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sturnalsm · 6 months ago

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I KNOW YOU WANT ME

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

!! WARNINGS !! : smut, swearing, choking, use of Y/N

summary: you and Chris HATE eachother, you never liked seeing eachother, let alone talk to each other.

its 3:16 am in the morning and you couldn't sleep all night. Chris was with you in your house because Nick and Matt are in Boston, and you didnt liked that Chris was there with you at all, you honestly wanted to go in your mother's house.

you were hungry and you decided to go in your kitchen and make a snack or something.

you were too lazy to cook something so you grabbed a pack of chips and a bow.the cabinet were the bows were was too high and you barley touched it, as you were trying to reach it you felt someone behind you and getting the bow for you. it was Chris.

"why are you awake sweetheart?" Chris asks as you stay in shock. "dont call me sweetheart and why the fuck are you even talking to me?"

Chris raises an eyebrow and leans on the counter next to you. "why is the attitude right now?" his smirk on his face growing bigger. you roll eyes and start walking towards the sofa with the bow in your hand.

Chris walks behind you and hugs you from behind causing you to stop walking. "what the fuck are you doing" you ask. "nothing, doll" he gets the bow from you hand and places it on the tavle behind you

he hugs you again and you can feel his breath on your neck sending shivers down your spine. he puts both of his hands under your shirt.

"i know you want me" you feel his hot breath on your ear. "i don-" "yes you do." he cuts you off as he spins you around so you look at him. he's much taller than you so he looks down at you. he picks you ap as he places you on the counter spreading your legs so he's between them.

he kisses your lips passionately sliding his tounge inside of your mouth causing you to moan. he puts his hands under you shirt squeezing your boobs as you moan one more time.

"Chris i.." you say as you break the kiss and try to push him but you fail. "c'm on tell me" he smirks "we can't do this" you say. he just smirks one more time as he presses his lips onto yours again. you cant deny that it feels good, actually..you want more.

he takes off your shorts and starts teasing you as he makes circles with his thumb on your clit , still you have panties on. "oh f- chr..please" you cant make a sentence from how good it feels, you start arching your back. "please what baby?" he says, as you melt from the nickname. "fuck me" you say as you wrap your legs around his waist.

his smirk growing wider as he takes off your panties , kneeling and starts to eat you out sliding his tounge into you causing you to moan louder and louder. he holds onto your thighs squeezing them. he puts one finger inside you so he stretches you out for later, he start going in and out, in and out..making you weak and your legs shaking on his shoulders.

"holly shit.." you whisper, biting your lower lip and wrapping fingers in Chris's hair. "cum for me baby" he says and goes back down to your pussy eating you out like a meal. you feel your orgasm approaching, your eyes start to blur, your legs shaking uncontrollably and your ears ringing.

you cum as Chris makes sure to swallow everything that comes out of you. you lay on the counter taking deep breaths.

he grabs you by your thighs putting you on the floor again, you barley standing, he spins you around and bends you over at the waist. "hands on the counter, im going to fuck you until you cant stand on your legs foe the next month, so you better hold on."

you put your hands on the counter as he starta taking his pajamas off in one go with his boxers. he strokes his dick a few times before positioning behind you and slamming inside of you without any warning causing you to scream so loud that you swear even your neighbors on the first floor could hear you.

"shh keep quiet, doll" he says as he puts his hand on your mouth. he pounds inside of you so hard that you slam your stomach at the end of the counter hitting the cold material. he doesn't stop slamming isnide of you, you are weak and sensitive right now, he just ate you out and made you cum , you couldn't feel your legs anymore. "chri- fuck..oh my god. chris i c- *moans* i cant take it"

"yes you can, you are going to take my dick and feel every inch of it inside of you like the slut that you are." he hits your G-spot everytime he pounds inside of you. he fucks you like you dont feel pain, he slams inside of you with a force that makes you scream everytime. "oh fuck- im so close Y/N" he pounds a few more times making sure to cum deep inside of you so you feel his liquid for days in your body.

"kneel infornt of me , bitch" he says as he spnanks your ass turning you around and you going down on your knees. you start stroking his dick and then sucking on it. you move your mouth and lips as fast as you can causing him to moan and groan. "fuck you Y/N" he says as he starts moving his hips hitting his own fick at your throat. he moans not being able to control it.

no matter that he cummed 2 minutes ago, the way you were using your mouth, tounge and lips on his bog dick made him go insane. not later after that he cummed in your mouth. "swallow it, doll"

he looks down at you with a big smirk. "such a good girl for my cock, get up now" "wait Chris i cant take another round.." you say as you put your head on his chest. "one more sweetheart, you can." he picks you up again and starts walking towards the sofa placing you to lay on it.

he gets on top of you as he starts kissing your neck finding the spot that made you go insane. he sukcs and botes on your neck leaving love marks and wounds. he takes off your shirt and gos down yto your boobs starting to suck on them and playing with your nipples with his fingers. he puts his knee at your pussy making you jump. he smirks.

he grabs his dick and positions at your entrance one more time and starts going slow. he moves into you slow as he grabs your hands and puts them above your hand interlocking fingers with you. he starts moving inside of you faster and faster causing you to scream again and again. he goes fown to kiss you swallowing every moan coming out of your mouth. "your pussy feels so good wrapped up around my cock mm..." he says as he licks his lips. he moves faster and faster hitting that spot inside of you that your eyes blur everytime.

he knows what he's doing, he knows that he is driving you insane. he knows that you love it but cant take it. "just a little more, sweetheart"

he goes deep inside of you making sure you feel him in your stomach. he lets go off your hands and puts his hand on your neck chiking you. "just. *pounds* a. *pounds* little. *pounds* more." he pounds one last time cumming inside of you as you cum right after him..

"you are such a whore for my dick i love it. you are amazing." he kisses your forehead and lays on top of you as you start playing with his hair.

HIIIIIIIII I HOPE YOU LIKE IT I ALSO AM SO THANKFUL FOR THE SUPPORT ON MY LAST POSR "FOCUS ON THE ROAD BABY" I LOVE YALL SO MUCH HAVE A GREAT DAY

#spotify #christopher sturniolo #sturniolo fluff #sturniolo smut #sturniolo x reader #sturniolo triplets x reader #sturniolo edit #sturniolo imagine #sturniolo fanfic #chris sturniolo #nicolas sturniolo #matthew sturniolo #x yn

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builtbybrokenbells · 7 months ago

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Melodic Memories | JTK

In a tattered old box shoved deep down in the corner of an overfilled closet, a lifetimes worth of memories lie dormant at the bottom waiting to be rediscovered.

Pairing: Jake Kiszka x f!reader

Word Count: TBD

Warnings: SMUT 18+, drinking, swearing, smoking, breakups, high school relationships, unrequited love, sorry if I miss any!

DISCLAIMER: I do not know Greta Van Fleet or any of the members personally. This is all fiction and I will never claim otherwise. I attempt to keep all of my work 100% original, so please do not steal or take credit for my writing. As of right now, I aim to get chapters out on weekends, but it is not guaranteed as I do have a full time job and other responsibilities to attend to. Please be patient and kind to me. Do not mind any grammatical errors or spelling mistakes, as I am the sole writer/editor for my blog and do miss things sometimes.

The Prelude

Prologue: Then

Track 1: Wild Horses - The Rolling Stones

Track 2: Wonderful Tonight - Eric Clapton

Track 3: I Need You - Lynyrd Skynyrd | pt. 2

Track 4: The Air That I Breathe - The Hollies

The Interlude

Track 5: If You Gotta Go, Go Now - Bob Dylan

Track 6: Ain’t No Sunshine - Bill Withers

Track 7: Romeo and Juliet - Dire Straits

Track 8: We’ve Got Tonight - Bob Seger & The Silver Bullet Band

Epilogue: Now

The Outro

TAGLIST: if you would like to be added to the Melodic Memories taglist, please feel free to send me an ask, pm me, or respond on this or one of the above chapters. i promise i will see it, and if i happen to miss you, don’t be scared to ask again!

ACKNOWLEDGEMENT: I am incredibly grateful for all of the support, likes, reblogs and kind comments I receive from all of you. I would be nothing without your support, and I do take the time to read and appreciate every reply and message, even if I don’t respond. Thank you so much for all you do, and I sincerely hope that you enjoy this story as much as I do 🫶🏻

all things melodic memories:

playlist: apple music | spotify

moodboard:

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mangoshorthand · 9 days ago

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A Hargreeves Christmas Carol | Five Hargreeves/ F Reader | Ch2

SUMMARY: Luther is the sort of idiot who goes around with a 'Merry Christmas' and a goofy smile on his lips. In your opinion, he should be roasted with his own turkey and buried with a stake of holly through his heart. Who better to teach you the error of your ways than Luther's brother, the man who holds the power of Christmases Past, Present, and Yet to Come in the palm of his hand? Info/Announcement Post << Read Chapter One

Chapter Two (Rated T, 4.7k words)

The First of the Three Spirits

You blinked, eyes protesting in sudden, bright daylight.

“Where are we?” came Five’s voice, still holding tight to your elbow.

“How the hell am I -?”

But you broke off. You knew this place.

“It’s your past,” Five said.

And then, proudly, as if he couldn’t help himself, he elaborated:

“This briefcase is a prototype I made. It just needs DNA, and it can take you back along that person’s individual’s timeline. All I needed was a hair from the brush in your room, and here we are.”

You weren’t fully listening. Instead, you were looking around at your surroundings, staggered by what you were seeing.

You and Five were standing on a suburban street; a sprawl that would be featureless to all but those to whom it was familiar. The snow, in gentle flurries, was just starting to overcome the grit on the road, and shoveled driveways too were being dusted with fresh power.

“I lived here.” you said, softly.

You gazed at the small house across the street from where you stood, at the azalea bush whose flowers used to brush the living room window in spring. So many memories rushed back, half forgotten and shadowy in quality; like dreams you couldn’t be sure really happened.

It made you feel strange.

“I was little,” you murmured.

Your voice was soft, and it wavered as you spoke. Five looked at you curiously, at your trembling lip and the small tear on your face.

“Are you okay?” he asked, more gently than he’d yet spoken.

You swallowed.

“Why did you bring me here?”

“I didn’t.” Five said, “Emotional stuff gets into your DNA too. I just programmed it to take me to your earliest salient christmas. And here we are.”

He continued to look at you appraisingly.

“I don’t want to do this,” you said.

There was no anger in your voice, none of the rudeness or indignance from before, only vulnerability.

He knew you well enough for this to strike him as unusual. You were a tour de force: a hard-nosed bar owner, a woman he’d watched ordering drunk and disorderly patrons out of her establishment without turning a hair. It would be fair to say he admired you. You were striking: hair shining in the low light, the unadorned, efficient way you pulled a pint or shook a cocktail. The bar was your stage, and your presence there was magnetic.

For a moment, he felt guilty about the part he was playing, about the hornet’s nest in your life that he might, even now, be kicking. He didn’t know quite why he did it, but something about the tear falling down your cheek made him release your elbow and hold out his hand instead.

You took it, and led him towards the house.

“You can go in,” he said, when you hesitated a little out of view of the front windows, “they can’t see us. This is a read only visit.”

“What?”

“It means we can’t affect anything,” he explained, patiently, “It’s as if we’re watching a movie of what happened.”

He eyed you then, at the thin sweater you were wearing, and felt another small pang of guilt that he hadn’t let you get a coat.

“I don’t want to go inside,” you said, quietly, and led him to the front window. Together, beside the bloomless azalea bush, you pressed your faces against the glass.

Inside was a christmas tree, at the foot of which a small girl sat, surrounded by gifts, discarded wrapping paper and new toys. There was a set of crayons and a coloring book, a small lego set, and a stuffed calico cat with a bright pink bow around its neck.

She was alone in the room and, what was even more unusual, she was not opening any of the other gifts around her and was instead staring at her own legs in footsie pajamas.

The reason why was clear. From within the house, a raging argument was clearly audible, even though layers of walls and glass must separate you from them.

“What world do you live in?” came a woman’s shriek.

“A world where me placing one little bet isn’t going to break the fucking bank, Ellen!”

“Fuck you! Two hundred dollars is not a little bet! I earn twice your wage, what makes you think you can -?”

“Oh HERE we go,” the man shouted, “you never let me forget that, do you?”

“Not when you’re wasting the money that I earned!”

“What about when you earned less than I did? Back then there was plenty of money for you to spend on fucking David!”

“Go fuck yourself!”

There was a loud crash and a cry from your fighting parents that made your younger self jump and start to cry.

Maybe I wouldn’t have been fucking David if you hadn’t been neglecting me!” came a shrill, scream, “You’ve never cared whether I’m happy!”

“GET OFF ME, YOU CRAZY FUCKING BITCH!”

As you looked at your younger self, you cried along with her, all the memories coming back in that moment: hurled insults, smashed plates and drunken tussles.

Five’s hand came to the small of your back.

“Hey, look,” he said.

A car was pulling up on the drive. You turned your tear-streaked face towards it, and it made your heart skip a beat.

Everything about the car and its driver fell hard on your heart: the sickly beige of her Dodge Caravan, the squeak of the parking brake as it engaged, her perm, the swing of her leather purse as she carried over her arm with a sack of gifts clutched to her side; all of it just made the tears come faster.

“It’s my grandma,” you wept, and Five’s hand rose to your shoulders, rubbing tentatively between your shoulder blades as your grandmother juggled with her stuff and knocked on the door.

In the living room, little you sprang to her feet, ran to the hallway and opened the door, falling against your grandmother’s legs to cry against her. The young you cried with relief that she could run into her grandmother’s arms, while the adult you cried in grief that she could never do so again.

“What’s all this?” your Grandma said, scooping you up and holding you to her chest, “What’s wrong?”

But the young you was too overwhelmed to respond, and the voices echoing from within the house quickly helped grandma to put two and two together.

“Fighting again?” she said, grimly, holding open the front door with one leg, “Merry goddamn christmas.”

She joggled you onto one hip and shouldered her way into the house.

When the door clicked closed behind you, muffling your parents’ screaming, you were left sniffling beside the azalea.

“She got full custody of me eventually,” you said, “Dad left, Mom moved back in with her, and then Mom married a new guy, moved to Illinois, and left me with her.”

“Ouch,” Five said, wincing, “so no Parent of the Year awards here?”

“Grandma was parent of the century.”

Five nodded. His arm hadn’t moved from around your shoulders.

“I bet you had a lot of happy christmases with her at least?” he said.

“I guess so,” you said, quietly, “but she wasn’t big on celebrating.”

You stood there, shivering, watching your younger self curled up on the couch while shadows moved in the kitchen behind you, as your Grandmother tried to lay down the law with her daughter and son in law before giving in and taking you back to her apartment.

There, you’d be in peace, away from the gifts, the twinkling lights and all the yelling, watching the snow fall down onto the city street outside the window, and drinking hot chocolate in her undecorated but undeniably peaceful apartment.

Five, watching you, briefly set down his briefcase, removed his coat and placed it around your shoulders.

“She died when I was twenty-one,” you said, quietly, drawing Five’s coat more closely around you.

“I remember you saying once that she left you the bar?”

“Yeah. And the apartment above. Mom tried to contest the will, but Grandma left it watertight. She always fought for me.”

You chuckled reminiscently.

“She left Mom one dollar and an ugly ceramic beagle.”

Five gave a half smile.

“She sounds like an impressive woman. Formidable.”

“She was,” you sniffed, wiping your face with your hands.

“Like you.”

You looked at him and returned his smile, tears dried now.

“Let’s see another Christmas,” he said, taking your hand gently.

Again, you vanished with a fizz into the ether, and the world materialized around you as your body buzzed with electricity.

It was a Starbucks filled with people, and festooned for the holidays, a jazzy version of Sleigh Ride pumped through the speakers. It was stiflingly hot, so you pulled off Five’s coat and folded it over your arm. The patrons jostled one another as they joined the line, staked out tables, or took their takeout, walking through you and Five as if you were nothing more than ghosts.

And there you were, at twenty-three, sitting at a table in a low armchair, the seat of which sloped at such a high angle that your body was sunk back into it. You looked older than your age, tired and drawn: this impression would only increase over the years as the day to day stresses got to you.

“Oh no!” you groaned, turning back to Five and deliberately blocking his view, “Not this.”

“What’s going to happen?” Five asked, craning around you curiously.

Something about your tone had piqued his interest. It wasn’t a tone of distress, but embarrassment. His consciousness of this, as evidenced by a small smirk playing around his lips, made you scowl.

“I’m about to get dumped.”

Five quirked a brow.

“Well this I have to see.”

And he disappeared, leaving that little electrical frisson on your skin as he dematerialized, and then rematerialized immediately behind you.

“You’re such an asshole!” you said, following him as he approached the table.

Across from you sat Nick, your ex, running his fingers through his straw colored hair.

“He’s drinking a latte,” Five said, as if it was a crime.

“- Is this about Brisbane again?” you were saying, with a roll of your eyes, “Do you expect me to close up for two weeks during the holidays? It’s the busiest time of year. If I acted like you wanted, I’d barely break even. Right now, I’m actually making real money.”

“You remember in college we used to talk about traveling after we graduated? We even talked about volunteering to teach in Ghana. We used to actually talk and laugh, but now you just snap at me. All you do is count your profits and push me away.”

You disclaimed this with a little shake of the head.

“I don’t push you away, I -”

“But you do.” he interrupted, “ever since you took over the bar. You’ve changed so much. I feel like I barely know you.”

“Well, I’m sorry, Nick,” you said, sarcastically, “excuse me for not having the time to fantasize about vacations when I have my grandmother’s business to run.”

“Do you think she would have wanted this?”

“Yes!” you cried, “She put her whole life into that bar!”

Nick gave a small, defeated sigh and took another sip of his latte. When he looked up again, he asked:

“Tell me something. If you met me now, would you want to be with me?”

You watched your younger self struggle to reply, the justice of what he was saying dawning in her eyes. You remembered the feeling well.

When you opened your mouth to answer and nothing came out, Nick put his mug carefully down on the table.

“I didn’t think so.”

His voice faltered as he spoke, and you sat in silence for a few moments while Nick recovered himself.

“I think that clears things up.” he said, simply.

“Nick…”

“No,” he said, his grey eyes serious, “I’m sorry, but it’s over.”

And he stood up from the table, leaving the last third of his latte.

“Nick.” you said, again, starting to cry.

“I think it’s been over a long time. I just didn’t see it.”

You tried to stand up to follow him as he moved towards the door, but the ridiculous armchair made you scramble to find your feet, and when you did, you fell back into it.

Five stifled a snort beside you, so you kicked him in the shin, slightly harder than could have been called gentle.

“Ow!”

I hope you get everything you want,” Nick said, sincerely, “I really hope you find happiness.”

He hesitated a moment, looking awkward.

“So…goodbye then.”

And then he was fighting his way through all the people towards the door, leaving you staring after him with tears brimming in your younger self’s eyes.

You watched you pained expression, and then turned to Five.

“I want to go home,” you said, to Five, “you’ve tortured me enough. What good does this do?”

Five was looking at the point where Nick had vanished into the crowd.

“I didn’t like him,” he said, bluntly, “You’re better off in my opinion. A Starbucks latte? No, you need a real man. I wouldn’t drink that shit if -”

But then he cut himself off, his eyes caught by something.

“Shit,” he said, distractedly, “that’s Luther.”

You looked up and followed his gaze. There, indeed was Luther, standing in line for the counter, looking unlike you’d ever seen him before: he looked young, comparatively baby-faced, and, though still tall, his proportions looked completely normal.

Five glanced down at a display near the briefcase’s handle.

“It’s before he went to the moon,” he murmured. And then, in a more normal tone, “I didn’t know you knew him this far back.”

“I didn’t,” you said, dumbfounded.

“I didn’t know Dad let him leave the Academy,” Five said, almost to himself.

Leaving your younger self to cry in her armchair, you and Five approached his brother.

“Hey there,” he said, with his usual, grin, “I’ll just take this smoothie to go, thanks.”

And then something caught Luther’s attention. Perhaps he caught a glance of something out of the corner of his eye, because he turned to stare directly at you and Five.

“Oh fu-” Five began, but petered out as it became clear that he wasn’t actually staring at you, but rather through you.

No, he wasn’t looking at you and Five, he was looking at the younger you, and his face had fallen into lines of empathy.

“If I buy something for that lady, will you take it to her after I’m gone?”

Your breath caught in your throat.

“Sure,” answered the barista, glancing at you, crying at your table, and immediately understanding Luther’s kind intentions.

He furrowed his brow as he read the menu.

“I think she needs something chocolatey,” he said, “how about…a venti gingerbread hot chocolate with cream and those gold sprinkles?”

You watched Luther’s honest, earnest face as he paid, took his little bottle of smoothie, and left, humming a little snatch of God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen as he went.

“That was him?” you said, watching Luther’s retreating figure with a dumbfounded expression on your face, “I remember that. I thought one of the baristas took pity on me. It made me feel…”

Your own words to Luther echoed back in your mind:

“Why not keep all your Christmas shit to yourself and mind your own goddamn business?”

And then his reply, so like Nick’s:

“Why are you pushing me away?”

And your face flushed with shame.

“I was so mean to him,” you said, ruefully.

“Well,” Five said, with the reasonable air of someone chairing a debate, “it can be hard not to be mean to him. He asks for it.”

This didn’t make you feel any better, but Five continued.

“He didn’t always have it easy, but he always had this… uncrushable spirit beneath the surface. He’s always been a teddy bear, no matter how much Dad taught him to suppress it.”

Five gave a reluctant, half mocking chuckle.

“If you ask me,” he continued, “I think he’s trying to make up for lost time: our Christmases sucked.”

There was another moment of silence in which you looked down at the briefcase.

“Can you show me?” you asked.

“Huh?”

“Show me what it was like for you and Luther as kids.

“We’re here to sort out your shit,” he said reprovingly, his thick eyebrows lowered.

“You think you can stop me from causing nuclear armageddon if you show me the past, right?”

“We’re here to get to the root of your christmas hate-boner so you don’t cause such a mess, yeah.”

“Then show me Luther’s past. Show me why it’s so important to him.”

Five considered you, a vertical line between his brows and the corners of his mouth turned down. After a moment, he spoke, sounding impressed with the idea:

“I guess we could try it. And I know just the one.”

He moved closer to the table and armchairs to give himself space, knelt and placed the briefcase on the floor beside him. He reached into an inner pocket of his blazer and withdrew a pair of tweezers and a small vial sealed with a cork.

Carefully, he bent over the briefcase and removed the strand of your hair from one of its mechanisms with the tweezers, and deposited it into the vial.

“That’s creepy as shit,” you remarked, “Do you regularly steal DNA from women’s bedrooms to keep in little jars?”

Five rolled his eyes as he stowed the vial away again.

“Trust me, if I wanted to be creepy, your mess of a bedroom gave me ample opportunity. Do you even own a laundry hamper? If I had a thing for worn panties, that room would be nirvana.”

You felt your cheeks heat up as Five used the tweezers to pluck a single dark hair from his own head.

“That ought to do it.”

With a steady, precise hand, he slid his own hair into the briefcase’s mechanism. When he clicked it closed, the entire panel hummed, lit briefly with a faint blue glow.

“Perfect,” he said to himself, and drummed his fingers briefly on the briefcase as he thought.

“Christmas of ‘95? Yeah, six seems about right.”

He fiddled with the dials briefly.

Five rose to his feet again and held out his arm, which you took readily.

“Here we go,” he said, and clicked something on the briefcase.

And there was the roiling static, your skin alive with tingles, and you arrived, swaying, into a scene unlike any you’d seen so far.

The room was white walled, the floor of that squeaky wooden variety you get in a school gymnasium. Padded mats were stacked neatly against the wall at one end, and mirrors lined one of the walls.

Four small children stood in front of the mirror, watching two more facing each other in the on a large mat in the center of the room. One of these was blonde and tall for his age, the other slight and dark.

“Where are we? Wait, is that you and -?”

“Number One and Number Five,” came a crisp voice from the other end of the room, “I have chosen to pair you today because your respective power offers the other a unique and complementary challenge.”

It was Reginald Hargreeves, standing tall and imposing in a pinstriped suit, trademark monocle firmly in place. Beside him, another child stood, hiding behind bangs with a clipboard at the ready, presumably to take notes.

“Wait,” you asked, “isn’t this supposed to be Christmas?”

“It’s Christmas Eve,” the grown Five beside you confirmed, grimly. “Didn’t mean shit when it came to our training.”

As he spoke, Hargreeves continued.

“Number One, you have size and strength on your side, but you are uncontrolled; clumsy. Number Five, while you may be agile and precise, you are small and weak.”

The young Five in the center of the room’s jaw set. It was simultaneously a sad expression to see on the face of such a young child, and a pleasant little hint of the man he would grow into.

“You were adorable,” you said, before you could stop yourself. Then, you hurriedly added, “all of you, I mean.”

Five only smiled in a way that didn’t quite reach his eyes. He was looking at the two boys in front of him, and it seemed as if he was already regretting his decision to show you this.

“The object of this fight is to overpower the other by any means necessary,” Hargreeves continued.

“Jesus,” you murmured, and Five shrugged beside you.

“Prepare yourselves.”

The two children shifted, and squared their small frames, bare feet planting against the mats.

“Three,” Hargreeves voice rang out, “Two…One. Begin!”

Young Five and Luther sprung into action, Five vanishing before the latter could even make his first move. On instinct, Luther ducked immediately, avoiding Five’s tiny fist as it punched the air where the back of his brother’s head was, just a moment earlier.

“Oh my god,” you whispered, half in shock, half in horror.

The two children moved like professionals: like lightning, almost. It was hard to keep track of whose body was where: one minute Five was spinning away from Luther’s perfectly executed knifehand strike, and the next Luther was leaping over Five’s leg, extended in a high kick.

When the first hit came, you gasped and clapped a hand over your mouth.

The heel of Five’s hand slammed up and into Luther’s face, causing him to cry out and stagger backwards, his hands clasped over one eye.

“Oww!” he whimpered, body wracked with sobs, “Ow, Dad!”

As Luther wept, the young Five hesitated, his hard, determined expression betraying a little remorse. Though he remained on the balls of his feet, prepared for another attack, he glanced guiltily at his father.

“Press your advantage, Number Five,” Reginald said, a hint of pride in his voice, “and Number One, pull yourself together. Take a demerit for tears.”

At their father’s words, both Five and Luther leapt back into action, Luther’s expression contorted into pure, emotion driven frenzy, lashing out in pain more than he was sparring.

You took an instinctive half a step forward, hand extended towards them.

“You can’t help,” Five reminded you, his voice carefully nonchalant, “they’re just shadows of what happened.”

Luther became wild and less disciplined in his movements, and though Five blinked around so fast that he was barely visible, the forceful strikes he landed affected Luther no more than a foam bat might have done.

Then, Luther landed a hit of his own, a blow to Five’s stomach that made him double over at the waist with a hiss as all the air was punched out of his lungs.

“Excellent, Number One.” Hargreeves said, motioning to the child beside him to take a note.

But Luther wasn’t listening. Breathing through his teeth as snot ran from his nose, he pulled back his fist once more and struck Five squarely on the chin with a devastating uppercut that sent him off his feet and flying across the room, struck with the full force of the young Luther’s power.

His head hit the far wall with a sickly crack, and he fell like a ragdoll onto the pile of stacked mats.

A great gasp went up around the room, yours included. You dropped Five’s coat and, unthinking, ran over to the injured child and dropped to your knees beside him, reaching out a hand. But, of course, your fingers passed straight through his face.

His eyes were open, but far from alert. One of them, filled with blood from burst blood vessels, was looking inwards towards his nose, while the other looked straight ahead, unfocused. His mouth dripped with blood from a badly bitten tongue.

You looked from him to the older Five, who simply shrugged as if to say: ‘what are you gonna do?’

“What happened?” you asked, turning desperately to Five, though the words kept coming before he could answer, “Oh my God, I didn’t know what he made you... it’s horrible!”

“It’s not how I’d raise kids,” Five said, with an air of forced casualness.

As Hargreeves lectured Luther for being undisciplined and told him that his fun and games privileges tomorrow were revoked, Five approached your end of the room.

He picked up his coat with the hand not holding the briefcase and folded it over his own arm.

“You want to see what happened?”

You nodded, and Five began to fiddle with the briefcase once more. It took no more than a grasp of his hand and the final click of a button before you were in a bright, cozy sitting room.

“This is Christmas day,” Five said, “I was the only one who got the day off training - I still couldn’t see right - but the others except Luther got to watch the movie with me.”

Though a fire was crackling in the grate, there were no decorations, you noticed.

Little Five was sitting propped up in an armchair, his face bruised, one eye still red and a bandage wrapped around his head. All the other children save Luther were seated on a couch.

One of the boys was wriggling, much to the annoyance of his brother.

“Klaus,” he said, indignantly, “stop kicking me!”

“Stop kicking me,” Klaus imitated.

Then, one of the girls piped up from the floor.

“Can you two be quiet? I want to watch Rudolph!”

The two boys fell into scowling silence, and all eyes turned to the stop-motion animation on the TV, where Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer was guiding Santa’s sleigh across the sky.

Little Five looked from the TV to the sibling beside him.

“Hey, Ben,” came Five’s whisper, leaning towards him with difficulty.

“What?”

“I got presents from Santa last night.”

“No you didn’t,” Ben said, dismissively.

“Yes I did,” Five countered, “I got a black power ranger and three of the candies Dad gives us on our birthday, and a bookmark and two moon rocks. And it was all in a sock hanging on my bed, just like in the movie.”

“You’re lying,” Ben replied, “Santa’s not real. Dad says it’s just a lie they tell normal children.”

“Oh yeah?” he said, with a smug smile. “Then how come I got presents?

“Because you’re lying,” Ben retorted, tartly.

”I am not lying,”

“Are too.”

“Am not!”

“Are too!”

“Shut up!” said the girl again, indignantly.

“You shut up, Allison!”

“Oh yeah? Well I heard a rumor you stopped talking until after Rudolph!”

The two boys fell silent immediately, though Ben stuck his tongue out at Five.

“I was such a little asshole,” the Five beside you said.

“You were a kid,” you said, gently, “you all were.”

“I guess.”

You watched the six of them, legs too short to touch the floor, and frowned.

“It was Luther, wasn’t it? The sock.”

“Yeah,” Five said, a tender note in his voice, “and he got in trouble for it. He stole the candies from Dad’s office.”

The corner of your lip twitched outwards in a sad smile. Five’s hand was still in yours, and you squeezed it.

The pressure seemed to bring Five back to himself, and he cleared his throat, shaking off a little of the gravity that had settled on him as he revisited his own past.

“So that’s why you need to come tomorrow,” he said, stoutly, “for Luther, Christmas is about rejecting what Dad tried to turn him into. He feeds off showing people he cares, and he wants to show you.”

“But why am I so important?” you asked, a small whine edge into your voice, “He has you guys to show he cares. Why would him not being able to serve me turkey cause armageddon? Can’t I just smooth things over with him in the New Year?”

Five gave a large sigh and looked up at the ceiling, bringing all the lines and hollows of his neck into greater prominence.

“God, you’re so stubborn. I am done trying to get through to you. Is all this not enough for you? You hate Christmas because your parents sucked and you got dumped, I get it. But still, you had people who loved you and were kind to you, and that’s what it’s supposed to be about, asshole! What more do you want from me?”

“What?” you asked, irritated, “you just expect me to jump for joy and turn into Mrs-fucking-Claus at the drop of a hat?”

“No,” Five said, dropping your hand and setting the briefcase with gritted teeth, “I was hoping you’d get your head out of your ass long enough to realise not everything’s about you and your, frankly, pretty mundane traumas.”

“Fuck you,” you retorted, annoyed by his attitude. “I’m sorry your dad made you beat the shit out of each other, but that doesn’t mean you get to dismiss my feelings!”

“I am not dismissing your feelings,” he said, punching a final few settings on the briefcase, “but would it kill you to make Luther’s day? Sometimes we do stuff to make other people happy. That’s what it’s supposed to mean to live in a goddamn society.”

“Are you fucking kidd-” you began, but your voice was cut of as Five seized a fistful of your sweater and you disappeared in a flash of light.

Read Chapter Three >> I FEED OFF COMMENTS AND REBLOGS YUM YUM YUM

Mr Fezziwig's Ball (left) and Scrooge Extinguishes the First of The Three Spirits (right) Both by John Leech, 1843 in Dickens's A Christmas Carol, first edition (1843).

Dickens' A Christmas Carol full text available here.

Read it! It's a much better than this, and you can see how many lines I stole verbatim or clumsily referenced.

Dividers used in this series by @bernardsbendystraws (garland) and @strangergraphics (lights)

Taglist: @nevbrooke-555, @fiannee, @abeeabee6969, @chalametabingbong, @lolawassad, @icantpickanamefromonefandom @thebearmage @kaybreezy3000, @starlitflora (comment to be added or removed)

Megalist

Request info + rules

I take Five requests, I'm fairly versatile in what I write (fluff, smut, angst, psychological character study- I'll try it all) but I will consider them on a case by case basis. See request info + rules for request status and more.

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greenorangevioletgrass · 9 months ago

Text

fever pitch (b.b.) - part three

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soundtrack: don't blame me - taylor swift pairing: footballer!bradley x popstar!reader synopsis: you and bradley spend the night, but the road to heaven is full of obstacles; some are external, others are self-inflicted. warnings: language, public scrutiny (will be a recurring theme in this fic ha!), bradley is a stand-up guy all round, fluff, smut (d/s elements, praise kink, bit of a bratty side?, fingering, oral [f receiving], dirty talk, size kink, bradley is PACKING, protected sex) notes: i'm back! life has been crazy since i posted the previous chapter, but i just wanna say thank you so so much for your patience and your kind words about the fic so far! big shoutout to @gretagerwigsmuse and @teacupsandtopgun for being absolutely GEMS in brainstorming ideas-- this wouldn't have happened if it weren't for y'all <3 happy reading!

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The Langham, Sterling Suite. Ask for Holly Golightly ;)

Bradley smiles at your text, and the cheeky “Breakfast at Tiffany’s” reference. He shoots up a quick reply as he makes his way out to the lobby, fighting hard not to be grinning like an idiot to any unassuming passersby, until—

Click-click-click-click! FLASH! FLASH! FLASH!

“Hey, it’s Bradley Bradshaw!”

“Oi, Bradley! Give us a smile, mate!”

“Bradley, did you get to meet Y/N inside?”

“Did the boss let you out on a school night, Bradley?”

”How are you feeling about the Sunderland game this weekend?”

It’s a meager distance from the steps of Annabel’s to the curb where the valet has brought out his car, but holy shit. It doesn’t usually get nearly as crazy as this. He’s partied here with Harry Styles, and nobody bat an eye when the guy stumbled out drunk with his left tit out. But maybe it’s because Harry lives in London sometimes, or maybe because he was on a break… unlike Miss Americana on her world tour right now. It makes him pause and rethink how careful he needs to be.

Bradley gets into his car and drives off, trying to tread between the fine line of quick and careful. He can’t help but look over the rearview mirror more often than normal. Fuck, is this how you feel like all the time? He’s no stranger to the spotlight, but rather than the occasional run-ins, nobody has ever been interested in where he went to dinner on a random Tuesday night.

The Langham is barely a mile away, but Bradley sees photographers parked across the hotel with their long-lens cameras and disgusting disposition, and he keeps on driving. Thinking. Restrategizing. Hoping that his vintage aubergine Ferrari isn’t causing suspicion for driving by the second and third time.

He finds a basement parking lot behind the building and pulls up, hoping it’s the right entrance to the hotel. The attendant looks starstruck as he nods and points the way, sending him off with an eager ‘Come on you Gunners!’. And just like that, he makes it into the lobby out of the pap’s sight.

Be cool, he reminds himself, you’re only as suspicious as you seem to be. He comes up to the reception desk, and the girl behind it greets him warmly.

“Good evening, sir. Welcome to the Langham. How may I help you?”

“I’m here to see Ms. Golightly at the Sterling Suite,” Bradley says smoothly. “Holly Golightly.”

“And who am I speaking with, sir?” The girl looks at him like he seems familiar, but can’t quite place him.

“...Paul Varjak,” he states, unable to bite back the smile. Oh, the thrill of giving out a fake name with the very real possibility of getting called out on his shit.

But she nods and grabs the telephone, dialing into your room. Blissfully ignorant of the pseudonym he just gave her.

Good.

Let this inside joke be the two of yours alone.

The elevator ride up is peaceful—too peaceful that he can hear his heart beating and his palms sweating. Even the carpet mutes his footsteps towards the double door. Before he even presses the bell, a bodyguard opens the door for him.

“Mr. Bradshaw,” he nods curtly. It’s one of the guys from the restaurant earlier. Middle-aged, stout and rather short, sporting a permanent scowl and a vibe that indicates he’s seen some shit.

“Hi. Sorry, I haven’t got your name…?”

“Guy,” he deadpans.

Bradley wonders if that’s his real name or he’s just saying it so Bradley would get off his case, but smiles anyway. “Nice to meet you, Guy.”

Guy hums gruffly and ushers him into the foyer, an identical hallway of the hotel, with a room on each side. “Through here,” he leads him towards another set of double doors at the end of the hallway.

Meanwhile, you are full-on freaking out in your living room. Should you get changed? You’ve taken off your heels, but getting everything off feels so premeditated… You don’t even know if he wants things to go that far. Maybe you can break your little rule and bring out the wine for liquid courage? Gosh, nothing feels right. And it’s been so long since you’ve last done this that you’ve actually gone rusty.

And before you get to decide—in the long, wasteful twenty minutes or so you’ve been pacing, you hear a knock on your door.

“Coming!”

You rush over to get the door and there he is, coming out victorious through the hurdles, smiling at you.

“Thanks, Guy. I’ll take it from here,” you dismiss your security a little too quickly, nodding over Bradley��s shoulder. You’re sure Guy is rolling his eyes all the way back to his room over your lovestruck teenager behavior.

But it hardly matters when this man before you is looking at you like the sun.

“Hey, you.” Bradley beams at you from his spot. As if afraid to invade your space somehow.

And so are you. This feels like that night in the garden all over again. You have to remind yourself that this isn’t some pocket of a park you stumbled into; this is your hotel room.

Quiet.

Private.

Safe.

“Come on in.” You let him cross the threshold, closing the door behind him the warm foyer light cast golden upon his face. You’re not sure if it’s the fact that you’ve ditched your six-inch heels, or that there’s no one else, but Bradley looks even taller than you remember him. Broader. More… imposing.

“I’m sorry for taking so long. There’s cameras everywhere and I had to—”

“It’s okay,” you try to reassure him. It feels rude to ask if he got caught on camera, but at this point, you had to ask. “Did you… Did they…?”

Bradley quickly shakes his head. “No, I took the basement entrance, out of sight. We’re good.”

”I’m, uh… sorry for the fuss.”

”Hey, it’s no trouble at all… Ms. Golightly,” he tilts his head, grinning at your chosen pseudonym.

”Yeah, it changes every time. My last stop in Tennessee, I was Clarice Starling,” you admit, making him laugh. “Although I’m glad you got the reference… Mr. Varjak.”

He simpers, very proud of himself. And with that, he takes a step closer to you. Towering over you. Crowding you with his smile, his scent, his body heat… and neither of you makes the first touch. You’re painfully aware of how his gaze keeps dropping to your lips. Bodies drawn towards each other but tied in place for some reason. It seems like despite all the flirting you did at the restaurant, everything goes out the window once you’re alone.

You’re just two strangers, caught in a thrilling game of push and pull. Too scared to tip over and just… fall.

“Can I kiss you…?” Bradley breathes out. He feels foolish for asking, but it’s the only way to make sure he’s not ruining the entire evening.

But you sigh in relief and nod your head yes, and it gives you the push you need to close the distance from him. You don’t know which one happened first; touching his lips with yours, grasping his arms for balance, or standing on your tiptoes on his shoes. He keeps you there, his strong hands securing your waist.

“You’re making me feel like a kid…” It makes you giggle into the kiss, and he can’t not possibly fall in love with the sound of that—with the feel of your lips pulled up right against his.

“I don’t think that’s a bad thing…” Bradley runs his hands down your sides gently. “Besides, I’ve been wanting to do that all night.”

“All night? You mean you’ve been thinking about making out with me while I tell you my life story?” you gasp, feigning shock and offense.

He laughs again. “Maybe for a moment or two there, I’ll admit.”

“I thought you were a gentleman!” you give him a playful smack on his behind, and there’s a flash of… something in his eyes. A spark, or a darkening. You’re not sure what it is yet, but it sends butterflies into your stomach yet again.

Bradley tucks some loose strands of your hair behind your ear. “I’m still a gentleman.”

“Really? I don’t believe that…” you sway his hips lightly, “I think you’re very… very bad,” you purr out, your lips barely touching.

He meets you halfway, and it feels like less of a shock this time. You gladly lose yourself in him, knowing you’ve crossed the line now. You finally notice how his mustache scratches your skin in a nice way, how he holds you flush against him, how he just melts into you in the kiss… enshrouding you in his warmth and lighting you on fire at the same time.

Bradley pulls away, barely just. His forehead is still pressed against yours, your noses are bumping, and his breath melding with yours. He licks his lips and you swear you can almost taste it. “You’re making it really hard for me to be a gentleman, kid…”

You can’t help but chuckle at the nickname. It’s not one you expect, but it sounds right somehow. “I didn’t invite you all the way here to be a gentleman.”

The twinkle in his eyes darken. Fuck, you’re gonna be the death of him. “Is that right?” Bradley’s hands slide down your hips, finding the swell of your ass and giving it a firm squeeze.

The air catches in your throat, and you swallow lightly. “Mm-hm.”

Instead, you lead him into the bedroom. Bradley is right behind you, barely a step behind. His hands have found a home on your hips and he seems adamant to stay there for a moment. Insisting to hold onto you because he worries he’ll get ahead of himself before you’re ready. But gosh, you’ve been ready all night and you’re practically twisting your arms around trying to reach the zipper on the back of your dress.

“Come here, I got you,” he rasps, his heart skipping as he drags the zipper down your back. He’s not sure which one he loves more; the dip of your spine that he wants to trace with your tongue, or the way the dress falls to the floor and reveals what’s underneath that prim and proper pink dress.

A tiny scrap of lace held by a black strap on either side of your hips, framing the swell of your ass perfectly.

And he swears, for a split second, he thought he had died and gone to heaven.

“Fuck…” he breathes out.

You can’t turn around fast enough. It might be a good ‘fuck’, but what if it’s a bad one? “What’s wrong?”

Bradley just blinks at you, for no other reason than how your nipples are poking out the side of the skimpy triangle of your bra. And that your lipstick is smeared on the edges from kissing him.

But of course, your mind is already racing from the lack of response and you’re already thinking, oh no this was a bad idea I shouldn’t have worn this—

“Hey, hey…” he sees your face fall and your arms come up to cover your chest and he immediately steps in. Holding you close, hoping to give you comfort. “Is this all for me?”

Oh, shit. Maybe if you close your eyes tight enough, you would melt to the floor. “I know, it’s a little much—”

“No, that’s not what I asked…” Bradley tilts your chin up, making you look him in the eye. “I said… Did you put these on for me?”

Your breath comes up short, and you nod ever so slightly. You don’t even trust your own voice not to betray how much you want him to like it. How much you want him.

“It’s perfect. I love it. Thank you.” He smiles into your lips, kissing you there. Spelling out how he feels with his hands on your ass, his mouth on yours. “Such a good girl…”

That flips a switch in your brain and he can see it. Your eyes go wide, your posture changes, and all of a sudden, you look so… small in his arms. So vulnerable, so beautiful. So perfect.

Suddenly, he’s holding the world in his arms. The sexy little thing you call panties is a pesky little nuisance now, and he can’t wait to get it off of you. His broad shoulders are keeping your legs open, his nose nuzzling your pubic bone as he looks up at you.

Bradley lowers you down on the side of the bed, settling on his knees before you. Committing every inch to memory by touch, from your ankle to your knee, up the inside of your thighs. When he reaches the scrap of fabric at your core, he feels it slick. He smirks. “What do we have here?”

Your face heats up. How the fuck are you supposed to answer that? No words are coming to your head—not when he’s drawing patterns over your pussy, making the lace glisten all over. And when your panties are positively ruined, he draws his hand back and licks the offending fingers in earnest.

And all it takes is a taste to send him into a frenzy.

“Fuck honey, need to taste you…” he murmurs between feverish kisses all over your legs. “Can I?”

You nod fervently, feeling like he’s got you under a spell.

“Use your words, kid.” He grins, playfully biting the inside of your thigh.

The sharp sensation makes you yelp, and you grip his hair in reflex. “Yes, want your mouth on me, please…”

“Good girl, asking so nicely…” he chuckles, satisfied with your response. Then, he pulls you to the edge of the bed. That dainty scrap of lace you call panties is a pesky nuisance now, and he couldn’t wait any longer to get it off of you. With your legs hiked up on his broad shoulders, he dives into you.

A taste, as it turns out, is an understatement because what Bradley does is devour.

“Oh, fuck…” you gasp sharply at the contact.

With one hand pinning your thigh open, he laps you up in earnest, figuring out the many ways he can make you squirm. Time ceases to exist because it feels like he makes you come in no time, but also he’s been down there forever. But he goes on and on and on until his name comes out in a desperate chant of lust and need.

“Bradley Bradley Bradley…” she grinds shamelessly into his mustache now, an unfamiliar but not unwelcome sensation on your part. “Please, I’m gonna…”

“I know, honey. I got you. It’s okay.” It’s an oddly wholesome thing to say in a moment like this, but maybe you’re a hopeless romantic at heart, because sweet nothings get you off.

Your orgasm strikes like a thunderbolt, and you find yourself arching into his mouth. The more you take, the more he gives—or is it the other way around?— It seems like he takes as much pleasure in it as you do. Maybe even more, as he holds onto you as you squirm away overstimulated.

“Bradley… wait.” You grab a handful of his hair, trembling breathlessly.

His mustache glistens when he comes up for air, and he finally (finally!) takes off his suit jacket as he stands up. He eases up on the throttle and lets you breathe for a second. He rolls up his sleeves to his elbows, watching you spread out like a feast for him. Legs open, bra askew, hair fanned out on the pillow… God, he’s so lucky.

When he returns on top of you, you’re eager to pull him by his belt buckle, but he brushes your hand away. You frown in protest. “But I wanna touch you—”

“It’s not your turn yet, honey,” he chides you teasingly.

“You just had your turn!”

He shrugs, nosing your cheek. “Well, it’s still my turn, so…” Bradley closes the gap again and kisses you openly.

The taste of your arousal on his tongue makes you dizzy, but it can’t distract you from the buzz of his fingers rubbing your devoured pussy, sending shivers down your spine. It’s entirely too much, and you keel over from the contact.

“Somebody’s a little sensitive, huh?” He grins, easing the throttle a little.

“Fuck you…”

“Well, if you say so.” He slides his middle finger in.

“Ohhh… Bradley…” you buck up your hips and moan. But in comes another finger, and you swear it feels like all of him.

He’s wound differently this time, like a man on a mission. With his fingers crooking and stroking your silky walls, beckoning you to come closer, while you grip his shoulders, willing yourself to hold on. But his teeth yanks the edge of your bra to set your nipple free, and his sly tongue finally gets a taste… all resolve goes out the window.

“Come on, honey. I know you got another one in you…” he breathes out, undoing the front clasp of your bra so he can suck your tits with all his might, willing you to come.

And frankly, who are you to say no?

The burst of pleasure hits you from your core to your fingertips. If he wasn’t pinning you down on top of you, you would have probably floated away. But you’re firmly laid on the mattress and feeling everything. Your eyes blink back into focus as you come down from your high.

You pant, staring at him in disbelief. Nobody has ever put that much attention on you in bed before even taking off his clothes. “You got a baseball bat in there or something?”

“Something like that.” He rolls his eyes playfully. Jokingly, you assume.

You take his arm, kissing his wrist, “Can I touch you now?” sticking your tongue out to lick his digits clean of you. Putting on a show as you suck his fingers. “Please?”

He throws his head back and groans. “Fuck.” He can’t resist that doe-eyed look you’re putting on, nor can he resist you undoing his shirt buttons. He can play dominant all he wants, but he knows that the truth of the matter is, he’s all wrapped up around your little finger. “Okay, okay. You win.”

It’s a mess of unbuckling pants, kicking off shoes, and tossing clothes to the floor. Your hand reaches out to trace his gleaming skin, every ridge of his abdomen. You’ve seen the Calvin Klein campaigns and the Men’s Health covers— and gosh, he looks like a dream. But when that thing just springs up to his stomach when he pushes his boxers down…

You didn’t expect him to manifest straight out of your wet dream.

“Holy fuck, you weren’t kidding about your baseball bat,” you breathe out, head tilted as you stare at his thick cock. The vein that runs along the side, the way it curves slightly to the right, the length that makes you clench at the mere thought of it… Fuck, it’s pretty.

Bradley chuckles sheepishly. He knows how big it is, he’s heard all the jokes in the locker room, but hearing it from you hits different. “You scared?”

You should be, a little. But without flinching, you bite your lip and look him in the eye. “Nah, I’m a big girl. I can handle it.”

Gosh, he loves you. He’ll have to remember not to blurt that out too early. “Okay, big girl,” he chuckles, kissing you one last time before rolling off of the bed.

His sudden disappearance out of sight makes you frown. “Where are you—” you prop yourself up on your elbow, seeing him fish out a packet of condom from his trousers pocket, “Right. Safety first.”

Bradley nods, tearing the packet open with his teeth and rolling it on. There’s something so hot about how a man looks just before he fucks someone. “Mm-hm. Gotta make sure we’re both covered.”

“Do I need goggles and a helmet, too?”

He pauses as he straddles your hips. “Maybe next round,” he cheekily quips back. The idea of you wearing nothing but a helmet and safety goggles weirdly makes his cock stir, too. But you’re already lying naked under him, and he doubts that much will deter his hard-on.

Bradley pushes himself into you a little, and your eyes water as you whimper out in a blur of pain and pleasure. And here you thought two of his fingers felt full…

He stops in his tracks, trying to gauge your reaction. He nearly lost his mind over how tightly you’re clenched around him, but he doesn’t want to presume. “Too much?” He asks softly, stroking your cheek.

Your breaths run ragged as you look up at him, almost in awe. “You’re just… so big…”

He laughs breathlessly. He hates to brag, but it’s true. And as much as he’s enjoying the way you flutter under him, he has to ask, “Want me to pull out?” Please say no, please say no, I don’t think I can handle it…

“N-no…” you wrap your arms and legs around him, clinging to him for dear life. “But I don’t know if it’ll fit.”

Bradley smiles at what has to be the most adorable look he’s ever seen from you. He kisses your forehead in reassurance. “I’ll go nice and slow, okay? I promise.”

Feeling this small and vulnerable so soon after meeting someone would usually set all kinds of alarms in your head. You never know how a guy would take it. But in this moment, nestled in the crook of his neck, among the mix of his perfume and aftershave and his natural musk… all you want to do is stay. “Okay,” you nod softly.

“Let’s try again then, hm?” He kisses your temple and whispers in your ear, “Open up, love.”

With a deep breath, you bite back a whimper as you take him deeper, still not quite all the way in. “Hurts…”

Bradley stops again, his concern fully taking over now. “You sure you want me to keep going…?”

“Yes!” You surprise yourself with how quick and desperate you answered him. Your eyes shut, trying to offset the warmth setting over your cheeks, as you make the dirty admission, “I… I like it when it hurts.”

Jesus fucking Christ.

Bradley has to remind himself not to come on the spot, because holy shit. He wouldn’t go this hard on a woman so early in the game, but… his head is dizzy from how innocently you said it. He takes a breath to pull himself together. “Tell me if it’s too much, alright?”

The air is heavy. The room is silent. You can hear the shift in the tension as you smirk, “Yessir.”

There you are, you little devil. Bradley simply grabs you by the hips and bottoms out inside you. Your face goes slack while your cunt tightens around his cock, and it blows his mind.

He starts out slow, torturously so. Stuffing himself inside your crevice and dragging himself out, willing you to feel every inch. Every ridge. Until your body loosens up and twists around in the throes of passion. Your mouth falls open, your little gasps and moans coming and going as he pleases.

The unhurried pace is nice for a few minutes, when you’re still adjusting to his size. But now that he’s snug inside you, you’re simply aching for more. Your hips arch up into him halfway, a little more urgent, disrupting the rhythm with a pleasant stutter.

He notices this and smiles. “So eager… what’s the rush, hm?”

You answer with a groan. He has a penchant for asking you questions you can’t answer, this man. “You feel so good, baby…” you murmur headily, hands desperately grasping on him—his arms, his shoulders, his back…

”You feel even better.” He nips at your pert nipple, relishing in your angelic little filthy cry. Fuck, he can feel the exact motion of your pussy tightening for him. “I’m not gonna last long if you keep doing that…”

”Then don’t.”

His eyes flicker onto yours immediately. You’re gonna be the death of him, he swears…

You grab his hair by the fistful, keeping his gaze. “I want to feel you come inside me.”

”Oh fuck—” he doesn’t stand a chance. His body reacts faster than his brain could compute, and he holds your hips flush against his as he buries himself as deep as he can. Every twitch of his cock sends you reeling, and your pussy clenches and unwinds in your climax, following him down from his high to yours.

Free falling, hand in hand.

Bradley rolls off of you and you would complain, if it weren’t for the way he immediately pulls you into his chest. Thank fuck. You’re not quite ready to untangle from him yet. Not when your breaths still run a bit ragged, as if accidentally catching each other’s. He presses a kiss to your forehead, and it feels unlike your regular out-of-town hookup. No, this one’s different. But not a word is said between you on that for different reasons— each of you holding your cards close to your chest, as close as you’re holding each other.

#nowhere to go but up from here on out folks!!#bradley bradshaw #bradley bradshaw imagine #bradley bradshaw fic #bradley bradshaw x reader #footballer!bradley #footballer!bradley x popstar!reader #top gun imagine #top gun au #ava writes #fever pitch

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erebusbabylon · 3 months ago

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Hello and welcome to my blog! My name is Alexandra (she/her) I am an American living in China. I'm a trailing spouse to an international teacher which means I have a lot of free time. I spend my days writing fanfics and posting deranged shit on the internet. I am never beating the "does not spend her time wisely" allegations made by my 4th grade teacher.

Master List

I write for Rings of Power and Lord of the Rings. I also make phone wallpapers. Requests are open.

I will write for pretty much any Tolkien character, but I will not write graphic non-con, incest or minor/adult relationships. Please be patient with me when making requests! I will try my best to answer them as quickly as possible! I will close requests if I have too many piling up.

Below you will find my master list.

Rings of Power

Celebrimbor

Troll Hunting (Celebrimbor x F! Wife)

Calm Within the Chaos (Celebrimbor x F! Wife) One Shot

Accident at the Anvil (Celebrimbor x F! Reader) One Shot

My Heart (Celebrimbor x F! Reader) One Shot

NSFW Alphabet (Celebrimbor)

Threads of Fate Celebrimbor & Gil-galad x F! Reader) COMPLETE Chapters 1 and 2 - Chapters 3 and 4 - Chapters 5 and 6 - Chapters 7 and 8 - Chapters 9 and 10 - Chapters 11 and 12 - Chapters 13 and 14 - Chapters 15 and 16 - Chapters 17 and 18 - Chapters 19 and 20 - Chapters 21 and 22 - Chapters 23 and 24 - Chapters 25 and 26

Gil-galad

The Pain of Parting (Gil-galad x F! Reader) One Shot

Links and wallpaper request instructions under the cut.

I take requests for wallpapers for several fandoms/actors. See links below for the style/aesthetic I use for my wallpapers. When requesting a wallpaper please let me know what color/theme you want!

Rings of Power Wallpapers

Annatar - One Bow to Rule Them All

Annatar - Celebrimbor's Tears

Celebrimbor - Holly

Celebrimbor - Red Robe Appreciation

Celebrimbor - Brimby in His Delulu Era

Vorohil - Lindon's True MVP

Gil-galad - Cookies and Cream Me Daddy

Gil-galad - Royally Disappointed

Arondir - Woodland Fairy Princess

Adar - Gothic Barbie

Adar - Kenough

Elrond - Fed up with Galadriel’s Shit

Charles Edwards Wallpapers

Michael Gregson (Downton Abbey) - Prints Charming

Charles Edwards as Benedick - Much Ado About Nothing

Charles Edwards as Benedick - Much Ado About Nothing (green)

Charles Edwards as Richard II - Golden Drama King

Louis Oakley - Piccadilly Willy

#the rings of power #celebrimbor x reader #gil galad x reader #masterlist #annatar #sauron #trop spoilers

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denaliwrites · 1 year ago

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f i c m a s t e r l i s t

p o l i c i e s (please read before making requests!)

b a d s a m a r i t a n The Best of You, Honey, Belongs to Me Blackthorn Cover Myself in the Ashes of You Dumb Ways To Die Enough of You to Dull the Pain (18+) Hellbent Looking For A Godsend Hit Me With Your Best Shot I Got This Feeling On A Summer Day (18+) I'm Gooey in the Middle Baby Let Me Bake In His Eyes A Flaming Glow Intrigued and Afraid Keep You Like An Oath (18+) Killing Me Softly My Baby Shot Me Down (18+) Not Much Between Despair and Ecstasy (18+) Only Touch That Gets Me Melting (18+) Run Rabbit Run (18+) Say My Name Send a Thousand Kings Away Shia Surprise Something Good to Celebrate Stop, Look and Listen, It's Halloween! Taste of a Poison Paradise Trust in Me, Just in Me With Your Scars and Your Lonely Heart Your Body's a Secret Girl and You're About to Spill It (18+)

t h e b o y s Watch That Butcher Burn

b r o a d c h u r c h Always Leave Me With a Hungry Heart Am I Doing This Right? An Art to Life's Distractions Beating Like A Kick Drum Girls Like Girls Like Boys Do It's Been a Long, Long Time Love's Perfect Ache Now and Again We Try to Just Stay Alive Regale You With A Gourd-geous Tale Say You'll Remember Me Say You'll Remember Me (Denali's Version) Tell Me It's A Nightmare What My Heart Was Worth

d o c t o r w h o Cuddle, Meet Puddle Cute Things Don't Blink (Part 1) Don't Turn Your Back (Part 2) Don't Look Away (Part 3) Dreams See Us Through (Part 4) Hate the Feeling of Falling Have a Holly Jolly Christmas Horrible Things Isn't That Wizard It's How I'm Made Let Me Come Home Little Creepy House Love Letters On the Brave Shit The Origin of (Love Bug) Species What Beautiful Things I'll Wear When the Crypt Doors Creak You Know That I Would Jump Too

d u c k t a l e s Tales of Daring

g o o d o m e n s All I Want For Christmas Aziraphale's Favorite Author Dance on a Tightrope of Weird Free as My Hair His Love is All in Me How the Wine Plays Tricks on My Tongue Lockdown Blues Making Biscuits My Heart's a Stereo Naked in That Garden (18+) Out There Making DuckTales Pickin' Up the Pieces of the Mess You Made Road to Hell Something Meaty For The Main Course Step Too Far Tongue Tied Your Love is Holy (18+)

f a l l o f t h e h o u s e o f u s h e r Tomorrow I Shall Be Fetterless (18+)

f r i g h t n i g h t Emptiness to Melody Everybody Scream in Our Town of Halloween Fixed Up to the Nines Howl Like an Animal in the Darkness I'm So Hot I'd Fuck Myself (18+) I'm Starvin', Darlin', Let Me Put My Lips to Somethin' Late Night Devil Put Your Hands On Me (18+) Make Me Glow Night of Long Fangs (18+) Parade of Dancing Skeletons Talk So Pretty (18+) Who Are You Supposed To Be, Criss Angel? (18+)

h a u n t i n g o f b l y m a n o r ???

j u r a s s i c p a r k / w o r l d Best Behavior The Future Ex Mrs. Malcolm

p r o d i g a l s o n But Then My Stupid Phone Beeps Never Fallen From Quite This High Office Supplies Rude Boy They are the Hunters, We are the Foxes Trigger Happy With a Sense of Poise (18+)

s l o w h o r s e s Imposing Figure Inappropriate

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corazondebeskar-reads · 1 year ago

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you know you never stood a chance - epilogue

you know you never stood a chance series

epilogue: maybe light a candle

series masterlist | prev chapter

Joel Miller x f!reader

Words: 2.9k

Summary: It's Christmas Eve, and Joel hasn't come home yet. (this takes place about three years after the end of the main story.)

Warnings: established relationship, angst, christmas in the apocalypse, technically spoilers for tlou pt 2, mentions of breastfeeding (not as a fetish), found family, poor communication, oral (f receiving), postpartum depression, possibly violating child labor laws by using a baby as a plot device, pls remember I am playing fast and loose with both canon and the timelines lol

also on ao3

dividers by @saradika-graphics

It’s Christmas Eve.

Or, at least, according to the council. You’re not sure if anyone is really sure what the date is anymore.

But for all intents and purposes, maybe it’s Christmas Eve. The holiday is a thin, moth-bitten version of its former self, but you’ve never been the holly-jolly or the religious sort, so Christmas Lite suits you just fine.

Maria had invited you and Lulu to the mess hall for a big meal and activities for the kids. It was less of an invitation than an expectation, but you stayed home anyway.

And maybe it wasn’t fair. Maybe she wanted you there for the same reason you didn’t want to be there. She’s fucking tough, maybe the strongest person you know, but she has to be feeling Tommy’s absence today, too. It isn’t Aléjandra’s first Christmas, but likely the first one she’ll remember, which is worse.

But it’s more than it just being Lulu’s first Christmas. It’s that Maria had made a point of telling you that Ellie would be there.

You prepare to watch her leave for the night. The light pours in the window when she opens the shed door, and you know she can see your shadow haunting the living room.

You want Ellie to meet her sister. You dream of it nearly every night. But there’s no way in hell you’re doing it without Joel. It’d break his heart. You like to think she knows, at least. Someone (probably Tommy) had to have told her.

So when she climbs the steps instead of walking past, you freeze. Her knuckles rap against the wood, and you close your eyes. You can’t. You need to, but you can’t.

“Maria asked me to remind you that you promised to come by tonight,” she calls through the door.

She knows you can hear her. She knows you choose not to respond (but she doesn’t know you bite your lip so hard to resist that it bleeds).

It would be wrong. But the ache is so strong you’re convinced it must be a physical wound.

She leaves.

“There goes Ellie,” you tell the baby, as you always do. “She’s got places to be, but she loves you very much.” The guilt of keeping them apart makes you nauseous.

Maybe it isn’t true yet, but you think it is. You think, despite everything, despite the anger she harbors for Joel (and a fragment of that for you), that she already loves her sister. Even if she’s only the shadow of a sister spied through dark windows and across the street.

You wonder if she knows her name. Tommy had started the whole “Lulu” thing, and though it had grown on you now, it made you suspect he hadn’t thought to mention she had a real, full name.

Luna Luann. Luna, for Ellie, and Luann for Joel’s favorite tía, the one who smuggled them chewing gum and taught Joel his strong right hook when the other kids were picking on Tommy.

You’d take this secret to the grave, but you hated the name Luann. But when he brought up the suggestion, he had talked about her for nearly twenty minutes, and so you love the woman despite her name, just for the way she brought a little more of Joel out.

You thought they’d be home by Christmas. You’re trying not to worry, but worrying’s one of the things you’re good at. It doesn’t help that you’re still struggling. You’ve been told it’s normal, but these last two weeks with Joel gone have been so hard.

She’s cutting a tooth (her very first), and you can barely catch a break. You sleep when she sleeps, but it’s never enough. A few neighbors have been bringing casseroles still, and it’s the only reason you’ve been eating.

So, you think it’s probably understandable that you crumble after you watch Ellie walk away and Luna starts to cry. The lights are out except for the single candle in the front window. You keep it lit all night in case Joel comes home. A beacon.

If you had a widow’s walk, you’d be haunting it. But you’re not a widow—couldn’t be, you’re not even a wife—and he’ll be fine. He’ll come back.

Joel always comes back.

It might be Christmas Eve, and you’re slumped against the wall of your living room, crying in tandem with your infant. There’s nothing wrong, you checked. It’s so much worse that she’s probably just picking up on your mood.

You orbit around each other that way. She is the sun that you and Joel revolve around, but his absence has sent you both off balance.

The sun might be the more accurate comparison, but you usually like to say Lulu, your Luna, was your moon, and Joel was the sun. He disagrees. He says he’s the rock, and you are her light.

It was profoundly beautiful, but none of the concepts held up to the reality. The truth was that you were a constellation, but without Ellie, you made no recognizable form. Sagitta with one feather, an arrow that can never fly true.

When you settle down to sniffles and the errant tear, Lulu has fallen asleep against your chest. You creep upstairs and lay her in the crib squeezed between the bed and the wall.

The room was plenty large, and part of it had been set up as a nursery. But after she was born, you spent each night on the floor next to the crib.

Joel hadn’t been having that. After the first week, he sat you down and asked if you’d be able to sleep in the bed if she was next to you.

And then he just… built a second, smaller crib. One that fits right up against your side of the mattress. It was low to the ground, so all you had to do was reach down, and you could feel her little chest rise and fall, or scoop her up to nurse her in the middle of the night. She’ll grow out of it fast, but by then, you hope you’ll feel secure enough to move her to the big one just across the room.

You had been embarrassed. Didn’t want anyone to know. After all, mothers had been putting their children to sleep in different rooms for ages. But you weren’t afraid to tell Joel, knew if there was anyone in this town that understood, it’d be him (and Maria).

“Ain’t nothin’ wrong with keepin’ your baby close,” he said, as gruff and blunt as always.

When Joel comes home, he finds you that way. On your side, arm dangling into the crib with Lulu’s tiny fingers wrapped around your own. He sat down and gently tapped your shoulder, trying not to disturb the baby.

“What’re you doin’ here, darlin’?” he whispers when you stir. You blink up at him through sore eyes, then smile softly, sending his heart skittering.

“You’re home,” you say, extracting your finger and sitting up to reach for him.

He wraps you in his arms, lets you burrow into the nest of his broad shoulders. “M’sorry,” he murmurs into your hair, chasing the words with a kiss.

“Tommy okay?”

“Yeah, he’s good. Just hit some delays on the way home. Bridge was out. I thought y’all were going to the party?”

You don’t answer right away. You know he’ll feel bad. That he does feel bad, that the guilt eats a little part of him each day. All he wants is his girls all together.

“I was,” you mumble, feeling the tears prick with a vengeance. “But Maria said… Maria said that Ellie would be there.”

Joel’s arms squeeze you a little tighter for a moment. “Y’know I don’t want to get in the way of you talkin’ to her.”

“I know. But after last time… she doesn’t want to talk to me anymore, anyway.”

“She’ll come around,” Joel says.

It reignites a new round of self-hatred, that he’s sitting here consoling you. After all, she had spoken to you after their fight. Sat down and told you she wasn’t mad at you, that she knew he probably didn’t even tell you.

And he hadn’t told you, hadn’t clued you in, trying in his foolhardy way to spare you the burden of the lie. And you were mad at him for it; you’d had your own spat after.

But you weren’t mad he did it. Not one bit.

He can tell you don’t want to keep talking about it, and that’s fine by him.

“You miss me, baby?” he murmurs, a teasing brush of his lips over your neck.

You roll your eyes. “Oh no, did you have to go two weeks without gettin’ laid?”

He chuckles, dark and raspy, as he reaches to cup your ass and squeeze, smirking when you gasp.

“And you’re tellin’ me those little fingers were enough for your greedy cunt? Like ya ain’t droolin’ for my cock right now?”

You whimper. He’s right. Two weeks is too fucking long for either of you.

He tugs you properly into his lap, legs wrapped around his waist, before he just stands up and carries you into the guest room across the hall. It’s not ideal, but if you leave both doors open, you’ll be able to hear Luna if she wakes.

“How’ve you not thrown your back out?” you grumble as he manhandles you.

He tosses you onto the bed, already peeling off his clothes and pointedly ignoring you.

He’s halfway through tugging his jeans down when he stops and looks at you. “What’re you doing? Let me see ya, sweetheart.”

You’ve long gotten over how easy you are for him. You only hadn’t stripped yet because you wanted to work him up. “You can see me just fine. Or do you need your glasses, old man?”

He takes the bait, shaking his head, before looming over you and running his hands down the sides of his old shirt you use for a nightgown. He barely grazes your breasts, just brushing the tips of your hardened nipples and grinning when you whine.

“Up,” he orders, tugging at the hem of the shirt.

You lift enough for him to pull it off and flop back down. It’s your turn to smirk as he watches the way your tits bounce with deep hunger.

And then he fucking rips the along the side of your panties and pulls them off, throwing them to the floor.

“Hey!”

“Shut up, you can sew ‘em back.”

“I’ve already sewn that pair twice, Joel. You’re a fuckin’ menace.”

“Is that so?” Suddenly his breath is hot against your cunt, and you clench around nothing.

“Uh-huh,” you moan as he runs one finger along the seam of your cunt. “‘Cause you’re a menace.”

“Only for you, darlin’.”

You laugh. “Oh yeah? Let me do a survey around town.”

He shuts you up by sliding two fingers right into your cunt, the stretch almost too much. Almost. But you don’t really notice because he buries his face between your lips, and any sassy remark comes out in a desperate cry.

He pulls away and gives you a warning look, head tilted. His free hand comes up to cover your mouth, thick fingers clamping down and digging into your cheek. It makes you moan, but it also muffles it, so it works out fine.

“If you want your turn, you gotta be quiet. Otherwise, I’ll just have mine and shut you up proper.”

You choke down the moan dredged up by the thought of his cock down your throat and make the saddest pleading eyes you can muster.

He rolls his, shaking his head, before he goes back to your neglected clit.

You’re close, so close when you hear it. You pat Joel’s head, sitting up. “Was that the door?”

The shift is immediate. Three years in town has allowed Joel to relax somewhat, sometimes, but he slips back into it in an instant. He pulls back, brow furrowed, squinting like it’ll help him hear better.

It comes again, louder this time, insistent enough for him to pick up. A firm knocking.

There’s a pause, but Joel’s already on his feet, pulling his clothes back on. He tosses your shirt over as he ducks out of the doorway and you’re slipping it over your head when whoever is outside grows impatient.

Rapid, furious banging rattles the door, and you dart across the hall to shut the bedroom, but it’s too late.

Lulu starts wailing immediately, her little face scrunched up, nose wrinkling, and tears pouring out faster than a faucet. You scoop her up and soothe her, cradling her as she finds solace for her hurt feelings and empty stomach.

Joel goes downstairs, partly to shut up the racket but mostly because the sound fills him with dread. When he opens the door, it flings wide, and the tirade begins immediately.

Ellie storms in, already yelling. “—could you? What the fuck is wrong with you? You won’t even let her come out for fuckin’ Christmas because she might see me?”

You’re going down the stairs as soon as you hear her voice, but she stops yelling when she sees you on the landing.

“It’s not his fault,” you say, face hot with frustration and raw hurt. You hate the way your eyes water.

“Like hell, it isn’t. Maria said you were going to come, that one of you might actually have the balls to tell me you had a fuckin’ baby, and—”

“And I decided not to go, Ellie. Joel wasn’t even home. He didn’t know.”

Lulu has started to cry again, distracted from nursing by your ire. You murmur apologies, kissing the little tuft of dark hair on her head, and try to coax her back to your breast.

Ellie’s eyes are wide, and feet planted, ratty sneakers dripping filthy snow across the floor. Her mouth hangs open as she takes in the tiny, ruddy creature who finally agreed to return to her meal.

“Hey, Ellie. We had a fuckin’ baby,” Joel says after the silence hangs for a minute too long.

The bark of laughter that bursts out of her looks like it hurts, but she can’t fight it. The tension dissolves into absurdity and then tears.

Ellie sits on the ground instead of the perfectly nice sofa to her left. You come down the stairs and sit beside her.

You look up at Joel, and he nods. You wish he’d come sit, but he’s too afraid to break the peace. “Would you like to hold your sister?” you ask Ellie, keeping your voice low and steady.

“Can I? I mean… what if I break her?”

“She’s pretty tough.” Lulu is done eating, just suckling for comfort, so you pry her off your breast and tug your shirt back up.

Joel takes her without thinking, leaning her against his shoulder to help her work out the air.

Once she gives a satisfactory belch, he thrusts her at Ellie, who’s startled enough to take her without thinking about it.

You all hold very still. Except Lulu, who is blissfully unaware of the strife and coos up at her big sister. She bats a little hand at her face, smacking her nose in an attempt to grab on. Ellie laughs, and her smile, her perfect smile that you haven’t seen in a year, breaks out.

You can’t help it; you start crying. Ellie looks up in alarm, but Joel shakes his head, moving closer to rub your shoulder.

“It’s not you,” he says solemnly, “it’s just hard, after.” He gestures at the baby.

“It is you,” you say, and Joel scrubs a hand over his face with a soft groan. “It’s—I’m sorry, I just—”

Ellie’s looking like she might make a break for it. She tries to hand the baby back to Joel, who refuses.

You get ahold of yourself. “It’s not bad, Ellie. I’ve just been waiting for this since she was born.”

Ellie softens and then scowls. “Then you should have told me. You should have told me you were pregnant in the first place. I said you could talk to me.”

“No, I couldn’t,” and you pause as she shoots a dirty look at Joel. “No, not because of him. Because I would have done the same damn thing, so you may as well hate me too.”

“What?” She seems genuinely shocked, which you don’t have the patience for.

“I would do the same damn thing. If I had been there, there would have been nothin’ in the fuckin’ world keeping me from getting to you, Ellie. Nothing short of death. Not then, not now. I’d do it for her, too.”

The room is stifling, and Joel hasn’t even lit the hearth yet. Your breath comes out in little puffs, and every one of you has wet, devastated eyes. Even Lulu, who looks like she might be the first to break into tears.

Ellie looks down and sighs. “So, Lulu, huh?”

“Actually,” Joel says, and chances a step closer, squatting down. “It’s Luna. Luna Luann. Tommy’s just an idiot.”

Ellie’s a smart kid. You can see the moment it clicks—the way she looks up at Joel with something akin to hope. It fades quickly, but you know he saw it, too. His own staggering heart, heavy with love unspoken, is betrayed in the way he has to fight a smile, choke down the relief. Maybe, just maybe.

Maybe next year, you’ll get a tree.

thank you all so, so much.

*title from "Alone This Holiday" by The Used

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x oc #joel miller x f!oc #joel miller fic #joel miller smut #the last of us fic #the last of us fanfic #the last of us smut #you know you never stood a chance series

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gingerbearbaby · 7 months ago

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Superstitious (Lockwood x Reader!AU)

I am absolutely obsessed with Lockwood and show choir and I was desperate for someone to write it. So this came out. It's my first (and likely only) work, so enjoy! Best read with F!reader (sorry!).

Basically, Lockwood and reader are co-dance captains in their show choir. Barnes is their director and Holly is their choreographer. Their girls group is called Elegance and their mixed group is Fusion. Also Kipps and reader used to date.

As for their ballad, it's called Maybe I Like It This Way from the musical The Wild Party. It's such a good song!

Tropes: enemies to lovers, fake dating, forced proximity

Word Count: 5.1k

Warnings: cussing, mentions of cheating, one line of slut shaming, kissing, a little bit of angst but plenty of fluff, they're idiots your honor, mentions of unrequited love (but it's really requited), regular mentions of superstitions

“Luce, I’m not so sure I can do this anymore.” You looked to the redhead next to you, shrugging your rehearsal bag further onto your shoulder.

“You said that last year.”

“Well last year I didn’t have to dance with him.”

Lucy opened the school door, a heavy sigh escaping her. “He’s not that bad once you get to know him.”

“Correction: he’s not that bad to you.” You swung open your locker door, wrestling your duffle bag into it. “You guys are friends we are…”

“Two people with intense sexual tension.” Lucy interrupted as you trailed off. A quick smack to her thigh was received.

“Not every rivalry has sexual tension.”

“No, but yours does.”

“Oh shut up!”

“Why is Lucy shutting up?” You looked up to see Norrie wrapping her arm around her girlfriend.

You stood up and began walking to the choir room. “She’s trying to convince me that I have sexual tension with that asshole.” You gestured to the lanky figure at the front of the room, fixing his hair in the mirrors whilst vehemently arguing with George.

Norrie gave you a look as if to say ‘Is she wrong?’ which left you shaking your head as you walked to the front of the room.

“Ah, my vice captain. Nice of you to join us.” Lockwood poked.

You raised your eyebrows. “Vice captain?”

He nodded. “Like a presidency? I’m the captain, you’re my vice captain.”

“You’re mistaken. I’m the captain and you’re my vice captain. I mean,” you crossed your arms in an effort to seem more nonchalant, “I have more experience as a captain, being the dance captain of Elegance too.”

“If I was a girl, there’s no doubt that I would be the dance captain of Elegance and you would be my vice captain there too.”

“There is no such thing as a vice captain. You’re co-captains. Sit down.” Barnes spoke, gesturing to an empty spot on the risers.

Lockwood leaned to whisper quickly in your ear, “He only said that to save you the embarrassment of losing that argument.”

You flicked his thigh, whispering back a, “Fuck you.”

He gave you a wolfish smile in return. “In your dreams.”

You simply rolled your eyes. You don’t truly remember when you really began hating Lockwood. You suppose it had always been that way. You never really spoke much except for talking about choir in history your freshman year, and even then it was brief comments about upcoming concerts. Then came your sophomore year with a shared English class, which began this weird competitiveness between the both of you. Though you have to admit, your rivalry was the primary reason you escaped that class with an A. But that didn’t make him any more bearable.

You turned to your right to see Lucy already looking back. She mouthed ‘tension’ before flashing an innocent smile and turning towards your director.

“Your show this year will be a kind of romance-y theme. Think rom-com. Weird tension to soulmates.” Lucy nudged you. “To combat any… hormonal drama,” you cringed at his words, “we’re gonna pair you up for the show. You’ll each get a designated dance partner, bond with them throughout this season. Learn to trust them. There will be a lot of partner dancing.”

“Just make smart choices.” Holly smiled. Barnes gave her a quick thumbs up for her addition to his little spiel.

“Our first pair is our two dance captains.”

“Kill me now.” You muttered through gritted teeth.

“Kill me first.” He muttered back.

You were in for one hell of a season.

The first rehearsal was admittedly rough. Every chance you and Lockwood had, you were whispering insults underneath your breath or coughing while the other demonstrated a move.

By the fourth rehearsal, you and Lockwood began to trust each other in your dancing. And even began to bond a little. Sure you still traded little insults whenever he stepped on your toes (or vice versa), but for the most part you became friends.

By the tenth rehearsal, you realized you actually enjoyed your little dynamic. Your hatred turned to teasing and you even began talking to him after rehearsals. This of course earned you more teasing from Norrie and Lucy, but soon even George began to join in as your friend group developed.

Next thing you knew, it was the night before your first competition. You turned to Lockwood after your final runthrough of the night, hoping to give him a high-five, but was caught off guard as he ran his hand through his hair. Dancing and singing was no easy feat so you weren’t surprised that he was sweating, it was just the fact that you found his sweaty hair attractive. It was probably just the stage lights, but you quickly found yourself staring at him.

“You alright?”

You quickly nodded, shaking yourself out of your thoughts of, well, him. “Just thinking about our competition tomorrow.”

“Hey, we’ll be fine. It’s not our first time competing against Fittes. There’s nothing to be worried about.”He reassured as your face dissolved into one of horror.

“Shit.” Lockwood raised an eyebrow at your choice of words. “Kipps.” You answered. His brows furrowed.

“You worried your boyfriend isn’t gonna like our show or something?” You shook your head in dismissal, your face changing to one of disgust.

“He’s not my boyfriend anymore. Cheated on me with Kat Godwin about a month ago.”

“Oh, I didn’t know. I’m sorry.” You shrugged off his sympathy till his lips forged into a grin. “It’ll make our win even more rewarding. We’ll put that motherfucker in his place.”

“Yeah, except there’s one step of our little revenge plan missing.”

“Oh?”

You nodded. “In my heartbreak, I may or may not have made an ill-advised decision. And let's say that I told him that I already found a new boyfriend.”

“Oh.” You nodded, pursing your lips as the reality of your situation sunk in.

“So we need to find you a boyfriend.” You nodded. “They don’t sell those at the supermarket, how are we gonna find one overnight?”

“You don’t.” You sighed. “I’ll need to find someone to fake date me for the season.”

“One hiccup with that plan. Fake boyfriends aren’t sold at the store either.”

You nudged him with your shoulder as you began the walk to your car. “I know they don’t. But to get the ultimate revenge, I happen to know someone who he very much hates.”

Lockwood paused beside you, leaving you to turn to him, facing the consequences of your suggestion. “You want me to fake date you?” You gave him a sheepish smile.

“Maybe?”

You watched as he considered it in silence. “If I said yes, I would be doing this the whole season?”

“Preferably.” You watched as he fiddled a bit with his ring. A habit of his you began to notice more as you increasingly spent time together. “But only at competitions. The rest of the time you can go back to hating my guts.”

“I don’t hate your guts. I never have.” You felt heat begin to creep into your cheeks at his words. Maybe you won’t have to worry about finding a fake boyfriend overnight if you get sick before the first comp. “So we’ll just piss off Kipps?”

“Only at comps,” you assured. You sat in silence once more, the cold February air leaving you impatient at the length of his consideration. He was likely finding the best way to turn down your proposition.

You turned to walk away, reaching your car door as he called out, “Let’s do it, babe.” You looked to see him wink at you, feeling the heat flush once more. “Let’s get our revenge.”

You sent him a smile, climbing into your car, and hoped that the feeling in your stomach would subside before tomorrow morning.

The bus ride to the competition was spent huddled over your phone resting atop your shared mountain of garment bags, conversing the details of your fake relationship, and drinking a coffee that Lockwood gave you earlier that morning. He told you they gave him the wrong order and offered it to you, saying it was “too sweet” and that he only wanted an americano. Luckily for you, they mistakenly gave him your favorite latte.

By the time you arrived at the competition, you were a bundle of nerves just itching to finally perform. A quick glance at the clock (and your comp itinerary) left you and Lucy in a rush to find your dressing room to get ready for your performance with your girl’s group, Elegance.

You and Lucy stood backstage after your warmups, watching your stage crew and band load on. You fidgeted with your dress as you double checked your heels were on the right feet. You made that mistake once in a rehearsal your freshman year and vowed to always check before each performance. Just in case. It was a superstition you’d developed.

Thinking of superstitions, you grabbed Lucy’s wrist, giving it a quick tap as you watched Barnes motion you all on stage. Taking your places, the show began.

It was an utter blur, the adrenaline melding the whole show together into what felt like seconds, until your solo began. As you grabbed the mic, you looked to the audience and finally acknowledged the brunet boy sitting front and center. You met his eyes from the stage as he smiled brightly at you. With a quick wink in his direction, you returned the mic to the stand as the rest of Elegance returned from their costume change.

The bows began too soon. You could’ve spent all day on that stage just to know that Lockwood was watching you. He was smiling at you. And not one of his teasing smiles, a real smile.

Still in your costume, you met him in the hallway, running to give him a hug.

“You were incredible. That was incredible!” He was muttering in your ears, as he placed your feet back on the ground.

You simply smiled up at him, caught up in your proximity to him. It wasn’t uncommon to hug people in the midst of a post show reverie. It’s just that you’ve only ever been so close to him when choreographed. It felt different to feel his hands on your waist when it was a choice of your own volition. Your attention shifted as you felt a tap on your back.

Lucy, who you lost earlier in the hallway as she ran to find Norrie, was now pulling you back towards your homeroom to get changed.

“What the hell was that?”

You looked at her. “What the hell was what?”

“Your sexual tension turned romantic.”

“It did not.”

“It did.”

You jumped. “Jesus, George! Where did you come from?”

“I was right next to Lockwood. You were just so caught up in your little rom-com moment that you didn’t notice me.” You frowned.

“Not true, it was not a rom-com moment.”

“You literally just reenacted running through the airport to stop him from flying to Amsterdam to start a new life without you.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

“I’m surprised you didn’t kiss him,” Lucy added.

You simply groaned in response. “Lockwood and I are just friends who are fake dating.”

The two raised their eyebrows. “That’s new.”

“That’s really new.” George agreed.

“Kipps is here. We’re trying to piss him off.”

The two nodded. “You’re going for a Proposal kind of thing.”

“Luce, what does that even mean?”

“We have to get you caught up on your rom-coms.” Lucy nodded at George’s comment.

You rolled your eyes. “Whatever. Just, if Kipps asks, Lockwood and I have been dating for a couple of weeks since the breakup.”

And with that, you entered your homeroom to change back into your normal clothes.

“They’re hopeless, Luce. Hopeless.”

“They’ll figure it out sometime soon. Just give them till the end of comp season.”

Once changed, you met Lockwood in the cafeteria, the two of you looking for a seat in the expanses of the cafeteria.

“Well, what do we have here?” You steeled yourself at the sound of your ex’s voice and looked to Lockwood who had already spun around.

“Kipps. What a surprise.”

“Tony! Always a misfortune to see you here.” He turned to you. “I see you’ve become the rebound for our little princess over here.”

“She’s not your princess.” Lockwood stepped forward as you reached for his wrist. “Why don’t you find someone else to bother? I’m sure some of Tendy’s kids are getting bored without someone to insult.”

Kipps simply ignored Lockwood and looked at you. “Tony? Really?”

You let out a dry chuckle. “I could say the same thing about Kat.” Kipps’s face twitched with anger as you continued. “And at least I found someone who actually cares about me, something you could never manage.” You laced your fingers with Lockwood’s. “And his name is Anthony, not Tony.” And with that you pulled Lockwood away.

When it was finally time to perform, you found yourself fidgeting backstage again. Lucy quickly tapped your wrist, leaving to go back by George, her own dance partner. Still toying with a sequin on your dress, you glanced at Lockwood whose hair was in spikes as he continuously ran his hand through it.

“You look like a mess.” You whispered. “Are you always like this before a performance?”

He only nodded. As stage crew was almost done loading on, you quickly grabbed his wrist to stop him. “There’s no way I’m letting you go onstage like this. You look like you’ve been electrocuted. Can I fix your hair for you?” He simply nodded once more as you went on your tippy toes to fix it, wobbling a bit in the process. Lockwood’s hands flew to your waist to steady you, giving you a rush of that same nauseous feeling in your stomach. You brushed off the thought, rationalizing it as nerves, and quickly admired your work with his hair. Adjusting his tie, you flashed him a smile. He responded with a simple squeeze to your hips before he turned to see Barnes gesturing the choir onstage.

The performance was a whirlwind, and before you knew it, Lockwood was dipping you in his arms, his hands supporting your waist. He gave you a little squeeze, identical to the one before you began performing. A large smile had engulfed his features, as he pulled you out of the dip, twirling you as you both exited the stage to the sound of a thundering applause.

“Holy shit.” You exhaled a laugh and turned to Lockwood.

His hands had found their way back to his hair, spiking them up yet again. You found yourself thinking back to yesterday’s rehearsal when he had done the same thing. Without the stage lights, he somehow looked even more beautiful, with his leather jacket pulled taught around his arms. He smiled at you before leaning in to whisper, “We put that bitch in his place.”

You simply laughed along with him, walking back to the homeroom to meet up with Lucy, George, and Norrie.

Later that evening, your choirs were huddled together in a corner of the vast auditorium awaiting the emcee to announce the finalists. In a swarm of the students, one Lockwood was missing, leaving you frantically searching for him. Swatting a sophomore from the seat beside you, you felt Lucy lean over to whisper, “You’re whipped.”

Her words were quickly forgotten by the arrival of the boy holding a pretzel. He tore a piece, squeezing through the row to settle beside you. “Want some?”

Wordlessly, you took it, and turned your attention back towards the stage as the emcee, one Mr. Fairfax, entered. Reaching to Lucy, you linked pinkies with her.

“Going first in your large mixed finals is Tendy High School Swing Sensations!” Squeezing Lucy’s pinky harder, you felt Lockwood’s knee knock into yours, his hand opened beside him, inviting yours.

Lacing your fingers, you heard Fairfax continue. “Second in the large mixed finals is Bunchurch High School Encores!” You felt your body tense. Only two more finalists.

A thumb brushed over the back of your hand, softly. Like a whisper of comfort that one was unsure to offer. You squeezed his hand again. He squeezed right back.

“Your third finalist tonight is Fittes Academy Vocal Excellence!”

You dropped your head, holding your breath to better hear the announcer. “And last but certainly not least, Portland Row High School’s Fusion!”

You exhaled, leaning over to Lockwood and linked your arms with his. “One step closer to revenge.” And with a smile you turned back to Lucy to discuss the possible results of the competition.

On the way to your warm-ups, you felt Lockwood reach over to lace your fingers together. Looking up at him, you saw the pure anxiety on his face. Squeezing his hand, he turned to you, his brow unfurling ever so slightly.

As the Fittes crew exited their warm-ups, Kipps shoulder bumped Lockwood, knocking him into you. His once anxious features dissolved into one of anger, his jaw clenching.

“He’s only doing that because he knows he can’t win.” Lockwood turned back to you, taking a deep breath before the warm-up began.

Once again huddled backstage, you checked down at your shoes while Lucy tapped your wrist again.

“Can you fix my hair again maybe?” Lockwood whispered.

Back on your tippy toes, you checked his hair and straightened his tie. “Are you superstitious, Lockwood?”

Without words, he squeezed your hip before turning to wait for Barnes’ directions.

On the stage, you only got to see Lockwood performing. With his big smile and irresistible charm, it was impossible to think of the boy you saw backstage. The one who holds your hand and squeezes your waist. You’re not sure which Lockwood you liked more: the dazzling performer or the one who needs you to fix his hair. Once your second number was finished, you hit your pose, one Holly was quite proud of. It’s not necessarily even a pose, it’s just a hug. In your quick embrace, you heard Lockwood exhale into your ear, quiet enough to not be picked up by any of the mics, but loud enough for you to hear his words.

“I like when you call me Anthony.” As Norrie began her solo, your mind kept repeating his words. It was as though he was stuck in your head; a broken record on repeat. You found yourself suddenly relating even further to the ballad as you began to sing once more.

Once the bows commenced, you met Lockwood’s eyes as he dipped you for your final pose. It was then you decided that the Lockwood you liked most was Anthony. And as he twirled you offstage, you felt that same nauseous feeling settle into your stomach.

Smiling at him, you rushed to find Lucy and Norrie. “You were right,” you whispered. “Our tension has gone romantic.” Lucy grabbed your elbow, pulling you closer to the wall. “He told me he likes when I call him Anthony.”

“What, during our show?”

“Yes!”

“When is there time to do that?” Norrie asked, huddling around the two of you. “We’re singing the whole time.”

“He whispered it during the hug. Before the ballad.”

��Oh shit.” The two whispered. “Well is it so bad that he maybe has a crush on you?” Lucy continued on. “We’re all waiting for it to happen.”

You ran your hand through your hair, squeezing your eyes shut. “No! No. He doesn’t have a crush on me. I have a crush on him.” The two shared a look before turning back to you. “Telling your friend to call you by your first name is normal. It’s the fact that I can’t stop thinking about it that’s throwing me off.”

“Well it happened only 10 minutes ago, I’d say it’s fine to think about it after such a short duration.” You groaned.

“It’s not that it’s recent. I don’t get thrown off by things like that. Especially not onstage. He’s gotten into my head.”

“What he’s gotten into is your heart. Is that so bad?”

“Yes! Because it’s Anthony fucking Lockwood! We’ve hated each other for years, he’s only being like this because of forced proximity. Or a bet or something.”

“Keep telling yourself that. But the longer you deny it, the worse it’ll get.”

You sighed, beginning down the hallway. “I just need space from him. It’s just like a showmance, right? None of this is real.” You began nodding slowly. “I don’t like Lockwood.”

“No, you don’t. You like Anthony.” You smacked Norrie’s arm and entered the auditorium, finding Lockwood’s leather jacket over a chair. As soon as he noticed you, he began waving his arms, leaving you no choice but to shimmy your way down the rows and into the seat beside him.

“Thanks, for saving me a seat.”

“Anytime. What kind of fake boyfriend would I be if I didn’t save a seat for you?”

“A pretty crappy one.”

“Well many sources have said I’m the best fake boyfriend on the market.” You wrinkled your nose.

“What are they grading you on?”

“Charm, chivalry, and chemistry.” You rolled your eyes.

“I don’t think the person who judged you had their proper credentials.”

“Rude.” He whispered, as Fairfax entered the stage.

Reaching for his hand, Lockwood laced your fingers together and gave you a quick squeeze.

“Your third runner up, from Bunchurch High School, it’s the Bunchurch Encores!” Snapping with your free hand, you felt Lockwood’s grip tighten. “Your second runner up is the Swing Sensations from Tendy High School!”

You closed your eyes, bending your head as you awaited for the caption awards to be announced. “Best vocals go to Fittes Academy Vocal Excellence.” Holding your breath, you heard Fairfax continue. “Best visuals awarded to Portland Row High School Fusion!” You let out a sigh of relief. There was still a chance.

“And now, for our first runner up. From Portland Row High School, it’s Fusion! Which means that Fittes Academy Vocal Excellence is our Grand Champion. Congrats!” Jumping up and down with the rest of the choir, you turned back to Anthony.

“Sorry we didn’t win.” You bumped your shoulder into his, breaking him from zoning out.

“Why are you sorry? I’m sorry I talked it up so much.” You shrugged. “We’ll get our revenge at the DEPRAC comp, right?” You smiled at him.

“Until then, you’re off duty as my boyfriend.”

“You know? I was really starting to like it.” You watched him wander over to George before Lucy tackled you from behind.

“First runner up for our first competition means we can only go up.”

“Let’s hope so.”

Three weeks later, you found yourself smashed in the bus seat with Anthony for three hours. Holding an empty latte cup— they messed up his order again— you had dozed off on his shoulder halfway into the ride. Feeling a shove, you woke up to see the high school in front of you. The DEPRAC Invitational was an exclusive competition filled with dozens of the best show choirs from your area. You were lucky to even walk the halls.

Placing your garment bags in the homeroom, you heard your name being called.

“You’ve got the solo today.” You looked at Barnes quizzically.

“What solo? Elegance isn’t performing today.”

“Norrie’s out sick. You need to cover the solo.” You nodded. You had auditioned for the

song earlier in the season so you knew the part. But covering for Norrie left some huge shoes for you to fill. “Can I trust you?”

“Yeah, I’ve got this.”

Meeting Lockwood in the cafeteria, you told him about the switch before being interrupted.

“Come to lose to the big dogs again?” This time it was you turning around first.

“Fuck off, Kipps!”

“Woah, calm down, sunshine. It was just a question!” Lockwood scowled. “And remind your little guard dog here that you were mine first. We both know you’ll come crawling back in the end.”

“That’s enough, Kipps. Leave my girlfriend alone.”

“Sure thing, Tony. No one wants a slut like her anyway.” And with that, Kipps turned sharply, leaving the two of you fuming.

“If it didn’t mean getting us disqualified, I would have kicked his ass for you.”

“That’s not your job to do. I can handle myself!”

“I know that but I’m your boyfriend I wanna-”

“You’re not my boyfriend!” You seethed. Not sure where this anger with him was coming from, you stormed off to avoid any further arguments.

You avoided him for the rest of the day, only going near him to fix his hair and tie or to dance. You didn’t squeeze his hand or hug him after performing, despite his attempts to compliment your solo.

As finals rolled around, you found yourself more anxious than ever before. As Lockwood squeezed your waist one last time, you finally met his eyes before snapping out of his trance. You refuse to get blindsided by his pretty brown eyes, but distancing yourself from him was impossible as the whole group was packed like sardines in the wings. With a small smile, Lockwood turned around and entered the stage.

As the second song ended, you realized the breath you were holding as Lockwood posed in your hug again. His breath warm against your ear he whispered again. “I want to be your real boyfriend.” Masked by the applause, you allowed your breath to stutter before the music to the ballad began.

Departing his embrace, you grabbed the mic with shaking hands. This love song, this twisted and toxic depiction of love you were singing about found a resolve deep in your bones, the chills of the rest of the choir singing behind you settling across your skin. The fear of a boy who found a chink in your armor resounded in your heart and the anger of a confession you were too blinded to accept. It felt like hours when Lockwood finally squeezed your hip one last time as you twirled off stage.

Gripping his leather jacket, you pulled him into a hidden vestibule, the adrenaline of your performance still coursing your veins.

“What the hell was that?” You seethed.

“The truth.”

“Couldn’t the truth have waited?”

“You’ve been avoiding me all day! When else was I supposed to tell you?”

“Never! You were never supposed to tell me!”

He groaned, running his hands through his sweaty hair. “I had to tell you! It was killing me! I’ve wanted to be your boyfriend since freshman year. And the second I finally thought I had a chance with you, you came to school with that stupid Kipps as your lock screen. How do you think that felt?

“To be second place to an asshole like that for so long! I hated how I still liked you, so I pretended to hate you. To drive you away. And it finally worked! But the instant you asked me to fake date you was like a dream come true. I couldn’t deny it anymore that I still wanted to be yours. To even pretend you actually reciprocated any feelings was as good as any other. But it wasn’t enough for me! I need you.”

“You’re making this up. You got caught in the whirlwind! It’s just a showmance!”

“You don’t know that!”

“I do! You don’t mean any of this and you’ll regret it all by next week. Trust me I’ve-”

He pulled your waist, capturing your lips in a heated kiss. Grabbing his lapels, you quickly found yourself kissing him back. Wrapping his arms tighter around you, he further pulled you into him till your bodies were fully flesh against each other. Pulling away, you tried to lean back in but he further pulled back. “Since you’re so sure it was fake, there’s your proof. I’m done waiting for you.” And he turned down the hallway.

The second you snapped from your daze, you ran to find him, but he was already lost in the crowd. Finding Lucy, she pulled you aside, taking you to Barnes. “Found her!”

“Perfect, where’s Lockwood?”

“Behind you,” you turned to look at him but his attention was fully on your director.

“You two are our reps for awards tonight. Got it? Head backstage.” You both looked at him. “Now!” Turning back towards backstage, the two of you departed, a heavy silence falling over you.

“Can we talk about this?”

“What is there to talk about?” Crossing his arms, Lockwood turned from you.

“Anthony, please?”

“Some lovers quarrel.” You look up to see Kipps and Kat. “This is just your first heartbreak of the day. Can’t wait to watch you lose.” And with that, you were beckoned on the stage for the presenting of awards.

“Your second runner up, from Rotwell High School, the Rhythm Makers!”

You brushed your pinky against Lockwood’s, smiling when he relented and linked them together.

“Your vocal caption award goes to… Portland Row High School Fusion!” Your smile spread further as Lockwood squeezed your pinky. “And our visual caption award goes to… Fusion again!” Turning to smile at Lockwood, you found him already looking at you.

“And now, for your first runner up.” You began holding your breath, squeezing Lockwood’s pinky even tighter. “Fittes Academy!” Your jaw dropped as you began smiling in realization. “Congratulations to our Grand Champions from Portland Row High School!”

Holding the caption awards and trophy, you and Lockwood watched as the rest of your choir joined you on the stage. Each given a medal, tears and hugs were shared. Exiting the stage, you grabbed Lockwood by his medal, pulling him back to that same vestibule.

Pulling his lips to yours, you felt his hands find your waist, squeezing it gently. “Revenge is only fun if it’s real.” You muttered, lips still brushing gently over his. “This is real for me, Anthony.” Looking into your eyes, he pushed your hair back before capturing you in another kiss.

You felt him begin to smile into it, brushing his thumb over your cheeks. Reaching to play with his hair, you deepened the kiss until finally pulling apart for air.

“I think we should kiss after each performance.”

“Yeah?” He looked at you, the teasing smile you were so familiar with painting his face.

“Maybe I’m a little superstitious.”

#lockwood x reader #anthony lockwood x reader #lucy x norrie #kipps x reader #anthony lockwood #george karim #george cubbins #lucy carlyle #x reader #fluff #lockwood fluff #show choir #show choir au #superstitions #they're idiots your honor

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callsign-jinx · 9 days ago

Text

First Daughter | Ch. 1 : White House's princess

Pairing: Mickey "Fanboy" Garcia x fem!pilot reader (Call sign: Hawk. Reader's surname is Miller but she is adopted.)

Wordcount: 1.9k

Tags: enemies to lovers, crack, angst, fluff and more tags to be add in every chapter.

A/N: i can't believe i'm here again after all this time but IT IS HAPPENNING. I really am surprised by myself, really. Anyway, before you start reading, i recommend you to see the Ohana Squad Moodbards as these are the girls that will accompany Hawk (y/n) during out story. More information about them will be revealed in the next chapters. Enjoy it!

Masterlist

Mrs. and Mr. Miller of number 1600, Pennsylvania Avenue, were proud to say they were perfectly normal, thank you very much.

Well, as normal as Mrs. President of the United States and her husband could be. Joanne Miller has been President of the United States for the last two years. To say it had been a walk in the park would be a blatant lie. You don’t make history by being liked, however. And Jo had made history, earning the title of the first female president.

It not only meant a big entry for the history books; it also meant a whole new world of possibilities for any young girl who dreamed of being president. It had only been a dream for years, but now? It was a possibility.

Mrs. President and her husband, Frederick Miller, had four children, and everyone was waiting to see if Jo and Freddy's daughters would follow in their mother's footsteps. Lisa, the older sibling, was too preoccupied with her Hollywood career to consider a political career. That wasn’t for her. Keeya, the youngest, was now in her third year of college, and her dream of becoming a judge was more significant for the young Miller than becoming a politician. That wasn’t for her, either.

And then there was Y/n. She was the middle daughter, always in the middle, even though Keeya had a twin brother, Keith. Keith was also studying law, but while Keeya was following her dreams at Harvard, Keith had chosen Yale as his dream college. It was the first time the twins didn’t follow the same path, and it still saddened them a bit. Keith thought that it was a good opportunity to prove to himself that he didn’t need to be around his sister to succeed. He could do it on his own.

But this story isn’t about Lisa, Keeya or Keith. It’s about Y/n, or how everyone called her, Hawk. Hawk Miller, a Navy pilot, a girl who had been raised to fight the world’s evilness while sitting in a chair but decided to fight for a better tomorrow, sat on an F-18.

Hawk Miller, who walked down the halls of the Top Gun Academy after receiving an invite with the girls of her squad. Ohana Squad, they called themselves. A family. Walking behind her were Hollie, also known as Bean, and Ari, whose callsign was Dragon. The two other pilots of her squad. Bean stood out with her golden locks, and Ari’s hazel eyes had a lot of pilots swooning over her. They were like the protective mothers of the group.

In front of her, the wizzos walked, talking excitedly and almost jumping around. Katie, callsign Duchess, the redhead goddess with the warmest smile and the kindest soul, and Shay, callsign Nova, whose quiet personality made her look like a cold person, but she was just a big ball of shyness and cuteness with a strong will and the best aim the Navy had ever seen.

It was a curious group, but Hawk would never change them. Not even for a second.

“I still can’t believe that we’re here." Dragon’s eyes traced the whole place, completely in awe. She was admiring the academy, taking in her surroundings, and appreciating the amount of history hanging from the walls.

“Believe it, girl. We’re the best squad around!” Duchess said, raising her hand to get a high five from Hawk, who was oddly quiet. “Honey, are you okay?”

But she didn’t answer.

“Hawk?”

“Oh! Sorry, I got lost in my thoughts. Were you saying something?”

All the girls laughed a bit after noticing her friend’s nervousness. “Come on, Hawk. It’ll be okay. Just breathe in and out.”

And even though Bean’s advice would have been really helpful, Hawk’s mind was already creating the worst scenarios. Most of them were different, but all of them had something in common: someone looked down on her just because she was the president’s daughter.

It wasn’t uncommon to hear somebody claim that Hawk's Navy accomplishments were solely due to her being Joanne Miller's daughter. In fact, this treatment didn’t start at the Navy. Her mother had been a politician her entire life, and people assumed Hawk's good grades, scholarships, debate club trophies, and other accomplishments were given to her in order to appease her mother. Or that they were afraid of her.

She was used to it. She knew people thought of her as a nepo baby. That she was given anything she desired. Reality, however, was completely different.

And a small part of her was terrified that people would think her being at Top Gun was just a favor from some high-ranking official to her mother. Hawk Miller had fought really hard to prove everyone and herself she was a good pilot. One of the bests of her generation. She deserved to be there, as much as her friends.

Nobody could tell her otherwise.

Or so she thought.

Walking into the classroom was unsettling. While Hawk thought that her very first day at the Navy academy was hard, that day at Top Gun proved it wrong. She was among the best. She wasn't special anymore, she was just like the rest. It was a comforting feeling to not stand out for once in her life.

“Hey, isn't that Lieutenant Commander Trace?” Ari asked while Hawk sat down next to her. Both pilots were looking at the Lieutenant in question, who was laughing with a man with blonde hair and glasses while observing the newbies taking seats.

Katie gasped loudly. “Oh my gosh, it is!”

Bean, who sat behind them both, leaned closer to the other girls, whispering too. “Girls, that means the Dagger Squad is in charge of instruction.”

The five girls looked at each other, shock and excitement written all over their faces in equal parts. “At last someone that knows more than me,” Hawk joked while sitting straight once Trace started calling everyone's attention.

“Good morning, ladies and gentlemen. My name is Lieutenant Commander Trace, also known as Phoenix, and for the next five weeks, you're going to be under my care. Whether that means something good or bad is up to you.”

A few other pilots entered the class, earning a glare from Commander Trace before they stood next to the blonde with glasses.

“You came here because you are the best. Or so you think.” She came to a halt in the classroom, next to Hawk and her girls, and looked down. “Right now, I am the best pilot in this class, apart from your other instructors standing there, and none of you have what it takes to beat me or them.”

At the first rows of the class, a pair of male pilots snorted at Phoenix’s statement. The blonde guy with glasses stands in front of them, arms crossed over his chest, while the other one walked dangerously slowly towards them. He had a moustache and curly hair and a face that showed those two idiotic aviators had struck a nerve.

“Got a problem with your Commander, guys?”

While one of them lowered his eyes and apologized, the other rose from his seat and looked at the man in glasses. “I’m just guessing this is some kind of prank to spread Joanne Miller’s gender equality agenda now that her daughter is among us. But you know what? I have enough of it already while having to deal with a nepo baby, I don’t want a woman to try and teach me what I already know.”

It only took a second for one of the other instructors, a tall black man, to grab the moron by the collar and kick him out of the classroom. Hawk attempted to grab Ari's arm to keep her from going after that idiot, but failed. She dashed out of the classroom, Phoenix trailing behind her, while Hawk turned around and took a deep breath before looking at her friends. “Let’s go get her before she gets herself kicked out.”

They could hear Ari’s voice from inside. She was the loud one in the group. “C’mere, big boy! Let a woman teach you a lesson. That ‘nepo baby’ is ten times better than your sorry ass!”

Phoenix laughed a bit and popped her head inside the class, looking for one of her fellow instructors. “Hey, Hangman. I think I found one of your new students!”

And while the pilot called Hangman laughed himself and exited the class to get the girl who was now swearing in Spanish, Hawk realized every single other pilot or wizzo was either staring at her, taking a picture with their phones or gossiping in quiet whispers.

All eyes were focused on her once again.

Her worst scenario came true right in front of her.

So the rumours were true. Y/N Miller was actually Joanne Miller’s daughter. The president’s daughter. Mickey didn’t like nepotism. He had his fair share of piltos who were there just because their parents were famous pilots or politicians. Experience had taught him that nepo babies only meant trouble.

And the first daughter wouldn’t mean less.

By the time Nat had finished giving her speech, Fanboy was sure of two things. First, Hawk Miller and her friends would be the center of all the disturbances during the next five weeks. And the second was that it didn’t matter her surname or her mother’s job; it didn’t matter that, in a way, Hawk’s mother was Mickey’s boss. He wasn’t going to give her a special treatment.

Hawk Miller was just another student. Five weeks, and she’d be gone.

"Mickey, if you keep staring at her like that, she’s gonna notice your little crush on her.” Javy’s joke pulled Fanboy out of his thoughts, earning the pilot a glare from the wizzo. “Oh, boy, if looks could kill, Jake would have killed me long ago so don’t even bother.”

“Not funny, Machado.”

Javy’s eyebrows rose almost to his hairline. “Surnames? Really? Buddy, we’ve been to hell and back; we don’t do surnames anymore. What’s going on?”

Mickey leaned against the wall, watching as Hawk Miller was surrounded by pilots and wizzos who asked her for pictures or autographs, like she was some kind of celebrity. It made his skin crawl. “She’s just here because of her mother.”

“Come on, Miguel. You don’t really think that.”

The wizzo retrieved from his bag a folder. Hawk’s file. “Have you read this? She’s not that great. She hasn’t done anything outstanding, either. Why’s she here?”

Payback, who had been listening subtly to the conversation, approached his two friends, placing his hands on their shoulders. “You know, when Bob was called here, he didn’t have exactly an outstanding story. And he was with us on that suicide mission.”

“And now is in charge of the WSO side of the program. He was good. Someone saw potential.” Javy adds, nodding at Payback’s words.

For a moment, it looked like their words were going to convince Mickey, to actually get rid of that uneasy feeling that the wizzo had been feeling since the day he heard the rumours of the president’s daughter being a student at Top Gun.

But when President Joanne Miller herself appeared inside his class ten seconds later, he realized that he was right. He had to trust his hunch.

Hawk Miller not only meant trouble.

She was a walking disaster.

@purplevortexx

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