfriend, but you turn down every girl that approaches you.”

George snorted. “Say that to the pint of ice cream you finished last week in under an hour while watching that chick movie and bawling your eyes out about wanting a boyfriend.”

“Whatever,” you huffed, turning back to his phone. “Oh, you got a match! I’m gonna message her.”

“Absolutely not!” George exclaimed, finally managing to pry his phone out of your hands. “Maybe if you were a little less picky, you wouldn’t be single.”

You looked at him in shock and surprise. “Really? You’re gonna talk to me about being picky?”

“You say that, but you’re the one with the mile-long checklist, not everyone can be as perfect as me, Y/N.” George retorted, shaking his head.

“If you’re so perfect, then maybe we should just date, Georgie,” you said jokingly, nudging him with your shoulder.

The both of you went silent for a moment, staring blankly at each other. Then, simultaneously, you shuddered at the thought. “No!” you both said in unison, laughing.

“God, that’d be like dating my sister,” George said, acting outwardly disgusted at your joke.

You stuck your tongue out at him, making a face.

You two continue your bickering, the atmosphere in the pub buzzing with laughter and chatter from your group of friends. After a while, your friends scatter around the pub, leaving just you and George in the booth. Just as you're deep in banter, an unfamiliar voice interrupts you two.

“Hey man,” a voice said, and you looked up to see a man with blonde curly hair approaching your booth. George got up to greet him, and from where you’re sitting, it’s very obvious that he was quite drunk himself.

"Chris, mate, how drunk are you already?" George asked, as if he had read your mind, with a chuckle, clapping Chris on the back.

Chris laughed, his grin widening. "Chip's pub golf videos always destroy me," he replied, his words slightly slurred as he swayed a little.

Chris glanced over at you, his eyes momentarily focusing as he took in your presence. "Hope I’m not interrupting," he said teasingly, turning back to George, flashing a mischievous grin.

George chuckled and shook his head. "Nah, mate, you're good. Go get yourself a drink and join us." Chris headed off to the bar, and George sat back down.

Chris returned with his drink and slid into the booth, his easy smile and sparkling eyes catching your attention.

“So, who’s your friend?” Chris asked, nodding towards you with a playful grin.

“Y/N, this is Chris, the flatmate,” George introduced, gesturing between the two of you. “Chris, this is Y/N, the best friend.”

“Hey, nice to meet you,” you greeted Chris warmly.

Chris grinned back at you. “George is wrong, you know. I’m the best friend.”

“No, you’re wrong. I've known him longer, so I am his only best friend,” you say, as you laugh at him.

“Don’t need to fight, guys,” George interjects, “There’s enough of me to go around.”

“That’s just not right,” Chris replies, ignoring George. “I live with him. Do you know how much shit I put up with? Surely that makes me his best friend.”

You chuckle, “Okay…but have you had him shotgun a can an hour before a final, puke all over your bed, and then have to clean it up and make sure he gets to campus in time?”

Chris grins, “Alright, but have you had to deal with his shit love life? Or lack thereof? And like have had to listen to him complain all the time.”

You exasperatedly add, “Yeah! Actually, I have,” you say, nodding at Chris.

You turn to George. “Honestly, George mate, you're a mess. I don’t even want to be your best friend anymore.”

Chris nods in agreement. “Yeah, man, you’re kind of a pain in the ass.”

George looks between the two of you, bewildered. “What the fuck is happening?”

You and Chris exchange a look. “Maybe we should become best friends and ditch George,” Chris suggests, winking at you.

“Guys, can we go back to both of you fighting over me?” George says, and you and Chris burst out laughing at him.

You find yourself feeling instantly drawn to Chris's charm. After a bit of small talk, you learn that Chris had been out for a shoot and decided to drop by the pub where George was once he finished. You had heard George talk about Chris before and all the antics they’d gotten up to, but you hadn’t paid much heed to it until now.

And as the night went on and you got increasingly drunker, you found yourself sitting closer to Chris. George already knew this about you; you always got increasingly flirty and bolder when you were drunk—a stark contrast to your sober self.

Usually, George was always one of your victims, jokingly hitting on him to piss him off, and he also always had to keep you away from creepy men when you were drunk. But now, with Chris in the mix, George honestly did not know what to say at the scene in front of him.

(A/N: I have no game whatsoever. Even if I did pull in the past, I was so drunk that I genuinely don’t remember. I did my best I promise)

“You’re pretty cute for someone who’s friends with George,” you say to Chris, a playful smile on your lips as you take another sip of your cocktail.

Chris grins and leans in closer. “And you’re pretty hot for someone who hangs out with him.”

You laugh, inching closer to him and playfully touching his bicep. "I know, I'm just naturally irresistible," you tease, giving him a sly look that hints at something more.

Chris chuckles, his eyes twinkling. “Well, I believe it. If you weren’t George’s friend, I’d have made a move on you the second I walked in.”

You raise an eyebrow, leaning in so your lips are just inches from his ear. “Who says you can’t make a move now?” you whisper, your breath warm against his skin. “Who knows, tonight might be your night.”

Chris’s breath hitches, his gaze darkening. “Is that so?”

George groans. “You two are disgusting. Chris, stop hitting on her. Y/N get away from him!”

You brush off George, leaning even closer into Chris’s touch. “Ignore him, he’s no fun.”

Chris says, "He's just jealous that I’ve got the attention of someone this beautiful," he murmurs back, his lips brushing lightly against your earlobe, his voice low and you hear George scoff in the back.

George rolls his eyes dramatically. “I can’t take any more of this. You two are unbearable.” He stands up, shaking his head. “I’m going to go close out our tab. You better be five feet apart when I get back.”

As George walks away, you and Chris are left alone, practically glued together at this point. “Looks like it’s just us now,” Chris murmurs, his hand migrating to your thigh, his touch sending a shiver down your spine.

You smile coyly, leaning closer to him. “And what do you plan to do now that it’s just us?” you tease, your voice laced with playful anticipation.

Chris chuckles softly, his breath warm against your ear. “When George told me about you, he didn’t mention how incredibly sexy you are. If I had to be around someone as gorgeous as you, I wouldn’t be able to control myself.”

Your heart flutters at his words, and you feel a rush of desire. “Well, it looks like you’re doing a pretty good job of controlling yourself so far,” you reply, your fingers playing with the collar of his shirt.

Chris’s eyes darken with desire. “Who says I’m trying to control myself?” he murmurs, his lips hovering just above yours, lips so close that they are almost touching.

Before things could escalate further between you and Chris, George returned, breaking the intense moment. "Okay, I think it's time to get you two home," he announced.

Despite your protests, he manages to pull you off of Chris. As you stood up, the effects of the alcohol hit you, causing you to stumble. George quickly steadied you, his arm wrapped around your waist to keep you from falling over.

Realizing it was late and knowing you were in no state to go home alone, George insisted you crash at his place, which was closer than yours and the three of you hailed a cab back to the boy’s flat.

Once there, George quickly dumps Chris in his room, before he sets you up in his own bed. He offers you some of his clothes to change out of your outfit and he opts to sleep on the couch for the night.

As you drifted towards sleep, the alcohol slowly wearing off, you couldn't help but rethink the events of the night. All your actions start to blur now, though a wave of embarrassment washes over you. You knew there would be consequences to face in the morning, but for now your body needed sleep.

-------⋆✧⋆-------

The next morning, you wake up with a pounding headache, the hazy memories of the previous night lingering in your mind. As the realization of your interaction with Chris sets in, all you wanted to do was bury yourself six feet under.

You stumble out of George’s bed, groaning softly as your head throbs. Dressed in George's oversized clothes, you made your way to the kitchen, clutching your head, desperately in need of coffee.

As you enter, you freeze at the sight of Chris, who’s already there, shuffling around in the kitchen.

He’s dressed in grey sweatpants and a white t-shirt, his hair tousled and the hangover evident on his face. You catch a glimpse of his abs when he reaches up to a cupboard, and despite your headache, you can’t help but stare for a moment, your brain going to dangerous places.

Chris turns around and spots you, offering a weak smile. You look away slightly embarrassed, fearing that you were caught staring. “Morning,” he says, his voice hoarse as he clears his throat.

“Morning,” you reply, trying to muster a smile despite the awkward tension that has settled into the air.

There’s a long, uncomfortable silence as you both avoid each other’s eyes, the memory of your flirtatious behavior lingering between you. Chris pours himself a glass of water, and you take the opportunity to grab a mug for coffee, hoping the caffeine will help clear your head. “Do you want a cup as well?” you ask, trying to break the silence.

“Huh? No, thanks,” he responds, clearly drawing himself out of wherever he had zoned out to for a minute.

“So, uh,” Chris begins hesitantly, stopping for a moment when you both hear George stirring on the couch. Chris gestures toward the balcony, and you grab your coffee and follow him outside. Once you two are there, you lean against the railing, both of you awkward, neither knowing what to say.

Chris is the first to break the silence, rubbing the back of his neck. “…last night…was something...I guess we were pretty drunk.”

“Yeah,” you agree quickly, trying to downplay your embarrassment. “Pretty drunk.”

He chuckles nervously. “I don’t usually… you know, act like that.”

“Me neither,” you admit, feeling a blush creep up your cheeks. “It was just the alcohol, I guess.”

“Definitely,” he nods, relief evident in his expression. “We can just, uh, forget about it, right?”

“Absolutely,” you say a bit too quickly. But, you feel your heart drop a little, though you don’t know why. Him wanting to not acknowledge what happened yesterday (though it was nothing) makes you slightly upset, but you don’t let it show on your face. You bury your face in your coffee, avoiding his gaze.

It was insane how comfortable you two were around each other last night, and now the air was replaced with this heavy awkwardness that neither of you knew how to break. And the worst part is you couldn’t even remember all that you did yesterday (But you're sure George won't let you forget).

“So, um, any plans for today?” Chris asks, trying to make small talk and pulling you out of your thoughts.

“Um, what? No, nothing. Just gonna get back to my place and crash,” you say, shaking your head. “You?” you ask him.

“Same,” he says. You nod in response, but neither of you knows how to continue. You both stand there, sipping your drinks and stealing glances at each other, the awkwardness palpable.

“So I should go,” you say, trying to get out of that situation as quickly as possible. Chris just nods, and you step back into the apartment, making a beeline for George’s room, just wanting to get out of there and back to your own space as quickly as possible.

All you can think is, what the hell is wrong with you? You weren’t usually like this with people…what is happening?

-------⋆✧⋆-------

After that day, George teased you endlessly about what happened with Chris. Each time, you brushed him off, ignoring his jabs, saying you didn’t want to talk about it or that you didn’t remember what happened, unwilling to revisit the embarrassing memories of that night.

You’d run into Chris a few times when you were over at the flat with George, but those interactions weren’t any better. Your interactions with Chris went from awkward to him just plain ignoring your presence now, and you didn’t know what you did wrong. Combined with how embarrassed you still felt about your actions, you decided it was better to just ignore him as well.

George would drop you knowing looks whenever that happened, but when he saw that you really didn’t want to talk about it, he eventually dropped the topic.

Until today, that was.

“I’m not feeling up to it,” you tell George, speaking with him over the phone.

“Come on, it’ll be fun. Just a movie night with some friends,” George tries to persuade you.

“I don’t know, George. I’m just not in the mood,” you reply, feeling a mix of anxiety and reluctance.

George sighs, knowing exactly why you’re hesitant. “Look, I get that things are awkward between you and Chris. But avoiding each other isn’t going to make it any better. We’re all friends here. Just come over, watch a movie, and relax. You don’t have to talk to him if you don’t want to.”

You hesitate, biting your lip. “I just... I feel so embarrassed about everything. I don’t want to make things weird.”

“See, I don’t know exactly what’s going on with the both of you, but I can tell you’re overthinking it. Things are only as awkward as you make them. We’ll have a good time, I promise. And if it gets too much, you can always leave. Just give it a chance, yeah?”

You sigh, feeling the weight of his words. “You’re right. I’m just overthinking. It’s not a big deal. I’ll see you in a bit.”

“Great! I’ll see you soon,” George says, the excitement evident in his voice.

And that is how you found yourself sitting on the floor in George’s flat, leaning up against the couch with "The Hangover" playing on the TV.

You were bundled up in a blanket, surrounded by scattered cushions, with the smell of popcorn in the air. George was sitting on the couch just behind you, lazily flicking popcorn at your head, which you returned by swatting him on the knee.

“Seriously, George, you’re worse than a child,” you scolded, turning around to look at him as another popcorn kernel hit you on the forehead.

“Can’t help it,” he replied with a grin. You whacked him on the thigh this time, but he still threw another piece your way.

It was just George and the Arthurs for now. Despite your cold conversations with Chris, you couldn’t help but feel a tiny bit disappointed when George mentioned that Chris would be running late. Even with the weird energy between you two, you were kind of maybe hoping to see him today.

You were enjoying yourself, though. You’d met Arthur Hill a few times before and got along really well, and this was your first time meeting Mr. Television (as George liked to call him), and you were having a great time with the boys.

You pull your focus away from George and instead decide to just watch the movie when you hear the door open, and your eyes dart to the entrance. Chris walks in, dressed in dark cargos and a black sweatshirt, his curls messy from the day and it made him look a little rugged, and all you could think about was how good you thought he looked.

He swings his backpack onto the floor and starts taking off his coat, before he greeted everyone.

Your heart skips a beat at how effortlessly attractive he looked. Despite the cold vibes he had been giving you this whole time, you couldn’t deny your attraction towards him.

Outwardly, you were trying to be cool about it, but inwardly, you were itching to know why he was acting like this. You give him a tight-lipped smile as you make brief eye contact, but he quickly looks away, heading to his room.

George noticed the exchange and shook his head slightly. You shot him a look that said ‘stop it’, but you knew he’d bring this up later.

After a few minutes, Chris joins you all, settling on the floor next to you while the others remain on the couch. Other than the occasional instances where you pass him the popcorn, he avoids eye contact, but you can sometimes feel his gaze on you, especially when you and George bicker in loud whispers.

You reach for the coffee table, grabbing a can of seltzer, about to take a sip, only for George to snatch it out of your hand. “George!” you exclaim, swatting him on the arm before you wipe away the few drops of the drink that he managed to spill on your shirt.

You think you hear a chuckle from Chris, but when you turn to look in the direction of the sound, his eyes are glued to the TV.

After a bit, Chris gets up and heads to the kitchen. When he returns, he silently hands you a drink. You take it with a small, surprised smile, touched by the sweet gesture even if things between you two are still a little awkward. "Thanks," you murmur.

He nods in response, his genuine smile making your heart flutter before his eyes flick away from yours, and you feel yourself melt.

As the credits roll on the third film, George nudges you and suddenly pulls you into his room.

“What the fuck is going on with you and Chris?” George asks bluntly, shutting the door behind him.

You sigh, running a hand through your hair. “Honestly, I have no idea. After that day at the pub, it’s been so weird. I don’t even know the guy, and I feel like he hates me or something. Is he like this with everyone he just meets?”

George frowns, looking apologetic. “Not really… Normally, you can’t get him to shut up.”

“I get such cold vibes from him,” you admit, frustration seeping into your voice. “What did I do wrong?… Whatever, I don’t care, but its annoying.” You pause, then add with a small, reluctant smile, “It doesn’t help that every time I look at him, I drool.”

George responds, slightly shocked, “I—I’m sorry, what?”

You roll your eyes and say, “I’ve been single for so long that I’m even attracted to your shitty friend.”

George laughs, shaking his head. “He can get on your nerves, but he’s not that bad. But, he can be a little socially challenged around people he—”

George stops mid-sentence, seeming to have a moment of realization, his expression shifting. “Huh.”

“What? What’s wrong?” you ask, confused.

“Nothing, don’t worry about it,” he says quickly, disappearing out of the room before you can press further.

You stand there confused for a second before you return to the living room, where Arthur Hill and Arthur TV was tidying up. You decide to join them, looking around, wondering where George and Chris had suddenly disappeared to.

You help them gather the empty bottles and snack wrappers, making small talk. Just as you're finishing up, George and Chris reappear, both looking shady as hell, whispering to each other.

You look at George, giving him a pointed look. "What was that about?" you whisper, nodding toward Chris, who was leaning against the kitchen counter with the Arthurs, laughing about something.

George shrugs, trying to play it cool. "Nothing, just guy talk."

You give him a look. "Tell me."

"Really, it was nothing," he insists.

You roll your eyes, annoyed. "Fine, whatever, don’t tell me. I need to get home anyway, it’s getting late."

George quickly checks the time on his phone. "It’s almost midnight. Why don’t you just sleep here?"

"I just wanna be back in my own bed. At midnight is not that late, and I barely live like a 15 min walk away," you explain to him.

"You can just as easily walk home in the morning," he says.

Before you can protest, he continues, "You know what, fine. But I don’t want you going home alone." He turns toward the kitchen and shouts, "Chris! Do you mind driving Y/N back home? I would do it myself…but can’t drive mate."

Chris whips around, looking between the two of you, clearly flustered at George’s request. "Uh, sure, no problem."

You quickly interject, "It's okay, I can get home on my own. I don’t want to trouble you."

Chris clears his throat. "It's no trouble," he assures you, grabbing his keys. "Let's go."

You grab your stuff and walk out the door with him. The ride down in the elevator is silent. You play with your nails, trying to avoid his gaze, while he shifts uncomfortably beside you. When you reach the car, Chris opens the door for you, and you thank him. "Thanks, Chris."

"Don’t thank me yet," he jokes as you both buckle up. "I’ve only had my UK license for a month now, so we’ll see how this goes."

You look at him, slightly alarmed. "Seriously? Get me out of the car."

He laughs, and you join in. "I know how to drive, I just haven’t driven much since I moved to London."

Some of the tension eases, and you both relax a bit. He hands you his phone. "Can you enter your address into the GPS?"

You do, and as he starts driving Chris glances at you, "So, why did you move to London?"

You smile, happy to have a conversation starter. "Work, mostly. And also ‘cause I have friends here.”

He nods. “So, you liking London so far?”

You nod, looking at him as you speak. “Yeah, I like it. But the city gets overwhelming sometimes. Sometimes I just wanna run back home.”

Chris nods in agreement. “Same, especially when I miss my family. And I get it, sometimes you need to get away from George.”

You chuckle, wanting to keep the conversation going. “Be honest with me… how have you not killed him yet?”

He laughs, responding, “I won’t lie, I’ve plotted his murder many a times.”

You both laugh, and the conversation continues, light-hearted and easy. For the first time in like a month, the conversation between you two feels natural. And before you know it, you’d reached your apartment.

"Thanks for the ride, Chris," you say, unbuckling your seatbelt.

"No problem," he replies, his smile genuine. The air goes silent as you both stare at each other.

"Umm... goodnight," you say, quickly getting out of the car, feeling a tad bit awkward.

"Goodnight," he responds, and you gently close the door.

He waits until you're inside the building before driving off, and for the first time, you feel a warm, hopeful sensation in your chest and you can’t seem to wipe away the smile on your face the whole way up to your flat.

-------⋆✧⋆-------

The next day, you and George meet for dinner after you’re done with work. “I can’t believe he’s engaged”, you say as you move your food around on your plate, letting out a frustrated sigh.

“Why do you care?” George asks between bites of his burger. “You hated him by the end of your relationship.”

“I know, but why does someone like him get to be happy?” you sighed. “I’m just tired of being single. Why is it so hard to find someone half decent?”

“Maybe you’re looking in the wrong places,” George says, trying to sound all philosophical.

You raise an eyebrow. “What are you on about?”

He shrugs, laughing as he says, “Maybe you should date Chris.”

You almost choke on your drink. “Chris? Really? Chris? We can barely hold a conversation!”

George smirks. “Didn’t you say you guys got along fine last night? And don’t get me started on drinks last month. And don’t lie to me…you think he’s hot,” he says, making a fake gag face.

“What? No, I don’t,” you protest. “I might be desperate, George, but not desperate enough to date your friends.”

“What’s wrong with dating one of my friends?” George mocks hurt.

“I was kinda hoping that once I got a boyfriend, I just wouldn’t have to see you anymore,” you joke.

George clutches his chest dramatically. “Ouch!”

The drive with him the other day was fine, more than fine and he was kind of sweet actually. You laugh, but the thought of dating Chris stays on your mind, an idea that you might not be all that opposed to. -------⋆✧⋆-------

A week had passed since your conversation with George, and despite trying not to let it affect you too much, you couldn't deny still feeling on cloud nine after that drive with Chris (even if it was barely 10 minutes long).

You and Chris were now following each other on social media. You'd occasionally chat or reply to each other's stories, gradually warming up to each other. You found yourself craving more time alone with him, curious about what it would be like to get to know him better.

But right now, you were looking forward to a quiet weekend in, finally getting to that book you had been putting off for weeks now. With a cozy blanket wrapped around you and a hot cup of tea, you settle onto your couch, eager to dive into your book.

Just as you start to get lost in the pages, a notification pops up on your screen. You peek over at your phone and see a text message from George.

George: Hello best friend Y/N: What do you want? George: Wow. Warm welcome Y/N: Fine. Hiii Georgieeee….What do you want? George: So you know how you are the smartest, strongest person I know 🥺 Y/N: Just spit it out 🙄 George: Can you please come over and help me build that dresser I ordered for my room? Y/N: And there it is... George: So..? Y/N: No, don’t want to. George: Pleaseeeeee….I’ll buy you food Y/N: No George: Come on, please 😩 Y/N: No….you’re gonna make me do all the work George: I won’t...and I’ll throw in dessert Y/N: You’re impossible George: 👀 Y/N: Fine….See you in 10 George: 🫡🙇

With a sigh, you set your book aside and started getting ready to head over to George's place. Not bothering to change out of your comfy sweats, you threw on a jacket and made your way out.

When you arrived at George's flat, you knocked on the door and waited. To your surprise, Chris answered, looking equally surprised to see you. "Hey, Y/N. What are you doing here?"

“George asked me to come over, said he needed help building his dresser”, you explain, and Chris steps aside, letting you step inside.

Chris says, “Hmm, he asked me to help as well, after complaining for a straight 5 mins about not wanting to do it on his own.”

"That little bitch," you huffed, pulling out your phone from your pocket.

Y/N: Where the fuck are you!!??? George: Sorry emergency Y/N: What? George: Please help a guy out Y/n: Why!? It’s your dresser! George: Chris will help Y/N: Wait George: Bye

You breathed out in frustration, realizing all too well what George was trying to do. Deep down, though, you were somewhat glad to have some time alone with Chris. Fingers crossed you'd be able to hold a conversation today.

You huffed and shoved your phone in your pocket, then turned to face Chris. "Yep, he's ditched us, the bastard," you said, looking back up at Chris who was watching you with an amused expression.

Chris chuckled, and you felt a bit self-conscious. "What?"

"The Powerpuff Girls?" he asked, a small smile curling up on his lips.

"What? I'm here to build furniture, not walk a red carpet," you replied, glancing down at your pajamas, trying to appear nonchalant but secretly cursing yourself for not dressing better. Chris just laughed, shaking his head.

“Great…it’s just the two of us." you said, catching Chris's attention as he looked at the unpacked table pieces that George had left for you.

Chris raised an eyebrow, a playful smirk on his lips. "You act like it's a bad thing."

You chuckled, picking up a screwdriver. "Let's just survive this project together first."

"Survive? Geez…It's just an Ikea dresser," Chris teased, walking towards the scattered pieces.

"Yeah, but have you ever tried assembling furniture with George? He pulls everything out of the box, doesn’t organize anything by the way, then he just gives up and leaves you to figure stuff out," you vented, holding up a loose screw you found on the floor a good distance from the table for emphasis.

Chris laughed, shaking his head. "Can't say that I have. Lucky for me you’re here to pick up the pieces," he joked lamely, and you couldn't help but roll your eyes, letting out a small laugh at his attempt.

"Let’s just build this stupid thing," you said, walking towards the mess.

Chris chuckled. "Yes, ma'am," he replied, looking around for the instruction manual.

Chris sighed in frustration, looking through the jumbled pieces. "Damn, where did George put those instructions?"

"Knowing George, he probably already threw out the instructions with the outer box," you said, half-jokingly. You fear you might be right, shuffling through everything and not finding the booklet.

You sit on the ground and try to organize the pieces, placing everything into neat piles. Chris picked up a piece and moved to place it in what he thought was the right pile.

"No, not that one," you said, pointing to a different pile. "Put that there."

Chris chuckled. "You're a little type A, aren't you?"

You grinned. "That's not the insult you think it is." You laughed lightly, enjoying the banter.

The two of you get on with trying to put the piece of furniture together.

Chris was completely engrossed in screwing in the legs, his brow furrowed in concentration. You couldn’t help but notice how his features hardened with determination, and you find him extremely attractive in this moment.

"You're really into this," you teased lightly, nudging him with your elbow as you passed him the next piece.

Chris glanced up, a playful glint in his eye. "Of course. Gotta impress you with my handyman skills."

You chuckled, kneeling down to align a set of screws. "Impress me, huh? Well, if you can get through this without instructions, color me impressed."

“Prepare to be amazed, Y/N,” Chris replied with a grin, returning to his task.

Your eyes involuntarily lingered on his arms, noticing how his t-shirt hugged his muscles snugly. You found yourself imagining running your hands across his arms and over his chest, remembering how you felt that night when inhibitions were lower.

Chris's voice snapped you out of your daze. "Sorry, what was that?" you asked, needing him to repeat his words.

"No, I was just…" Chris paused for a moment, sitting on the floor, pausing the task at hand. He hesitated as he looked up at you.

"Go on, what is it?" you encouraged him, curious about his question.

He started cautiously, "I've always wondered, why did you and George never date?"

You laughed softly, surprised by the question. “George? I don’t know, it’s just something that never happened. I don't even think either of us ever even considered our relationship to go that way”

Chris gives you a skeptical look, "Really? Not even once?"

"Not even once," you confirmed, shaking your head. "George and I have always been more like siblings."

Chris nodded softly, as if processing your answer. "Good to know."

Though slightly taken aback by his reaction, you chose not to dwell on it for too long.

“How did your shoot go this week?” you ask him.

Chris perks up a little, clearly pleased by your interest. "Oh, it was great! But it did go a lot longer than usual. I'll blame that on Arthur and his terrible football skills. But the audience will never find out. I should probably pay my editors more for making him look somewhat competent at football."

You both laugh, and Chris continues to talk about YouTube and some of his ideas. You can't help but smile at how passionate and happy he sounds when he talks about his work.

After a while, you two pull yourselves out of the conversation and get back to finishing the dresser.

"So, if you had to rate my IKEA furniture-building skills, what would you give me?" Chris asks, a playful grin on his face as the two of you now sit on the couch.

"Hmm," you ponder, pretending to be deep in thought. "Solid seven."

"Seven!?" Chris asks, feigning outrage, leaning in a little closer. "I thought I did pretty good."

"It would be higher, but you get distracted easily," you tell him, the space between you and Chris now barely a breath.

"Well, you were the one distracting me," Chris says, and you're taken aback by his comment. Your mouth falls slightly open, suddenly very aware of the proximity between you two.

Before you can respond, the door swings open, and George walks in, looking between the two of you with a mischievous grin. "Well, you two seem to be getting along well." You quickly get up from your place next to Chris.

You stare back blankly at George, arms crossed over your chest. "How was your... emergency?"

George's grin widens. "All sorted," he replies nonchalantly, before turning around to enter his room. "So which one of you is gonna help me move the dresser into my room?"

You and Chris exchange annoyed looks, then smile at each other, his smile exceedingly tugging at your heart, before you both scream, "Do it yourself!"

-------⋆✧⋆-------

Over the next few weeks, you and Chris had become friends, finding yourself spending time with him more often. You still couldn’t believe that just a few months ago you two couldn’t even look each other in the eye.

However, it seemed like every time you made plans with George or any of his friends, Chris was always there, and you two would magically end up alone together. You didn't think much of it, knowing that as much as you loved George, you hated him meddling in your love life, and he knew that as well. So, there’s no way he was involved, right? (Or maybe, deep down, you hoped that all the time you’ve been able to spend with Chris was somewhat of a sign and not your nosy best friend getting involved.)

You were at George’s place yet again (where else could you be? You only had like two friends) and helping him clean out his closet, stuffing his old clothes into donation boxes.

Slyly, you asked, “Where are the rest of your flatmates?”

George replied, “You know…they’re around,” without making eye contact, his back turned to you.

“And Chris?” you asked, slightly hopeful.

George looked up at you, almost as if he was wishing that you hadn’t asked that question.

You caught his expression, furrowing your eyebrows in worry. “What’s wrong?”

George placed the T-shirt he was folding gently into the box before turning to look at you. “Okay, so don’t get upset.”

“Why would I get upset?” you asked, a little concerned.

“Before I tell you, know that I told him not to do it,” George started.

“George... speak,” you demanded, poking him in the chest.

“Chris is out on a date,” he finally said.

You feel your heart plummet to the pit of your stomach, “Oh, good for him.”

George looked at you, clearly noticing your attempt to hide your disappointment. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m okay. Why wouldn’t I be okay?” you said, trying to brush it off and distract yourself by placing more clothes into the box.

“Y/N, come on. You really don’t think I know you better than you know yourself?” he looked at you matter-of-factly and you were struggling to maintain eye contact with him.

“I’m fine, George,” you tell him, trying to get him to drop the topic, but he only looks at you like he doesn't believe you.

“Y/N. I know you like Chris”, he states and you feel your whole body freeze.

“What? No, I don’t,” you retorted, and honestly, even you couldn’t believe the words coming out of your mouth.

“Y/N—”

“George—”

“I see the way you look at him, Y/N, and when he speaks, you hang on his every word,” he interrupts you.

“George, no... Chris and I, we’re just barely friends,” you try to explain to him.

“I know you two had a rocky start, well, a drunk and touchy start,” he teased, dodging the T-shirt you threw at him, “but you’ve grown closer over the past few months and I think you’re just in denial about your feelings. Plus you look like you wanna jump him every time you look at him.”

You sat there on the edge of the bed for a minute, thinking about what George had said. Yes, things were a little iffy at the start, but you had grown to like his company. He was funny, quite sweet, and in recent times, easy to talk to. Not to mention, every time you looked at the man, it was like your brain short-circuited at how hot he looked.

George carefully considered his words before continuing. “You’ve always been like this, Y/N…cautious.”

As his words sank in, it dawned on you.

“Holy fuck, George! I like Chris,” you exclaimed, falling back onto the bed. “How did this happen? I feel like I’ve gone insane. When did I become so blind to my own feelings?”

George watched you in amusement, a small smile playing on his lips. “Took you long enough to admit it.”

“But–-,” you sat up, turning to George who was now sitting on the opposite corner of the bed, “there’s no way he likes me back.”

“Eh?” George responded, confused. “Why would you think that?”

“Because the guy is literally on a date right now,” you say, exasperated.

“So?”

“What do you mean, “So”? If he liked me even a little bit, he wouldn’t be going on dates,” you say, throwing your hands up in frustration.

“Probably because he doesn’t know you like him. Just tell the guy,” he suggests, his face soft, laced with concern.

“I can’t do that,” you look at him, your voice coming out almost broken.

“Why?” George comes to sit next to you, placing a comforting hand on your back.

You take a deep breath before you continue, “Because things just got somewhat good with him. We’re finally past that awkward phase and are friends now. I don’t want to go back to that cold phase when he ultimately rejects me.”

“He’s not gonna reject you, Y/N,” he says, throwing his arm around, pulling you into his side.

“How do you know?” you look up at him.

“For Christ’s sake, Y/N, just tell the guy how you feel.” he says, as he pulls away from you so that you’re both now facing each other.

“No, I can’t do that,” you said, getting up off his bed and heading out of his bedroom.

“What, Y/N! Where are you going?” he asked, following you.

“Home,” you said, making a beeline for the door.

“Why?"

“So that I can go to bed and wake up and forget about all of this,” you said looking back at him, hand now on the door knob.

“Y/N…”

“Bye, George,” you said, before opening the main door and closing it behind you, confusion and uncertainty swirling in your head.

-------⋆✧⋆-------

“Here,” Arthur Hill handed you a drink, and you threw him a quick thanks, quickly gulping down the liquid. Arthur looked at you, concerned. The party was lively around you, the usual chaos of a house party at George’s place.

George had convinced you to come to the party, saying it’d be a good distraction, to get your mind off of things—things being Chris.

George had promised you that Chris was busy tonight and wouldn’t be here, so you reluctantly agreed (though George had to beg a lot more than he was hoping he’d have to).

You had only arrived a few minutes ago, and you already wanted to leave. You just wanted the peace and quiet of your room to contemplate about your doomed love life and drown your sorrows in a pint of ice cream.

“You okay?” Arthur asked, pulling you out of your daze. “You look distracted.”

“Hmm? Yeah, I’m fine,” you replied with a half-hearted smile and you were grateful that Arthur didn’t push any further.

"I'm gonna get myself another drink," you said, and Arthur nodded in response before you navigated through the crowd toward the kitchen.

You made yourself a drink, pouring whatever bottle of alcohol was closest to your reach into your cup, wanting something strong. If you couldn’t drown yourself in ice cream, alcohol would have to do. (Not your smartest idea, but oh well.)

You took a sip of your concoction, the liquid burning as it flowed down your throat. You turned around but just as you were about to head back to find Arthur, when you spotted him. Chris.

He was the last person you wanted to see right now, but you couldn’t take your eyes off him. How did he manage to get even hotter than the last time you’d seen him? (Honestly, it was torture.)

But there he was, talking to some girl you’d never seen before. The sight felt like a punch in the stomach, knocking the air out of your lungs. All you wanted to do was leave. You placed your drink on the counter and set your sights straight at the door. In your haste, you didn’t pay much attention to your surroundings and bumped into someone. Looking up, you saw it was George.

"Whoa, where's the fire?" George asked, blocking your path.

"George, I need to leave," you said, trying to sidestep him.

“Why? What happened?” he asked, but before you could answer, he glanced over your shoulder and saw Chris. “Oh, I see.”

“Just talk to him, Y/N,” he tried to persuade you. “Whatever the outcome, it’ll make you feel better.”

“George, are you crazy? I can’t” You looked up at him, and the vulnerable look in your eyes made his heart break.

“Fine, but please don’t leave. Just take a breather for a minute. You should at least stay and enjoy the party,” he insisted. You opened your mouth to protest, but he cuts you off, “Just stay in my room for a bit. You can come back out after a while.”

You agreed, knowing he wouldn’t take no for an answer, and turned towards his room. “Good,” he said, pushing you gently by the shoulders.

Once you were in his room, you turned to look at him. “Now stay put, I’ll be right back.” You nodded, and he headed back out of the room.

You took a seat on his bed, and before you knew it, you heard the door open. Expecting to see George, you froze when you found Chris instead.

“George, what are you doing?” Chris protested as George pushed him into the room. “Stop, bro!”

You got up and shout, “George! What the hell?”

“You two talk,” George said, pointing at both of you before quickly shutting the door. You heard the lock click.

You rushed to the door, trying to turn the knob, but it wouldn’t budge. “Bastard locked us in,” you said to Chris.

“George! Let me out!” you protested, banging on the door.

“Not until you two talk to each other,” George yelled back.

You turned to find Chris looking just as surprised as you. “Well, this is awkward,” Chris said, rocking back and forth on his feet with his hands shoved into his pockets. “I might be wrong...but I think George wants us to talk.”

You sighed, leaning against the door. “Yeah, he’s a lot of things… but subtle, he is not.”

Chris chuckled. “What gave it away?”

Your suspicions were right. That motherfucker had been playing you this whole time, getting Chris to drive you home, finding ways to get the two of you to spend time alone, locking you in his room. And you’d walked right into it. Idiot.

“That slimy little shithole,” you muttered to yourself.

You laughed out loud. “So George seems to think we would make a good match.”

“What?” Chris said, looking nervous.

“Did you not realize?” You looked at Chris, and he was staring at you with an unrecognizable look on his face.

“Well…” he started sheepishly, scratching the back of his head. “I kind of knew.”

“What do you mean you knew, Chris?” you asked, confused.

“I mean, I knew George was trying to set us up, he sort of told me he would, that day that you were over at our place for movie night.” he admitted.

“I’m sorry…?” you ask him again, arms crossed.

You raised an eyebrow. “And you were okay with it? Why didn’t you say anything?”

Chris sighed. “I promise, I told him not to! And I just didn’t know how to bring it up..... But honestly, I didn’t mind. I liked spending time with you.”

You felt your heart skip a beat. “What? You liked spending time with me?”

He nodded. “Yeah. I’ve kind of liked you since the day we first met in the pub.”

“But that was months ago,” you said, incredulous. “Why didn't you say anything till now?”

He sighed, looking down for a moment before meeting your eyes. “I don’t know. All I know is that every time I look at you, it’s like the words leave my mouth. Of course, I wanted to talk to you after that night, but I didn’t know what came over me every time. You’re literally the most gorgeous woman I’d ever laid my eyes on, and each time I wanted to ask you out, I’d choke up.” “But what about that date?” you asked, trying to process everything. “If you liked me so much, then why did you go on a date?”

Chris looked a little guilty. “George told you about that?” You nodded before he continued, “You can’t blame a guy for trying to move on, especially when a girl like you couldn’t possibly like me back,” he said softly.

You shook your head. “Chris, I… I’ve liked you too. I think I’ve liked you the whole time. But I didn’t think you did, especially after how everything was after we got drunk that night.”

Chris stepped closer, hope in his eyes. “You like me too?” he asked again, making sure he wasn’t wrong about what he heard.

“Yes, Chris, I like you too,” you responded.

“So we’re both hopeless in the love department?” he asked.

“Yep, looks like it,” you said, laughing. “So hopeless that we needed Cupid Clarkey to get us to finally admit our feelings.”

You both stared at each other for a moment before bursting into laughter.

Chris stopped to look at you, stepping even closer. “God, I love your laugh,” he said softly, and you looked at him shyly.

“And you have the most amazing eyes I’ve ever seen,” you stepped closer as well and he flashes that gorgeous smile of his, the kind that gets your stomach in knots.

He said, “You know, I regret nothing from that night.”

You replied teasingly, “Really?”

He nodded, “Well, there’s only one thing I regret.”

You asked, “And what’s that?”

He said, “That I didn’t get to kiss you,” as he tucked a stray strand of your hair behind your ear, his eyes go dark and intense, piercing into your soul.

“Well, what are you waiting for?” you whispered, and with that, Chris crashed his lips onto yours.

The kiss was everything you’d dreamed of and more. His arm snaked around your waist, pulling you closer, while your arms made their way around his neck and your hand tangling into those perfect curls of his, tugging slightly, earning a groan from him.

The kiss was filled with so much emotion, both of you pouring everything into it—all the pent-up feelings from the past months. It was intense, and full of passion and tenderness, leaving you breathless. You could feel his heart pounding in sync with yours, the heat between you two electrifying. It was as if the world had melted away, and there was nothing but this moment.

Chris pulled back slightly, his forehead resting against yours. “I’ve wanted to do that for so long,” he whispered.

You smiled, feeling the warmth of his breath against your lips. “Me too.”

Before either of you could say anything else, you heard a slight thud outside the door. Chris gave you a knowing look, and you raised your voice intentionally louder. “Well, George’s bed looks nice doesn’t it? I think he just put new sheets on.”

Chris chimes up, “Maybe we should use it. We’re locked in here anyways. Might as well make the most of our time.”

Immediately, you heard George unlocking the door, bursting into the room. “Okay, get out, both of you. I don’t want you two fucking on my bed.”

You and Chris burst into laughter. Chris scooped you up playfully and ran off to his bedroom, shutting the door behind you two.

Once you were in his room, he slowly placed you on the ground, then pulled you onto his lap as he sat at the edge of the bed.

“So... I think I should ask you properly,” he said, looking up at you.

Chris leaned in, his forehead resting against yours. “Now that you know how I feel about you, what do you say we give this a shot? Will you go out with me?”

You nodded, heart pounding in your chest. “I’d like that, Chris.” and he flashed you a smile.

“We really should be thanking George,” he said.

“Yeah, normally I hate him meddling, but this time I don’t mind. But please don't tell him that, or I'll never here the end of it,” you said as you wrapped your arms around his neck.

Chris grinned. Forget about it then, I just want to kiss you again.”

You laughed, and with that, you closed the distance again, letting yourself melt into his touch. The feeling of his soft lips sent a shiver down your spine.

This moment felt perfect, like you fit together in a way that was always meant to be. His arms wrapped around you securely, pulling you closer, and you could feel the steady beat of his heart against yours. You hated to admit it, but George playing cupid had turned out to be the best thing that could have happened to you and Chris.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

Bonus Fun Facts (cannon to this AU):

- George did find your drunk closeness to Chris disgusting, but he didn't really care if you snogged his friend or not. He pulled you off of Chris more out of fear of what you would do to him if he let you make any drunken mistakes while he was around. - During your conversation after movie night, George realized that Chris had a crush on you. - He and Chris disappeared off onto the balcony and he managed to get Chris to fess up that he was in fact into you. - George said he'd gladly meddle. Chris told him not to meddle. George meddled. - He knew you two hopeless idiots would not give each other a chance without a gentle push in the right direction. - George did in fact tell Chris not to go on the date, bringing up his crush on you. - Chris said that he was sure that there was no way you liked him and that you had not shown any interest in him. He did not want to make you uncomfortable by making a move on you so he decided to try and forget about his crush. - Could George just have told you that Chris liked you...yes? But did he instead choose to play cupid for his own amusement, of course he did. - Plus you hadn't explicitly told him that you liked Chris and he didn't want to dump that news on you. But then he realized that you were too thick when it came to your own feelings..so he did just dump it on you. - George realized he had to kick his matchmaking skills up to a 100 (and yes his best idea was locking you to in a room). - Of course he eavesdropped, and the next morning he did in fact not let you hear the end of it.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

A/N: Thanks for reading guys! I'm trying to get through all my pending requests now that I'm back. Also tell me if you liked the bonus facts in the end. I realized that there were things I wanted to include that I didn't want to put into the main fic, so I just threw them in at the end. I personally like it, so I think I'm going to start throwing them into my fics from now on.

Check out my other fics and oneshots here. Not working on any new requests currently but feel free to drop into my asks for a chat! 😊

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unconventional-lawnchair · 3 months ago

Text

Over and Over Again

Remus Lupin x Muggle!Reader

Summary: The legend of soulmates and the myth of endless lives tied to one another permanently was once a myth you don't believe. Until you met Remus Lupin.

WC: 4k

CW: Angst no comfort- The reader and Remus's depiction crosses gender and species lines. Hogwarts Legacy reference. Animal death and blood- so much death-

The pub smelled of stale beer and cigarette smoke, the kind of scent that lingered in the wood and clung to the air, no matter how many windows were cracked open. The low hum of music played from an old jukebox in the corner, the neon glow of its lights flickering with age.

It was familiar, comforting in a way that only a Muggle pub on a Friday night could be.

You spun your drink in your hands, watching the ice swirl lazily in your glass as Lily Evans leaned against the table beside you. She looked radiant as always, her fiery red hair gleaming under the dim lights.

“I swear,” She promised for the fifth time. “You're going to love them. Just… be nice to Peter, and for the love of Merlin, don’t ask Sirius about his family.”

You frowned. “For the love of Merlin?”

Lily’s lip twitched.. “Ah- Just… an expression. The boys use it a lot.”

You raised an eyebrow but let it go. Lily had always been a little odd, but she was your odd, your best friend since childhood.

She had been gone for the last few years, tucked away in that mysterious boarding school she never let you visit. Every time she came back to visit, she seemed… different. Like she was carrying secrets she could never fully explain.

Tonight was the first time she was introducing you to her boyfriend- James- and his friends. You had spent years watching her fall out of the abusive cycle of friendship she harbored with Severus Snape- you almost felt bad for him. If only he'd grown up too.

You had, in equal turn, been berated with letters about the slimeball that was James Potter. Just to see her ink blots lighten and her words becoming more fond when it came to his name- you were excited to meet him.

You took another sip of your drink, then looked up as the door to the pub swung open.

A burst of laughter and energy filled the pub as a group of four young men stepped inside, shaking off the damp chill of the London evening.

You saw James first, instantly recognizing him from the photos Lily had shown you. He was all messy hair and glasses, grinning like he owned the world- but the way his gaze immediately sought out Lily made your heart warm.

Then there was Sirius Black, effortlessly handsome, carrying himself with the swagger of someone who knew he could have anyone he wanted, but still acted like he was above it all. His dark leather jacket and roguish smirk screamed trouble.

Beside him was Peter Pettigrew, shorter than the rest, with darting eyes and an almost nervous energy, like he was waiting for something to go wrong.

And then there was the fourth boy- no- man.

The second your eyes landed on him, it was like the entire world narrowed.

Remus Lupin.

He was quieter than the others, his posture a little more reserved. He wasn’t as flashy as James or Sirius but something was still there.

Something in the way he held himself- not quite shying away, but not fully stepping into the spotlight either. His soft sandy blonde hair was slightly tousled, as if he had run his hands through it too many times. His face was lean, cheekbones sharp beneath tanned skin, marred by faint scars that ran across his features. But it was his eyes that caught you.

Warm, golden-brown, and filled with something ancient, something tired, something achingly familiar. Your stomach flipped.

Lily’s voice jolted you from whatever spell had momentarily trapped you.

“Come on,” She squeaked, tugging you forward with a grin. “Let me introduce you.”

Your legs felt unsteady as you followed her through the crowded pub, weaving between groups of laughing strangers. The boys turned as you approached, James immediately scooping Lily into a hug and pressing a kiss to her temple. You barely registered it.

Your focus was on Remus, who was watching you with the strangest look you'd ever seen.

Somewhere between horror and intrigue.

Lily cleared her throat, oblivious to the strange, charged silence between you and Remus.

“Alright, boys,” she said, grinning. “This is her.”

James turned away from Lily just long enough to flash you a charming, lopsided smile. “The infamous childhood best friend!” He declared. “Blimey, I was starting to think you were just a legend.”

You let out a short laugh. “Well, I assure you, I’m very real.”

Sirius tilted his head, appraising you. “We’ll see about that,” he mused, then smirked. “The real question is- are you cool enough to be seen with us?”

“Oh, definitely not,” You deadpanned. “I’m a disgrace to all things cool.”

James barked out a laugh. “I like her!”

Lily rolled her eyes but was smiling.

Meanwhile, Remus hadn’t moved.

He was still looking at you, his expression unreadable. His eyes- those deep, golden eyes- seemed locked onto you, as if he was trying to piece something together, trying to solve something that had no answer.

You met his gaze.

“Remus.” He whispered and you muttered your own name back to him without a second thought. And he smiled, lifted his hand-

The moment your fingers brushed as you shook his hand- it happened.

A bolt of pure, electric familiarity shot through your body, rattling every bone in your frame. The pub melted away, the noise, the people, the dim glow of the jukebox- everything faded into a swirl of golden light and rushing wind.

The world around you vanished. The dim pub, the chatter, the clinking of glasses- all of it was swallowed by the sudden rush of something else. Somewhere in the distance, you could hear the rustling of leaves, the whisper of wind through tall golden grass. The scent of fresh earth, sun-warmed fields, and damp fur filled your senses.

And then, you were there…

You were small, swift, your body light as you darted between the tall stalks of wheat. A fox, red-furred and wild, your sharp nose twitching as you ran through the fields.

And behind you, paws pounding against the earth, was him.

A hound.

Lanky, golden-furred, and young, still growing into his paws. His ears flopped when he ran, tongue lolling as he chased after you, barking playfully.

He was supposed to hunt you. But instead, he chased you.

Every day, when his master wasn’t looking, he sneaked away from the farmhouse, bounding over the hills to find you. Together, you would race through the fields, rolling in the wildflowers, playing until the sun dipped below the trees.

Free, weightless. Soft fur against rough wheat and playfully snapping jaws. Then- Pain. Sharp, sudden pain.

A snapping sound- cold metal clamping down around your hind leg. A trap.

You yelped, twisting, trying to free yourself, but it was tight, unrelenting. The more you pulled, the more it bit into your flesh, blood staining the grass beneath you.

And he- your hound- panicked.

He barked wildly, circling you, nudging you with his nose. He tried to paw at the trap, but he was just a dog- he couldn’t undo his master’s cruel work.

You whimpered, eyes wide, pleading. He threw his head back and howled, loud and desperate, as if somehow, that would bring help.

And help did come. But not the kind he wanted. The farmer arrived. Gun in hand.

The hound whimpered, barking frantically, placing himself between you and his master. But he was a dog. And a dog’s loyalty belonged to its owner. Even when his heart was breaking.

The farmer raised his rifle.

A deafening bang-

Darkness.

The darkness faded, but you didn’t wake up in the pub.

Instead, you were staring at your own reflection in a gilded mirror.

A face- not quite your own, but one you knew belonged to you.

Your hair was woven into delicate braids, strands of pearls threaded through like drops of moonlight. A soft silk gown pooled around you, its fabric cool against your skin. The weight of a crown sat heavy atop your head, a reminder of your fate- one you had never chosen, one you had never wanted.

And behind you- fingers grazing your bare shoulder as they fastened a necklace-

Was her.

Your Lupin.

But not as you knew him.

A woman, dressed in modest, elegant gowns, a lady-in-waiting, her golden-brown eyes lowered in the practiced deference of a servant.

But she was not just a servant.

She was your dearest friend. She was your first love.

She was the one who walked with you through moonlit gardens, whispering stories of ancient myths. The one who pressed flowers into the pages of your books, so that when you opened them, they smelled like spring.

She was the one you could never have.

Not in the way you wanted. Not in the way that made your chest ache, that made your fingers tremble when they brushed against hers, that made your heart scream for a different fate.

Not in the way that had offended your betrothed.

Not in the way that would get you both killed.

You turned in your chair, reaching for her.

Her fingers lingered at the nape of your neck, hesitant, uncertain, as if she wanted to stay there forever- but knew she could not.

She met your gaze in the mirror when you looked back.

Golden-brown eyes, filled with longing and sorrow.

She knew, too.

She had always known.

You swallowed against the lump rising in your throat. The distant sound of shouting, the clang of metal, the burning of the city below- it was getting louder.

“…Do you ever wish we could leave?” You whispered.

Her breath caught. A hesitation.

“…Every day,” She admitted. And your heart broke for her. For yourself.

For the life that could never be.

The chaos below grew closer- the sound of swords clashing, boots pounding up the castle steps. They were coming.

There was no time. No future. No way out.

Your fingers lifted, brushing against her cheek. Soft. Warm. Alive.

She sucked in a sharp breath, her lips parting slightly, her eyes flickering with fear, with need, with desperation-

And then you kissed her.

Not a soft thing. Not a hesitant thing.

But something urgent, something burning, something filled with the desperation of two lovers who knew they were out of time.

A kiss of fury, of grief, of love too big to be contained in a world too small for it.

She pulled you closer, her fingers digging into the silk of your gown, holding you, clutching you, clinging to you like she could tether herself to this moment, to you-

Then-

The doors burst open.

The room filled with shouting, with the gleam of blades, with the iron grip of soldiers as they stormed forward, tearing you apart.

You screamed, struggling against them, fighting, kicking, clawing, biting-

But your fate had already been sealed.

You saw her, your Lupin, your love, your heart, struggling, screaming your name, reaching for you-

And then- A soldier’s blade pierced your chest.

Cold. Sharp.

The world lurched, twisted- And then-

Darkness.

London was a city of smoke and gold. It was filth and grandeur, a place where the rich dined beneath glittering chandeliers while the poor shivered in the streets below.

And in the middle of it all- between the gas lamps and cobblestone alleys, between the choking smog and the perfume of wealth- you ran.

Your boots hit the pavement with a quiet rhythm, quick and light, barely making a sound as you weaved through the bustling crowds of Westminster Market. Your coat was patched and thin, your gloves fingerless, your stomach empty.

But that didn’t matter.

Because in your pocket, you now held a gold pocket watch.

Your lips curled in triumph. It was a beautiful thing- heavy, shining, the kind that belonged to someone important. Someone who wouldn’t even miss it.

Or so you thought.

Because just as you turned the corner into a shadowed alley, a hand closed around your wrist. Your breath caught.

Your instincts screamed at you to run, to fight, to flee-

But then you looked up. And your world shifted.

Him.

A man, tall and fine-boned, wrapped in an elegant dark coat. His hair was soft brown, windswept, his golden-hazel eyes piercing in the dim light. He was young, maybe only a few years older than you, but there was something about him that felt older- as if he had lived a hundred years before this moment.

And despite catching you red-handed, his expression wasn’t one of anger. No.

It was curiosity.

Amusement, even.

His grip loosened, just slightly. “You’re quick,” He panted, voice smooth as silk, his accent refined.

“Not quick enough, but still. Impressive.”

You swallowed, heart pounding against your ribs. “Let go of me.”

“You stole from me,” He pointed out.

You smirked. “You can afford it.”

He actually laughed at that, low and warm, before slowly prying his pocket watch from your fingers. But he didn’t let go of you. Instead, he tilted his head, studying you, like he was trying to place you. Like he had seen you before.

“…What’s your name?” He asked, softer now.

You hesitated. Giving your name was dangerous in your line of work. But something about him- something familiar, something achingly familiar- made you whisper it anyway. His lips parted slightly, his grip on your wrist faltering.

And then- he whispered his own name.

A strange, unspoken recognition passed between you.

Like a secret. Like a memory half-forgotten.

Weeks Passed.

And somehow, against all reason, you kept finding him.

Or perhaps, he kept finding you. He was wealthy, but he was not cruel. A scholar, an artist, a man who saw the world in soft strokes of poetry and charcoal sketches.

And despite your differences- a boy from the slums and a gentleman of high society- you kept returning to him. Perhaps because he never treated you like a criminal.

He treated you like something else entirely. Something important.

Something he was afraid of losing.

One night, beneath the glow of gas lamps, you let him trace the lines of your face with careful fingers.

“You keep looking at me like you know me,” you murmured. His lips parted, breath shallow.

“…Maybe I do.”

And then, before either of you could think- You kissed him. The world tilted, time stretched thin between you, and for a moment, it felt like something had finally fallen into place.

Like this had happened before.

Like it had happened a thousand times before.

But fate, cruel as always, was waiting. Because London was not kind to men like you. It was not kind to pickpockets caught in the wrong place at the wrong time. It was not kind to a street thief who had stolen more than just coins and watches- who had stolen the heart of a man who should never have looked his way.

You never saw it coming.

One moment, you were running through the streets, laughing, alive- and the next, the constables had you by the collar, dragging you through the mud.

You never had the chance to say goodbye.

They didn’t let him see you before the sentencing. But he was there when they dragged you to the gallows.

And as the noose was slipped around your throat, you searched the crowd- desperate, desperate to find him.

And you did.

His face was pale, his hands clenched into fists, his golden-brown eyes filled with helpless horror. You had seen that look before.

The executioner read your crimes. You kept your eyes on Remus.

And in that final moment- As the platform dropped beneath your feet- As the world fell away- As you left him behind.

You thought you heard him scream.

Then, darkness.

Then- you were back home, in Feldcroft. The sun setting outside the small cottage, casting warm, golden light across the wooden floors. The air smelled of burning wood and herbs, a familiar scent- one that had lingered in your childhood.

And you?

You were at the table, a book in hand, curled up in your favorite chair. The world was quiet. Peaceful. But then-

Hands suddenly gripped your shoulders.

You gasped, nearly dropping your book- only to be met with a familiar grin, a familiar laugh, full of mischief and warmth.

“Sebastian!” You scolded, playfully swatting at him. “You scared me half to death!”

He only grinned wider, stepping back before tossing something small into your hands. A shrivelfig.

“For you,” he said with a wink. “It’ll make you stronger, you know.”

Before you could reply, another hand snatched it away.

“Absolutely not,” Solomon Sallow’s stern voice cut through the air. Your uncle gave Sebastian a look of pure warning, his eyes sharp with disapproval. “She doesn’t need you sneaking around with magic. She needs rest. A shrivel Fig cannot reverse a curse.”

Sebastian scoffed, his jaw tightening. “She needs more than just rest, Uncle. If we’d just-”

Your heart clenched. You had heard this argument a hundred times before.

Sebastian’s obsession with finding a cure.

Solomon’s desperate attempts to keep him away from dark magic.

And you- caught in the middle, growing weaker by the day.

A sudden wave of pain shot through you. You winced, gripping the table, your breath hitching. Immediately, Sebastian was at your side, one hand on your shoulder, concern darkening his features.

“What’s wrong?” He asked, voice urgent. “Are you alright?”

Solomon tensed, his gaze hardening. “Do you see what I mean, boy?”

Sebastian’s eyes flashed with anger. “I wouldn’t-”. But Solomon was already dragging him toward the door.

“Enough,” He snapped. “Outside. Now.”

Sebastian gritted his teeth but followed. The door slammed shut behind them, leaving the house in silence.

You exhaled shakily, closing your eyes.

And then- A presence. Someone still here. You opened your eyes-

And met his.

Remus. From Sebastian’s letters.

He was watching you from across the room, hesitation written in every tense line of his body. He hadn’t followed them outside. He had stayed.

Slowly, he stepped forward, then knelt down beside your chair. His golden-brown eyes, warm and steady, studied you, searching for something.

He reached out- then hesitated.

“You don’t have to pretend you’re alright,” He said softly.

The words unraveled you.

No one ever said it. No one ever acknowledged the truth- that you were dying. That it was okay. That you could be seen in the smallest of moments and the shortest of times- without needing to be fixed.

Sebastian fought against it.

Solomon ignored it.

But he saw it.

And somehow, that made it real. You swallowed hard. “I’m not pretending.”

He gave you a look, one that said he didn’t believe you.

Then, without another word- he sat beside you. And that was all.

At first, he was just a friend.

Sebastian had introduced him- a quiet but sharp-witted student, someone with more patience than most.

Someone who- unlike Sebastian- believed that saving you meant more than just breaking every rule. And yet, despite his caution, he couldn’t seem to stay away.

He would sit with you during your worst days, reading aloud from books when you were too weak to lift them yourself.

He would walk with you through Feldcroft, letting you lean against him when the world became too much.

And when Sebastian grew more reckless, diving further into dark magic, forbidden spells, anything that might bring you back from the brink-

Remus fought to hold him back.

But it wasn’t enough. Sebastian went too far. The darkness took root.

And even when he destroyed Solomon, even when he sacrificed everything- It still wasn’t enough.

But for Remus, no. For Remus it was enough. To sit by you, by the fire. To listen to you talk in your final moments. Your uncle gone and your brother lost to his mind.

He reached out and placed a hand over yours. And when your fingers interlocked, he sighed. Staring at the fire, until your fingers loosened around his hand.

Until, darkness.

The Pub, 1978

The world slammed back into place. The scent of stale beer and cigarette smoke filled your lungs, the dim glow of the jukebox flickered in your peripheral vision. Laughter and conversation hummed around you. The wood beneath your fingers was real. Solid. Present.

But your body? Your mind? You had been somewhere else.

Across from you, Remus was shaking.

His breath came quick, his golden-brown eyes blown wide- not with confusion, but recognition. His hand still hovered where it had just brushed against yours, his fingers trembling like they had touched something far more than skin.

Something ancient.

Something inevitable.

You knew him.

Not just from this pub. Not just from this life. You knew him from a hundred lifetimes ago. From the fox and the hound. From the princess and her lady-in-waiting. From the thief and the gentleman. From Feldcroft. From every time you had found him- and every time you had lost him.

And now?

Now you were back.

His lips parted slightly, a breathless sound escaping, like he wanted to say something- like he didn’t know what he could possibly say.

You swallowed, heart pounding, the weight of a thousand lives pressing against your ribs.

“Remus,” You echoed again.

His fingers curled into a fist. His entire body tensed. And then, just as you saw him understand, just as his expression shifted, just as the words I remember nearly fell from his lips-

The door to the pub slammed open.

The moment shattered.

And then?

He did nothing.

Because what could he do?

What could you do?

Say it out loud? Confess to an impossible truth? Tell him that you had died in his arms over and over again?

That this time- this life- he had to stop it?

So you didn’t say anything.

You just sat there. Staring at each other.

Breathing.

And for now, that had to be enough.

Because in every life before, you had never feared the darkness. Just the loss.

~~~

The Great Hall buzzed with conversation. The sorting ceremony had ended, students were chatting excitedly, the feast had just begun. Plates were piled high, goblets filled with pumpkin juice.

Across the room, Teddy Lupin laughed, running a hand through his hair, which shifted colors between turquoise and soft brown as he spoke. His friends chuckled at something he said, shoulders bumping together, the easy comfort of a childhood spent side by side.

Then-

A hand brushed against his.

His laughter stilled.

The world tilted.

It was nothing.

A casual moment, an accidental touch. A transfer student- someone new, someone unfamiliar- reaching across the table to pass a plate of pastries.

But the second their fingers touched-

A jolt.

Something cold and distant- like the echo of a dream he couldn’t quite recall.

Teddy’s fingers twitched. His breath hitched. The transfer student blinked, eyes flickering to his face, lips parting slightly, as if they had felt it too- as if they knew.

Teddy swallowed. His heart pounded.

And then-

He pulled his hand away.

Just a little too fast. Just a little too tense.

His friends didn’t notice. The conversation continued around them. But the transfer student frowned, staring down at their hand for a moment too long, brows furrowing, like they had just remembered something they weren’t supposed to.

Teddy flexed his fingers beneath the table.

His mind whispered something.

Something about foxes and hounds.

Something about princesses and Ladies.

Something about picked pockets.

Something about darkened pubs and stolen moments.

Something about a name.

A name that felt like his and not his, all at once.

The world lurched- but just for a second.

And then?

The moment passed.

Teddy shook his head, forced a smile, and reached for his goblet like nothing had happened.

Like he hadn’t just felt the weight of every life before this one.

Like he hadn’t just remembered exactly what came next.

#harry potter #harry potter fanfiction #harry potter x reader #harry potter x you #remus lupin x reader #remus lupin #remus x reader #remus lupin fic #soulmates #in this life #and the next #teddy lupin #mauraders fanfiction #sebastian sallow #sallow family #anne sallow #solomon sallow #hogwarts legacy

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capitanooos · 4 months ago

Text

the voice of an angel // dmitri kravinoff x reader

-`♡´- pairing : dmitri kravinoff x reader

-`♡´- summary : when dmitri sees reader up on stage of a local restaurant, its love at first sight. he’s captivated by her and invites her to sing at his club…

-`♡´- warnings : alcohol consumption. nsfw. p in v, oral (male receiving), slight overstim, slight age gab, petnames, idk what else lmk if i should add something

-`♡´- notes : this actually sucks. i hate it more day after day. sorry this took so long. kind of got overwhelmed w projects, one part and uhh the last bit was written in kind of a rush so its not really proofread. also havent written filth like this in a while. DMITRI MY BABY UGGHHH I LOVE HIM SO MUCH

-`♡´- word count : 5400

songs mentioned: heavy, no one noticed, over the moon

dont translate, modify or repost my work. you do not have permission. not my gif

As the lights shone on the stage and the music slowly started one last time, the audience cheered. Up on the stage stood a young woman, no older than twenty as she shyly approached the microphone again. It wouldn’t matter how often she stood on this, or any stage really, it would always be a little intimidating. Having all the people listen, some look at her as she sung.

Eventually, once she’d get lost in her element, she’d loosen up. Her voice ringing through the room quietly as the guests of the local pub or restaurant had their drinks or dinner.

Today she stood on the stage at the fine-dining restaurant that belonged to one of her fathers best friends. It was a busy Friday night and the place was stacked, filled with low conversation as couples had dinners, businessmen held meetings, and families celebrated birthdays.

The Ledbury had a high reputation here in London, and with the Christmas days coming up, the place was decorated to cozy up for the holidays.

The lyrics slowly came from her mouth as she held her hands on top of the microphone, eyes scanning the crowd and smiling brightly.

“It’s not right, ‘cause I’m so over being lonely.”

She noticed her fathers best friend at the bar and nodded at him. Her eyes once more looking over the guests that all had their conversations going on, or at least busing themselves with something.

“Make you mine, I need a virtual connection, take our time, be my video obsession.”

That’s when she locked eyes with a young gentleman. He was sitting in one of the booths with two other men but he paid no mind to them as he stared at her with big eyes, lips slightly parted as he tilted his head in adoration.

“Come on, don’t leave me, it can’t be that easy, babe. If you believe me, I guess I’ll get on a plane.”

His blonde hair seemed to glow a bit orange under the lights as he shifted his body to face her more. He let his gaze fall over her form, from the jewelry around her neck, to her dark blue velvet dress that fit her like a glove, to the bell sleeves that fell back on her arms as she shyly held on to the microphone, never breaking eye contact as she continued to sing.

“Fly to your city, excited to see your face. Hold me, console me, and then I’ll leave without a trace.”

The lyrics repeated themselves and she finally broke eye contact after offering him a shy smile, which he returned after she looked away. His brother shoved his shoulder in a playful manner, pulling his attention away from the singing girl and back to the important business meeting at hand.

Disappointment was evident all over Dmitri’s face when he looked back to see you gone. He had never heard a voice so angelic before, and that was a lot coming from someone who could mimic anyone. From your soft voice, to your sweet smile to the shy look in your eyes as you had held his gaze. His brother, Sergei, seemed to almost smell his disappointment as he sat back down after seeing their new business partner off.

“She’s at the bar.” That was all Dmitri needed to jump up from his seat and move towards said bar.

[Name] sat at the bar, taking small sips of her drink as she looked out the window. Snow was falling slowly on the already white streets of London. Louis, her fathers friend, had just handed her the envelope with her money and the tips customers had left her. It would always be insane to her how people left her tips, left her anything at all, just because they loved her singing so much. She was honoured and always made sure to thank the people would she see them again, most she did, seeing they were regulars.

She looked over to where that gentleman had sat before, seeing him nowhere in sight as she took another sip of her drink. The sweetness of it had her close her eyes as she savoured the drink.

“Excuse me, miss.” A voice besides her spoke up as she opened her eyes, smiling when she saw the handsome man before her. “Hi, I’m Dmitri Kravinoff.” he returned her smile as he held out his hand.

“[Name]. What can I help you with, mister Kravinoff?” he took her hand and to her surprise he didn’t shake it, no, he brought it up to his mouth and gently kissed her knuckles.

Dmitri his mind went a hundred miles an hour as he heard her say his name, smiling at him politely as she set down her drink on the bar. She was an angel sent down from heaven, he swore.

“I had a question, if you have the time.” he smiled as he shook his head, trying to get back to reality. She was even more beautiful up close, her voice even purer without the microphone.

He swore he could feel his knees get weak when he heard her giggle, such a beautiful and honest sound. Never before had he felt this feeling that he was feeling right now. It spread all across his body, from the tips of his ears to the tip of his dick as he felt his pants tighten.

“You have my full attention, mister Kravinoff.” she smiled at him, turning her body to face him as he smiled a toothy smile.

“You have an amazing voice, unlike anything I have ever heard before. I, um, I run a club, and I was wondering if you’d like to perform. I’d- the people would love you. Of course you’d be well compensated.” he was rambling as he looked her in the eye, hoping she’d accept his offer.

She tilted her head with a small frown before it turned into a smile, as if to think about it. Dmitri was staring at her with no shame as he watched her every move, never had he thought love at first sight was a real thing, until he laid eyes on this woman, [Name].

“Alright, what price are we talking?” she said, grinning at him as she caught him staring. She watched him stumble over his words as an assortment of random words fell out of his mouth. “I’m kidding, mister Kravinoff, for someone like you I’d do it for free.”

Dmitri stared at her with his eyes wide and mouth agape before the corners of his lips twisted upwards. He smiled so brightly his cheeks hurt as he reached into his pocket and pulled out a business card. She took it from him and quickly took in the words.

Chameleon and the Hunter.

She swallowed. That was the most well known, most difficult to get into club in possibly all of Europe. She didn’t know the boss was such a young man.

He watched her reaction as she read the card. He watched her bite her lip as she swallowed before looking back up to meet his eyes and smiling.

“It would be an honor to perform at your club, mister Kravinoff.”

He grabbed her free hand again, bringing it up to his mouth and kissing it again. A sign of respect, a thank you, a promise.

She’d call him tomorrow, she said and he nodded before bidding her farewell and returning to the table he was at before, this time with a slight jump in his step as his brother grinned at him, having seen the entire interaction.

It was two weeks later when the day finally rolled around. [Name] entered the club and was immediately met with the man she saw at the table with Dmitri two weeks prior.

“Sergei Kravinoff.” he introduced himself as he shook her hand. He was one unit of a man and he towered over her as she nodded and followed him to the stage. She’d have given Dmitri a list of songs a week prior once they had set a date. “The stage is yours whenever you’re ready.” Sergei said as the pianist came up to her with a smile. She quickly discussed what to start with, having a small conversation as she took off her coat before rushing to the restroom to make sure she appeared well and not like she just came out of the snowstorm outside.

Thankfully it wasn't too bad and before she knew it she was up on the stage of the club. It was busy and her eyes scanned the crowd, looking for the handsome face she couldn’t wait to see again. It was filled with rich looking people, sipping their drinks and wearing clothes that cost more than her rent.

“I’m heavy. I’m by your side. Forget me. ‘Cause I know what I need. Like a loser like me could be fine.”

As she started singing, she noticed a few people turn their heads, smiling as her voice reached their ears.

“Is someone telling me don’t get in the water? What have I done? I don’t wanna get lost inside the color under my tongue.”

Her gaze continued to sweep over the many faces, some looking back at her, some swaying their heads to the beat of the music, some completely endorsed in conversation, too busy to hear her sing. Still no sign of Dmitri. Maybe he wasn’t even here, but she wasn’t about to let his absence ruin this magnificent chance at performing at this establishment.

“Cause I don’t wanna be in love with another, even in another life.”

As she continued to sing, she captured the eyes and ears of more and more people. Receiving the occasional cheer as she finished song after song. It had been nearly an hour since she got up on stage, and once a gentleman put up his hat in front of the stage and tossing money in it, it didn’t stop. Men and women threw in more and more bills and coins worth more than she would make in a week. She smiled brightly everytime someone new came up to the stage, she felt like she was dreaming.

Eventually she stopped, taking a break and resting her voice as the pianist took over again. He smiled at her as she made her way down the bar.

The bartender offered her a smile to match her own as he complimented her singing before taking her order.

“My brother sure has an eye for talent, you are magnificent.” Sergei Kravinoff stood beside her as she quietly sipped at her drink, feeling the welcome cold drink drip down her throat.

“Thank you, mister Kravinoff. It is truly an honor and a dream come true to perform on your stage.” [Name] stated as she cracked her neck to look at the older man. She’d have to guess him in his late twenties, incredibly handsome, immensely tall too. “Speaking of your brother, I haven’t seen him tonight.”

Sergei laughed softly as he dipped his head. “Ah, Dima had some business to take care of, had him on the phone a minute ago so he should be here in about ten minutes or so. He has been looking forward to seeing you up on that stage.”

“I’ll be your baby. There’s nothing better I’d rather do.”

Those were the first Dmitri heard when he entered his club. His eyes darted to the stage where you stood, eyes closed as you sang, hips slowly swaying with the music as you were concentrating on the words coming out of your mouth.

The dark red dress that adored your figure made you look beautiful as the warm lights shone down on you.

“This momentary ride, this fire by my side. Are you gonna be here with me? You know that I’ll be your baby.”

Dmitri ignored the stare of his brother as he moved to take a seat at the bar, never taking his eyes off you. He noticed the hat that sat in front of the stage, nearly spilling over with cash and he smiled. Well deserved, he thought.

“There’s nothing better I’d rather do. I’m lost completely.”

Your eyes opened and he watched as you searched the crowds eagerly. It took you a second but when your beautiful eyes met his own, a smile brighter than any he’d seen on you before spread over your face.

“I might as well be over the moon.”

A smile danced on his own features as you once again held his gaze like that one night. Seeing you here, in his club, smiling brightly and having the crowd, including himself, wrapped around your finger, Dmitri couldn’t help but fall in love with you more.

He knew his brother would call him silly, he barely knew you, if he knew anything about you at all besides your name that was. But gods, you looked like an angel, so beautiful and so at home on that stage. It made Dmitri lose his mind a little. A woman so beautiful, so talented, who’d accepted his offer without hesitation and question, before even knowing exactly who he was.

“For someone like you, I’d do it for free.” Those words had followed him for the last two weeks, along with the way his name fell off your lips. Someone like him, whatever you had meant with that.

Not for a second did he take his gaze off you. He remained fixated on you, a look in his eyes that even his brother had never seen before. You really had him wrapped around your finger, and he loved it. Dmitri couldn’t get enough of you, and when you finished your final song of the night, he stood up and clapped loudly, the crowd following suit as you smiled brightly, bowing a little before making your way down the stage.

Dmitri was in front of you before you realized, taking your hand and kissing your knuckles as he looked you in the eyes.

“Thank you, mister Kravinoff.” you said as you took him in from up close. The top buttons of his black dress shirt unbuttoned, the black suit jacket also unbuttoned and his hair slightly messy by the rough weather conditions outside. He looked so incredibly handsome it actually had you at a loss for words as you let him guide you towards the bar.

“It’s an honor to have you here, I should be thanking you, [Name].” he smiled as he gestured towards the bartender. “I am truly so happy you could make it.”

He looked like a little boy who just met his favorite superhero in a theme park as he looked at you.

You shook your head. You’d had many men and women in awe of your singing in the last few years, many offering you compliments, some giving you chances that you could only dream of but Dmitri? Dmitri was different. He was more than in awe, he was enthralled by you, he looked at you with such adoration that made your heart melt. Along with that he was a very handsome man, it was undeniable, it was a fact.

“I thank you for having me.” you said as you grabbed your drink, he did the same and he looked at you again.

“A toast, to you, and your magnificence.”

You giggled as you toasted with him, he was special, he had something that had you longing for more and so the start of a very long night began.

The two of you talked until deep in the night, about anything that came to mind, from schooldays to everyday life, from favorite foods to biggest fears. Eventually the club ran dry and you stood up from your chair, the clock had struck past three and it would be about time you headed home.

“I should get home, it’s late and I kind of have work tomorrow.” you smiled at Dmitri as he also stood up, helping you put on her coat with a boyish grin on his face.

He nodded at you, it was late indeed, and time seemed to have flown by. He watched you as you zipped up your coat, pulling your hair out of the back before throwing on your scarf. You looked adorable.

“Let me take you home, I wouldn’t want you wandering London at this time of the night and in this weather. I’d blame myself if something were to happen to you.” Dmitri offered, his driver had been waiting outside all this time for him, and the last thing he wanted was for you to walk through the snowstorm outside and get sick, or worse. London wasn’t safe at night.

“I wouldn’t want to inconvenience you. It’s only a twenty minute walk home, it’s fine, mister Kravinoff.” you began to decline his offer, genuinely not wanting to be a burden to the man.

You’d found out he turned twenty-six not too long ago, twenty-six and already having succeeded so much in life. You admired that, envied it even. You were right to assume that his brother, Sergei, was three years older than him, and the co-owner of the establishment. Somehow you also discovered he was oddly good at doing impressions, it was almost scary how spot on they were and it brought tears to your eyes from laughter as the two of you goofed around.

“Please, it wouldn’t be a bother. Count it as a thank you, for tonight.” you couldn’t explain the look in his eyes as anything other than hot as he awaited your reply.

Dmitri simply couldn’t get enough of you, the more the two of you talked the more enthralled he became. As you talked about your past and present, your dreams, everything that came out of your mouth made him want you more. He couldn’t give a damn about the people around him, for once he didn’t even seem to notice his brother's stares, he was so focused on you that everything else fell away.

Finally you nodded, agreeing and Dmitri’s excitement nearly shot through the sky as he told you to wait here for a minute before disappearing into a back door of the club. You’d expected him to come out with a jacket or something but nope, nothing seemed to be different as he came back out and wrapped an arm around your waist and guided you out into the cold winds. Once he sat down next to you in the car you turned to face him, he turned his head to look back at you and grinned.

“Didn’t know gentlemen still existed here in London.” you said, eyes falling over his figure with no shame, taking in what sat in front of you. From the gold chain peeking out from around his neck, to the way his hands laid idly in his lap as they fidgeted with his rings, to the way you noticed the bulge in his pants. You smirked and looked back up to meet his eyes.

“Rare sight to get a man to treat you well these days, huh?” one of his arms moved to rest on the back part of the chairs and you felt his fingers entangle in your hair, playfully testing the waters as he softly tugged on a lock of hair. Dmitri watched as your eyes closed, breath hitching in your throat as you let him pull your head backwards in the slightest.

“Yeah…” your words came out in a breath, more high pitched than you initially realized. You bit your lip when you looked at him again, eyes dropping down to his lips and lingering there before meeting his blue eyes again. You swallowed thickly as you felt his grip on your hair tighten.

Before you knew it you were straddling his lap and your lips were on his. His hands gripped your hips as he kissed you like a man who’d been starved. You felt the bulge in his pants grow more as you grinded your hips down on him, the only thing separating your core and his hard cock being the fabric of his pants and your panties, which you were sure were soaked in your juices already. You moaned into the kiss, your fingers lost in his hair as he pulled your hips closer.

“Gods,” He whispered as you leaned your forehead against his, pupils dilated, lips puffy as you gazed into his eyes. “You’re so beautiful,” he brushed a lock of your hair back behind your ear before slowly kissing along your jaw, down your neck, finding that sweet spot that had you moaning softly. Slowly more and more lovebites and marks made its way onto your skin.

Your head was reeling by the time the car stopped in front of your apartment. Quickly looking out of the window before letting your eyes search Dmitri’s, you gave him a look, as if to ask him if he wanted to continue this. He caught on and brought his lips back to yours while he threw your coat back around your shoulders before opening the car door.

You fiddled with your keys, unable to stop them from shaking due to the cold and anticipation of what was about to happen. Dmitri’s hand closed around yours as he helped you unlock the door before the two of you rushed in, not sparing a moment before you were all over each other again. Your coat fell onto the floor of the hall and your heels and his shoes were discarded on the way as you made your way to your bedroom.

Before you could enter the room however, Dmitri had you pinned up against the door, hands groping at your breasts as he buried his face in your neck. “You sure you want to do this?” he mumbled, placing soft kisses on your warm skin.

“Wouldn’t have invited you in if I didn’t want this.” you moaned softly as he sucked on your skin, his hands moving to your back to find the zipper of your dress. Your hands were reaching for anything you could find, his chest, biceps, eventually ending back up in his curls.

“That’s my girl,” he said as you opened the bedroom door, stumbling in and taking him towards the bed. He finally managed to get your dress off and he watched in awe as it fell to the ground, smiling like crazy as he took in your body. Time seemed to slow down as you manoeuvred your hands into his suit jacket and took it off his shoulders, followed by your hands eagerly messing with the buttons of his dress shirt.

Once you had him shirtless you turned the both of you around as you pushed him down on the bed carefully, smirking at the surprise on his face by you taking the lead. He propped himself up on his elbows as he watched you unbuckle his belt, fidgeting with the button of his pants and his zipper before looking into his eyes as you took off his pants and boxers in one go. His eyes were hungry as he watched you lick your lips, eyeing his rock hard cock in front of you.

You gave him a devilish smile as you wrapped one of your hands around his length, slowly stroking him, watching as he already threw his head back at the feeling. He had dreamt of this ever since he first saw you, you had plagued his dreams and his waking life, you had him thinking of the filthiest things imaginable on the work floor but nothing he had imagined compared to the real thing.

Low whimpers changed to moans as you started sucking on his tip. Dmitri swore that he was in heaven when he felt your lips around his cock, all the while still stroking him with your hand. Almost out of reflex he brought his hand to your head, grabbing a fist full of your hair as your head bopped down on his length, tasting his precum on your tongue. You moaned at the feeling of him slightly pushing your mouth back onto his cock while he cursed under his breath. If your mouth alone already felt this heavenly, Dmitri couldn’t even begin to imagine how your cunt would feel.

“F-fuck,” Dmitri cursed as he watched you take his cock into your mouth, down to his base. You were a sight to look at, holding eye contact with him as you sucked his dick. The closer he got, the less control he had over his body, eventually his hips buckled, bringing tears to your eyes as your gag reflex was tested. “Jesus.” Dmitri was so lost in it, and seeing you there, tears mixed with your eye makeup dripping down your cheeks, it did things to him.

“Baby, f-fuck, I’m gonna-” Dmitri’s sentence was cut short as you suddenly pulled off, drool dripping down your chin, saliva strands hanging between you and his still very hard cock as you grinned at him. “You wanna kill me, pretty girl?” The giggle you let out had his dick twitching as he pulled you up on the bed between his legs, hands moving to undo your bra as you leaned your head against his shoulder, looking at him with those eyes that drove him absolutely crazy.

“Dmitri!” you gasped as he quite literally ripped off your panties, throwing them to the side before his fingers found their way to your clit. You didn’t have much time to protest more because before you knew it he had you moaning on his fingers. His head dipped back down to the crook of your neck, whispering sweet nothings into your ear as his fingers absolutely destroyed your cunt.

“Say that again, pretty, say my name.” It drove him crazy. The way his name fell off your lips might be his new favorite sound. His thumb came up to draw circles on your clit and you moaned loudly. “Thaaat’s it, sing for me, baby.” he spoke in such a tone that had you clenching your walls around his fingers, he grinned at the feeling, picking up his pace as he watched your face, scrunched up in pleasure as you made the prettiest sounds for him.

“So wet for me, doing so good for me, baby, such a good girl.” you moaned at his words, throwing your head back against his shoulder as you felt your orgasm approaching.

“Dmi- Dmitri I’m- Please,” you gasped, not being able to think straight and form coherent sentences.

“I know, pretty girl. You wanna cum?” You nodded at his words, he had you at his mercy completely. “Go on then, let go for me.”

That was all you needed to hear as your orgasm washed over you, Dmitri’s pace never slowing down as he rode you through your orgasm. His fingers reached places that had your toes curling in pleasure as he curled them up in your velvety walls.

“Dmitri, god-” you hiccuped as he continued to finger your cunt, the overstimulation was building up as you gripped his wrist, trying to get him to slow down. You heard him laugh slowly before retracting his hand. “N-not nice.” you leaned your head against his shoulder, watching his face as he brought his hand up to his face and licking his fingers clean off your juices.

God that’s hot.

You turned around, bringing your lips back to his, moaning softly as you tasted yourself on his lips.

“I need you, Dmitri.” You said, your kisses going down to his jaw, gently sucking and biting here and there as you went, feeling him grip at your hips, moving you to lay down.

Your head rested on your pillows as you watched him settle between your legs, smiling when he leaned over to press a kiss to your lips.

“You ready, baby?” his voice was low, and soft and he was oh so gentle as he guided his dick towards your clit. You heard him sigh in contentment once he bottomed out inside of you, and your fingers moved to intertwine into his hair.

You moaned when you felt him move slightly. “Please, please, please, Dima please.” you buried your face in his neck, feeling a soft laugh run through him.

“Begging already, are we pretty girl?” you nodded shamelessly. Your previous orgasm had you sensitive yet you couldn’t help but want more. Want him. “Whatever you wish.” he said with a kiss to the side of your head.

You moaned loudly as you felt him pull out and immediately thrust back in, setting a comfortable pace as he placed soft kisses on your shoulder while you scratched up his with your nails.

Dmitri was engulfed by it all, he was surrounded by you fully. Your moans, whimpers, your still slightly teary eyes, the look you gave him before kissing him with such passion he didn’t know was possible.

“You feel so good, baby. So so good.” he muttered against your lips as he pulled back from the kiss. He felt you slightly nod, looking at him with adoration when his hand groped at your breast again. It was so overwhelming, it was so good.

His hands slowly moved lower, and lower, reaching between the two of you to draw circles on your clit, watching how your eyes immediately rolled back in pleasure as your back arched.

“Dima, oh. You,” There wasn’t a single right word coming out of your mouth as you looked at the smiling man above you. “So handsome.” you managed between heavy breaths, looking how his smile somehow got even brighter as you reached up and held his face with one of your hands, adoring him.

You felt him picking up the pace as he lifted one of your legs up over his shoulder, your hand falling back on the duvet cover, which you gripped tightly. He reached so much deeper inside of you now. Dmitri felt it too, how your walls clenched around him and how you pressed your eyes closed in pleasure. A string of words came out of you, and neither of you could tell you what you said. The only clear thing being his name.

He reached places inside of you that you were sure of no one had ever touched before.

“Dima. I- Close-” your words were cut short as his fingers came back to your clit, rubbing circles as he groaned.

“I know, baby, me too.” he breathed out, his face scrunched up in pleasure. “Are you on anything?”

You nodded, “Y-yeah, pill. Ah. Please, Dima. Please.”

He nodded, looking you in the eye and giving you a small smile.

“Gonna cum, pretty girl?” he watched you nod, “C’mon then, let go for me.”

That was all you needed to hear before your eyes rolled back in ecstasy, moaning out his name as you did. You felt him put your leg down as he leaned over, gently kissing you as he chased his own high.

“Dima, oh god, Dima, please inside,”

You definitely knew how to kill him, Dmitri thought, those two words drove him crazy.

“Thank you- Fuck fuck fuck, [Name]” he cursed before you heard him moan and letting his head fall on your shoulder. “Gods, my, so good.” You moaned softly as you felt him fill you up, painting your walls white.

He softly lowered himself on top of you, catching his breath as he rested for a second.

“That was…”

“Perfect.” You finished for him before he could say something else and you felt him nod against your chest, his soft curls tickling your chin. One of your hands moved to them, gently swiping some of the curls away from his sweaty forehead.

You didn’t mean to fall asleep right there and then, but you did and Dmitri noticed as soon as your fingers stilled in his hair, so he looked up to you, only to see your eyes closed and lips slightly parted, indicating your sleeping state.

Slowly but surely he pulled out of you, slightly aweing at the way his seed dripped out of your pussy before looking around the room. He spotted the bathroom and walked over as quietly as he could to not wake you. He came back with a glass of water and a towel to clean you up.

You looked so soft, so adorable as you slept, and Dmitri couldn’t help himself to gently kiss your forehead as he pulled the blanket over you.

“Mmh…?” you stirred from your sleep and your eyes met Dmitri’s blue ones once again. “Come, please.” You murmured as you opened your arms, welcoming him back.

Dmitri smiled as he got under the blanket with you. wrapping his arms around you and gently caressing your back as you cuddled up to him.

“Dmitri?” you questioned, cracking your neck to look at him. You heard him hum in reply, “I think I might start to like you a lot.”

He laughed, smiling at you and your complete honesty. “Oh, baby.” he brought his lips down to yours before speaking softly “I know I loved you ever since you got up on that stage in The Ledbury.”

You giggled and buried your face back into his chest, feeling it vibrate with laughter before his adorable laugh echoed through the room.

-`♡´--`♡´--`♡´--`♡´--`♡´--`♡´--`♡´--`♡´--`♡´--`♡´-

dont forget to like and reblog 💕💕

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taglist : @bel0ved-heretic @ange-olras

#dmitri kravinoff #dmitri smerdyakov #dmitri kravinoff x reader #dmitri kravinoff x you #dmitri smerdyakov x reader #kraven the hunter #kraven movie #kraven #the chameleon #chameleon x reader #fred hechinger #fred hechinger character #fred hechinger x reader #fred hechinger x you

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cheekytv · 3 months ago

Text

no way back to normal - chapter one (arthur hill x f!reader) word count: 2.3k warnings: slight angst a/n: well hello!!! i said i would post, so here i am! i actually spent way too much time on that banner and i only like the polaroid section, please ignore the post its idk what the fuck those are... ANYWAY. I was originally planning on doing an arthur tv series but... i kinda got carried away now that the new ep is out so... here we are. arthurtv will most likely get his own one chaptered fic just like george!! i hope you enjoy, please feel free to comment, send asks or reblog, i'd really appreciate it <3

masterlist - next

Running in heels is never a good idea. Especially not during rush hour in London, when everyone and their grandmother are on their way home from work.

Countless people are on the streets and you somehow manage to dodge those right in your way and continue your sprint. You’re sweaty by now, your jacket hanging over your arm, joined by your handbag.

God, I hope the bastard is still there.

Everything kind of went to shit an hour ago. Your plane had landed without any delay and even a taxi had been easy to call over and take you into the city. Until you, well, reached the city and he let you out in front of your apartment. Or what you thought was your apartment. Because looking at the address you gave the taxi driver now, this surely was not the house you left.

Your mum didn’t pick up and neither did your dad and you couldn’t call your brother because he didn’t know you were back. Mostly because you wanted to surprise him, but also because you weren’t ready for the news to get relayed to another person.

Anyway. Your parents didn’t pick up and your brother wasn’t an option so you opted for your best friend Amy. She thankfully picked up - only to let you know she wasn’t in town. Oh, how wonderfully fucked you were.

So, you took your suitcase and tried to catch another taxi. There was none around, which meant you had to either take the metro or walk. Just that, when you checked, you saw your fucking purse was no where to be seen. You had forgotten it in the cab. And of course you didn’t own a credit card at the moment, having cancelled the one you had made back in Germany. Fucking great. No credit card equaled no Apple Play.

All that was left now was hoping for a miracle. You started walking, remembering a small Inn not far and as fate allowed you, the woman behind the counter was kind enough to take in your luggage while you went and looked for… someone to help you. Just then, your mother called, letting you know she and your dad were stuck on the motorway behind a big accident, which meant they couldn’t come pick you up and get you to their place. But they knew where Chris was and were happy to share that information with you.

Chris was at a pub. Which could mean only so many things. Either, he was there for football and you knew there was no game he wanted to watch this evening, or he was there with his friends to catch a drink. And that’s exactly what you had wanted to avoid. His friends. Or at least one of them.

Which is how we get to now. Obviously, you swallow down your pride. Obviously, there is no other rational decision than to run to your brother and maybe face who you don’t want to see.

You thank your own training for not being completely done and dead when you reach the pub. How utterly idiotic of you to wear heels today. Your feet are the only part of you that feels like it’s dead.

Pushing open the door, you are welcomed by the familiar feeling of being in a pub in London, loud voices and laughter and quiet rock music in the background. People are singing along or ignoring the music altogether and you can spot your brother’s head even though he is rather small.

Taking a deep breath, you make your way through the crowd and only stop when you reach the left corner of the room, where Chris is getting beer downed into his mouth by none other than Isaac Smith, who looks like he is having the time of his life. You spot the camera and bite down on your lip - right, there had been option three. Being here with his friends and filming. God damnit.

You allowed yourself to look at the other people around the table and feel your heart sink. He’s here. Of course, he is here.

He’s not the first notice you, instead it’s Arthur Hill, who blinks up a few times, unsure if he’s seeing things or if it’s really you, Chris’ sister who had left for Germany a good six months ago for an internship.

“Am I drunk or is Y/N standing there?” He says, stretching out his arm and pointing at you.

Even though the music and other guest’s loud conversation doesn’t stop, it somehow seems extremely quiet when several pairs of eyes are suddenly on you.

Isaac moves his hand and accidentally pours beer all over Chris’ shirt and the latter yells in protest - that is until he registers Arthur’s voice and sees all his friends staring at the same spot. He swirls around and, indeed, there you are.

His eyes widen and he immediately jumps over to you, pulling you into a tight hug.

“Y/N, you’re back!” He sounds so happy and it warms your heart, but you can’t really be as happy as him, not when your eyes are glued to who broke your heart six months ago.

George looks just as surprised as everyone else, but there is something behind his pretty eyes. Something you can’t quite point your finger at, something that makes your stomach fall down to your feet.

“When- what?” Chris parts from you again, his hands staying on your arms, looking you up and down.

“I wanted to surprise you,” your eyes finally move from George to your brother.

“Oh, and that you did!” He smiles and hugs you again. “When did you arrive?”

You tell Chris the story of today, the cameras turning off and you finding your way between Arthur TV and Isaac, Chris across from you, George next to him. You notice that Arthur Hill isn’t here, but decide not to ask about him. Not right now, at least.

“Well,” Chris clears his throat, “I meant to tell you about your apartment complex, I really did, but, uh, I kind of…–”

“He forgot,” Arthur interrupts him, “that’s literally all there is to it. All your stuff is safely in storage.” He smiles at you and you raise your brows.

“As wonderful at that is - where the fuck am I supposed to sleep tonight?”

“You can sleep at our place!” Chris says quickly, placing his hand on top of yours, “of course, you can sleep at our place. I’ll take the couch and-,”

“No, thanks,” you interrupt him, eyes beginning to sting (oh, how much you hate your traitorous heart).

Silence breaks out at your table. The camera men are very focused on their phones, Isaac twirls his thumbs and Arthur’s mouth is hanging open slightly. You don’t look at George and feel just a tad of guilt when you see Chris’ features change.

“Oh, I- I’m sorry, I forgot, uhm.” He scratches his head. “Maybe the first thing to do should be calling the taxi company and get your purse back, yeah?”

Without even waiting for a reply, Chris gets up and takes his phone out of his pocket. You had told him the taxi company earlier and of course, as a big brother would, he decided to take it upon himself to solve that problem for you.

“Y/N,” George suddenly speaks up and you feel your heart jump, “I can crash somewhere else tonight if that makes you more comfortable.”

You hate how the sound of his soft voice and the way he looks at you makes you wanna cry and beg him to take you back. Even after six months he’s still there, at the forefront of your mind, not leaving you alone even for a second. Arthur and Isaac excuse themselves, mumbling something about having to use the washroom and you feel your cheeks heat.

“Just because you’re not there doesn’t mean the memories aren’t either.” You reply and George presses his lips together. He wants to say something, you can tell by the way he looks at you. It’s scary how you can still read him after so many months apart. But then, he had been yours to look at and hold for three years, perhaps it would’ve been scarier had you not been able to read his face.

“You left so abruptly after we broke up, Y/N, I thought maybe we could-,”

“You mean after you broke up with me?” More heat rises within you. “After you broke my heart, after you threw away our future?”

George shifts uncomfortably on his seat, lowering his head.

“Y/N, I told you back then that I am really sorry, I swear to god, if I could change the way I feel, I would.”

Again, your heart shatters and leaves nothing in your chest but aching pain. Closing your eyes, you remember what he told you back then.

“You were my first ever real love, Y/N. I loved you every second since the day I met you, but- but I don’t feel that way anymore. I don’t know when it happened, and I hate myself for it, but there is… there are no feelings left. Nothing romantic, at least. I still love you, I always will, but not… like that. I’m so sorry.”

It wasn’t fair back then and it surely isn’t fair now. Him falling out of love with you when you were ready for more, when you had planned everything in your life with him by your side.

“It doesn’t matter. I don’t feel ready to be back in that apartment.”

For more reasons than just the breakup. But you were definitely not going to think of that right now.

In all honesty, you aren’t even ready to be back in this city, but the internship ended and you didn’t really want to stay in Germany either. Your parents are rarely ever in the city and since you planned to just go home after arriving at Heathrow, you hadn’t even asked them to come pick you up. Looks like that initial idea is now biting you in the ass.

“They have your wallet and will bring it over.” Chris walks back in and you look up at him, relieved to move on from whatever this conversation was with George.

“Perfect.” You sigh and get up, not giving George even one more ounce of your attention even though it kills you inside.

“I still think you should come with me,” Chris puts his arm around you, eyes glancing between you and the table George is sitting at, “I know it’s weird, but I haven’t seen you in six months, sis, I really wanna hang out with you. You can totally take my room and I’ll take the couch and George can crash at Arthur’s.”

You understand the sentiment, you really do. And a part of you wants to be with your brother for the night, wants to be back home with him and just feel… safe. But even if George were to stay away for the night, he wasn’t… the only one you were avoiding.

Chewing on your lip, you avoid Chris’ eyes. There was no way in hell you were ever going to tell him - or anyone for that matter. What happens in Germany, stays in Germany. Yet, you can’t shake the feeling this… thing will come back and bite you in the ass at some point.

“Chris…,” you begin, but your brother shakes his head.

“No, no. I won’t take a no for an answer, Y/N. When the cab comes, let it take you to my place, alright? Arthur is there, he can open the door for you.”

Yeah, and that’s exactly why I don’t wanna go there.

Just that you can’t say that. With a sigh, you finally give in.

Which brings you to the apartment door you had seen countless times before. That you have knocked on with every emotion possible. Happy, sad, angry, unsure.

And now, as you slowly lift your arm, your freshly picked up suitcase standing to your right, you knock on the wood with your stomach turning like a washer and your heart beating at maximum speed.

The door swings open and the man standing in front of you has damp hair on top of his head, a towel hanging over his shoulders. He is wearing a grey shirt and black joggers and your jaw tenses.

Arthur Hill looks handsome as ever. Just that seeing him now doesn’t make you happy or relieved. Who used to be one of your closest friends is something else now. It’s not like with George; George broke your heart out of nowhere, made you into something you never believed you could be when it came to him. But Arthur?

“Hey.” He breathes out now, his eyes not able to stay on your own for long. “Chris called ahead, I, uh, it’s good to see you.”

Good to see you? You almost laugh at the sheer lie in his words. Quickly you nod and grab your suitcase by the handle, walking into the apartment past Arthur, who steps back and looks after you.

“Y/N-,” he starts, but you just hurry into Chris’ room, ignoring the door leading to George’s and pushing your suitcase inside. Heart still beating like a drum in a high beat metal song, you finally face Arthur who continues to stand in the hallway looking as lost as you feel.

“You didn’t tell anyone, did you?” You ask, your voice sharp. He shakes his head.

“Of course I didn’t.” He responds, his hands finding the edges of the towel hanging over his broad shoulders. You nod.

“Good. Let’s keep it this way,” you cross your arms.

Arthur nods, his curls slowly bouncing on his head. His hair got longer since the last time you saw him. Something stirs within you when you think about that one night in Munich three months ago. When you remember how his hands felt on your skin and how his lips tasted like that horrible cheap wine you got drunk on.

The memory is fresh and yet seems so god damn far away. It’s like a blur but still clean as day. It doesn’t make any sense. But then - when has sleeping with your ex’s best friend ever made sense?

“We should still talk about it. Eventually, I mean.” Arthur is just too good of a guy. You knew back then and you know now. Which makes the whole encounter so much more awkward. It surprises you to a good extent he even still lives here - not just with George but also your brother.

“Arthur,” you sigh, pulling a hand through your hair, but before you can get another word out, the door opens once more and your face falls when you see George stepping in.

“Oh.” He just says, eyes glancing between you and Arthur. Your chest tightens and you quickly look to the floor, hating the way your eyes begin to sting again.

“I’m tired. I’ll go lay down. See you tomorrow.” You say, hoping George knows you are not talking to him.

When the door shuts behind you, you lean against it and for the first time since you’ve stepped into the pub earlier, you feel like you can breathe again.

#arthur hill #arthur hill fanfiction #arthur hill x reader #arthurtv #chrismd #george clarkey #george clarkey fanfiction #arthur hill fluff #arthur hill smut #george clarkey smut

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stvngrantsgf · 5 months ago

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you had me at "fuck you" ☆ post hogwarts!draco x muggleborn male!reader - Chapter One

Life for Draco after Hogwarts was what he expected as soon as he took the Mark. His dreams of greatness and the wrecking ball he imagined the Malfoy name being for his future were discarded; they were simply too damaged to repair and were a "wrecking ball" in ways he did not like. Walls that he imagined himself breaking down to rebuild as his own were broken but strengthened to keep him out. Draco wished he could say it was unfair but he knew the outside world had done nothing wrong. It was all due to his own faults.

So he did what they had all wanted him to do, he killed himself. Draco Lucius Malfoy was dead, buried with his mother and father and left to decay in Malfoy Manor. His crimes were not forgotten and he watched from afar as they brutally battered what they perceived as his corpse. He had moved away from pureblood society, stole a drunkard's wand, cast Disillusionments over every recognizable part of himself, abandoned his family's inheritance, and went to live in Muggle London where none would recognize him. He barely recognized himself.

He lived in a small flat which he shared with Spencer, a Muggle man he had obliviated into thinking he was there all along. His once striking, pale blond hair was now a plain, dull brown. His cold, grey eyes turned to a light, honeyed brown. He had cast glamours over his scars with ease, grateful for the blank slate he appeared to be. He was Deacon, a young man who worked as a bartender in the smallest, smelliest pub a couple blocks down.

Draco liked life as Deacon. No one gave him a second glance out of fear or disgust but sometimes out of attraction. He was normal. He didn't worry about the Golden Trio, the responsibilities his parents has placed on his shoulders, Voldemort's daily torturings. He could just be. And that was something he had never experienced before. As time went on and the fear of being discovered faded, Draco spent longer and longer in his glamours and disillusionments having become obsessed with the euphoria he associated with Deacon.

He was on his way to work, walking and humming a tune he had heard Spencer playing on his drums earlier.

Everlong, was it?

He had discovered within days of living in Muggle London that their music was exciting and brilliant. He hadn't known how advanced Muggles happened to be until he was surrounded by them. The telly was one of the first things he became enraptured by.

He pushed through the pub doors, flashing a smile to his friend, Sally, who worked the shift before him.

"Sally."

"What's up, Deek!"

He winced, finding the name she had given him on his first day still irritating. He looked around at the surprisingly crowded bar and leaned on the counter to talk over the blasting music.

"Is there an event tonight I didn't know about?"

The girl shook her head before pointing at something over Draco's shoulder.

"I think it's a party for birthday boy over there!"

Draco turned his head curiously over his shoulder. His back immediately straightened and his eyes widened.

The birthday boy was gorgeous. He stood on top of a chair dancing sensually to the song playing over the speakers. His hips moved side to side and his hair framed his face beautifully as he moved to the beat. He sang along to the lyrics loudly with great feeling that if Draco had not heard the accompanying music, he would have thought the boy had wrote it.

"NO! I DON'T WANT NO SCRUB! A SCRUB IS A GUY THAT CAN'T GET NO LOVE FROM ME. HANGING OUT THE PASSENGER SIDE OF HIS BEST FRIEND'S RIDE. TRYIN TO HOLLA AT ME!"

Draco smiled, watching and enjoying the show he was putting on. He bit his lip as the boy, or man rather judging by the giant headband he wore on his head with the number 20, dipped low and his low-rise jeans revealed an emerald g-string with a bow. Draco looked away, swallowing, as he turned back to Sally, who was grinning at him.

Draco rolled his eyes at her childish behavior.

"He's single, I overheard his friends when they came to get a drink. Apparently, he's looking for a man to go home with tonight."

Draco looked back at the man, who had gotten off the chair and was now giggling with his friends.

"Good for him."

He cleared his throat.

"I'm gonna put my things away. Don't do anything stupid while I'm gone."

"Oh no! But, Deacon! How will I manage when you're my only brain!"

"Shut it, you witch."

"I'm not a witch! They aren't real!"

Draco smirked as he walked away.

☆

A/N: Hey guys! So this is my first time writing ANY HP fanfiction - I've read A LOT though, haha. Please be kind and if you like it, comment or like so I can release Chapter Two which will be from your/my character's perspective :) also NOT proof-read

#draco malfoy #draco x reader #male!oc #male!reader #draco lucius malfoy #harry potter #post!hogwarts #please #draco malfoy x you #draco malfoy x reader #draco malfoy x male reader #draco malfoy fanfiction

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the-kr8tor · 1 year ago

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Once More to See You

Pairing: Hobie Brown x fem! Reader/ Spider-Punk x fem! Reader

Word count: 8.4k

Synopsis: Like Alice in wonderland, you accidentally fall to another universe where everything is different from your universe, including your best friend, Hobie Brown. Will you be able to come home to your best friend before you get ripped apart molecule by molecule? Or will you fail and leave the love of your life wondering where you are for the rest of his life?

Tags: Use of Y/N sparsely, No specific physical description of the reader, CW Blood, CW violence, TW death, CW injury, CW vomit mention. Bestfriends to lovers (speedrun edition), established relationship, Hurt/comfort, Angst.

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Eyes almost crossed, back hunched and aching, you tinker at the tiny components of the inter dimensional watch Hobie started putting together. He brought it to you last night with a paper bag filled with your favourite takeout to bribe you in helping him. “It's for emergencies,” he said, “I don't trust that vampire from the future,” he grumbled in between bites of chips.

The soft music from your record player filters through the dimly lit room, save for your work lamp, the sun is just about setting in the horizon. You have the perfect view of the expansive London skyline just outside your window. It's a foggy day, clouds hanging above like cotton balls, fluffy and grey— rain's coming, you surmise from the unmistakable smell of petrichor. It's already raining somewhere, you think. And you worry immediately for him since he's still on patrol. Did he bring a raincoat with him at least? But knowing him, he'd just swing around while there's a downpour. And when you scold him while he's dripping wet, soaking your carpet, he'd just shrug and say, ‘I looked bloody good at it though’ to which you'd scoff, but secretly agree.

Distracted, you poke at the wrong wire with your metal pliers, a spark from the main power source shocks you, flinching and yelping, you check for any damages on your fingertips.

“Should've worn rubber gloves, love.” Hobie's sudden whisper in your ear makes you jump out of the stool, goosebumps appearing on your arms as he catches you before you land harshly on your back. “Got you. Maybe you should invent seatbelts on barstools, hm? You'd make a fortune from pubs alone. No more drunkards falling face first.” He jokes, arm snaked along your back, hand splayed over your ribs, and face dangerously close to your own.

You decide to quip back as revenge for making you almost fall. “I would invent it if you weren't dropping so many projects on my lap.” Still floating above the floors with the help from his hold, he fakes letting you go. You squeak, hands instinctively flying to his shoulders for support. Maybe you shouldn't have teased him when he's the only one standing between you and a bump on your head. “You little—”

He raises a pierced brow, “what'd you say again, love?” His mischievous smirk tells you that he's about to do it again, so you surrender. How could you fight him when he looks at you like you're the only person in the world that's worthy of his touch?

Lips clamping down, you still glare at him despite the overwhelming fondness for the man holding you in place.

“That's what I thought.” Chuckling, he sits you upright back on the stool, he even fixes your shirt for you. “There, lookin' mighty fit today, why are you all dressed up?”

It's your turn to quirk an eyebrow, “dressed up? Hobs I basically live in this shirt.” He unabashedly roams his eyes over to the old band shirt that he made himself once upon a time. “Bold of you to assume I have some place to go.” You say even with the searing heat from your cheeks, and clammy hands.

“We could go,” Hobie shrugs, hiding his sudden shyness, you have that effect on him. “There's a new building we could swing to, if we go now we could still catch the sunset.” He inches closer, hand smoothing down the goosebumps on your arms.

“It's gonna rain, Hobs.”

“How'd you know? You a weather girl now?”

“I can smell it, and also my knees feel it.”

“What are you eighty?” He says with a laugh. “Does that make you a cradle snatcher?” Half joking, he really wishes that you'd get the hint.

Eleven years of friendship and counting, you still haven't crossed that invisible line between friendship and something more. It's not from the lack of trying from Hobie's end, no, he has told you a few times that he fancied you, more than a best friend would. But you're too afraid to say it back, to say or even scream that you fancy him, or love him is the better way to put it. But you're afraid that it might not work out, that friendship is the best thing for the both of you, that all the longing looks thrown between you, and all the lingering touches were all just attraction because you've known each other for basically forever; and the feeling wouldn't last once you do get together.

You don't want to risk your friendship only for it to end in tears and heartache. No, you love him too much to hurt him like that, and he knows it too.

He was more bold with his feelings for you a few years before, years before he was bitten and was given the heavy responsibilities. But now that he bears the title of Spider-man, he's starting to think having a romantic relationship with you while he's tangled up in all the danger he faces everyday, isn't such a great idea. So his advances are much less now, Hobie just misses you, he suppose, that's probably why he asked for your help with his own batch of watches even though he can handle it on his own while he's blindfolded. An excuse to just see you, an excuse to be in your presence. Because if you can't be together, he'd settle for staying like this forever, just best friends.

Best friends who unequivocally love each other, best friends who are waiting for the right time. Even if it means waiting for forever.

You smile softly, knowing that his joke is a half wish. “That means you're a coffin snatcher then.”

Hobie leans closer, hands on top of your table that's behind you, arms caging you in. You can smell the leather on him, and the usual scent he sports when he's particularly in a good mood. You'd know, you gifted the cologne to him. He thinks you're uncomfortable because of the position, he was about to move away but you remedy that with a smile, and with your hand placed on the back of his elbow. He can feel how your pulse hammers against your skin.

“C’mon, love, the view's pretty up there.” His view right now can't compare though.

“I can see the view from here, besides, I still have work to do.”

He tilts his head, an act he knows you can't resist. “I’ll swing you back home quicker than you can say ‘cougar’” you laugh, eyes crinkling in the corners, and he thinks your smile is better than any sunset he has ever seen. “You've been cooped up in here for too long. When was the last time you've seen the sun—?” You open your mouth for a quip but he beats you to it, “not including seeing it from your windows.” Nodding, he raises both eyebrows, looking at you through his long lashes.

For a moment he thought you'd agree, that you bought into his charms. But you clear your throat, moving away, lips tightly closed like you refuse to spill any secrets. Or spill out a confession. I don't want to ruin this, you think, if I go, what would happen up there? Your mind runs through a thousand scenarios, a consequence of your genius mind. It's not all good, you suppose, and you're sure that whatever happens on top of that skyscraper, you'll never come back from it.

You love him, you really do, but he has a heavy burden to carry. You don't want to add to it. Leaning to the side, still sitting on the stool, he instinctively hovers his hand close to your side, just in case you fall off again.

“I fixed the problem on your watch by the way.” Changing the subject is good, changing the subject means you don't have to face reality.

“Yeah?” He acts nonchalant, yet, there's a lump in his throat that threatens to choke him. It's not all your fault, he thinks. All the tiptoeing around each other, all the heavy side glances aren't all your fault, it's his too. He might've faced a hundred or so dangers but he can't seem to find the courage to finally say those three magic words. Jaw tightening, he's not mad at you, he's mad at himself.

“Your initial power source didn't have enough juice. Hence why it can't generate the right particles for inter dimensional travel.”

Hobie leans on the table, hand still close to your waist, eyes roaming intently at your handiwork. You're good, too good at making these watches, even better than Miguel could be. Or he's just biased. You made it look good too, even with the hodgepodge of materials he gave you.

“You figured that out in less than twenty four hours?” He's in awe of you, he could've thought of that, but it would've taken him a tad longer. “Fuckin' brilliant,” he says under his breath.

You raise your chin proudly, “I did, it was easy-peasy.” It was not, you barely slept because you couldn't sleep not while this huge glaring problem sits at your work table. If it needs fixing, you're gonna get it fixed within the day or you think you'll crumble into dust. Especially if it's Hobie asking for help.

Hobie beams, he's incredibly proud of you, but, “you crossed your lines, love. If you want me to catch on fire then you did it brilliantly.”

“What?” Your smug smile melts, eyes scanning the colourful wires. Shoulders sagging, you glare at him. “No, it's not.”

“Yes it is,” chuckling, he takes your hand to guide and point it out for you. “Right there. Between the cooling system and the red wires.”

Eyes narrowed, nose wrinkling, he smiles at your cute expression. “I can't see— oh.” You see it, the mess of wires lies just under the new power source that you were so proud of. “Fuck.”

“You owe me,” Hobie pokes your side.

“No, I don't. Not all of us have super eyesight.”

“Really? Blamin’ my poor eyes?” Hobie widens his hazel eyes, brilliant swirls of colours mesmerize you.

“Your eyes are far from poor.” You shove his face away from you gently, smiling, you laugh at his fake glare. “Don't you have to patrol, spiderman?”

He surrenders, huffing, he takes his mask from his back pocket to put it back on his head. “Fine, just make sure to fix your wires, I don't want to come back to a crater the next time I visit.”

“I'll uncross them, don't worry. I'm not an amateur, y'know.”

Hobie pats your shoulder for now, maybe he'll pay you a visit again tonight just to make sure your flat didn't turn into ashes. You call him back before he could exit through your fire escape.

“Be careful, please?” Your worried tone makes him turn back around to face you. You imagine that he's at least smiling under his mask. “Just…I have no idea what to do with your watch if you suddenly croak.”

“Always so bloody sweet,” walking back towards you, he grins even though you can't see it. Your worries make you reach towards him. Holding him by the lapels of his leather jacket, you trace the little stitches he made. His spider senses tingle, and he hears how your heart quickens. “I'll be fine, yeah? Don't worry ‘bout me.”

“You know I'll always worry.” You whisper.

“I know, I'm like that too when it comes to you.” Your breath hitches in your throat. He shuts his senses down so he can't hear how fast your pulse thumps, or how you weakly swallow down your nerves. “Why don't I come back here tonight, ease that genius mind of yours.” He pokes your forehead, you nod. “Good, I'll bring takeout, that isn't instant ramen. Seriously, love, that shit ain't good for you.”

“It's tasty though.”

“You'll get kidney stones.” He begins to walk backwards, so he could still see your face as he goes. For some reason, he doesn't want to go. But he suppose that he always has this feeling whenever he visits.

“I've got a clean kidney,” you softly smile, waving goodbye, hoping that he comes back to you in one piece just like always.

“Sure you do,” one leg after the other, he exits from the window until you're staring into your open window and until his lingering scent fades.

“Right,” you sigh, slapping your cheeks to stay in the present, then turning around to continue your work.

For an hour you painstakingly untangle the wires with your tweezers, minutes turn into hours, and your empty stomach grumbles. Lower back aching once again. For a second you're just about finishing it, then a spark lights up, then a blinding explosion of colours.

You should've worn rubber gloves.

—

Hobie swings casually towards your flat, it's a lot harder to swing with one hand while the other holds onto the plastic bag filled with your favourite. Smiling under his mask, wind blowing towards him, buildings whizz past as he increases his speed.

The smell of smoke hits his nose. Then puffs of black tar greets him where your flat used to be.

Heart in his stomach. He lands on the pavement less gracefully, the bag slipping through his trembling fingers.

A crowd watches on at the burning building, pieces of glass lay under his boots, crunching as he stands frozen on the spot. His eyes roam for your familiar face, around the people that watch the blaze, grief curls around his throat when he doesn't find you amidst the throng of strangers. It slowly suffocates him.

Your name spills out of his lips, hoping with every utterance of your name you'll emerge unscathed. He feels dizzy.

A firefighter notices him. Hope blossoms in his chest when Hobie turns towards the uniformed man. But the forlorn face the man sports under the soot covering his skin says it all. “There's no survivors!” He yells above the sirens, Hobie crumbles to his feet. “There's no survivors. You're too late, Spiderman.”

He's too late. His ears ring, he could only hear the crackling of the fire whilst it eats away at you. Charred wood collapses, nose stinging from the smoke, vision blurry as tears silently fall.

You're gone. And all that's left of you are ashes that float down towards him like grotesque snowflakes. Sticking to his suit, heat clinging to his skin.

It's too soon, he had a lifetime with you. A sudden burst of rain pelts at him. You were right, rain was coming.

He should've tried harder to convince you to go out.

—

A swirl of neon colours whizz past as you fall into the kaleidoscope depths. Scream stuck in your throat, hand stinging from how you grip the watch, or what's left of it. It's now in your hand, jagged metal pieces piercing your skin. There's a light at the end of the tunnel, bracing yourself, you fall on the harsh concrete. The portal spits you out feet first, skidding across, body tumbling on the ground. You're otherwise unharmed despite the harsh landing.

Eyes adjusting in the light, you blink rapidly, shielding your eyesight from the intense sun.

Wait, the sun? Wasn't it sunset a few minutes ago?

Sitting up, you roam your eyes around where you landed. The familiar London skyline is to your right, while on your left are buildings you can't seem to recognize no matter how you try to remember.

“I don't think I'm in Kansas anymore.” You say, full of bewilderment. The watch worked, but in the way you wanted it to.

The roof where you landed on is dirty, full of abandoned broken furniture. Pots upon pots of dead plants stacked on top of the other. Good thing there isn't any broken glass or you'd be bleeding.

Propping yourself up, you stand up on two wobbly feet. Stomach churning, vision warbling, you think you're about to be sick. You can't believe Hobie does this on a daily basis.

You inhale sharply, trying to compose yourself and the instant ramen in your stomach. “Oh fuck.” Exhaling, you calm yourself down. Heart finally steadying to a normal rhythm, you sigh before you check the remains of the cracked watch in your hand. “Shit!” The broken pieces fall off from your palm as you look at it. “I'm fucked!”

Like a child throwing a tantrum, you kick a cardboard box, it soars across the roof. Groaning loudly, you stomp on the ground as if it was its fault that you're in another dimension.

You felt it before it happened. Something spreads inside you, like a bolt of lightning has struck you. The sensation starts from the crown of your head to your fingertips, goosebumps appearing on your skin, you glitch for only a second but it's enough to give you motion sickness.

“Oh my fuck—!” A blast from behind you reverberates, wind rushing around you, whipping your searing skin. “What the—?”

If being stuck in an alternative universe wasn't enough, a guy wearing huge mechanical wings is approaching you quickly. Too quickly.

Before you could duck, the cackling vulture grabs you from the roof. Lifting you up, the whiplash from his momentum almost breaks your neck.

“Got you!” He laughs in your ears, metallic claws digging into your biceps. A black slithering blob weaves around his bicep, crawling up to your own like a slimy worm.

“What the hell, old man!” You scream above the noisy exhaust of his wings. “Let me go! I was literally just standing there!”

He clicks his tongue, like he's chastising a child. “No, no, no, not until he gives me what I want. Then I'll think about letting you go, but it's a long drop.”

“Who—?” As he says the word ‘drop’ you look down, vertigo making you nauseous. You must be a hundred feet above the streets. You wish Hobie was here to save you. Tears in your eyes, panic sets in, making your hands tremble and your chest desperately heave in air.

A flash of red and black, a harsh crack of bone, and a splash of something warm on your cheek, you fall from the vulture’s hold.

Gasping, reaching for something, anything to hold onto, you get snatched up before you turn into a bloody street pancake.

A strong arm envelops you as you hug tighter, face hiding away from the harsh winds. Clinging onto the stranger, they seem oddly familiar under your touch. They smell familiar too, like your nose is so used to it that you can recognize it above anything else. Leather and bergamot, the scent he wears when he's in a good mood.

You raise your head to take a peek at your savior. The spikes on his head are dark and swirly, like an evil unicorn's horn. They don't shine in the sunlight anymore, it's the same deep shade as his mask. He no longer bears the resemblance of your Hobie. He feels like him, smells like him, even the warmth spreading to you is the same. There's a deep familiarity, yet, there's something amiss.

“Hobie?” You call, and when he shifts his head to gaze at you, his grip loosens.

Craning his neck down, the eyes of his mask widens. “Y/N?” He breathlessly asks, arm sliding off from shock. “Shit!”

“Hobie!” Briefly falling, he catches you immediately. You both land on a roof, his arms are around you, hand shielding your head from the collision as you both slide across the terracotta roof. Eyes closed, you hide your face on his chest as he bears the impact for you.

Hobie groans, glad that he's wearing leather that helped with lessening his injuries from the awkward fall. Opening his eyes, he thinks he has died when he sees your face look back at him.

Expression etched into worry, you check for any injuries on his body. You get a good look at his suit, it's different, way different than you saw him last. The only thing that stayed the same is his old leather vest, but it looks like it's more well worn than the last time you've seen it. There's marks on the leather, and holes where it's not supposed to be in. You'd mend it for him like always, but there's more pressing matters.

Hobie reaches for you, black cloth enveloping and swirling around his toned arms, showing a bit of his scarred skin. You don't miss how his hands tremble as he holds your face in his calloused hands. It's all familiar to you, yet, his hands are more rugged, rougher, but you know it's him. You could recognize his touch anywhere.

“Did the vulture finally get me?” You raise an eyebrow at his question. The heaviness in his chest slowly fades for the first time in years, he wants to tell you everything, to hold you forever in his arms until all the holes in his heart are filled by you once more. His thumbs wipe the crimson off of your cheek, an instinct of his.

“W-what?” You shake your head, and he relishes at the sound of your voice. The same voice he has only heard in your old voicemails that he plays before going to bed. “I think you have a concussion, Hobs.” Gently, you reach for his mask, he stops you before you could lift it away.

“Hobs,” he chuckles weakly, “I haven't heard of that name in years.”

You know this isn't your Hobie but you can't help but sympathize with him, you can hear the sadness and hurt laced with his deeper tone. You'd ask, but it isn't your place. Literally.

Hobie sits up with a groan, back cracking, the sound making you wince. “Sounds like you need to stretch more.” You joke.

He laughs, his mind tricks him, making him think of all the teasing you've said to him once upon a time.

“I think my back is beyond saving by just stretching.” Head leaning on his elbow, arm propped up by his knee, he still can't wrap his mind around your existence. “Which dimension did you come from?”

You straighten your back, lips curling into a smile. “How'd you know I'm not from here?”

Hobie reaches for his mask, for a moment he pauses. Still, with an apprehensive tug, he takes off his mask. Shock and confusion is evident in your expression. Reminding him of the time when he told you he was Spider-Man all those years ago.

“You're…old.” A hundred questions flood your mind at the sight of his crow’s feet that decorates his eyes. He has smile lines around his mouth, he still has piercings but there's less of them now. His hair is graying, patches of grey that weave around his locs. Under the wear of time on his face, you could recognize that face amidst a thousand faces. It's Hobie, but not your Hobie. “Definitely not in Kansas anymore.”

He chuckles deeply, he misses that humour of yours. “You look how I remember.” he whispers, you could barely hear his words.

You knit your eyebrows together. “Did I travel to the future instead of a different dimension?” The same sensation passes through you, rattling your bones and wracking your senses. You glitch once again. Stomach churning, you cough out harshly.

Shaking his head, Hobie stands up then he gives you a hand. “Not time travel,” you take his hand weakly, lifting you up, he worries for you. “Definitely from another universe. Come with me to the safehouse and we'll fix your watch, yeah?”

Nodding, you trust him completely. “Okay, just to remind you though, don't jostle me around too much—”

“You get motion sick from web swingin’, I know, I remember.” His heart aches, and you can see it hidden behind his hazel eyes.

—

After swinging across the city, and with you fighting the bile rising to your throat, you two finally make it to his safehouse that's masquerading as an old laundromat. You and older Hobie enter from the back door, and another door greets you, all thick steel and seemingly bullet proof.

He enters a set of codes on the numpad that you didn't notice until he was pressing numbers in. You don't bring out the fact that the passcode was your birthday.

The door beeps, an indication that it's unlocked. He looks at you over his shoulder, smiling softly at your nervous eyes.

“Stay behind me, yeah? Don't mind the lads. Or the whispers.”

“Whispers? Why would they gossip about me?”

“Nothin'” he turns back around. “Just stay close to me.”

“Okay, I wasn't planning to wander anyway, it looks like a small house so—” just as you say it, a long staircase leading down to what looks like the abyss makes you think otherwise. “Are you evil Hobie? You planning on bringing me to your little house of horrors to kill me?”

“Are you part of the sinister six?” He asks flatly, slightly enjoying the banter.

“No—”

“Then you've got nothin’ to worry ‘bout.” Hobie continues to walk down the stairs, heavy boots thudding against the concrete with every footstep. Darkness surrounds him quickly, you could only see the outline of him under the dark. He notices the way you stay on top of the stairs, hands wringing together. “I've got a torch if you're scared—”

“Yes!” You exclaim too fast. “I mean, sure, yeah.” He doesn't tease, for that you silently thank him. You hear a click, and then a torch coming from a gadget on his arm lights the way. “Thanks,” you whisper, finally catching up with him.

The stairs lead you down further, with only Hobie's torch guiding the way, you subtly hold the hem of his vest. If he minded, he never said anything. Ears popping, another door greets you at the end.

Hobie knocks, a rhythm that you can't quite place. A panel on the door slides open, a pair of eyes roams over to Hobie's face and then to yours. Brown eyes widening at the sight of you, they close the panel, then they open the metal door with a creak. Light escapes from the opening, and you shield your eyes from the sudden brightness.

“Holy fucking shit,” a female voice exclaims. Their cadence is full of surprise, and somewhat breathless. “W-what— how?”

“She's not from here,” Hobie explains, almost sounding forlorn at his own words.

Your eyes finally adjust, and you see an older Yuri gawking at you. She has aged well and gracefully, you think, as she sports the lighter hair with confidence and wrinkles barely noticeable.

“Yuri?” You still ask even though you're ninety nine percent sure that it's her.

“The one and only, gorgeous.” Without thinking, she drags you inside, pulling you in for a hug. You heard her sniffle, and you felt how her shoulders relaxed just from the hug alone. So you let her embrace you, with your hand awkwardly rubbing in an attempt to soothe her. Pulling away, she holds you at arm's length. She pats your shoulder, smoothing your sleeves, “still gorgeous, and still unfair.” Snorting, she lets you go, turning towards your companion. “Gwen's been waiting for you.”

Hobie gets flung back to the present, the simple sight of Yuri hugging you has brought him to the past, back when everything was better.

You stare at him, and he knows there's a lot of questions swimming in that genius mind of yours. He nods once wordlessly, not trusting his own mouth to form coherent words right now.

You follow him just as he instructed, Yuri reluctantly lets you go. Your nails dig into your sweaty palms, and eyes restlessly looking around the safe house. The place is expansive, walls high up, and when you look down, you see weathered tiles that have cracked from time. There's a train track in the middle, and you realize it's an old metro station. Instead of advertisements and train schedules on the walls, you see several monitors hanging on it, thousands of wires running through all of them, beeping and buzzing coming out of the computers. There's also weapon racks littered around the place, large and something that looks like it came from a sci-fi film.

There's a lot of people running around, all clad in the same style as Hobie. Leather, chains and metal spikes all adorning their forms. You quickly look away whenever you pass a stranger who widens their eyes at the sight of you.

Tugging at Hobie's vest, you peer at him. “Why does everyone give me that same look? And who's Gwen?”

He doesn't stop his strides, “Gwen's a friend, she knows you, kind of.” He decides to tease you. Maybe it's his brain trying to compensate for the time he hasn't done it. “Why? You jealous? Green eyed monster rearing its ugly mug?”

You scoff with a playful smile. “Technically, I don't know you, so…” his smile wavers, “there's no way I'd be jealous. Also you're…old.” His smile returns, there's a question that suddenly pops in your mind. “Are we a thing here?” You suppose you should ask just to get it away, and this isn't even the same Hobie back home so you don't lose anything by asking.

His face flattens, something passes by his eyes and he turns away. “Don't worry ‘bout it.”

“That's not answering my question, or any of my questions—”

“Gwen.” Hobie passes by you without sparing you a glance.

He enters a large open space that is full of computers and screens that blink and beep. There's a dozen or so people that walk around the area, all looking frazzled and tired. It looks like a command center of some sorts. A stranger bumps into you, accidentally shoving you by your shoulder.

“Sorry, I—” The man stops in his tracks, it's Ned, or at least this universe's version of Ned. The wrinkles around his eyes and white hair says that he must've been the same age as this Hobie. The clipboard in his hand falls from his grasp, eyes wide and watery, he gasps. “Y/N—”

Hobie appears next to you, “yeah it's her, Ned.”

“B-but…she's—”

Hobie shakes his head, wordlessly having a conversation with his best friend. “We'll talk later, I promise.” He softens his voice. The interaction has you more confused. They have a stare down with you caught in the middle.

You give Ned an apologetic smile. Crouching, you take the fallen clipboard, giving it back to him. “Here, sorry for bumping into you.”

His hand trembles as he takes it. “It's okay, I gotta go.” Rushing, he leaves you and Hobie.

“Is he okay? Please don't tell me you're working him to the bone.” You scold him.

“No, you know I'll never do that.”

“Just like I said, I technically don't know you.” Exasperated from all the dodging Hobie has done, you walk away and towards the command center where a large table sits in the middle and in-between a huge screen.

Hobie has forgotten has stubborn you can be, following behind you, he can already see Gwen looking furious just standing next to the table, all menacing like.

“Hobie, what the fuck did you do?” The sudden angry tone makes your skin jump, kind of reminding you of your days back in school. “Have you finally lost your damn mind?” The blond woman gestures towards you.

There's red streaks in her braided hair, clothes perfectly suited to her form. She stands out from the rest, she looks sporty in her varsity jacket and white trainers. But of course she wears a pair of leather pants and an old band shirt that says ‘fuck getting fridged!’ You have no idea what that means.

Before she could blow a gasket, you explain yourself. “It's not time travel actually,” you say, voice faltering once you notice all eyes are on you. “It's interdimensional travel— on accident! I didn't mean to.”

Gwen crosses her arms over her chest, “you a spiderperson? Do you answer to Miguel?”

“No, not a spiderperson, just some idiot who made a huge mistake by trying to make her own watch because my best friend asked me to.” You take the broken watch from your pocket to place it on the table. “See? I broke it.”

“Your Hobie asked you to help him?” Older Hobie asks, you nod, his eyes flick over to you and then the bracelet. “Sounds like something I would do.” He whispers to himself.

“Wait, you don't have a watch on you anymore? Then—” Gwen starts but your glitching interrupts her.

It was only two seconds but you felt like your insides were being ripped apart, and your eyeballs were getting scooped out by a spoon. Heaving, hands gripping on the table for balance, you cough loudly as Hobie pats your back.

“Motherfucker—! That one was worse than the last one.” You almost choke on your own spit. “Goddamnit.”

“I was about to ask why you're not glitching, I guess I got my answer.” Gwen hands you a water bottle. “Here.” Turning towards Hobie, who's already picking apart the bracelet, she sternly calls for his attention. “What do you plan with her?”

“Fix her watch then let her stay because she's Y/N.” He nonchalantly says, lying through his teeth to rile up his already mad right hand woman.

“Your real plan, Hobie.” She taps her foot impatiently, you still wonder what his words meant. “We don't have the time or the resources to help her right now. Especially when our little machine still hasn't turned on.”

“Would you rather have her molecules ripped apart or spare a few parts so she could go home?” Hobie places his hands on top of the table, eyes narrowed, challenging Gwen. Whilst you take in his words. “Our main focus still hasn't changed, she's a guest and if we don't help her she will die.” Inhaling, he continues, “you heard her, she has someone to go back too. Someone who's lookin' for her. Do you really want him to experience that kind of—” he stops after feeling your eyes on him. He clears his throat. “We'll help her fix the watch, it'll take me a few hours to finish it and we'll still be on schedule for the attack.”

You set aside your oncoming demise to ask him about ‘the attack’. “Schedule for what?”

Gwen visibly relaxes from your gaze, you surmise that this universe’s you has history with her. “We're gonna take down Osborn once and for all.”

You knit your brows together. “You haven't done that yet?”

Gwen and Hobie blinks in surprise, intrigued, everyone else who wasn't already eavesdropping looks at you expectantly.

“What do you mean ‘haven't?’” Gwen asks, eyebrow raised.

“We already did that in our dimension a few years ago. I still have a few scars from it.”

Hobie cranes his neck towards Gwen, hazel eyes suddenly forlorn, shoulders heavy, and jaw tightening. “You succeeded?”

It all hits you, they've failed in where you and your friends have succeeded. You gained where they've lost, and you feel for their pain, you for*his suffering. You now know why he gave you that look the first time he saw you.

Composing yourself, even though your chest feels heavy, you still act as if their revelation doesn't bother you, when it has impacted you like you're the one who lost. “Y-yeah, I mean everyone helped a lot. I just did the best I can.” You scratch the back of your neck, “we had this thing that can cripple the symbiote inside his men—”

Gwen takes out a small circular device from her pocket. “Like this?”

You shake your head, “no, we just hooked a bunch of amplifiers around the area and Hobie and his band played really fucking loud. My ears ring just thinking about it.”

“Yeah we all know about them hating loud sounds but that didn't work for us before.” Gwen and Hobie's hopes are dashed. “And after all the tries, we stopped trying that method.”

“Why don't you guys ask for help with spider society? I'm sure—”

Hobie cuts you off, scowling at his feet. “I did, I asked for help. And what did that vampire from 2099 say?” He grows frustrated, knuckles shaking, eyes looking away from you. “He refused, saying that no one could intervene. That this was my canon event, and if anybody helped that it'll put the multiverse into dangerous territory.” Shaking his head, the man before shows up, and Hobie turns away from him. “It's bullshit, that's why I left.”

“We did find out why sound doesn't disable the symbiotes. Osborn made some kind of shield around them.” Gwen pipes up, shifting the conversation before Hobie gets angrier from the mere mention of Miguel.

“Like armor?” You ask.

“Yes, it's invisible to the naked eye. Thanks to Hobie, we finally found their Achilles heel. If only we could get this damn device to work then we'll be free of him and his regime.” She continues.

“Maybe I can help—”

“No,” Hobie quickly says, hurt in his eyes, he avoids yours. “No, I'll get your watch fixed up and you can go.”

“But I may be able to help—”

“No,” he emphasizes, with a shaky breath, he calls for Yuri. “Take her to the extra room,” instructing Yuri, she smiles at you apologetically. “Stay there until your watch is fixed.”

“She might be right—” Gwen starts but Hobie ignores her.

You glitch once again, stomach turning inside out, this time you feel like your skin is being ripped away. Eyes rolling on the back of your head, head spiralling. The next thing you know, you're laying on top of a hard mattress. Groaning, vision adjusting, you sit up carefully.

Your eyes adjust to the dim light hanging above, a single light bulb that swings from a draft seeping out of a crack in the wall. The room is small, barely even fitting the single bed. Walls of grey concrete surround you on all sides, there's a few posters on the walls that are tacked lopsidedly. They're all worn down, like they're older than you from the looks of the fading ink. A singular guitar sits at the corner, black and cherry red, hundreds of stickers are placed on it, adding to the roses that are painted all over it. It screams Hobie, but not your Hobie. Just sitting on his bed makes you miss him, even though you know they are not the same.

Stretching your aching neck from awkward angles it was put through because of the glitching, you spot a polaroid picture sticking out from under the pillow. You don't want to be nosy, but seeing your own face smile at you has you reaching for the photograph.

It's you, but not you exactly. Your face is the same, clothes you can't recognize. The only thing you can recognize is the way you hold onto Hobie. This universe's Hobie. Cheek pressed on his own, mirrored smiles on both your lips, his arm around your waist, pulling you close as if you'd fade away. And your arms enveloping around him like you're shielding him from harm. There's one detail that jumps at you with how yellowed the paper is and how crumpled the corners are, you're both incredibly young.

“Oh,” There had been signs, and this now confirms it.

You look at the steel door as if you had x-ray vision, as if you can see through it and see the Hobie that this version of you had loved once upon a dimly lit pub where the polaroid was taken.

Placing the picture back where you found it, you test your shaky legs. You make it two steps before you start glitching out, tumbling towards the door, forehead pressed on the cold steel, you heave dryly.

There's tears in your eyes when you open the door. Silence greets you, the air is cold and stagnant, the lights that were blinking at you earlier are now dim enough that you have to feel your way towards the concrete hallway and out into the warm light. Your hands glide along the almost frozen walls, rough sandy concrete hitting your palms like sandpaper. Footsteps quiet to not rouse the sleeping crew.

Finally making it out, lungs cool, and teeth chattering, you feel sicker by the minute. Hobie stands next to the large console, back towards you. Metals clicking and grinding against each other, Hobie doesn't look over his shoulder from your presence.

You knock on the wall to not startle him and ruin his work. Hobie finally cranes his neck to look at you, shoulders tensed and eyebrows knitted together in either frustration or concentration.

“You okay?” You ask, voice echoing in the vast room.

“I should be askin’ you that.” He goes back to the table, immediately tinkering.

“Well, are you?”

“You're stubborn.”

“My best quality.”

You hear him softly chuckle thanks to the silence hanging in the air. Walking closer, you smile at the sight of his rubber gloves that protect his hands.

“So?” You ask again.

“Never better.” He flatly says, eyes focused on putting your watch together.

“Why'd you leave the society?”

“Thought you were smart?”

“I am, and a consequence of that is being utterly curious.”

Hobie sighs but doesn't stop working. “Creative differences.”

“Ah, I knew it. You and my Hobie would get along well.” Your words trail off when you see the same spherical tech sitting next to him. “Is that the thing you can't figure out?”

He spares it a glance. “Yeah, the bane of my existence.”

You go around him to look at it closely. Eyes narrowed, arms tucked, you lean closer. “I think—” you grab it before Hobie could stop you. The glitching must've taken a toll in your critical thinking because you crack it open like an egg in your hands. “That's your problem.”

“What the fuck?” He says breathlessly, almost yelling, eyes wide, hands already grabbing the tech to fix it. “What is wrong with you?”

“Thin shell.”

“We've established that you have a thin skull—”

“Rude, but I'm talking about that.” You point at the sphere while Hobie's cradling it like a baby. “the shell is too thin,” you take half of it, pointing out its faults. “See? You need to make the shell a bit thicker, put a pressure plate so that—”

Hobie has a growing smile. “When it's thrown it automatically turns on. With the thicker shell it can withstand it and with it helps distribute the energy more evenly. Shutting all the shields down around its vicinity without needing to push a button.” His eyes widen with realization with every word he says that you already know of. “That way we can arm every rebel with a hundred of these and take down Osborn's venoms without risking close combat. Fuckin' brilliant.” He looks at you in wonder. Embarrassment flickers in his eyes, he should've thought of that, yet, he didn't. You might not be his Y/N but you're worthy of her name.

“Sometimes the easier solution is the best.” Your next sentence has your hands shaking, he notices. “Was your Y/N as brilliant as me?” You finally ask.

Hobie's cheery face falls, “She was smart, but not that brilliant. Her bravery makes up for it.”

“I'm sorry.” Tears stick to your lashes, heart aching for the man before you.

“You are curious.” After years without you, he still has no idea how to respond to those exact words. “How you feelin’?”

“Me?”

“Finding out a version of you is dead must be fuckin' weird.”

You shake your head. “I first thought that I'd see an old wrinkly me.” A half joke. You smile at him to make him feel better, but with how forlorn those hazel eyes are, you might've made it all worse. You weren't lying, you wanted to see a glimpse of your future, but finding out the version of you here is long dead doesn't compare to the feeling of losing someone you've known for years, loved even. “It's terrifying, but it doesn't compare to how hurt you must be. Losing her, I mean.”

He didn't see you grow old. He didn't experience growing old with you.

Hobie clears his throat, “I know you're not her.”

“And I know you're not him. But it looks like we both share the same feelings for them respectively.”

“That obvious?”

“Hobie once told me that in every universe there's always someone for Spider-Man. So yes, it's obvious.” You give him an empathetic smile. “How'd you know it's the same for me?” For us?

“You talk about him like how I talk about her. Takes one to know one, love.” He holds your hand briefly, like it was acting on an old instinct. “Have you told him? How much you're bloody smitten? I have a feelin’ you haven't.”

You nervously chuckle, hands fiddling with a loose screw on the table. “Nope.”

“Let me guess, waitin’ for the right time? Scared of what would happen in the long run?” He says knowingly.

You don't look him in the eyes. “Yeah.”

Something flashes behind Hobie's eyes, after a beat of silence, he finally speaks. “She died protectin’ my crew, did you know that? She died protectin' me, and how do I thank her? Years of failing, years of fighting and we've only come close but never winning in the end.” Hobie sniffs, head raised to look at the graffiti painted on the ceiling. “If i just told her that I loved her, I would've had more time with her. Instead, I was a coward, all those years wasted because I'm a coward.” Hobie finally looks at you, the warm light from the lamp lights the trapped tears in his eyes. “Don't wait for the right time.”

You shake your head, heart clenching at the sight. “I don't think all those years were wasted. You loved her quietly, and I think she did too. Time spent together isn't wasted, just like your silent love. Love is never wasted.”

He smiles softly, the resemblance of a younger Hobie is etched under the small smile. “You would know.”

“I would know,” you smile back. Trepidation hangs around your neck like a two ton steel necklace. “How would I know that he feels the same way? What if it doesn't work out? Or worse, reject me?”

“His loss,” Hobie grins, a genuine one that you haven't seen this version of him sport. It's the only thing you need for reassurance. “But I highly doubt that will happen.”

Nodding, you feel determination where the heaviness once resided. “I'll tell him when I get back. I promise.” You say wholeheartedly.

“You better, don't make the same choices I did.” Hobie holds your hands like how someone holds a feather, gentle and kind. “At least I got to see her one last time, eh, love? A bit younger but beggars can't be choosers.” You feel something heavy on your wrist. Looking down, you see a working watch. Hobie slyly put it on you, it even has your dimension already keyed in on the screen. You look back at him, mouth slightly agape. “Too much power, that was the problem. Sometimes the easier solution is the best.” You laugh at him using your own words against you.

“Thank you, do me a favour?”

“Tit for tat, huh?”

You giggle, then you face him seriously. “Crush Osborne. Fucking decimate him. Or I'll come back and bring the cavalry.”

Hobie's finger ghosts above the button. “You know where to find me, love.”

“And you know where I am.” You smile as the portal opens behind you. A gust of air breezes past you, eyelashes fluttering in the wind, a kaleidoscope of colors dancing on Hobie's face, illuminating his hopeful eyes. “I'm serious, if you need help—”

He slides his hands away from yours. “Go home, Y/N, your Hobie is lookin' for you.” With the mention of him, you give him one last smile for him to remember. You take a step back and fall back into the portal.

—

You fall unceremoniously on the wet pavement, body crashing on a pile of discarded boxes and metal trash cans. The crashing sound would've startled anybody and would have their attention, but no one seems to pay you mind as everyone stares at the ashy remnants of your flat. Groaning, you slap your forehead because of your stupidity. You feel relieved because you seem to be home. Everything seems to be in place, and everything seems to be normal.

“Fucking idiot.” You whisper breathlessly at the sight of your charred flat. Your relief gets washed away when you see Hobie in his suit kneeling down in agony whilst bystanders watch on in grief. Your eyes flick over to him and back to your flat, then back to him.

His shoulders are shaking, head in his hands, nails digging into his mask. You'd yell his name if not for the crowd. Instead, you walk to him, legs still wobbly but getting steady with every step. Soon enough, before you could make your presence known with your hand reaching for his shoulder, he moves his head so fast that you're afraid that his neck would snap. The eyes of his mask widens, standing up, he grabs you lightning quick.

Arms holding you close, you feel his warmth as he slides his hand to your pulse. Hobie sighs in relief, even laughing as he slots his face in the crook of your neck.

You mirror him, hands kneading on his back, telling him you're back and you're not going anywhere with the simple touch.

“I thought— where—?” he starts, but you press your lips on his cheek. He practically freezes in place even with his mask acting as a barrier.

“I love you,” you confess, just as promised, and truthfully. “I love you—!” In a half second after the words are uttered, he swings you both effortlessly on a rooftop, away from prying eyes.

Hobie steadies you on your feet, mask discarded in a heartbeat. “You mean it?”

“Of course I do.” You don't miss the sight of his tear stained cheeks. Your hands reach for him, thumbs rubbing softly on each cheek. “I love you, Hobie.”

“Good, then you don't mind me doin' this?” The warmth of his hand seeps through his gloves, that won't do, so he takes his gloves off to feel you. His bare hand is on your nape, the other is placed on your waist, fingers tapping on your skin lovingly.

You already know what he's asking. “Nope, not at all—”

With an inhale, he closes the distance, kissing you, taking your breath away.

You've fulfilled your promise.

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its-all-or-nothing94 · 10 months ago

Text

One Night // Tom Glynn-Carney x f!Reader

Summary: Where reader goes out with her friends and meets this charming, sweet (and so fucking) hot guy in a club.

A/N: This is the first fic I have published based on a real person. I don't know Tom, this is just puuuure fiction, thank you very much! It's actually just a short little One-Shot :)

Ship: Tom Glynn-Carney x Reader

Warnings: Language (is it tho?), mentions of having sex, use of alcohol, One Night Stand

You have always thought of yourself as a pretty ordinary person. You had a decent job, a decent apartment, and a group of friends that you could count on for a good time. So when your best friend, Emily, suggested you go out to a trendy new club in London, you thought, why not?

The club was packed, the music loud enough to make you feel it in your chest. You weren't usually one for these kinds of places, preferring a quiet pub or a cozy night in with a book. But tonight, something felt different. You wanted to let loose, to forget about the mundane for just one night.

After a few drinks and a lot of dancing, you found yourself at the bar, slightly tipsy and in need of a break. That’s when you noticed him. A man standing beside you, ordering a drink with an easy confidence. He had a rugged charm about him, with tousled blonde hair and an intense gaze that seemed to see right through you.

“Having a good time?” he asked, his voice smooth and inviting.

“Yeah, better than I expected,” you replied with a smile. “I’m Y/N, by the way.”

“Tom,” he said, extending a hand. You shook it, feeling a strange spark at the touch.

You chatted for a while and you found yourself genuinely enjoying his company. He was funny, down-to-earth, and didn’t seem to have any of the pretentiousness you often encountered in these places. He didn’t mention his job, and you didn’t ask. You talked about music, movies, and travel – all the things that made life interesting.

Your laughter mingled with the thumping bass of the music, your body moving freely to the rhythm. Tom's eyes, a striking shade of blue, sparkled under the dim club lights as he leaned in closer. Your conversation flowed effortlessly, a seamless exchange of stories and laughter that felt strangely intimate for two people who had just met.

Before you knew it, the night had flown by, and the club was starting to thin out. Tom glanced around, then leaned in, his breath warm against your ear. "Do you want to go somewhere quieter? Maybe talk without shouting over the music?"

You hesitated for a brief moment, then nodded. There was something about Tom that made you want to throw caution to the wind, to embrace this rare sense of spontaneity. "Sure, why not?"

You walked through the bustling streets of London, the cool night air a refreshing contrast to the heat of the club. Tom hailed a cab, and you slid into the back seat, a comfortable silence settling between you. The ride was short, and soon, you stood in front of a sleek, modern apartment building. Tom unlocked the door and gestured for you to enter.

You stepped inside, taking in the stylish decor. The apartment was a perfect blend of modern chic and cozy comfort, with clean lines, soft lighting, and personal touches that hinted at Tom’s personality. He led you to the living room, where a leather sofa dominated the space, flanked by bookshelves filled with an eclectic mix of literature and knick-knacks.

"Make yourself comfortable," Tom said, heading to the open-plan kitchen. "What can I get you to drink?"

"Surprise me," you replied, sinking into the plush cushions of the sofa. You watched as Tom expertly mixed two drinks, his movements confident and precise. He handed you a glass, your fingers brushing briefly, sending a jolt of electricity through you.

"To unexpected nights," Tom toasted, raising his glass.

"To unexpected nights," you echoed, clinking her glass against his while you were blushing slightly.

You sipped your drinks, the alcohol warming you from the inside out. The conversation picked up where it had left off, but now there was an added layer of intimacy. You sat close, your knees touching, voices low and hushed. Tom's gaze never left your face, his eyes tracing your features as if trying to memorize them.

The air between you grew charged, the unspoken tension crackling like static. You felt your pulse quicken, your breath coming in shallow bursts. Tom set his glass down and leaned in, his hand gently cupping your cheek. He paused for a heartbeat, searching your eyes for any sign of hesitation. When he found none, he closed the distance, his lips capturing yours in a kiss that was both tender and passionate, making your heartbeat quicken.

You melted into the kiss, your arms wrapping around his neck as you pulled him closer. The world outside faded away, leaving only the two of you lost in the moment. The kiss deepened, your bodies pressed together, a hunger igniting between you.

Tom's hands roamed over your back, tracing the curve of your spine while your fingers tangled in his hair. You broke apart briefly, gasping for air, your foreheads resting together. "Are you sure about this?" Tom whispered, his voice husky with desire.

"More than sure," you replied breathlessly, your heart pounding in her chest.

What followed was a whirlwind of passion and desire. Clothes were shed hastily, discarded in a trail leading to the bedroom. You moved together with an urgency that bordered on desperation, your bodies finding a rhythm that felt both new and familiar. Tom's touch was gentle yet firm, his kisses searing a path across your skin. You felt more alive than you had in a long time, every nerve ending alight with pleasure.

You finally fell asleep in each other’s arms, your bodies entwined, the city outside just a distant hum. The night had been a blur, but one thing was clear: it was a night neither of you would soon forget.

You woke up to the soft light of dawn filtering through the curtains. You carefully slipped out of bed, not wanting to wake Tom. You dressed quietly, glancing back at him, a sense of something deeper stirring within you. You shook it off, knowing this was a one-night stand, nothing more.

You scribbled a quick note thanking him for a wonderful night and left it next to Tom before slipping out the door. The cool morning air hit your face as you stepped outside, swirling within you a mix of exhilaration, confusion, and a hint of sadness.

Back in the apartment, Tom woke up to find the note. He cursed softly under his breath, realizing he had forgotten to ask for your number. He sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the note in his hand, feeling a strange emptiness. For once, he had met someone who treated him like a normal person who didn’t care about his fame or his job. And now you were gone.

You walked through the quiet streets of London, replaying the events of the night in your mind. You knew it was just a fleeting moment, a brief escape from reality, but it was a night you would never forget, a night that made you feel truly alive.

As you reached your apartment, you couldn’t help but wonder what might have been. But you pushed the thought away, determined to hold onto the memory of a perfect night with no regrets. Life would go on, but you would always have that one night in London, with a man named Tom.

Later that morning, Tom found himself at their usual rehearsal spot, a grungy but cozy studio tucked away in East London. The rest of the Sleep Walking Animals were already there, casually tuning their instruments and chatting amongst themselves.

“Morning, mate,” Joe greeted Tom, plucking at his guitar strings.

“Morning,” Tom replied, his voice absent-minded.

Alex, noticing Tom’s distraction, smirked. “Someone’s got their head in the clouds. Or should I say, still in bed with that hot Y/H/C from last night?”

Tom shot him a look. “Shut it, Alex.”

“Oh, come on, Tommy boy,” Bill chimed in, drumming a rhythm on the edge of a table. “You looked proper smitten when you left the club. She must’ve been something special.”

“She was,” Tom admitted, slumping down onto a battered old couch. “But she buggered off before I could even ask for her number.”

“Savage,” Jack said, shaking his head. “Didn’t even leave a name or nothing?”

“She did,” Tom replied, running a hand through his hair. “Y/N. That’s all I got.”

“Y/N,” Nuwan mused, his fingers dancing over the keys absentmindedly. “Could be anyone, mate.”

“Thanks, Captain Obvious,” Tom muttered, frustration evident in his tone. “It’s just... I dunno, she was different. Didn’t give a fuck about who I am or what I do. Just treated me like a normal person.”

“Well, you are a normal person, mostly,” Joe teased. “Except when you’re whining about a girl like a lovesick puppy.”

“Oh, fuck off,” Tom said, but there was a hint of a smile.

“Can’t believe she just legged it,” Bill said, shaking his head in mock disapproval. “What, were you that bad in bed?”

The room erupted in laughter, and Tom threw a cushion at Bill. “Piss off, Caple. It was great, thank you very much.”

Alex leaned over, grinning. “So, did you shag or not?”

Tom rolled his eyes but couldn’t help the grin spreading across his face. “Yeah, we did. And it was... it was amazing.”

“Sounds like you’ve got it bad, mate,” Jack said, strumming a chord on his bass. “Bet you wish you could find her again.”

“Yeah,” Tom admitted, his voice softer now. “I really do.”

The guys exchanged looks, the teasing dropping away for a moment.

“Look, mate,” Joe said, more seriously. “We’ve got a gig tonight. Maybe you’ll meet someone else who’s just as cool. Don’t get too hung up on one girl.”

Tom nodded, knowing Joe was right but still feeling the pang of regret. “Yeah, I suppose.”

Nuwan started playing a familiar tune on the keys, and the rest of the band gradually joined in. The music filled the room, and for a while, Tom let it carry him away, the notes and rhythms a welcome distraction from thoughts of you.

But even as they played, your face lingered in his mind, a reminder of a night that felt all too fleeting and a connection that was painfully out of reach.

You sat with your friends at your favorite coffee shop, a cozy little place with mismatched furniture and a laid-back vibe. Emily, Sarah, and Jess were all there, sipping on their drinks and catching up on the latest gossip. You knew it was only a matter of time before the conversation turned to you.

“So, Y/N,” Jess started with a sly grin, “anything interesting happen last night? You disappeared from the club pretty quick.”

You felt your cheeks flush. “Maybe.”

“Maybe?” Sarah echoed, her eyebrows raised. “Come on, spill it! Who was the guy?”

“His name’s Tom,” you said, trying to sound casual. “We met at the bar, hit it off, and... well, I went back to his place.”

“Oh my God, Y/N!” Emily exclaimed, nearly spilling her latte. “You had a one-night stand? With a guy you just met?”

“Yeah, I did,” you admitted, unable to hide your smile. “And it was amazing.”

“Details, please,” Jess demanded, leaning in. “How was he? What was his place like?”

“He was... incredible,” you said, feeling the warmth of the memory. “Funny, down-to-earth, and not full of himself. His place was pretty stylish too, very him.”

“Sounds like a dream,” Sarah sighed. “And you didn't get his number?”

You shrugged. “No, I left early, and he was still asleep. I didn’t want to wake him. Besides, it was just a one-night thing.”

“Still,” Emily said, shaking her head, “you should’ve left your number or something. What if he wants to see you again?”

“I doubt it,” you said, trying to sound nonchalant. “He probably doesn’t even remember my name.”

“You never know,” Jess said with a wink. “Maybe he’s thinking about you right now, regretting not getting your number.”

“Yeah, right,” you said, but a small part of you couldn’t help but hope Jess was right.

“Anyway,” Emily said, changing the subject, “my brother’s got tickets to this gig tonight. Some indie band. He asked me to come, and I thought it could be fun. You guys in?”

“Who’s the band?” Sarah asked, taking a sip of her coffee.

“Sleep Walking Animals,” Emily replied. “Ever heard of them?”

“Sounds vaguely familiar,” Jess said, shrugging. “Why not? I’ve got nothing better to do.”

“Same here,” Sarah agreed. “Could be fun.”

“What about you, Y/N?” Emily asked. “Got any plans tonight?”

You shook her head. “Nope, nothing. I’m in.”

“Great!” Emily said, clapping her hands. “It’s a plan then. We’ll meet up at my place and head over together.”

As you finished your coffees and chatted about other things, you felt a strange sense of anticipation building inside you. You weren't sure why, but the thought of going to this gig excited you. Maybe it was just the idea of a night out with your friends, or maybe, somewhere deep down, you hoped for something more.

#Tom Glynn-Carney #House of the Dragon #Tom Glynn-Carney x Reader #Tom Glynn-Carney One Shot #One Night Stand #Celebrity x normalo #One Shot #TGC x Reader #Tom Glynn-Carney Fanfic

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theknightofnottinghill · 26 days ago

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Best Music Pub in Portobello Market

Right in the centre of Portobello's vibrant buzz lies The Knight of Notting Hill, celebrated as the best music pub in Portobello Market. The venue captures the essence of West London’s eclectic spirit with nightly live music that ranges from soul and jazz to indie and acoustic sets. The perfect escape after browsing the market’s vintage finds, this pub welcomes you with warm interiors, creative cocktails, and a curated music line-up that sets the mood just right. It's a local gem where community and culture collide, offering a welcoming atmosphere whether you're here for a quiet pint or a night of dancing. Experience the rhythm of Portobello—visit The Knight of Notting Hill and enjoy the ultimate music pub experience in London today.

#Best Music Pub London

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pillow-ghost-nan · 4 months ago

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VERY LONG wolfstar fic rec list PART 1

I spend way too much time reading fanfictions and wolfstar is the love of my life so yeah. Also most of these are E and M rated cause I just love my smut

PART 2

PART 3

Please let me know if any link needs fixing or if there are any mistakes. Enjoy!

Multi-chapter:

Led by Light of a Star Sweetly Gleaming by wolfpants

Rating: E, 53k words Remus Lupin is a student and temporary sales assistant at Oxford's finest department store when a mysterious, handsome young man by the name of Sirius Black enters his life and introduces him to a world of sprawling country estates, parties, and London's underground bar scene. A 1960s Wolfstar AU with lots of music, smoking, fine interiors, and, of course, romance.

Of Cinema and Sticky Notes by bluepeony

Rating: E, 12k words Remus Lupin is the office bore. Sirius Black is the office sweetheart. They fancy each other, on a purely aesthetic level.

The Road to Sweetwater by EuripidesTrousers

Rating: E, 57k words “Well. They don't call me Mad Sirius Black for nothing”, Black drawls lazily, “Speaking of drinks - you got any whiskey in your pack there or just old biscuits? Caught me talking politics and now my throat's awful dry.” Remus lifts his brow incredulously, disbelief creeping into his voice, “You must think I got a real short memory thinking you're owed a drink after that show back there. You clean forget you're at my mercy, and then go trying to steal my horse-” “Not in the habit of letting a man put me in the dirt without buying me a drink”, Black drawls, his grin turning sly, “Or maybe you got something else that'll make defeat a mite easier to swallow.” Sirius Black is wanted by the law in the state of Wyoming and Remus Lupin, who's still deciding which side of the law a bounty hunter sits on, captures him for the price on his head. It should be simple. But there's something in the air that Fall that sets Remus' compass spinning, and nothing seems simple anymore.

Saturday Nights and Sunday Mornings by Soupy_George

Rating: E, 126k words Heirs to the peerage didn’t write rock songs or play bass, they wrote poetry and learnt the cello from the age of five. Heirs to the peerage also got married and continued the family line. They certainly didn't get struck by a bolt of homosexual lightning in the middle of a grotty pub in Sheffield…. * “No doubt,” the barman said easily, handing the card back across the bar, “Just thinking it were nice tha’ posh twats have stupid names too.” He pointed to his chest, “Remus, thanks t’me daft mam.” A story about music and family, the price of fame and finding love somewhere completely unexpected.

Statten Park and Sunshine on Leith (Freedom & Whisky series) by eyra

Rating: E, 32k words He's absolutely maddening. It happens every summer: this dance, this flirting that Remus has never quite managed to get to the bottom of. Either it's a complete wind-up and Sirius is even more of an entitled bully than Remus has always thought, or it's going to end with Remus letting Sirius bend him over the storage crates behind the catering tent one year. It's one or the other. The boys spend a glorious long weekend together at Sirius's family estate in the height of summer.

The Long Way Home by HollyIvyDruzy

Rating: M, 177k words "SEEKING TWO ROOMMATES FOR HOUSE SHARE – SINGLE ROOMS AVAILABLE IMMEDIATELY. FOUR BEDROOM HOUSE LOCATED ON EAST SIDE OF TOWN BY CATHEDRAL – CURRENT RESIDENTS FIRST YEARS. NO WEIRDOS PLEASE." Remus never expected to go to Westerbury University, but then he also never expected to meet force of nature Lily Evans while house-hunting, James Potter while replying to a horrendous handwritten advert, or Sirius Black once he had already decided to move in. Soon it becomes clear that even the best laid plans can be thrown out of the window when starting university living with a group of strangers. A university AU with a dash of humour, a sprinkling of angst and some pining for good measure.

Honeydew by lunchbucket

Rating: E, 40k words Healer Sirius Black feels like his life is going through the motions. He is still recovering from the tragic death of his best friends four years prior while doing his best to parent their five-year-old son. However, when a new patient's encounter with a mysterious creature leads him to contact a person from his past, his life gets shaken up into one giant beautiful mess that he isn't sure he knows how to handle. Or, That magic feeling when you find someone who can see you when you can't even see yourself.

Odi et Amo by afieryfox

Rating: E, ongoing Classics student Remus has everything figured out; his courses, his career path, his life — until a mysterious transfer student turns his whole world upside down. Remus despises Sirius Black from day one, quickly set out to beat his new academic rival in any way possible. Angry glares over text translations follow angrier words thrown at the other late at night. All too soon, hate morphs into obsession. And everyone knows what obsession leads to.

Petty (With A Prior) by lunchbucket

Rating: E, 65 words Showing up for his ‘civic duty’ is one thing, getting out of jury duty without losing his shit is another. Tack on an attorney who finds the whole fiasco hilarious, and Remus might as well be in hell. The Courthouse AU of my dreams.

Dunes and Waters by MarigoldWritesThings

Rating: E, 37k Remus is sensitive to changing tides, a part of the moon always with him, and Black is like the sea. He can smell it on him, the way his magic builds up and crackles about the fingertips. *** A werewolf, a convict, and a riddle.

Like an Accident by lurikko

Rating: E, 12k words November 1993: detective Sirius Black has a new case, and a new partner.

Black Diamonds and Moonlit Snow by iamafullyrealizedcreation

Rating: M, 66k words “A marketing manager from Wales, moved all the way to Maine, to work for a ski mountain, and you don’t even ski. Remus Lupin, you just keep becoming more and more mysterious. What other secrets do you have?” There were two paths in front of Remus, one where he flirted back with the beautiful, handsome, dangerous man in front of him, and one where he remembered that Sirius was his co-worker, and more importantly, made his living doing the one thing Remus hated most in the world. “You’ll find that beyond all that, I’m rather quite boring.” Remus said, as he settled on a decision. Sirius sat back in his chair and gave him a doubtful look, and the start of a smirk. “We’ll see.” Remus Lupin starts work at Mount Calset with the goal to bring people to the ski mountain, and has to learn to deal with "face of the mountain" famous ski racer, Sirius Black OR A story about overcoming your fears, and the type of love that makes you feel brave.

Go East by xinasvoice

Rating: E, 84k words Remus has been running for a long time. Eventually, he runs into a strange castle built by a wizard and his young apprentice. The longer he stays, the more secrets he uncovers...and the less he wants to leave. This is a novel-length adventure story that loosely follows the plot of Howl's Moving Castle. It does not require knowledge of the HMC book or movie to enjoy it.

The Horcrux Hunt by lostmy_keys

Rating: M, 143k words He is a Slytherin, a Black, and an ex-Death Eater. Of course he makes it out of the cave. Regulus sets out to destroy the Dark Lord's Horcrux with no one but a house-elf to help, until he realises his task is bigger than he alone can handle. Reluctantly he turns to the only man Voldemort fears for assistance - Dumbledore - who loans out his pet wolf for the job, much to Regulus's dismay. Together they embark on a hunt for Horcruxes - a long and arduous journey that both makes friendships and destroys them. And a few people get hurt along the way. Slowburn Wolfstar, Regulus character development, a very flirty (but platonic) Regulus and Remus friendship, and a canonically manipulative Dumbledore.

Where the Mist Falls by YumeNouveau

Rating: E, 30k words Remus loves being a deputy in the snowy mountain town of Greyback Peak. But when a crazy cult leader escapes in his woods and the FBI is called in, he's not about to just hand everything over to the stuffy know-it-all feds. That is, until he's confronted with silvery eyes, perfect cheekbones and a tailored suit that make his heart beat so loud it might start an avalanche.

Wish You Were Here by afieryfox

Rating M, 70k words Moony and Padfoot are both well-known online streamers that meet in an Among Us lobby organized by Lily. They instantly connect with their quick banter and similar interests, even with a whole ocean between them. Remus is alright with crushing on Sirius from afar. Until fans start shipping them and give them the name Wolfstar. Utterly ridiculous, of course. But why does Remus’ heart make a leap every time he thinks about it? And why, after countless hours on Discord calls, does he get the feeling that Sirius might feel the same?

Currents by lunchbucket

Rating: E, 109k words Remus Lupin and Sirius Black arrive in Sydney to compete in the Summer Olympics, both intent on making these games a better experience than the last. The two swimmers have a tumultuous history and intense rivalry, but can America’s golden boy and Great Britain’s notorious bad boy put their past behind them and find some common ground?

Where There Is Smoke by moongnome

Rating: not rated (oficially but it's actually E), 109k words "If he closed his eyes, he could have been there again, back in the cold river, water rising up to his shoulders, with a beautiful boy who wouldn’t leave him alone." It is 1865. Stuck in his house with his overbearing parents, Remus Lupin cannot shake the feeling that he's missing something. Returning from abroad after the death of his mother, Sirius Black is now the owner of a massive estate and he has the attitude to match. He has everything, including people who are determined to take everything from him. It takes seconds for Remus to know he will never hate anyone as much as he does Sirius Black.

The Homecoming of Sirius Black by lunarlivs, MissAmericanBi

Rating: E, 44k Sirius Black is burned the fuck out. From his high-pressure job, his unfulfilling love life, the concept of existence in general... you get the idea. With what used to be his life now just a smoldering pile of vaguely millennial-shaped wreckage drifting somewhere over the Manhattan skyline, Sirius leaves New York and moves home to Slytherin, Georgia—a wealthy suburb outside Atlanta—in an attempt to figure out what he is really doing in this prison of a meatsuit people call a body. Enter: a smoking hot bartender with big hands, amber eyes, and a stubbornly hardened exterior Sirius is determined to crack.* But with the passing of each month, Sirius starts to see that leaving a place doesn't mean forgetting the loss, returning to family doesn't mean coming home, and while love isn't found at the bottom of a pint glass—he may be the one pouring it.

How Remus Got His Groove Back by RealityShowJunky

Rating: M 43k words After two years of noncommittal sex: Remus tells Sirius that he loves him. Sirius firmly rejects him. Remus tries to move on. Sirius is not happy. OR Remus Lupin becomes king of the cockroaches, Fabian Prewett writes a book, Gilderoy Lockhart is a catfish, and Sirius Black realizes he's a fucking idiot.

Maybe this time is different (I really think you like me) by fiddleleafedfig

Rating: E, 73k words “Because you’re not just writing about Picasso, Sirius. Remus Lupin is a writer and an introvert, he has published a few novels that have been very well received. We want the story of it all, the family estate, his writing process, the decision to display these sketches now.” “And what on god's green earth makes me the best man for that job?” “Because you’re charming, we think he’ll like you.” * Or; The story of how Sirius Black gets a writing assignment, banters his way into the art-elite of London, and ends up falling head over heels in love.

Till We Have Arrived Home Again by prouvairing

Rating: E, 44k words Summer, 1999. Harry comes home with news. Quite a lot of news. Harry takes a deep breath. “I'm quitting the Aurors,” he starts with, which is followed by a moment of stunned silence. “What?” Sirius says. “All right," Remus says. “Do you know what else you want to do? Did you think about it?” Harry blushes, the way James used to—a rosy glow lighting up his brown skin—and says, “I wanted to—that is, I thought I might be a teacher.” Remus, quite suddenly, seems to have something in his eye. "Oh." “What?” Sirius says. “And uh—there's more. I was thinking I might like to. That is. I want to become an Animagus.”

Lines by Krethes

Rating: E, 24k words "As if feeling Sirius’s eyes on him -- and maybe he does, Remus just Knows Things sometimes -- he looks over his shoulder with eyes heavy-lidded and sleepy. “We’re far too old to be having morning sex and you know it, Padfoot,” he warns, his voice still gravely and deep from slumber." OR: DILF Wolfstar getting the happy ending they deserve. Chapters are chronological, but it's largely PWP and we're just here to have some fun.

No Expectations by thisbluepeony

Rating: M, 98k words Remus Lupin is a little-known music journalist working on a little-known music magazine. Blue Stag are his next Big Project - well, his first anyway.

Ever Thus by WrappedUp

Rating: E, 135k words “Right, well I’d say it’s about time to put an end to this nonsense, wouldn’t you?” James nodded sagely. “You’ve obviously still got some things to chat through with him, but he will talk to you about it, Remus. He thinks the world of you, you know that. But the important thing is that you do talk because nothing’s going to get sorted if you just sit cry-wanking in your room.” The world is excruciating and enthralling in equal measure. The gang try their hardest to navigate it as real, legitimate adults.

Language Lessons by MsAlexWP

Rating: E, 150k words September 1982 The war is over. Voldemort was defeated on October 31, 1981. Regulus Black discovered Voldemort’s horcruxes and informed the Order of the Phoenix, which destroyed them. When Voldemort arrived on Halloween to kill baby Harry, the Order was standing by, ready to kill him first. Almost a year later, the Marauders and their friends are rebuilding their lives. Everything is going well for Sirius Black. Everything but love. OR Sirius Black is great at sex but shit at relationships. Remus Lupin is an amazing boyfriend, but not so great at sex. Could these best friends learn from each other? Platonically, of course.

Hurling Crowbirds at Mockingbars by WrappedUp

Rating: M, 41k words “He’s coming home, James. What the hell am I meant to do with that? It’s been eight fucking years and we’re meant to... what? Just meet him at the pub? Buy him a drink like-” He shakes his head. “What will I do with my face?” James takes a sip of lemonade, taking his role as designated driver very seriously as always. He has a smudge of dirt on his nose from ‘wrestling a conifer the size of a bear’, but Sirius doesn’t think to mention it because he’s somewhat preoccupied with his own problems, which, for the avoidance of doubt, are many and insurmountable. “Your face?” “Yes, exactly! It’ll give me away the second he sees me. He’ll know right away that eight bloody years has done nothing at all to dampen it down. Dripping with hurt. As if I don’t still feel-”

One-shots:

Babysitting by A_factorygirl_69

Rating: E, 5,5k words Sirius and Teddy's excellent adventure, or why Remus is a master manipulator.

No Reckoning Made by A_factorygirl_69

Rating: E, 22k words Trying to remain friends but also wanting more while in the middle of a war is far more difficult than Remus ever imagined. Sirius certainly isn't making it easier on him either.

Secrets in the Black of night by TracingPatterns

Rating: E, 6k words It all starts when Remus is paired with Sirius fucking Black in Potions, but Remus didn’t think this was where they would end up.

Buy the Stars by wilteddaisy (taotu)

Rating: E, 23k words Sirius Black, respectable pureblood patriarch and heir to the Black family fortune, has a wife and three children at Hogwarts. Defence Against the Dark Arts professor Remus Lupin wrestles with the aging wolf inside of him. When Black offers him a hand, Remus reluctantly takes it.

Nosebleed by WrappedUp

Rating: T, 8k words “I can’t have a threesome, Lily. I do puzzles for fun. I drink Ovaltine. I have a mug that says ‘I heart spreadsheets’. And it wasn’t even a present; I went out and bought it for myself because I really do. I heart spreadsheets.”

That Old Black Magic by fallovermelikestars

Rating: M, 37k words AU in which Remus, being as he is a werewolf and all, is homeschooled til he is 16. Hogwarts is something of an experience, not least because there's this boy called Sirius Black.

illicit affairs by dykesiriusblack

Rating: E, 8k words They shouldn't. But they do.

The Power Of The Dog by Suchsmallhands

Rating: E, 71k words Sirius thought he left the Black family behind but he is forced to face them once again when charged with the death of his mother. Who do you think will be his defender?

you jump, I jump by grumposaur

Rating: M, 17k words When Remus witnesses a disturbing event walking home one night, it sends him down a twisted path of many discoveries: secret societies, macabre rituals, cloaked figures, and a dark-haired boy who proves to be the most dangerous of all.

Satellites by jennandblitz

Rating: E, 23k words Sirius Black is the guitarist for Starsign, a band on a meteoric rise to fame. One evening in Edinburgh and he finds himself face to face with Remus Lupin, gig photographer an in almost-criminally oversized punk shirt. Perhaps things aren't meant to be at first, but the universe has its ways…

After us, the flood by aryastark_valarmorghulis, bloodsuitsandtears

Rating: E, 10k words “I was hoping you might be waiting for me.” His tone is light and friendly, but Remus isn’t fooled. “I stopped for a smoke.” He wonders, though. Was he unwittingly waiting for Sirius? In the last eight years, there had been countless smoke breaks, quick trips to grab another wine bottle and rendezvous to decide James’ birthday gift that dissolved into a sloppy snog or a quickie. It didn't happen every time Sirius was back in the country, but it was close enough.

bookends by drowsyanddazed

Rating: E, 12k It’s 1995 and the only flat in London that Remus Lupin can afford is one that’s falling apart and riddled with curses. When the curse-breaker comes in to survey the place, it’s Sirius Black who shows up at his door. On Remus’ doorstep, in 1995, they go through introductions. But they knew each other in 1982, back at university, they knew each other quite well, so why are they pretending they don’t have history? He’s not quite sure what’s going on between them, what they’re doing, what this tightrope they’re walking is. He’s not sure it’s a good idea.

Love, Trust and Other Wartime Casualties by BellaBabe

Rating: M, 8k words “Full moon?” Sirius asks, realizing he doesn’t actually know. Remus looks at him oddly. “You know you were always the most attentive. James was too carefree, too unburdened and Peter too forgetful… but you, you always knew.” It’s a well placed blow and it leaves Sirius breathless. “Things change I guess.” Remus says softly. “I’m here now.” Sirius can taste the lie on his tongue. Remus hums noncommittally and pours them more tea.

Lie With Me by mblematic

Rating: M, 12k words Sirius meets Remus unexpectedly, in somebody else's body. Nobody trusts anybody.

Elucidation Practice by montparnasse

Rating: M, 21k Christmas, 1978. Remus, wrestling with the mighty problems of gift-giving on a budget, contemplates life, love, London in winter, and falling off the edge of the world with Sirius Black.

Don't Make Me Beg For You (Because I'll Beg For You) by CuriousMay

Rating: E, 14k words Sirius' head jerks round, eyes wide with shock. Remus is still speaking but all Sirius can hear now is white noise. He stares at Remus, who is carefully constructing his chicken sandwich as he talks, seemingly unaware of the conversational grenade he's just launched into the room. "What?" "You know, Rita Schaffer? She was that 4th year who had that incident with Bleatchley's Beauty Bleach in '75 just after our exams and Madam Pomfrey had to regrow all her hair-" Remus starts as he puts down the tomato but Sirius cuts him off with a sharp wave of his hand. "No, not that, you idiot. The other bit. You said - you said you're in love with me?"

Horoscopes and how they caused the Plague of Frogs by Woldy

Rating: E, 6k words This is the story of the most improbable job Remus ever had, the Chocolate Frog Plague of 1980 and, incidentally, how he first kissed Sirius.

A Series of Sketches Done in Black Ink by mustntgetmy

Rating: E, 57k words Non-magic AU. Sirius had always imagined the aftermath of falling in love would mean lightness, and an escape from all the horrors of his childhood. But the past never leaves, and even love can't stop bad memories from resurfacing. An almost year in the life of Sirius and Remus's first year as a couple replete with art and tangled sheets, and containing the following: filled sketchbook pages from people lost and people found, terrible biscuits from an excellent therapist, mismatched music records, expensive hot chocolate, a lost brother, photographs (some invasive and some invoking terrible memories), a reckoning with the past, a promise of the future, and yet another ridiculously over the top Halloween party.

Within White Space by mustntgetmy

Rating: T, 9k words Non-magic AU. Remus spends his all his lunch breaks the same way: he sits at the university cafe, orders the cheapest thing on the menu, and stares at Sirius. Getting a good long, look at Sirius (and fantasizing about said look) is all Remus expects from Sirius. But Sirius has never been one for fulfilling expectations.

Black Glass by estas_absentis

Rating: E, 4k words Remus already holds Sirius’ heart in his hands, carries it with him through the world, could crush it if he chose. Why not his mind, his self, too?

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cybersugru · 4 months ago

Text

❝ rock me ; ricky olson — part one

𖥻 pairing: ricky olson x fan!female reader

𖥻 contains: summer love, angst, +18 contents, second chance romance

𖥻 warnings: inspired by one direction's "rock me". swearing, alcohol consumption, legal age gap (reader is 19/20-ish), mentions of smut / english is not my first language. i did change a bit their summer tour from 2019 but bear with me. please. not proof-read!

word count — 8k

synopsis — ricky didn't want a relationship. especially not after his previous one and especially not with a girl much younger than him. still, when you two met a few summers back, you changed his dogma and he allowed you in for what would be the best summer of your life if only it hadn't ended in the most dramatic of ways.

🎀

⠀⠀⠀⠀⭒ part one... summer of '19

SUMMER of 2019. that’s when everything changed.

it was a true dream come true. you eventually managed to save enough money to buy both a concert and a plane ticket to see your favourite band perform live; it took months and months of convincing your parents to let you go with your best friend as a birthday gift for you and an equal effort to save said money. still, despite all the hardships, you had made it to the front row.

the night before was hot — painfully hot, for that matter — which in itself was already a good enough reason for your best friend to convince you to go out and explore london together, but not only that it was a special night. we have to go out tonight, for christ's sake, she said and as you protested saying you were tired she rolled her eyes, it's your birthday and we're finally travelling by ourselves... do i really need to give you any more reasons why?

before you realised it, you were out of the hotel, dressed up, and heading towards what google had suggested as the best rock/sports pub in the area you two were in. on your way there, from time to time, a breeze would come through and make not only the heat a lot more tolerable, but also causing your loose little black skirt to dance along with your hair, swirling it around against the night sky and neon lights of the many pubs and stores nearby. at that moment, you stopped regretting leaving the hotel room, for the city seemed to have a life of its own in a way you hadn’t seen before at other places you’d been to and it felt revitalising to be a part of it, no matter how small.

your best friend pointed at the pub you were headed to once you arrived and it was packed inside — it was a friday night, after all; the fact that you two were clearly the youngest people entering the place should’ve been a red flag to you, looking back, but you were too joyful and excited about life to care about that and so as you two entered the place, finding a spot for the two of you became somewhat of a mission that resulted in you standing by the actual bar, near the bartenders and where the air conditioning was much stronger.

“wouldn’t it be crazy if we bumped into somebody from motionless in white here?” she said in a chuckle.

the environment was different from anything you had experienced before, in a positive way — smiling at your best friend was only a natural reaction to that, even more so when she pointed out, laughing, the terrible security job there allowing so many people in a small space. there was an arsenal match replaying on the tv’s but you couldn’t even properly hear the girl next to you due to the loud rock music playing, much less a football game; most of what your senses could smell were either alcoholic beverages or sweat mixed with the cheap perfume of those around you and all you could see was an ocean of people crowding the relatively small establishment that soon began to come together to sing 'chop suey' by system of a down in a single harmonic choir, which made goosebumps travel down your spine as you stood there sipping a fruity drink that matched the warm weather of that night.

it wasn’t until about half an hour or so later, when your glass was empty and your girlfriend had gone to the restroom, that you discovered someone had taken an interest in you.

“hey, that guy over there just paid for your drink,” one of the five bartenders handed another glass of the same cocktail towards you and pointed at an almost impossible-to-see spot across the bar, near a pillar that was clearly separating that area from the rest of the place. some kind of vip reserved area or something like it. as you took the drink from the employee, your gaze searched around to see who was the guy that she was talking about — flirting was not on your to-do-list for the night, but considering it was your birthday, you assumed perhaps you should give it a chance.

you turned your attention back to the bartender to ask if it was a safe drink but before you could say anything, the blonde offered you a reassuring stare, “don’t worry, i made it myself.” and as you thanked her, with your cheeks burning from the heat and the surprise of having someone buy you a drink on your first-ever night out, you continued to search for the mysterious man, wondering what was he like.

once you found him, your blood froze.

he was raising a glass of whisky at you when your eyes finally met his grey ones. the black hair shined beneath the neon lights above him, just like all the silver accessories on his fingers, neck and wrists. his tattoos caught your attention, as well and even though you couldn’t actually see them per se, you already knew what designs and stories his body carried in art form. and for a whole moment, looking at him, it felt like the world had stopped spinning while you were caught in a mist of admiration.

richard olson had bought you a drink. not only that, but the guitarist stared at you without blinking as if you truly were the most mesmerising creature he had ever seen before in his life.

in your mind, there was a mixture of paradoxical feelings both pressuring you into doing something while keeping you static without reaction. you knew who he was, obviously — how couldn’t you? you were there just to see his band live the following night —, and you didn’t want to ruin everything because of that or make him uncomfortable; but at the same time, you’d hate yourself for the rest of your days if you fumbled this once in a lifetime chance because you were scared to do something about it. as much as you wanted to go to him, a part of you reprimanded the idea, trying to convince you that you weren’t that cheap or a groupie.

ricky smirked from across the pub and took a sip of the amber liquid sitting in the glass in his hand. there was no way for you to know what was going on inside his head, naturally, but just from your reaction alone, the musician could tell you were a fan: he was used to the reactions of being recognized in public, it was easy to tell.

between your internal conflict and the crowded pub, air became rarefied and the sounds around you started to fade into an overwhelming background noise that took over you. still, you couldn't drift your gaze away from his, it seemed like the man you had always admired from afar had now casted a spell on you so you couldn’t look anywhere else other than his gorgeous grey blue eyes.

“i swear the bathroom line was ginormous! it took me ten minutes just to get in. ten minutes! i hadn’t even peed yet. can you believe that?” the voice behind you said with a grunt. your best friend rolled her eyes as she found her place again in front of you, but noticing you did not pay a single attention to anything she said, a confused frown formed on her features before asking what was wrong. you failed to answer once again which only made her turn around to see what was keeping your interest so intensely. “oh my fucking god… is that who i think it is? why is he staring at you? did you do something?”

“please shut up,” you instinctively fired. anxiety was creeping in with every passing second and not even the alcohol entering your system as you sipped the drink in your hands was easing it up. “he paid for my drink, but i’m too nervous to do something and he keeps looking in our direction. i don’t want to talk to him. what if he realises i’m a fan? then what?”

“are you fucking for real right now? are you stupid or something?” your friend asked turning back to you, looking completely shocked by your words, “if he does and he doesn’t want anything to do with you, then, hell, i guess you’ll just come back here and we can have fun just the two of us and tomorrow we’ll pretend that nothing ever happened. simple as that. now, please, do yourself a favour and go talk to him or i’ll never let you forget tonight.”

her answer was the reason that pushed you to finally break eye contact with ricky, who was still admiring you from afar. you knew she was right, as much as you hated to admit it that night: there was nothing about that whole thing that could possibly haunt you in your day-to-day life once you returned to your hometown. there was nothing to be afraid or ashamed of as long as you two were respectful towards each other. right?

it wasn’t like you were given the entitlement to choose for long after that — not when said musician left his band and crewmembers, shifting his focus on the path towards where you were, right as ‘you're all i need’ by mötley crüe started playing which left you blushing by the time the dark-haired man stopped in front of you with that same closed mouth smile from before.

“excuse me, may i borrow your friend for a second?” despite his attention being clearly on you solely, his grey eyes shifted for a second to your best friend, who stood there in as much shock as you but soon nodded without saying a lot other than that she would stay where she was in case you needed her, “oh, please come with us. i’m sure a friend of mine would be very happy to meet you, if you’d like.”

and suddenly, the two of you went from young girls enjoying a girl’s night out in london standing by the bar in a crowded pub to two young girls enjoying a night out in london with motionless in white. never in your wildest fangirl dreams did you ever allow yourself to picture such a rendezvous becoming reality.

glancing in your best friend’s direction, looking for any sign that this was not a dream, your eyes found her talking excitedly with vincenzo — considering the way the two of them were gesturing at each other, most likely about video games. the smile on her lips, along with the shine in her eyes, served as evidence of her comfortableness in such an unusual environment and seeing the one person you cared for the most in the world so relaxed, got you to relax and smirk a little as well. if she was having fun then you found it in yourself to allow your mind to enjoy the moment too.

“looks like they’re having fun, right?” the slightly raspy voice behind you said by your ear in a lighthearted scoff. as you turned around, you were met with the image of ricky taking a final sip of his whisky. “this is probably the first time in a while vin found a girl that actually enjoys those games he likes to play in real life, not twitter or something.”

ricky’s comment made you laugh and hearing your laughter congealed the musician’s thoughts long enough for him to forget briefly that he was not in his own company, that there were other people around the two of you despite the reduced intensity revolving everything around him simply due to the amused sound that escaped your cherry-coloured lips because of some stupid thing he said. the dark-haired man hadn’t felt like that since the first date with his former girlfriend and although it did feel good and massaged his ego, richard also hated the idea of going down that road again. and so, ignoring the warmth in his chest, his eyes scanned you up and down.

“sweetheart, how old did you say you were again?”

you answered, soon adding: “tonight’s my birthday”, not noticing how your attention had quickly been redirected from your friend to him, and him only, in a matter of seconds nor how the two of you were standing close to each other. “my ticket for tomorrow night’s concert was my birthday gift.”

the powerful muscle inside your chest stopped beating once the realisation hit you and ricky’s bright eyes kept on staring at you as he furrowed his dark eyebrows. you had never kissed anyone before and yet, against all odds of the universe and what was real or not, you were standing at a finger’s length of one of your biggest celebrity crushes while he showed an almost unbelievable interest in you — although there was no way for you to know that the reality was that he was momentarily rethinking his life choices for wanting to keep talking to a girl that much younger than him; for heaven’s sake, you could do better than him.

“happy birthday, sweet girl. i hope you’re having fun tonight,” olson chuckled and instinctvely rushed a hand to tuck a loose strand of your hair behind your ear, only to then use it to caress your cheek that seemed rosier than usual due to both the alcohol and the whole interaction with the man before you. “i'll make sure tomorrow’s show will be the best you'll ever see.”

ironically enough, as if the same mischievous universe from before hadn't had its share of fun already with your desperation of being at the older man’s mercy, the background music changed again to kiss’ ‘i was made for lovin you’ right when you found yourself with his hand on your cheek and his lips dangerously close to yours as the seconds went by. it was at that moment that you began to wonder if after that night, love songs would sound different… what if you could never listen to your favorite songs again after a night out with ricky olson? if that was the case, the most desperate romantic part of yourself began to pray for the heavens that it happened because they would remind you of ricky and bring joy to your soul and not tears to your eyes.

the song progressed along with its notes and vocals and all you could focus on was the guy right in front of you. ricky was so close that you could smell the whisky in his breath, the perfume on his body and the lingering scent of tobacco smoke particular to someone who spent time with smokers like he did. your eyes, unsure, raised themselves from the necklace resting on his chest to find his, as pretty as a set of jewels. you remembered once hearing him talk about it in an interview but the words escaped your mind in that moment — it wasn't exactly like your mind was functioning like it should be, anyways.

“what's the meaning of your necklace?” you asked, gently picking it between your fingertips. a bit scared to look up at ricky again.

“it was a part of my grandfather's key collection. i just took it and turned it into a necklace to keep it close, i guess,” he smiled. doing the same thing you did seconds earlier, he picked up your necklace. a single small silver star hanging from a silver chain. “what's your story?”

“my grandma gave it to me when i was a kid and i never took it off since.”

he nodded and played with the medallion a few times between his calloused fingertips before letting it go to focus on you instead. once again, the musician furrowed his eyebrows yet again for a brief instant but it soon disappeared and metamorphosed into a little smirk. “i honestly don't know what to do now. and we haven't even known each other for more than like half an hour.”

“i don't know, man, sounds like you should just kiss her,” the characteristic powerful voice of aj rose up from behind ricky while his back stood facing the two of you as he waited for his drink at the bar. soon, the bottle of beer was in his hand and the tall blonde turned around faking a cough in ricky’s direction, “pussy.”

you couldn't help but laugh. despite the noticeable age difference between ricky — and everyone that worked with the band — and your friends back home, there were still similarities that made you feel a bit less nervous about everything.

olson closed his eyes for a second in irritation and told aj to fuck off while his cheeks turned into a shade of light pink due to the provocations of his friend.

“i'm sorry about that,” he apologized in a murmur while brushing a hand through his black hair that shone beneath the neon lights of the bar behind him.

“it's okay,” you shook your head laughing, “it's nice to see you're not faking your relationship in front of the cameras. that you actually pick on each other like that and not just when there's someone recording it.”

“you're saying that because you're not the one dealing with this behaviour all the time.”

his answer made you giggle again. little did he know that you’d be willing to do crazy things to experience the so-called immaturity of the band and staff. you admired them, there was nothing you'd want more. well, maybe there was and it was mere centimitres away from you.

from the expression on your face to the light glistening in your eyes gazing back at him, ricky knew you truly didn't mind the playful comment from aj and on second thought, it was the push he needed to finally shut the hell up and hold your face delicately so he could wrap his lips around yours in a kiss. your first kiss. with richard olson.

at first it was shy, sweet, romantic even; ricky tried to be as respectful as he possibly could with you, after all he had no right to act like an asshole and crush your heart in exchange for a night of selfish fun pleasure games. still…

after he leaned back for air, the kiss grew more passionate as the two of you allowed each other to deepen it further. the flavours of scotch whisky and peppermint bubblegum resided in his mouth and invaded yours just like the heat coming from your fragile heart did the rest of your body. ricky’s hands held you firmly on your left cheek and your waist, pulling you closer to him as your arms wrapped around the back of his neck.

it felt like a dream come true. so much so that you could barely believe that that was real life, that you were lucky enough to be experiencing such a thing. to kiss ricky like that was a surreal sensation and you begged mentally to pretty much every single powerful deity you could think of for that night to never end.

when finally the two of you were running out of oxygen, you reluctantly pulled away from the kiss, with your eyes closed and biting your lower lip. the feeling of ricky’s lips touching yours still there, making you finally understand hollywood romance movies in which one of the characters becomes addicted to the other's kiss.

richard called for you, pulling you from your awakened dream with the way his thumb caressed the bite marks on your lower lip. he knew that was your first kiss: it was difficult to not notice how you were so adorably awkward trying to mimic his movements or how stiff your body stood. he found it both curious and cute. still, the guitarist said nothing, instead he decided to just admire your features for a second as his heart trembled with something that he hadn't felt in a long time since him and his ex-girlfriend decided to “take a break” that had been going on for over a year, something he didn't want to feel for anyone. not when he still thought about her. not when he still carried a keychain of the tenth letter of the alphabet.

still, he brushed it off. it was impossible to think straight when two very strong conflicting voices were trying to take over his mind: at the same time he hated the idea of being a terrible man to you, someone that broke you on the inside, another part of him despised himself for even thinking about moving on when he could still have another shot at the previous relationship of his. ricky was being selfish and he knew it, which was why he also knew you deserved better than him.

you and your best friend spent the whole night with the band and staff — somehow logan managed to get you a cupcake with a candle for you to blow — and it was the best night of your whole life. pictures were taken on different phones and so were videos of drunk vinny and aj trying to beat ryan and talitha on a match of darts, which they failed, naturally. you talked all night long with ricky and it seemed so easy, so intuitive too that it felt like a breath of fresh air to be free of a mental need to fake or mold your true personality to fit in; you two laughed, talked about your life stories, about the things you liked or didn't and at some point, you and your best friend had pretty much blended into the motionless family that it barely seemed like the two of you were merely fans in the first place.

soon, one by one everyone around you started to leave. first, it was justin and chris who had only agreed to head out to a pub for a beer or two anyway as they were more homebodies than anyone else there; then it was ryan, talitha and bryce. lastly, aj and logan. it was around two thirty in the morning when the only people left of the much larger group were you, your girlfriend, vincenzo and ricky.

“maybe we should head back to the hotel or something," vin suggested while stretching out the tiredness in his body.

that's what the four of you did. on the walk back, filled with stories of both vinny and ricky about the other times they had been in london, your best friend mentioned how all your things were back at the hotel you were staying at. to that, all vincenzo brought himself to answer was: don't worry about that, you can go back in the morning. oh, and when you get to the venue just say you're with us, they’ll let you both in.

perhaps it was the late hour, but thankfully there were no other fans in the hotel by the time you all walked in. ricky suggested going to the rooftop bar but vin refused, saying he would rather go straight to his room and so, after your friend practically begged you to not worry about her, you were left alone with rick on said rooftop.

the weather was far more pleasant than it was when you left for the pub earlier, a gentle breeze even ran across the space and played with your hair. the difference from before was that now you weren't the one fixing your it, for it was ricky’s fingers that forbidded the strands to bother you. his gesture was simple and almost a natural impulse, something the dark haired man did without thinking, but it made your heart race nonetheless. for hours you'd been feeling like life was worth it and it was thanks to the way the entire band had been treating you, but above anyone, ricky, of course.

now that you were older, you realised how stupid you were to believe in him.

being close to each other on large leather lounge chairs near the bar, you could've sworn that time had slowed down for the remainder of the night. nothing you experienced before could ever compare to the birthday you were having. still, a part of you kept on whispering in your ear that you weren't truly deserving of that: you weren't pretty enough, you weren't interesting enough… you knew those were only insecurities trying to destroy your moment but it seemed that no matter how hard you tried, those thoughts just never went away completely despite all the effort you had put into getting ready with your best friend all those hours ago or the fact that, one way or another, you were accompanied by rick. in his arms, more specifically.

“what's going on in that pretty head of yours, star?” he asked, softly pitching your cheeks. the nickname coming from your necklace.

“nothing important," you answered. the reality was that, along with the doubtful thoughts, your brain started to rethink about that night and how one thing so casually led to another until you ended up there with your cheek resting on ricky's chest while the skilled hands of his caressed and massaged the sides of your body.

“i doubt that," he chuckled.

you shifted your gaze back to the older man holding you and just like that all the worries in your mind faded into nothing. your eyes focused on his lips for a millisecond, yet it was enough for him to notice nonetheless.

“would you like to go to my room?” both his hands traveled up towards your face, cupping it on both sides, when the question left his mouth. it was ricky's way to mask the conflict happening still inside his head while still trying to be decent to you.

both of you wanted the same thing, but for different reasons. either way, as soon as he asked you that, you didn't have to say anything else all it took was a nod and a particular expression on your face and before your daydreamer brain could fully process it, you were back in the elevator laughing at the way ricky stumbled over his own feet only to then shut you up with a gentle yet deep kiss.

the way he touched you, the way he tasted and smelled like were numbing your senses, making you weak to your knees. all you wanted then was to be next to him forever. not only was ricky a musician you admired, you discovered he was a great company and showed every indicator that he could be an amazing lover as well.

by a miracle of some sort, the crew managed to book individual rooms for each member of the band, which meant you and rick would have the whole place to yourselves that evening when he opened the door moments after having picked you up in his arms. back then, you thought of the whole thing as evidence of luck: you thought of yourself as the luckiest girl in the whole world.

ricky kicked the door shut and carried you towards the large bed with his hands supporting your thighs around his waist and slightly chapped lips on your neck.

however, right when your back hit the soft surface of the mattress, your body unconsciously froze as your mind began to race at a thousand kilometres per hour with insecurities, fear and anxiety. there were a million questions traveling inside your head that shook the substructures of your confidence that had been meticulously built throughout the years. it wasn't like you weren't used to your consciousness trying to play tricks on you, but that was the worst possible moment for it to happen. besides, you had worked enough on your perception of your own image for things like that to happen the least amount of times possible. so why was your mind trying to sabotage you?

“hey, sweet girl, what's wrong?” rick asked gently. real concern lingered in his grey eyes. “talk to me.”

you faked a smile. “oh, everything’s fine. it's just that–” you stopped, took a deep breath and looked up at the ceiling. “i’ve never… you know… i’ve never done this before. with anyone.”

richard furrowed his brows and leaned closer to you. he let out a comforting smile in your direction before raising a hand to caress your cheek like he had done hours earlier when he kissed you for the first time.

“don't worry about that, star. don't pressure yourself. it's perfectly normal, you shouldn't compare yourself to other people," ricky reassured, placing a gentle kiss on your forehead. “do you want me to stop? i can sleep in justin’s room if you'd like.”

“no, no, stay with me,” you quickly fired back. eyes went wide and your left hand instinctively reached for his lower arm, to keep ricky close. “i don't want you to stop. i was only self-conscious, i think. it's all so new…”

“it's okay, pretty star,” olson’s smile enlarged at your explanation. “just trust me.”

his hands gently pulled away from your face and began moving towards the hem of your shirt, delicately removing the piece of clothing off of you and exposing your chest covered by a pretty burgundy lace bra. for a second, you could've sworn that the guitarist had frozen in time after the revelation, which made you both blush and giggle at his expression before you took matters into your own hands and took off his black t-shirt. now, you were the one mesmerised by the tattoos on his skin that seemed to lure you in like a spell of some kind. glancing up at the brunette, you pulled him by the necklace.

in contrary to your expectations of a warm kiss, ricky stopped in the middle of the path towards you and closed his eyes for a brief moment. you had no way of knowing but in his mind, all he could remember was how his former girlfriend used to do exactly that from time to time when she wanted to kiss him. but you weren't her.

“i'm sorry. got a little dizzy for a sec now.” he reassured, looking back at you. and as if nothing happened, the man above you began to deposit lovely little kisses across your chest and towards your abdomen.

“like i said, trust me, sweetheart.” ⭒

the night you spent with ricky was beyond everything you could've expected or even dreamed of in your wildest reveries.

your body felt a bit sore when you woke up around eight in the morning, but your head was bothering you a lot more from the drinking for you to notice anything on the other members of your body. slowly, you recognised the environment as ricky's hotel room but before you could do anything, a weight around your waist precluded any movement of yours further from the stretching. it was his arm, holding you close to the side of his body as ricky remained peacefully asleep on his stomach.

instinctively, you raised an index finger to brush away a few strands of his shoulder-length black hair so you could observe his features more clearly, for in your eyes, richard was a piece of art right there next to you.

“morning," he mumbled beneath his breath. the magnificent grey blue eyes of his remained close, “what time is it?”

“good morning. it's eight fifteen.”

rick murmured a curse word and finally opened his eyes. upon finding you as the first thing he saw in the morning, the dark-haired man let out a smirk before raising his body to kiss your temple. “wish i could stay for breakfast with you, but i have to go. i'm late and the band’s probably waiting for me.”

you watched as he got ready for the day and all the things he would have to do before going on stage and a part of you was positive that from that day forward, you'd become nothing to him. however, olson got out of the bathroom all dressed and ready and before leaving, he returned to the bed where you stayed, got down to his knees and brushed a hand through your hair gently. “i hope you enjoyed last night, that it was as incredible for you as it was for me.”

tracing a thumb on the valley between your breasts, ricky seemed disturbed by the sight of the purple hickeys on your skin. “i'm sorry about this. i shouldn't have gotten so carried away.”

almost immediately you shook your head and brought that hand on your chest to your lips, where you placed a few light kisses on his tattooed knuckles. “richard, don't do that. last night was the best night of my life and i loved every second of it. if anything, i only resent that it is over.”

the rockstar let out a nasal laugh at your answer to his complaint. you were unbelievable and he was starting to hate himself for not allowing his feelings for you develop into something other than maybe a few weeks-long summer affair. you deserved better than him.

“i'll see you tonight, okay? i'll be searching for you from the stage, star,” he gave you a final kiss on the forehead and left for the day.

you, on the other hand, decided to get ready to enjoy the hotel's breakfast with your best friend after a warm morning shower. as soon as you saw your reflection on the bathroom mirror, you stopped thinking about the things you and ricky had done the previous evening and how you were carrying marks of his handling. memories of the way his hands traveled across your skin or the way his lips devoted themselves in offering you a taste of what heaven was like filled your mind and kept you from going about your activities until you remembered that your girlfriend had texted you saying she would meet you at the restaurant.

on the contrary of what you assumed would happen, the shower didn't wash away the late hours, instead, it made you miss ricky more.

still, you finished getting ready with the clothes you wore to the pub, grabbed your belongings and headed out to meet with your friend.

you found her sitting on a table near the many windows. the traffic outside was still heavy, despite being past rush hour; perhaps it was due to the annoying rain and bad weather — it mattered not that it was summer, london would be london until the end of times.

in front of her, two plates of berries and croissants that she had picked up from the buffet awaited your arrival.

“hey,” you said in a smile while sitting down on the chair across from her. tiredness still lingered on your body and mind. “how was last night?”

“already? we haven't even had a cup of coffee yet," she protested with a fake offended tone, that was soon dropped and replaced with the largest smile you had ever seen on her face. despite the gloomy morning, your friend seemed to be glowing, "i'm gonna marry that man, i swear to god, i'm gonna marry that man. go on, write it down: your bestie will become the next mrs. mauro. seriously, you should've introduced me to this band earlier.”

before either of you could say anything else, a waiter approached the table to ask if the two of you would like something to drink. you ordered a latte and your friend a black tea. right as the waiter left your table, she, who was not a fan of the band in the first place, began to explain how the night in the company of vincenzo mauro went. right as they got to the hotel, she noticed how he became even more respectful than he already was throughout the whole time; vin respected her space and kept his distance, which he only breaked when she started to openly flirt with him.

“but then, he told me he was sorry if that was not what i was expecting but that he would much rather watch something together than to do something together, if you know what i mean. we watched spider man and talked like, through the whole movie. and i wasn't even mad about it, he is just so sweet and funny and smart and kind… i know it's the bare minimum but the fact that vin didn't try and force me to do anything warmed my heart, you know?”

you smiled at her rambling, feeling even more happy for her than you felt for yourself. she was your person and her happiness meant more than anything.

for the rest of the breakfast, you two discussed about you and rick: how you talked for hours and hours about many different topics and subjects like you were long-time friends or something; you told her how special he made you feel and how magical it was to know that ricky was going the extra mile only to make sure you were comfortable in doing the things you ended up doing.

it was crazy how in just a single day you went from a mere fan to, a few hours after that, someone who could enter the venue they would be performing at by giving your name to the security guards.

you and your friend were wearing black dresses: yours was a bit more flowy than hers, though. you two decided to go for a simpler makeup, scared that something could go terribly wrong if you decided to try something new but you compensated on accessories. chains, necklaces, rings, big earrings. you two were feeling both the most beautiful and special you had felt in the longest time.

like they said, vin and ricky found a way to grant you full access, which meant you two got to explore the backstage of a tour like theirs before you found your spots by the barricade, right below the right side of the stage. ricky’s side of the stage.

you were having the time of your life enjoying a live performance of your favourite band after such a long time waiting to finally be able to attend a concert of theirs, but every time the guitarist winked in your direction, you felt like your heart could explode at any given moment.

but nothing, absolutely nothing, could've prepared you for the moment when motionless began to perform city lights, even though they hadn't in years. it was your favourite song from your favourite band playing right in front of your eyes. and as if that wasn't enough on its own, the fact that ricky stood there, looking down at nobody but you during the whole song, was making your heart race in ways it hadn't before.

the performance was impeccable: the guys played perfectly, chris sang like an angel and everything was so special that once it was over and you two were heading back to meet the band, a part of you felt somewhat lost or empty.

justin was the first person you found on your wandering; as you briefly hugged him and your friend complimented his stage presence though she soon switched her attention to someone else behind him. someone that opened up a smile equally as large as hers when he saw her standing there.

“hey, pretty” vinny said, taking her in his arms tightly, clearly not being able to hold back his excitement to see her there.

as your friend stood there talking to vinny — whose eyes seemed to shine while looking at her — you remained on your conversation with justin until he invited you to follow him to the greenroom where the rest of the band was resting after the intense show. “rick’s there, just take a left here and you'll find it, i have to take this: wife's calling.”

shyly, you opened the door to the greenroom like justin told you to do. inside, you found ricky sitting on the couch, head leaned back and eyes closed as he tried to slow down his breathing. seemed like there was no one else there — maybe ryan was somewhere else removing the makeup and lord knew where chris went after the shows. the man was always fixing something or resolving a problem.

“hi… may i come in?” you asked, standing by the door in case he asked you to leave him alone for a little bit.

instead, the brunette only smirked and opened his eyes at the sound of your voice. despite the chaos going on in his mind, the conflicting feelings, a part of him still felt a deep sense of relief in your presence; selfishly, rick wanted to have you around even though he knew he couldn't give you what you wanted and deserved.

"of course, sweet girl. come here.”

like the dumb teenager starstruck you were feeling like, you smiled and went to meet him.

“did you like the show?” he asked, taking your hand in his before pulling you to stand between his legs.

“i loved it. you were incredible, all of you.” ricky raised an eyebrow at your answer. “yes, all of you. don't act all dramatic now," you scolded him, rolling your eyes before changing your tone to a curious and confused one, "why did you guys perform city lights? you haven't in such a long time.”

“take a wild guess, star," he chuckled. his hands shifted towards your waist, inviting you to either sit on his lap or next to him on the couch. you opted for the second choice, afraid that someone would enter the room and catch the both of you in an indelicate position. “you told me last night at the pub it's your favourite song and it's your birthday weekend, you deserve something special.”

the words that left ricky's mouth haunted your thoughts for the rest of the time you spent there in his company and the band, that soon all returned for a little get together, since they would have more time until the next concert so it seemed like nobody felt the need to rush getting out of that venue or out of london.

it was close to eleven in the evening when the whole crew — makeup artists, dancers, producers, photographers and more — got together with the band in the greenroom that apparently had a balcony attached to it that you missed earlier. justin was the only one that had gone to the hotel so he could get to bed a bit earlier than the night before. vinny and your best friend were outside on the balcony with ryan and talitha, the drummer’s hand never once leaving her waist.

on the couch were you, rick, chris and angela talking about everything and anything at the same time. rick’s hand rested between your thighs which, in turn, were on top of his while your head rested on his chest.

“hey, you,” the guitarist holding you whispered above your head when chris and angela left to go get more pizza. around the two of you, people were talking and music was playing much like a party backstage of a big concert and yet, as soon as his smooth voice came in your direction, everything seemed to have been muted out for as long as he needed your attention, "would you like me to take you to your hotel? i don't know if you're comfortable here, but we can leave if you'd like.”

you shook your head in denial, a small close-mouthed smile on your lips. “i'm good, i promise. being here, getting to know everyone and them being so welcoming is quite literally a dream. don't worry about me.”

ricky smiled and kissed the top of your head, “you're too good to be true.” ⭒

somehow, you managed to convince your parents — and your best friend’s — that you two had won a competition in which the prize were two tickets for the motionless in white concert in milan. looking back, you wondered how the hell they believed in and trusted two kids to travel around europe alone for well over three weeks. either way, though, you got them to believe you and that was how you and she were cleared to travel along with the band to their next tour stop.

you traveled around milan with your best friend and sometimes with the guys and girls when they had free time to do so. what was supposed to be a week long trip to london for your birthday turned into a three week long trip that became the best trip of your life.

ricky and yours relationship was particularly difficult to label but the way he insisted on making sure you knew how special you were in his eyes gave you the peace of mind needed to continue on that journey. he verbalised his feelings, gave you kisses and hugs that healed every bit of insecurity you could possibly have in your heart; spending time with him never felt like a burden or unnatural, instead, it felt like swimming in the widest ocean. peaceful, quiet, healing.

or so you thought.

it was the night before the milan concert. you and rick were alone in your hotel room and he was waiting for you to come out of the shower and get ready so you two could go out for a “proper fancy dinner date”, as he'd worded.

right as you stepped out of the bathroom, outfit on and hair freshly done, you heard his voice but before you could say anything you found him talking on the phone with someone that, at first, you failed to understand who was.

“yeah, i missed you too. are you really here in milan?” he said with the largest smile you had ever seen on his lips. the same lips that offered you comforting words and wildfire kisses. for a second, you tried to convince yourself that it could be a family member. but your heart knew. “are you free tonight? i’ll come over and meet you. no, no, i'm not doing anything tonight. yeah, okay, just let me know. i love you. bye.”

unfortunately for you, your mouth seemed to work faster than your brain to stop it from asking: “who was that?”

and just like that, unlike before, your voice wasn't a source of relief and peace for the guitarist: it was one of terror. his face went pale upon hearing your question, the smile on his lips died as quickly as his body moved to get close to you as if that would somehow make it easier to digest.

“oh it was nobody important, my star. are you ready?”

feeling enraged by his audacity, you pushed his hand away from your cheeks and took a step back, "i don't go around saying i love you to people who aren't important to me, richard. who the fuck was that?”

his heart froze inside his chest at the face of such an adversity. for the first time in forever, ricky didn't know what to say to you: honesty would tear you apart from the inside much like deceiving you would. that was the worst possible scenario for him and yet, all he could think of was how he was going to get out of this situation without ruining his public reputation to his fans.

he took a deep breath and closed his grey eyes for a second. “my ex. i'm meeting her tonight.”

tears immediately invaded your eyes, even though your mind took longer than that to process the information that you had been nothing but a mere toy for him for the last few weeks. you trusted him with your heart, your respect, your deepest feelings for well over seven years and if that wasn't enough, your body for the first time in your insignificant existence in this world. crushed wasn't even a word destructive enough to begin explaining or expressing just how shallow you became in a matter of a few minutes. on a moment you were on top of the world, the next everything fell apart and you felt like a dirty mess.

a crumpling sensation began to take over you, numbing your senses and making you want to disappear into thin air. you didn't even have the strength or the energy to discuss with him.

“don't fucking talk to me ever again” you somehow got to say it before grabbing the few things you could carry, only to then head towards the door. “i really hope she breaks you like you're breaking me.”

and you closed the door feeling every tiny piece of once was your heart falling to the floor beneath your feet as you carried on your way to go back home as soon as possible.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⭒ part two... under the moonlight

#— ✴︎ 𝐫𝐢𝐜𝐤𝐲 𝐨𝐥𝐬𝐨𝐧 !#— ✴︎ 𝐦𝐞𝐭𝐚𝐥 !#— ✴︎ 𝐦𝐨𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐢𝐧 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐭𝐞 !#ricky olson #ricky horror #ricky horror olson #ricky olson x reader #ricky olson x you #ricky horrror x reader #miw #motionless in white #ricky olson x female reader #ricky olson fanfiction #miw fanfiction #miw fanfic #motionless in white fanfiction #ricky olson smut #ricky olson angst

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