#Voice over studio London

[fayes-fics]

An Artful Arrangement

Pairings: Anthony Bridgerton x fem!reader, Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader (threesome)

Summary: A private art lesson with Benedict becomes something else when a Viscount is your subject...

Warnings: 18+ smut, minors DNI, MMF threesome, no incest. Very mild restraint with hands, sensation play, smidge of breast play, vaginal object insertion, vaginal fingering, oral sex (M to F), masturbation, vaginal sex, voyeurism/exhibitionism.

Word Count: 7.7k

Authors Note: Request fill for Anon, who wanted Anthony as a life model for one of Benedict's private art lessons. This request is from last year and I started writing it before the whole Benedict gives up art thing of s3. I hope artist Benedict returns in s4. Anyway, thank you to @colettebronte for beta-reading this monster. Enjoy! <3

“I’m not sure about this, brother,” Anthony frowns, surveying the jumbled art studio at Benedict’s London townhouse. 

Sunlight is streaming in through the floor-to-ceiling windows at the rear of the property, but Anthony is grateful for the translucent voiles that drape over them; at least there will be some privacy from the surrounding buildings for this embarrassment.

“Too bad,” Benedict shoots back, bemused, fiddling through a pile of paintbrushes.  “A bet is a bet, and you lost.”

“You do not need to revel in my misfortune quite this much, though,” Anthony pouts.

“What can I say? The mallet of death does not always ensure victory at Pall Mall,” Benedict chuckles, readjusting one of the two easels in the room. “And I can assure you, this student will be worth your efforts,” he adds enigmatically as his trusty valet appears in the doorway.

“Ms y/l/n is here, Mr Bridgerton,” Mr Smith announces. “Should I see her in?”

“Certainly,” Benedict nods brightly, observing in the periphery of his gaze how Anthony’s interest is piqued at that announcement.

“A Ms?” Anthony echoes quietly as Smith slips away. “I did not think you offered private art tuition to the unmarried lady,” his voice filled with concern, patently preoccupied with the Bridgerton family reputation should Benedict be inviting innocent young women to his bachelor lodgings unchaperoned.

“Do not concern yourself,” Benedict sighs, knowing exactly where the Viscount's thoughts have gone. “I indeed do not do that. I would not wish for that reputation. Widows who have reverted to their unmarried name, however….” Benedict trails off.

“Oh… right….” Anthony nods in understanding. 

That, indeed, is an entirely different prospect.

—

You enter the room and suspect you may have interrupted a private moment between the two men before you. Both turning towards you, Benedict looks happy to see you once more; the other man - you would recognise his older brother, the Viscount, anywhere - seems taken aback, but you don't miss the tiny uptick in the corner of his mouth, hopefully also pleased to meet you.

“Good afternoon, gentlemen,” you nod courteously and move towards Benedict, allowing him to take your hand and kiss the back of your glove in greeting.

“Ms y/l/n,” he rumbles, “it is so wonderful to see you again.”

“Likewise, Mr Bridgerton,” you answer, enjoying the warmth of his lips through the silk, that trademark flare of exhilaration in your ribcage when your flirtation with him rears. 

This is your fifth private lesson with Mr Bridgerton, and while art has been a wonderful new pastime, you do wonder how much of your enthusiasm correlates to your tutor’s attractiveness. He has been nothing but a gentleman in his actions, almost to your chagrin, although sometimes his glances have felt heated and laden with something that makes your insides glow.

You turn towards Anthony. “Viscount Bridgerton, it is a pleasure to meet you finally. I have seen you from afar at many an event.”

You take a few paces and offer your other hand for him to kiss, but it takes him a moment before he returns to himself and amends his frozen look of surprise.

“Miss y/l/n, the pleasure is all mine,” he replies, and there is something just as velvet in his tone as his brother's, his lips also warm and plush as he kisses your other hand.

Oh, my goodness. They are both entirely too charming and handsome.

“I apologise. When my brother informed me I would be modelling for a widow, I did not assume such a person as yourself,” he explains, his cheeks sporting a delightful dot of colour.

“I was widowed at age 24, my lord,” you explain, a playful smile tugging at your lips. “My late husband, 10th Earl of Pembroke, was a great deal older than me.” 

“Should we not address you as Dowager Countess?” Anthony checks, concerned at any potential faux pas.

“Please do not,” you instantly respond. “It is why I reverted to my unmarried name. I have no wish to be addressed as such. The title lives on in his eldest son, the current Earl, and his wife. Who are indeed older than me. I was my husband's second wife. A companion for his senior years after his first wife died.”

Anthony nods in understanding. “It must have been an interesting union,” he offers politely.

“I was seventeen, and the man was nearly sixty,” you sigh. “My parents saw an opportunity to climb the social ladder and took it. I did not dislike the man completely, but I cannot say I was particularly distraught at his passing,” you explain plainly. “I am, of course, grateful his estate provides for me now.”

Having explained your situation as thoroughly as you wish, you turn back towards Benedict, who appears thoroughly entertained by your bluntness.

“Is this my easel?” you enthuse, pointing to the one nearest the windows.

“Indeed it is,” he returns with a smile as he strides past you and clicks the door closed.

“Now the question is, would you prefer your model be clothed or unclothed? You have not done a piece yet on the naked human form,” he points out.

You look over to see Anthony’s face morph into a thousand reactions.

“That was not part of the deal, brother,” he warns lowly through gritted teeth.

“Maybe not, but I think the lady should get to decide, do you not, brother?” Benedict challenges in a tone laced with amusement, his eyes sparkling.

You can see the war on Anthony’s face and decide to offer an olive branch. “I would not wish to make the Viscount uncomfortable in any way…”

“It would not,” Anthony cuts in very quickly. “I was just pointing out it was not my expectation to do so,” his gaze softening as it slips from his brother to you. “However, if you wish it, Ms, I shall remove my clothing.” something in the way he says it causes a frisson down your spine.

You have only seen one naked man in your life. And that is your dead husband—a portly man of advanced years. Something about the look of the Viscount’s tailored clothing suggests his naked form would be very different. More akin to the rugged gardener you have occasionally seen topless at your country home and, yes, touched yourself while thinking of. You are not sure you could keep your wits about you to paint such a fine specimen of a man.

“Let us just remove our jackets for now, brother,” Benedict suggests. ”The lady may then decide if we shall proceed further,” his tone conciliatory as he removes his.

You smile at his gentlemanly offer. 

“Now,” he continues, rolling up his white shirt sleeves distractingly. “You may choose to pose your model as you see fit.” 

Anthony is doing the same with his shirt, and you find yourself staring at him as well, at the play of muscles in his forearms as he rolls the material. Behind him is an emerald green velvet chaise, and you ask him to sit upon it. He does so and then looks at you expectantly for further instruction.

“Perhaps place one forearm on your thigh,” you suggest, but the pose he adopts isn't quite what you had in mind.

“You can place him in the position you wish,” Benedict chuckles, seeing the knit in your brow, gesturing for you to go to Anthony.

Your heart skips a little as you approach the Viscount, his eyes almost trepidacious as you place your hands tentatively on his shoulders. They are so broad and warm through the thin white cotton of his shirt. You position his arms, noting the latent power in his biceps, fingertips lingering on the material, eager to trail your hands down onto the dark hair dusting his forearms. 

“Would you mind raising your chin, my lord?” you ask quietly, and when he tilts his head up, you almost gasp at the intensity of his gaze boring into yours.

“Like this?” he murmurs.

“Yes, please,” you whisper back, “the light catches your face perfectly.”

“Much as it does yours,” he returns softly and something warm spreads under your ribs as you drink in his handsome facial features, almost glowing in the sunlight—a want to run your fingertips over his cheeks, trace the lines of his strong jaw dusted with a trace of afternoon stubble.

“Are you happy with your placement?” Benedict’s voice rings out, cutting into your reverie.

“Yes, Mr Bridgerton,” you reply but do not move, seemingly rooted to the spot.

“Then please return to your easel,” he tutors, with a hint of sharpness you have not heard before. 

Part of you is tempted to spin around and ask if he is jealous, but instead, you shoot Anthony a tiny smile that he returns before withdrawing. 

You round behind your easel and pick up your charcoal, sketching an outline, as Benedict does the same. A few minutes pass pleasantly as you draw, glancing at Anthony around the edge of the easel to ensure accuracy. You could swear every time you do so; his lip twitches in amusement, almost as if he is trying to distract you.

“Benedict,” you call softly when you think your rough outline is done, “please could you check my sketch?”

It's a flimsy excuse you have used more than once now—a wish to have your teacher move closer. He doesn't disappoint. He takes a few strides and then stops close to your back, assessing your canvas.

“I would say that is an excellent start,” he assesses, his exhaled air wafting through tendrils of hair near your ear. “Except maybe here…” His arm curls close around your side, ghosting your dress, and taps the canvas where you have sketched Anthony’s left arm. “I think you flatter my brother with a shoulder that broad.”

“Perhaps…” you concede, and then your tongue runs away with itself. “It may indeed be easier to ascertain the correct proportions for the Viscount were he in less clothing.”

They both chuckle at your bold assertion, so obviously a flimsy excuse. But there is a vault behind your ribs as Anthony rises to that challenge—a glint in his eye as he stands up and plucks open his waistcoat, shucking it quickly from his shoulders, staring you down. 

You swear you can feel the heat radiating from Benedict behind you as Anthony unwinds his white cravat and then, with a smirk, tosses it towards you. It lands draped over your easel; you reach out unthinking, grabbing an end, caressing the fine silk absent-mindedly as you stare covetously now.

Anthony is indeed built like your gardener, possibly even more sculpted. A dark thatch over his chest tapers to a line of hair over his abdominals and trails temptingly into his trousers. You want to see where it leads to. You suspect something much better than you have ever encountered before. With a hint of swagger, he retakes his seat in the pose you had put him in, the stance making his bicep bulge out.

“I do not think I was very incorrect in my proportions, Mr Bridgerton,” you opine tacitly, turning your head a fraction so your temple is brushing Benedict’s jaw, knowing you are goading him.

“Then draw what you believe you see,” he returns, his voice a low whisper, his lips so close to the shell of your ear that your heart pounds in your chest.

Your eyes hold Anthony’s as you daringly glide your fingertips over the back of Benedict’s hand, lingering on the raised tendons before you push the charcoal between his knuckles.

“Perhaps you can guide my hand?”

“With pleasure,” he hums.

The charcoal glides over the canvas in guided unison for a few laden minutes as you draw under Benedict’s tutelage. Anthony’s chest rises and falls steadily as you glance at him every few seconds—a tension in the air that is portentous, crackling. Your traitorous mind wanders—a jumble of images of you laying with both of these men, bringing you untold pleasures with their mouths and hands.

“Are you even paying attention to the artwork?” Benedict's rich voice lilts in your ear as you realise your hand is almost limp under his.

“I… I must confess, my thoughts may be elsewhere, Mr Bridgerton.”

“Tell us. It could be something we would be most pleased to hear,” he posits duskily, his breath hot on your cheek, letting slip that he likely suspects.

“I am thinking… of other artful arrangements of human bodies,” you offer somewhat opaquely.

“Whose bodies?” Benedict presses, this time his lips grazing your earlobe, as you spy a vein throbbing in Anthony’s temple, looking like he wants to stalk over and claim you.

“The three of us,” you confess breathily.

There is a noise from both men that is a beeline straight into your core, and there is a mouth on your skin. You gasp, eyes closing as you sway backwards into Benedict, his lips travelling the column of your neck as your back collides with his solid chest. The gentle suction and warm wetness set your skin afire, tingles running down your arm. Your lashes flutter open, and your blood runs hot to behold Anthony’s face like thunder until you bite your lip and, feeling emboldened, you mouth to him…

‘Your turn’

Instantly, his mien morphs into one of desire, jumping to his feet as you slide a hand into Benedict's thick hair and grab a handful, making him groan into your skin. 

“You are entirely too clothed compared to your brother, Mr Bridgerton,” you coquette, untangling yourself from his arms and spinning to look back at him with a raised brow, backing away without looking, knowing you will soon collide with Anthony.

Sure enough, you inhale sharply as toned arms haul you into a firm embrace, the hair on his chest tickling the skin above the scooped back of your dress.

“The lady is not wrong, brother,” Anthony provokes, his tone smug now that you are in his arms instead.

Teeth nip lightly on your earlobe while you watch Benedict fight with his waistcoat, almost wrenching it from his torso. Anthony is more taciturn than Benedict, communicating with his fingertips instead, raking over your dress, silently telegraphing his desire through the gauzy layers. Benedict’s stare is heavy upon you as he unfurls his cravat, you melting into Anthony’s lips skimming down your throat. Benedict makes quick work of removing his shirt, throwing it aside, his smooth chest heaving slightly as he advances upon you. Then his lips descend and claim yours in a breathtaking kiss. 

If this is the Bridgerton boys competing for your affection, then you would do anything to keep provoking them. Sandwiched between their bare torsos, Benedict's tongue opening your lips, lathing yours, as Anthony’s mouth skates your shoulder. The taste and feel of them both has you suddenly impatient. To do things you never thought you would even moments ago. A forbidden fruit too tempting to resist. It makes you desirous, unbounded, a keening want to be reckless.

“Take off my dress, gentlemen,” you implore urgently as you and Benedict break apart, twisting to capture Anthony’s mouth now. 

His kiss is just as demanding, equally fervent, your heart racing as four hands trace the contours of your figure. You are not sure of who undoes the buttons down your back or who pushes the loosened fabric from your shoulders. Both unlace your stays, tugging almost impatiently until the garment relents and are certain both of them pull your gathered chemise loose, it falling from your shoulders to form a circle around your light summer shoes. Both make a noise as they realise you are now naked. It was supposed to be a little illicit thrill for yourself, foregoing stockings and underwear in Mr Bridgerton’s presence—little did you know how provocative that choice would be. 

As you toe off your shoes, the atmosphere seems as heated, the sun’s rays upon your back through the translucent window covering. There is a moment where you exchange laden looks with them, their eyes slipping down your naked body before Anthony leans in and retakes your lips.

“Touch me…” you implore, twisting briefly to address his brother before returning inexorably to Anthony’s hypnotic kiss.

Benedict's fingertips ladder up your ribs from the dip of your waist, his lips dragging hot over your bare shoulder blades. And then you gasp into Anthony’s searching mouth as those large hands seize both of your breasts, covering them entirely, your nipples snagging between his elegant knuckles.

“Here perhaps…” Benedict rumbles as you tear away from Anthony to meet his captivating gaze.

“Yessss,” you hiss hungrily, your breath catching as he plucks gently, tweaks that send a zinging bolt between your legs. You cling to the back of his sturdy neck and crash your lips into his. 

“Have you ever laid with two men before?” Anthony’s voice is like velvet in your ear as his warm hands grasp the flare of your hips, his teeth nipping at your neck.

“I have only laid with one man,” you admit as you pull back from Benedict's kiss. “And he looked nothing like either of you.” Your hands rake greedily down both of their honed outlines, a yen to see and touch more.

They puff with pride at your words as Benedict's fingers loop behind your left knee. He roughly pulls your legs up around his hip, surging into you so the rigid mass of his cock, straining in his trousers, presses your mound, making you gasp. Anthony pushes into you, too, his equally sizeable cock passing over the cleft of your bottom, so hot through the fine wool. 

“Did he worship you like you truly deserve?” Benedict queries, his cadence achingly seductive.

“I am not sure what that might entail…” your intentional evasive provocation makes him smile crookedly and lean in closer, his eyes glinting enticingly. 

“Did he feast on the bounty between your legs with his tongue until you screamed for mercy?” his words dripping from his lips like dangerous weapons, heat pooling rapidly right at that very spot.

“H-he did not…”you stutter over a slightly laboured breath.

“Oh, my poor lady,” Anthony tuts sympathetically. “You deserve to know true pleasure,” he adds, surging his hips again but also taking your hand and kissing your knuckles tenderly. 

“Lay down here,” Benedict smiles as he leads you back to the plush chaise. 

Both offer their hand to assist you in reclining, the velvet a plush tickle under your spine as you settle down, looking up at them towering over you, your hands itching to tug open their trousers and find what lies beneath, the fabric straining temptingly.

“What do you have in mind, brother?” Anthony asks, his eyes following Benedict as he turns away and appears to grab something from the bench at the side of the room, the sunlight dancing across the freckles across his back. When he spins back around, he is holding three clean paintbrushes.

“I think a sensual experience…” he replies, looking down to gauge your reaction.

“I thought our art lesson abandoned, Mr Bridgerton,” your gaze fixated upon the brushes of various sizes and bristle lengths.

“With my brother as the subject, I concede maybe so,” he remarks casually. “But I believe you to be a much more interesting prospect anyway….” his voice smoky as he looms over you, his eyes raking over you in a way that you can feel fizzling on your skin.

“Agreed”, Anthony chimes in, taking a proffered brush from his brother as they kneel on either side of the chaise, a silent exchange between them.

You want to ask what they will do, but the words die in your throat as Benedict's tongue darts out and wettens the end of a fine-tipped brush. Then, the damp bristles are upon your clavicle, tracing the arc of bone, leaving a thin, wet streak cooling rapidly, goosebumps erupting over your sternum, nipples pebbling. Without needing prompting, Anthony drags a dry, fanned brush over your ribs, tracing each contour. The sensation is different, ticklish, to the point your abdomen ripples, and you instinctively curl up a fraction, biting your lip to tamp down a giggle. Anthony smirks casually as a large hand wraps around your shoulder and pushes you back flat.

“No, no.” Your clit pulses at the warning tone Benedict employs, his hold secure but not painful, staring you down as Anthony repeats the same move upon the other side of your ribs. Your body rolls yet more, rebelling and pushing against his grip. “Stay still. Or he may desist.”

You bite your lip and exhale shakily as Anthony continues teasing brushstrokes over your stomach, each one a flick that makes your skin shimmer. Benedict releases his hold to paint his wet brush across your other collarbone, leaving a trail of his saliva along its ridge and then continuing down over your breastbone. Your breath catches as he trails under the curve of your left breast, just as Anthony’s brush sinks lower. Your instinct is to clamp your legs shut, a sudden wave of timidity, but both men grab your knees and pull your thighs wide apart. Air swirls around your slit as Anthony leans over and captures your lips in an enticing kiss.

“Do not be shy now….” is Benedict’s hot whisper in your ear, his teeth capturing your earlobe as Anthony’s tongue rolls with yours, swallowing your moans as his brush caresses the patch of hair at the apex of your thighs before he glides it between your legs, passing over your clit. 

Just that featherlight touch is enough to make you arc upwards off the chaise until again Benedict holds you down, brush stored expertly between his knuckles as warm fingertips press upon your diaphragm, and he hushes you. You have to bite the inside of your cheek as Anthony flicks a few strokes, his warm eyes blazing right above yours. The motions have you throbbing, desperate for more, and you can only gasp as he slips lower, pushing just a fraction of the brush into your soaked pussy. When you do not protest, he grins and pushes a fraction deeper as you bite your lip, wanting so much more for it to be his cock. You whimper as instead the paintbrush withdraws, and Anthony makes a show of bringing it to his mouth, sucking its dripping tip covetously.

“Delicious,” Anthony offers silkily, his face inches from yours, a thronging need low in your pelvis, aching for relief, something you never felt with your late husband. His lips are on yours, lust burning in your belly as you taste yourself in his mouth. 

Benedict chooses this moment to swirl his wetten brush tip around your areola, and that has you moaning into Anthony’s kiss, your fingers raking into his lush hair as your other hand shoots out to grab Benedict’s bicep, a need to touch them both at once.

“Please…” your voice cracking, greedy for them both.

“Please, what?” Benedict chuckles darkly, his lips brushing your hairline, again holding you down to Anthony’s sensual onslaught.

“More…”

It's all you can say, tilting to look into his hazy eyes, clouded with lust, enjoying watching you squirm and pant and blossom under their attentions.

“Greedy…” Benedict volleys light-heartedly before kissing you, both of them dropping the paintbrushes, clattering to the floor.

Anthony’s fingers slither back down your centre line, tracing over the sensitive skin beneath your belly button but not stopping until they rest tauntingly over your weeping slit. You gasp into Benedict’s mouth as Anthony pushes a finger into you, his approving groan into your shoulder as you leak down his knuckles has you clenching around his invading digit. He adds another and begins to pump slowly, rocking his fingers rhythmically as your tongue parries with Benedict’s. 

Benedict breaks the kiss to brush his lips down your throat, hot kisses over your collarbone, lower still until his mouth is on the swell of your breast. Anthony adds a third finger, wet, filthy sounds from between your legs as your pussy clings to him, feeling so filled. His thumb hooks under your clitoral hood and starts to flick your sensitive nub in time with his finger thrusts just as Benedict's tongue swirls around your nipple, making your back curve up from the chaise, pushing your breast into his open mouth.

“I could watch this for hours…” Anthony asserts with a wicked little quirk of his eyebrow.

You squirm under them, so achingly aroused you feel on the edge of reason. One of them would be more than you have ever experienced before; both at once is almost lethal.

“Me too…” mirth laces Benedict’s response as he trails the point of his nose over your nipple. 

They glance at each other, telegraphing ideas silently. Benedict swaps to your other breast as Anthony moves, the angle of his fingers changing inside you, twisting as he rearranges between your splayed legs, pushing your thighs wide open, draping them on either side of the chaise.

The muscular swipe of Anthony's tongue through your slit has you crying out his name, a spike of pleasure so rough it catches you unawares, this act entirely new to you, something so intimate about his whole face buried into the wet heat between your legs.

Benedict kisses his way back up your neck as Anthony’s strong arms wrap around your hips, the solid mass of biceps curled into you as he drives you relentlessly, his tongue a spear lashing your swollen clit. Benedict swings around from kneeling at the side of the chaise to leaning over the curved back, fingers spidering down your skin from your shoulders towards your breasts.

“Is this the artful arrangement of bodies you envisaged?” His words are whispered hotly into your ear, your eyes fluttering closed at the decadent, smokey cadence.

You mumble something incoherent, the rush washing through your system stealing your thoughts, just as Anthony’s fingers start to move inside you again as he feasts upon you, closing his mouth around your sensitive nub and sucking hard with his lips.

“What was that?” Benedict chuckles, a teasing lilt that has you nuzzling your cheek into his lips, his fingertips dragging agonisingly slowly lower, over the round of your breasts, your nipples, still damp with his saliva, pebbled painfully even in the warm room, tingling for his firm touch.

“Yessss…” your reply is a sibilant rasp; he must know this is even better than what you had imagined, but he seems to enjoy hearing your affirmation regardless. Such investment in your pleasure amplifies your need.

Your hand shoots down to tug Anthony’s luscious hair, pushing your pelvis up into his face as he groans his approval of your wanton actions, chasing pleasure covetously. His fingers are buried deep inside you, curling and dragging over a spot that has you climbing so fast. Then Benedict roughly pinches your nipples, throbbing in sync with your clit under Anthony’s tongue, and you are sent stratospheric dizzyingly fast, a touch of rough treatment just what you need to push you over the edge you have been skating.

Benedict swallows your screams as you ride Anthony’s face in a wave of pleasure, clenching hard around his fingers, trying to expel them as he fights to stay inside you. Benedict's mouth is hot, possessive over yours, not letting you up for air in a way that only heightens your pleasure, a tingle zipping over your scalp as you burst and fracture under them.

For a few seconds, everything is blotted out, just a rush of blood in your ears and white-hot pleasure coursing through you. Their touch turns softer as you float down, Anthony’s fingers withdrawing from you with a wet noise as you lay dazed, utterly overwhelmed by the sudden intensity.

“Now that was a work of art…” the filthy poet opines velvety, a handsome, lopsided grin claiming his face as you stare up at him hovering over you, your view upside down. 

You are still too stunned even to form words, a stuttering noise that sounds more like a whimper, the only thing escaping your trembling lips.

“I think we may have stolen her power of speech,” Anthony observes wryly, crawling up, dropping pecked kisses onto random spots of your dewy skin.

He settles his muscular body over yours, his chest hair tickling your nipples, his face glazed with your arousal, and his sizeable cock brands your thigh through the material of his trousers. He moves in to steal a kiss that tastes tart, rolling your flavour onto your tongue, seemingly wanting you to savour it as much as he does.

“I've never enjoyed losing a bet more…” he rumbles enigmatically as you break apart, your brow knitting in confusion.

“He would not have been your art model today if he had not lost a bet,” Benedict supplies, his fingers massaging your scalp soothingly, dropping a kiss onto your forehead.

You smile blissfully, head swinging to look at them both, knowing it will broadcast your response, as well as anything spoken could.

“You might be right about the power of speech, brother,” Benedict jests gently as they rearrange on either side of you.

Hands running lightly over your arms and torso. You just assumed, as with your previous husband, that they would immediately move on to pursuing their pleasure, so when they do not, you are slightly confused, especially as their unhurried, sensual caresses reignite that flame deep in your core. After a few minutes of gentle intimacy you are unable to censor your curiosity any longer.

“Will neither of you take me?!”

You don't mean it to sound quite as indignant as it does, even though a large part of you enjoys their shocked expressions, neither expecting such boldness. But then both of their faces morph into a dangerous, smouldering look so similar you can see their shared genetics. It has you biting your lip on instinct.

“We both will if you employ that sort of tone with us…” Benedict threatens sonorously, leaning in so his lips graze your cheek, giving away that is precisely what they want too, a shiver running down your spine at all the possibilities, your soaked clit throbbing anew.

“Is that a promise or a threat, Mr Bridgerton?” You volley back, raising an eyebrow, this new play far too beguiling to resist.

“Insolent little thing…” Anthony growls.

Hands clutch you tightly, blunt fingernails digging into your soft flesh, both of them demanding a kiss, pulling you in each direction to plunder your mouth in turn. A thrill zips all the way from your head to your toes with this sudden change of pace—the gauntlet of challenge you have thrown down, unleashing something primal in them both. 

Before you know it, Benedict is standing up, and the sound of buttons popping open makes you inhale sharply around Anthony’s tongue, wanting so much to crane to see him stripping off, but your entire field of vision filled with the powerful Viscount, his hand seizing your jaw.

“Look at me,” Anthony demands, perhaps a tinge of jealousy that you may even dare glance elsewhere when he is kissing the life out of you. Your eyes meet, all blown pupils and damp lips, and it's blazingly intense like he is peering into your very thoughts. “Oh good girl…” he drips praisingly, and something hot and molten unfurls behind your ribs. The smirk that engulfs his face tells you he knows precisely what those two little words have done to you, lust roaring back to life in your veins. “Such a live wire…” he breathes, and you can see it is nothing but admiration. “I will be back…” his promise trailing off as he withdraws, your eyes tracking his movements away from you, taking a seat in a nearby wingback chair, that handsome smirk still there. It makes you want to reach out your hands and beckon him back, a slight pout that he has left you so soon.

But you inhale sharply as warm, ropey thighs part yours, and your attention is pulled back to Benedict, prowling over you on all fours, naked now. The glimpse of his rigid cock bobbing between his legs catches your breath before he claims your mouth and lowers himself upon you. So much heat and lithe, supple musculature. He doesn't even ask; your knees spreading wide is the open invitation that he takes, angling his hips and slipping into your waiting weeping pussy with one decisive thrust that has you grasping his shoulders and calling out. The blistering stretch is unlike anything your previous husband could achieve, and you are grateful for just how aroused you are, the feeling just the right side of painful. He holds still buried to the root, his handsome face rightfully smug as you adjust to this novel feeling of utter fullness.

“Is that what you needed?” He leans down and whispers those words in your ear, your breasts crushed under his smooth, hard chest. The tone is doused with brazen provocation that you can't help but rise to, one of your hands sliding covetously down his back.

“I think you know the answer you seek. Impress me, Benedict...” you incite as you grab his shapely rear, his responding groan vibrating your entire being. He withdraws and surges back in, your toes curling into the light fuzz on the back of his calves, what you have fantasised about for many weeks now, better than anything you have idly thought during each art lesson with him.

Benedict nuzzles into your neck and starts to set a rhythm that has you panting with each stroke, your back chafing the rich velvet fabric of the chaise, engulfed in his heat and woodsy scent, caged around you, his hands hooked under your shoulders, pulling you down onto his invading cock, his lips murmuring encouraging words onto your throat. 

Movement out the corner of your eye distracts you, and you twist your head a fraction to see Anthony naked now, too. That dusting of dark hair on his chest tapers over his toned stomach, a thin trail leading all the way down to the patch around the base of his cock. He has taken himself in hand and is watching you intently, eyes trained on you as his brother fucks into you over and over, rolling with him.

‘I want you…’

You mouth to Anthony, a need to have him desperate and wanting. His nostrils flare, and he bears his teeth, his grip on his cock vice-like, speeding up, a glistening bead of moisture squeezing from his tip at your very words. 

“Call her a good girl,” Anthony snarls, an instruction as much as a suggestion.

“Why would I when she is looking at you while I fuck her?” Benedict scolds satirically, and that has you swinging your attention back to the man inside you, a little flare of guilt in your gut that you are unable to divide your attention between them, wanting them both. “There she is,” he teases gravelly as his lips ghost the shell of your ear. “There’s my good girl….” he adds for good measure, the lowest register you have ever heard from him, and you cannot help your body’s response.

You clench around him, and he groans long and low, his grip on you harsher, snapping his hips so forcefully his hip bones dig deep into your splayed thighs, your eyes rolling, his tip grazing your hilt.

“So fucking perfect…” he curses, his mouth opening yours, raiding you, setting a pace so punishing now you can only cling to him, moaning loudly, him nudging your swollen clit with each stroke. The chaise squeaks under the onslaught now, feet scraping hard on the polished wood floor.

Still, you cannot stop your stolen glances at Anthony as Benedict huffs into your neck. He looks so majestic, knees splayed, eyes trained on you. You want to climb into his lap and ride him until your teeth are rattling. You can feel yourself climbing higher, each jolt to your clit another step closer, a gentle flutter in your pussy you know Benedict can feel, him emitting little groans with each involuntary constriction.

“You are so close. Come for me again; I need to feel it,” Benedict pleads breathily, pulling up to meet your gaze, a sheen across his forehead as he ploughs into you, never faltering in his athletic pace. 

One of his hands sweeps down your flank, long fingers squirrel between your bodies, unerringly finding their target, a scream ripping from your lungs at the extra stimulation. A few flicks from him, and you are gone for a second time, hurtling towards the stars, bowing upwards, tensing hard, each muscle snapping taught as body and mind are flooded with ecstasy. 

Distantly, you hear Benedict growl, more animal than man, a litany of filthy praise you can barely decipher tumbling from his lips as he pulls out abruptly, you whimpering at the sudden loss, your pussy bereft, rippling around nothing now as his hot seed spills onto your belly.

He collapses onto you for a few beats; his weight is heavy and cloying, his lips meeting yours in an artless kiss. Then you feel him climb off of you slowly, a soft rag dragging over your skin as he cleans you of his seed and mingled juices. He kisses your cheek chastely, but his words are interrupted by Anthony calling out across the room. 

“Are you ready for more?”

Your attention immediately snaps across to the Viscount. Without thought, you are springing to your feet, gait uncertain, like a newborn fawn finding its legs as you take a few shaky steps towards him, an exquisite ache between your thighs from all that has transpired.

“Are you coming to me?” Anthony coos impressed, his hands shooting out to steady you, gripping your waist.

You nod enthusiastically, utterly drunk on the tide of pleasure coursing through you, which greatly entertains him. You climb into his waiting lap and draw him immediately into a filthy, wet kiss. Your tongues tangle as you shuffle forward into the wide, comfortable chair, his hips sliding forward to meet you, and without preamble, you rise fractionally and sink onto him, your puffy, swollen channel suctioning onto his thick veiny cock with a filthy sound. He groans beautifully as you sink, taking him into your pussy, the stretch of him just as mindblowing, perhaps even a shade thicker, like his physique. You stutter a curse, eyes to the ceiling, wrapping your arms tight around his neck, your nipples pressed into the fur of his chest, his balls pressed between your bottom cheeks as you sit speared upon him. 

“Are you going to ride me?” His question is rich like chocolate, buzzing against your chin where his mouth is now hooked open, his teeth grazing the bone there.

“Yes,” you slur, tilting your gaze down to look down at him, already knowing you would do it until your body gives out, so desperate again to feel that high only they can provide.

“Good girl.”

They know it's a weapon now and deploy it with gleeful abandon. Reflexively you contract around Anthony’s cock, both of you calling out, his muscular thighs tensing under your weight, his toes lifting from the floor. He utters a curse, too, a hand wrapping around the nape of your neck, then cupping the back of your head, tugging the hair at your scalp between his knuckles.

“Ride,” he commands, low and slow, a menacing tone that has you stuttering with restoked arousal. A burning need to please him, to do precisely what he tells you to. And so you push up until his head is just inside your pussy, then drop back down, shuffling your stance wider to get a better range of motion. He watches you with a hooded, scorching gaze; a devastating quirk of his eyebrow has you moving steadily. Pressing all of yourself into him, with each pass, his hard abdomen scuffs your distended clit, your pussy lips so puffy now with so much arousal and repeated blows.

He nudges your face aside so he can teeth your earlobe. “You feel exquisite. All swollen with lust,” he croons, his breath gusting hot, his choice of words making you flare hotter, driving onwards with renewed vigour, a slight burn in your thighs as you rise and fall upon him, feeling yourself dripping down onto him, needing to cling onto him to keep seated.

“Could we do this on the floor?” you murmur into his stubbled cheek, realising your range of motion is slightly restricted by the shape of the chair.

His response is immediate; without leaving your body, he effortlessly takes your weight, wraps an arm around you and somehow manoeuvres smoothly onto the floor, his spine now resting on the front of the chair cushion—so much vigour and athleticism from both of these men. 

“Turn around, sweet girl,” you startle and whip your head over your shoulder.

There sat on the chase, lower half now wrapped in a drape of crisp white fabric, looking like a Grecian statue made flesh, is Benedict—a sketchpad and charcoal in hand. 

“Turn around so that I may draw you in the throes of passion,” he clarifies, that dangerous crooked smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

You look back to Anthony, suspecting from the twitch of his lip he is more than happy about this development. Silently he spins you both around and lays prone on the polished floor underneath you, still rock hard and buried deep in your pussy. Placing your hands on his chest, you lean forward slightly, take a deep breath and then start to ride again, slowly, the slight discomfort of the hardwood under your kneecaps heightening your pleasure somehow. The range of motion possible now allows you to experiment, to test the delicious drag of his cock by tilting your pelvis in each direction, then in a circular motion, hitting a spot inside that has you hissing and your nails scraping through the thick thatch of hair there.

“Take what you need…” Anthony advocates through gritted teeth, reading your every signal. 

Your eyes ping up from his imploring expression to Benedict, his gaze holding yours daringly as you start to fuck his brother again. Wantonly, luxuriating in the rapt audience you have. A liquid cascade of heat deluges you, the scrape of charcoal on the page spurring you on—to be more daring, leaning back to grab Anthony’s knees as leverage for your movements, your breast pushed high into the air, more performative knowing this carnal moment is being committed to paper.

Benedict mouths words of encouragement as you glance down to see Anthony’s eyes now screwed shut, his biceps bulging in stark relief as his hands clamp your waist, and his hips rock upwards with each downstroke you take, chasing his peak with the same vigour you are, each press of his cock better than the last. Your muscles scream from all the effort, but you do not stop, a bead of sweat sliding down your spine as you ride roughly, with abandon. Anthony’s eyes are open again now, his hands cupping your breasts and pinching your nipples so hard you stutter. Greedily you mash his thick cock right against that same spot that has your mouth slack, head tilted up, and fingers curling into his flesh, shocked at how close you are yet again in such rapid succession.

“Say it,” you grit out, staring up to the ceiling, not looking at either, not sure even you know who you are even asking. 

“Good girl..” it's in perfect unison, and that is what pushes you into oblivion.

You grind to a halt, pussy contracting in waves around his cock as he writhes under you, him gasping loudly as you again float far away, that blissful cloud almost making you miss his urgent call, him eventually hauling you off of him, just in time for him to paint your belly with a thick arc of seed, his whole body jerking with the almost violence of release.

He collapses under you, quivering, utterly spent, and you do the same. Faceplant into his chest, rubbing your nose into the musky dampness of his chest hair as you huff breaths, bone-deep but sated exhaustion from the exertion.

Pliantly, you allow Anthony to slip out from under you and you feel him pick you up bridal style as you curl into him, fatigue lapping your edges. He places you onto the chaise, and then both men are flanking you, limbs tangling and gentle kisses as they entwine around you. It’s a few quiet, tender moments before curiosity again gets the better of you.

“May I see it?” you query quietly, abashed, pressing your nose into Benedict’s shoulder, not willing to meet his gaze.

His laugh is rich and resonant, reaching around to grab his pad and show you. There, in elegant charcoal lines, is a scandalous but beautiful rendition of you, naked, your peaked nipples standing proud, head thrown back. The detail is perfect, even down to the patch of downy hair at the apex of your thighs. There is no rendition of Anthony, but at one glance, you can tell it is a depiction of an erotic capture of a woman riding a man. The very picture of passion, just as he promised.

“It is stunning,” you gasp.

“It is yours,” he rushes out.

“I… I want it to be yours,” you confess ardently, your hands sliding to grasp Anthony’s arm draped over your belly. “Both of yours..” you confirm.

Warm lips kiss your cheek on either side. 

“We will treasure it.” Anthony asserts as Benedict nods sagely.

You stifle a yawn and nuzzle into their warmth as Benedict suggests you all retire to his bedroom upstairs. 

“Tis only 3pm...” your protest is nominal at best, and you allow him to pick you up, wrapping you in another sheet as Anthony does the same, trailing behind you as Benedict ascends the stairs.

“When is your next art lesson?” Anthony queries as the door to an opulent bedroom swings open.

“Tomorrow?” you riposte cheekily, and they both chuckle as you add: “If you will have me…”

“I do believe that can be arranged,” Benedict confirms fondly as he approaches a handsome four-poster bed.

“Artfully…” Anthony adds wryly as you share a laugh with them both, falling into their welcoming joint embrace.

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[harryssyndrome]

The Rain Girl | h.s

based on this request! Thx anon for sending your request [mwah mwah!] This is my all time favorite fairytale idea.

Posted on: December 9th, 2024 (IST). by the way I cried sm, can’t believe The Eras Tour is over😭 I need my swifties rn for comfort, fr. Omg I just noticed I’m posting after 13 DAYS, oh my swiftie heart rn. Like, comment and reblog are appreciated! I was so stuck with a long request that I exhausted my creative cells but I’m back now! and will complete all the small requests first 😌 DO NOT STEAL MY WORK, TRANSLATE OR PUBLISH TO ANY OTHER PLATFORM.

Tag-list: @wheredidmyeyesgo @fruity-harry @angeldavis777 @cherryloveshs @harryyloverrr | Tag-list is OPEN || Request are OPEN

word count: 1.9k || Masterlistt☔️

summery: Harry meets a carefree girl in a London rain and then in that moment he knows those romcom feelings.

The rain had always been Harry’s companion, a quiet backdrop to the chaos of his life. He loved the way it muted the world, the way its steady rhythm provided a semblance of order amidst his own disarray. But today, the rain had taken him by surprise. He’d barely managed to duck under the awning of a small bookstore when the sky opened up, releasing a torrent that drenched the cobblestone streets in seconds.

Leaning against the wall, Harry adjusted his jacket, flicking water off the lapels and running a hand through his damp curls. The exhaustion from a long day at the studio weighed heavily on him. His debut album was supposed to be a labor of love, but lately, it felt more like a battle against his own insecurities. Each note, each lyric, each chord had to be perfect, and the pressure to live up to everyone’s expectations was relentless.

He pulled out his phone to check if it had survived the sudden downpour, his mind already on the warm haven of his apartment. He could picture it now—dim lighting, a soft blanket, and the vinyl player spinning one of his favorite records. But then he heard it.

A laugh.

Not just any laugh, but a sound so pure and unrestrained that it sliced through the rain like a melody. It wasn’t the kind of laugh that came from a joke or a conversation. It was a laugh born of joy, spontaneous and infectious.

His head turned toward the sound, his brows furrowing in curiosity. A few steps away, illuminated by the warm glow of a streetlamp, was a girl. No, not just a girl—a force of nature.

She was dancing in the rain.

Her arms were outstretched, her head thrown back as the rain cascaded over her. She spun in circles, her navy-blue skirt flaring around her legs, her white shirt plastered to her skin and revealing the faint outline of a black bra underneath. Long strands of hair clung to her back and face, but she didn’t seem to care. She stomped in puddles with bare feet, her movements wild and uncoordinated, and yet, there was a grace to her, a rhythm that made it impossible to look away.

Harry felt rooted to the spot, his fatigue momentarily forgotten. It wasn’t just her appearance that caught his attention—though she was undoubtedly striking—it was the way she seemed to exist outside of time. In a city that never stopped moving, she had created a world of her own, a pocket of joy amidst the gray monotony.

He leaned against the wall, a faint smile tugging at his lips as he watched her. She was oblivious to him, too consumed by the moment to notice the figure standing in the shadows. For a fleeting second, Harry felt envious. When was the last time he had let go like that? When was the last time he’d allowed himself to simply be?

Then, as if sensing his gaze, she stopped. Her laughter faded, and she turned to look at him. Their eyes met, and Harry felt a strange jolt in his chest.

“Enjoying the show?” she called out, her voice warm and teasing, carrying easily over the sound of the rain.

Harry blinked, caught off guard. He pushed himself off the wall, shoving his hands into his pockets in an attempt to appear nonchalant. “Hard not to,” he replied, a faint smirk playing on his lips.

She tilted her head, studying him. “And why are you just standing there? Afraid of a little rain?”

He chuckled, glancing down at his soaked boots. “Not exactly dressed for it,” he said, motioning to his leather boots and jacket.

“Boots can be replaced. Moments like this?” She spread her arms again, gesturing to the rain-soaked street. “Rare.”

Her words hung in the air, challenging him. Harry hesitated, torn between the logical part of his mind that told him to stay dry and the inexplicable urge to join her. “I’d ruin my boots,” he countered, though his tone lacked conviction.

She laughed again, the sound light and carefree. “Ruin them, then. It’s worth it.”

Harry opened his mouth to respond, but then an idea struck him. He glanced toward the small café just a few doors down, its warm lights spilling onto the street. Without a word, he darted toward it, ignoring the rain soaking through his jacket as he crossed the short distance.

Inside, the aroma of freshly brewed coffee and pastries greeted him. He approached the counter and ordered two takeaway cups of tea, the warmth seeping into his hands as he carried them back outside.

When he returned, she had stopped dancing, standing under the streetlamp with her head tilted back, letting the rain kiss her face. Her eyes flicked toward him as he approached, her curiosity evident.

“Thought you might need this,” he said, holding out one of the cups.

She blinked in surprise, then smiled as she accepted it. “Tea in the rain? How very British of you.”

He shrugged, a faint grin tugging at his lips. “Call it a peace offering. Or maybe an excuse to stand here and talk to you.”

She raised an eyebrow, her smile turning mischievous. “You didn’t need to buy me tea for that.”

Harry chuckled, taking a sip of his own tea. “Maybe not, but I thought it might earn me a few points.”

Her laughter returned, softer this time. She wrapped her hands around the cup, letting the steam rise toward her face. “Well, you’re off to a good start,” she admitted.

They stood in silence for a moment, the rain continuing to fall around them. Harry felt an unexpected sense of calm, the kind that had eluded him for weeks. She was magnetic in a way that wasn’t forced or deliberate.

“So,” he said finally, breaking the silence. “Do you always dance in the rain, or was I just lucky enough to catch a rare performance?”

She laughed, glancing down at her feet. “It’s not a regular thing,” she admitted. “But sometimes, you just… feel it, you know? Like the world is giving you permission to forget everything and just exist.”

Harry nodded slowly, her words resonating with him. “I think I needed to see that,” he said, his voice quiet but sincere.

Her expression softened, her gaze lingering on him. “Tough day?”

“Something like that,” he replied. He hesitated, unsure how much to share. “Long hours in the studio. Trying to get everything perfect.”

She tilted her head, her curiosity piqued. “You’re a musician?”

He smiled faintly. “Something like that.”

“Well,” she said, her voice thoughtful, “perfection is overrated. Look at me—spinning around like a lunatic, completely soaked, and probably scaring off anyone sane enough to be walking these streets. But I feel perfect right now.”

Harry couldn’t help but smile. “You make a convincing argument.”

Her gaze lingered on him, her eyes warm and inviting. “You should try it,” she said suddenly, setting her tea cup down on the railing of a nearby staircase.

“Try what?”

“Dancing,” she said simply. “You’ve got the boots for it.”

He laughed, shaking his head. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Oh, come on,” she urged, stepping closer. “You’re already wet. What’s the harm?”

Before he could protest, she grabbed his hand, her fingers warm despite the rain. She pulled him into the middle of the street, her laughter spilling over as he stumbled slightly, caught off guard.

“This is ridiculous,” he said, though he couldn’t stop smiling.

“Ridiculous is underrated,” she countered, spinning him in a clumsy circle.

Harry let out a genuine laugh, the sound surprising even himself. He let go of his inhibitions, stomping in puddles and spinning her around as the rain continued to pour. For the first time in what felt like forever, he wasn’t thinking about deadlines or expectations. He was just… living.

When they finally stopped, both breathless and soaked to the bone, she looked at him with a grin that was equal parts teasing and genuine. “See? Not so bad, is it?”

He shook his head, his curls plastered to his forehead. “Not bad at all.”

As the rain began to ease, she picked up her tea and took another sip, her eyes flicking toward the horizon. “Well, Harry Styles,” she said, her tone playful, “thanks for the tea and the company. I think you just made my day.”

He blinked, surprised. “You know who I am?”

She smirked, her gaze mischievous. “Who doesn’t?”

As she turned to leave, Harry couldn’t help but call out after her. “Hey! Rain girl!”

She paused mid-step, glancing over her shoulder with an amused smile. “Rain girl?”

He shrugged, a playful grin spreading across his face. “Well, I don’t know your name, and it fits. You did kind of make an impression tonight.”

Her smile widened, and she took a step closer, tilting her head. “Does that mean I’ll have to keep dancing in the rain just so you’ll remember me?”

Harry laughed, shaking his head. “You’ve already made yourself pretty unforgettable,” he said, his voice softer, more sincere. “But… how do I find you again? Do I have to wait for the next downpour and hope you’ll be out here?”

She tapped her chin thoughtfully, her expression teasing. “Well, I do love dancing in the rain. Maybe you’ll just have to keep an eye out.”

Harry groaned dramatically, though his grin never faltered. “That’s a bit risky, don’t you think? What if the rain doesn’t come for weeks?”

She laughed, the sound light and melodic. “Then you’ll learn some patience.”

“Or,” he countered, pulling his phone from his pocket and holding it out to her, “you could just give me your number and save me the suspense.”

She raised an eyebrow, clearly amused by his persistence. After a moment, she took the phone from his hand, her fingers brushing against his as she typed. Harry watched her with a mixture of curiosity and anticipation, and when she handed the phone back, he glanced at the screen.

The number was there, but instead of a name, she had saved it under the nickname he’d given her earlier: Rain Girl.

He chuckled, his eyes flicking back to her. “Seriously? No name? Just Rain Girl?”

She shrugged, her smile playful. “I like the nickname. Besides, it’ll make sure you remember me.”

Harry smiled, his heart feeling inexplicably lighter. “I don’t think I could forget you even if I tried,” he admitted, his tone sincere. “And now I know what I’ll be dreaming about tonight.”

Her cheeks turned a faint shade of pink, and she dipped into a playful bow, holding the edges of her skirt like it was a ballroom gown. “In that case, let me properly introduce myself. This Rain Girl’s name is YN.”

Harry’s grin widened as he repeated her name softly, as though testing how it felt on his tongue. “YN.”

She straightened, her smile bright despite the rain-soaked strands of hair clinging to her face. “Now you’ve got a name to go with the number,” she said.

“Perfect,” Harry said, slipping his phone back into his pocket. “But I still think Rain Girl suits you better.”

YN laughed, a sound that seemed to linger in the air even as she turned and began walking away. Harry watched her go, a strange warmth settling in his chest.

As the rain tapered off, leaving the streets glistening under the dim streetlights, Harry couldn’t stop smiling. He hadn’t just found shelter from the storm—he’d found something unexpected, something he couldn’t quite put into words yet.

And he knew one thing for sure: the next time it rained, he’d be looking for her.

[clemswinecorner]

Take a break [Harry Lewis/W2S]

Summary: When something's off with Harry, there's probably only one person that can make him feel better: his girlfriend.

Wordcount: 2.1k

Warnings: a bit of anxiety ish and mentioning of a potential burnout. Nothing extremely angsty :)

I'm back! Except not with a driver fic, sorry for these followers. I want to upload more UK YouTube fics so if you like this make sure to follow :))

Main Masterlist

It was Tobi that shot Y/N a text that afternoon. She was sitting in a random café working, rounding off her things before going home, and Harry was somewhere around London recording. Hey Y/N, I think smth is up with Harry. Dunno if anything has been bothering him recently, js wanted to let u know. He acts fine on camera but if ure near, could you hop by? we just finished up the vid, he’ll be in the studio recording the podcast w me josh and Ethan. It didn’t take much convincing, and since she was nearly done, she was in the studio an hour later. One of the production members opened the door, “Hey, I didn’t know you would come by,” the girl smiles at her. “No, wasn’t in the plans, but just picking up Harry,” Y/N explains, walking into the building. When she walks into the studio, Harry is simply listening to a story Ethan is telling, staring into the distance with his mind visibly somewhere else. Tobi spots her before Harry does, greeting her with a subtle nod. She smiles at him as she sits down behind the lights and cameras, out of view. “I know this is a podcast, but I need to pee really bad, can we do a short break please?” Tobi suggests once Ethan is done with his story. He looks at the production members, as Ethan nods in agreement, “yeah, regroup in 10 minutes then. I’ll keep everything rolling, just so you know,” Tobi nods and stands up, walking out the Studio. He gives Y/N a quick smile when passing her, and she stays seated as the boys all relax. “I’m hungry, haven’t eaten much today,” Ethan stands up as Harry pulls out his phone. He nudges the Guernsey boy, “D’you want anything?” To which Harry shakes his head. Ethan frowns but moves away from the desk nonetheless, as Y/N stands up. “Oh, hey, didn’t know you were here!” Ethan says as he passes her. She smiles, hugging him back quickly. “Yeah, I was around, so I figured I’d come by,” she explains. At the sound of the new voice, Harry’s head slowly perks up. A tired smile forms on his face as they make eye contact, with her nodding her head to signal him over. He stands up and walks over to the pair, making Josh look over, giving the girl a quick wave, which she returns. “Hi,” she softly smiles as she lets him embrace her. “Hey, are you okay?” She nods. “Yeah, did you eat anything yet? I heard Ethan just now,” He softly shakes his head as they pull apart, “No, haven’t been too hungry,” he admits, and she sighs with a knowing look. “Don’t forget yourself, Harry. When you’re done, we’re getting some food, yeah. I’ll order it during the recording, and we’ll go pick it up, go home, and have a night us to, yeah. Maybe all of tomorrow, too?” She suggests, and he nods. “Thank you,” He quietly replies, wrapping his arm around her to press a kiss on her hair. 

As they get back to recording the last part of the podcast, Y/N sits back in her original spot. She now finds Harry looking over more often, and she sends him a smile every time. He seemed a bit more relaxed, a bit more involved in the conversations. He was laughing, that stupid half-assed laugh, that made him look too damn cute. She hated it, though— she hated how she could tell he just laughed because of the cameras. Even if he liked the joke, the smile didn’t reach his eyes the way it usually would. Soon enough the recording’s done, and Harry is given the green light to go, the rest of the crew all seeing the tiredness in his body language. As they stand at the car, Tobi has walked out after them to give them a quick goodbye. “See you later bro, take care, yeah?” He simply tells Harry as they clap hands, before the younger steps into the passenger seat. He gives Y/N a proper hug, “Thanks for coming, let me know how he’s doing, please?” She nods as they let go. “Yeah, thanks for texting. He looks pretty overwhelmed, and he didn’t eat much breakfast either, so…” Tobi sighs, as he looks towards the car. “We didn’t really have time to eat, I should’ve pushed to get lunch more,” Y/N shrugs. “Not much to do now. Again, thanks for looking out for him. I’ll see you soon, yeah?” He nods. “Yeah, thank you too. See you Friday,” he mentions, reminding her of the Sidemen’s anniversary party. “See you then, bye Tobi!” She says, stepping into the car. Harry looks up at her with a questioning look on his face, “What were you chatting about?” He asks, dropping his phone in his lap. She looks at him for a second, “Tobi texted me when you were done with the video if I could hop by. He said you acted fine on camera, but something was off, and I was nearly done with work anyway so I wanted to pick you up. He just asked me to let him know if you were okay,” She answers honestly, to which he nods slowly. “Hmm.” A short silence falls between them as she gets settled, looking over at him before turning the key. “Are you, okay?” She asks. He doesn’t reply immediately, fiddling with his phone. “I- I don’t really, uhh, I dunno. I’ve just… It’s weird, I, uh…” He doesn’t seem to find the words, so she puts her hand on his thigh. “That’s okay. You don’t have to talk, we can get home, have some food, maybe a cuddle, and then talk. Or cry, or scream, or say nothing. Whichever, yeah?” He nods as she squeezes his thigh before moving her hand back to the steering wheel. His hands automatically find her body as they pull out the car park, making her smile subconsciously. “Oh, and there’s something else Tobi mentioned, which I almost forgot. We are going to the Sidemen party, which you probably conveniently forgot is this Friday,” she changes the subject, making him groan in fake annoyance.

Y/N collects the food they ordered, and after a short ride with some soft background music, they’re carrying the bags of food inside. “If you want to change, you can do that now, we can watch a movie or some Brooklyn 99. Do you want a drink?” She asks, as he walks towards the bedroom. He nods, “Just a tea please,” he asks, before changing into his pyjamas. She makes them their drinks, making herself an iced tea, and puts them on the coffee table. Walking back to the kitchen to get the bags of food, she sees Harry taking out the plates and cutlery, and smiles at him. “Do you want to watch anything?” He looks at her and shrugs, “Just something quick. Did you watch the race?” He asks, and she nods. “I had it on, yeah, but was working during it. We can watch the race in 30?” She suggests as they sit down on the couch. He nods, leaning over the table to make himself a plate of food. “Yeah, sounds good,” he says, as she finds the compilation of the latest Formula One race. Harry sits closely next to her, thighs touching each other and occasionally leaning backwards, putting his head on her shoulder. 

He was tired, she could tell, and by the time they’d finished the food he was lying on her lap. She softly combs through his hair as the F1 outro played, and she sighs. “Are you alright?” She asks, and he’s quiet for a minute. “I don’t know,” he answered honestly. She motions for him to keep talking, and he sighs. “I’ve just, I’ve been feeling anxious all day and I don’t know why. Didn’t sleep as well either, but that’s not really anything new recently,” he mentions, and she nods. He had been having trouble sleeping recently, falling asleep late and waking up in the middle of the day, unless he had recordings in the morning. “Any reason why? Like, something big happening or a change in something?” He shrugs. “No, not that I can think of. I mean, we have the anniversary coming up and don’t really have anything planned and maybe people will expect something, but that’s not really my doing anyway. I also need to have a video worked out and a more sidemen thing ready by Saturday, but I’ll get that done,” he mentions, rolling his head so he’s looking at her. She looks down at him, looking into his eyes. “I think you should take a break, first, just tonight and tomorrow. No Sidemen business, no YouTube friends, just us. Wasn’t Rosie in Manchester? We could visit her,” she suggests, and he nods. “Yeah, that sounds good,” he softly says. They sit in silence for a bit, thinking about the conversation that just occurred. “If you still feel anxious or weird after that, that’s okay too. We can look into it, if you’ll let me help you, and see what makes you feel better, yeah?” She breaks the silence. He bites his lips as he hesitantly nods. “Hmm. I’m just worried it’s a lasting thing. I’ve got nothing to be stressed about really, people like Simon and JJ are doing way more than I am yet here I am,” he expresses his concerns. “Well, you’ve been doing this for over a decade, baby, and even when you quit uploading you started doing more things for the channel. That and recording not only for the Sidemen but also all of your friends’ channels, plus all the behind the scenes stuff you’re involved in, it’s not hard to be burnt out or overwhelmed,” He nods, fiddling with their hands. “It just feels so unfair to take a break, when I have lots of time off already. I have the one of the easier jobs on the Sidemen channel, you know,” She looks up for a second, thinking about his statement. “Hmm. For you, yeah, but I think Lucy wouldn’t want to switch with you. Just because it’s fun and comes naturally to you doesn’t mean it’s easy, and you don’t work hard,” She explains, to which he nods. “Hmm, I guess that’s true,” he agrees. She shuffles around a bit, and Harry raises his head so she can sit more comfortably. “And like, you have time off, but when do you actually? You’re always recording, or golfing, or on a date with me, which is nice, and you’re busy which is good, and it’s fun, but you know… You need to take care of yourself, have some time for you, as well.” He sighs as he sits up. “Whenever I’m with you is enough. But I do need more time without anything else, maybe,” he admits, grabbing his cup of tea from the table. She smiles at him, “I know you love them, but I know you as well, you’re an introvert. We spend all your other time together, too, which I obviously have zero problems with, but you need your alone time, too,” He looks at her over the rim of his glass. “Don’t be silly, I never need time away from you. Like, I consider nights like this alone time. I can recharge with you,” he sheepishly smiles at her, and she blushes. “I… Wait, that is actually so cute,” She leans against his chest, and he chuckles, wrapping his arms around her. “It’s true,” he simply says, and she giggles. She looks up at him to see him already looking down at her with the same smile still on his face. Despite dating for over two years, it still felt like the honeymoon stage, and the look in their eyes’ says enough. Harry smiles before he presses his lips against hers, and she smiles into the kiss.

Their cups of tea were long forgotten as they get even closer to each other, the kiss filled with love instead of the lust they sometimes were. They both smile into the kiss, just taking in each other's presence, until the sound of the Formula One intro promptly makes them pull away. “Jesus Christ,” Harry just says as Y/N leans into his chest, giggling at the scare. Harry looks for the remote, turning off the video that autoplayed. He looks at her with a loving smile, as she looks up again. “Right, where were we?”

[harryslittlefreakk]

arrogant s.o.b

summary: based on this request - grumpy/mean Harry and readers first fight and he says something really harsh/yells and makes her cry? And then feels really bad after like grumpyxsunshine vibes?

warnings: angst

wordcount: 1.6k

a/n: thank you to the anon who sent in this request!! 🥰💖 sorry it took me a while to get around to it. please let me know if this isn’t quite what you wanted, i don’t know if I’m 100% happy with it so im more than willing to tweak and rewrite!!!

my masterlist!! please feel free to send me more requests 💓 happy reading

“I miss you, Harry.”

You knew you were pushing it, he was already working himself to breaking point. But you couldn’t help it, you missed your boyfriend. His break was meant to be about finding time for himself again, spending time with his loved ones. And you thought that meant being with you, not spending every day confined to the four walls of a recording studio.

“I can’t delay my entire album because you miss me.”

“I’m not asking you to delay the entire album. Just take a day off, just once.”

“Why?! For what?”

“Doesn’t matter.”

Now you were both pissed off. You didn’t understand why Harry couldn’t just slow down. You’d only been able to see him in Italy for a few days, your work schedule unexpectedly busy. Part of you thought he was ‘punishing’ you for that, the sane part of you knew that his summer in Italy was his rest, and now he was back in London he needed to work. Harry’s work ethic was one of the things you admired most about him, and now you were arguing with him over it.

“Clearly it does matter.” He was stood by the door, keys in his hand, a dark scowl printed on his face.

“It’s fine, just go. Have a good day.” The hurt was evident in your voice, but you didn’t even want Harry to stay now with the atmosphere you’d created.

He hesitated for a moment, torn between wanting to stay and needing to leave. Finally, he sighed and turned to walk out the door without another word. The sound of the door swinging shut behind him echoed through the silent room, leaving you alone in your thoughts.

Tears welled up in your eyes as you sank into the sofa. You’d pushed him away when all you wanted was for him to stay. You knew you’d always come second to his career, he prioritised you over almost everything in his life but his music was so important to him. But once he finished recording, there would be interviews and appearances, then a tour, and then you’d be back here again. It was constant, unrelenting, and if he couldn’t even sacrifice one day for you, how could you expect him to slow down?

—

Harry stood frozen on the other side of the door, still stuck between needing to come back in and wanting to go. It never usually got to this point, one of you would back down before someone got hurt. It wasn’t exactly healthy, but it worked for you. He hated fighting, hated seeing you upset. But he was only now realising that it was usually you that compromised. He knew you well, and for you to actually speak up and ask him to stay despite knowing how important his work is to him? He’d fucked up.

He leaned against the door, his hand gripping the handle tightly as he closed his eyes, trying to calm the storm of emotions raging inside him. Guilt washed over him as he replayed the conversation in his mind. He knew he needed to find a balance between his work and his relationship, but it was easier said than done.

His hand fell from the door handle as he turned on his heel, dragging his feet away from the house. If he was going to make it right, he needed to be armed with all of your favourite things.

—

Harry replayed the morning in his head the entire time he was out. You’d woken up to his alarm as always, rolling over in his arms to wake him up with soft kisses. “Why do you set alarms if you know you can’t wake up for them?” you laughed, tapping at his nose as his eyes fluttered open. “Because you wake up and I get morning kisses,” he smiled, pulling you tighter to his chest.

He remembered how the morning light hit you at just the right angle, illuminating your puffy eyes and blushed cheeks. He’d caught himself wishing he could have five more minutes in bed with you, time to savour waking up next to his love. But he’d rolled out of bed in the same way as always, slipping out from under you just as you tried to curl your body around his.

You’d followed him to the bathroom silently, lingering in the doorway as you rubbed your tired eyes. “Wish I got to see you more,” you’d mumbled, eyes following his through the mirror. “You see me every day, kitten,” he’d replied, poking his tongue out when he saw you watching. He’d noticed your face fall slightly, a misty kind of sadness replace the natural glint in your eye. He cringed as he thought back, but he’d purposely ignored it to save himself the trouble.

“I see you when I wake up and just before bed,” you’d pouted, eyes glued to your suddenly fidgety hands. “I cant help that right now, pet. You know I can’t,” he’d tried to reason with you, and looking back, Harry thought maybe he was trying to convince himself. “Just a morning or an afternoon at home would be nice. Not even a full day,” you’d told him, voice cracking as you looked back up at him.

“I can’t have this conversation right now,” he’d muttered, kicking at the door until it swung closed in front of you.

And there he was now, heart struck with guilt at the thought of how badly he had neglected you.

—

As he heard your keys jingle outside the door, Harry finished rearranging his purchases across the bed. He gave one final look to the flowers on your windowsill, the beautiful blush pink roses he knew you loved. It was perfect, he just hoped it would be enough.

“Hi darling,” he smiled sheepishly as he walked down the stairs.

“Hi, H,” you replied, brows knitted as you stared at him. “What are you doing?”

“Come,” Harry murmured, reaching out a hand for you to take. You dropped your bag by door and took it, fingers tangling with his as he lead you back to the bedroom.

He stopped outside the bedroom door, pulling you into his arms. “M’sorry,” he whispered into your hair. “Didn’t think about what it’s like for you. I need time with you just as much as you need it w’me.”

“No, I’m sorry,” you told him, cuddling into his chest. “Nothing to be sorry for, pet.”

“Shouldn’t have pushed you like that,” you murmured, eyes closed as you breathed in his musky aftershave.

“Gave me the push I needed. M’not good at taking time off.”

“Don’t have to tell me that,” you laughed, stepping away from him as he turned to open the bedroom door.

“Got you your perfect day,” he smiled, stepping out of the way so you could see his creation.

All your favourite snacks were laid out on the bed, your matching pyjamas folded on the corner. The most beautiful flowers you’d ever seen in your favourite vase on the windowsill, candles lit on your nightstand and a cheesy rom com loaded on the tv.

“You did all of this?” you cooed, a grin spreading across your face as your gaze turned to Harry. He nodded, pulling his t-shirt off.

“Nuh uh,” you swatted his hand away as he reached to pick up the pyjama top. “Only my perfect day if you’re topless,” you smirked, quickly peeling your clothes off to throw the pyjamas on.

You climbed into bed next to Harry, pulling the duvet up to your chin before wrapping your body around his, your head at home on his chest. He pressed a kiss to the top of your head, arms wrapped right around you.

“Made a few calls. Gonna start only doing three days at a time in the studio, then three days off,” he whispered, grinning when you immediately whipped round to look at him. “Don’t have to do that for me baby,” you gasped, brows furrowed.

“It’s the right call. Just gonna be longer days but worth it all if it means more time with you,” Harry winked, his hand caressing the curve of your waist.

You shifted upwards, placing a gentle kiss to his lips. “Thank you,” you smiled. “And congratulations.”

Harry returned your kiss, his lips lingering just a second longer than yours had. His touch and his kisses felt like home to you, his smile your lifeblood. “To me? For what?”

“To us. For our first fight,” you giggled, holding out a hand to high-five Harry. He grabbed a hold of your hand, using it to pull you even closer to him, until your faces were only centimetres apart.

“Here’s to our first and last fight,” he whispered, eyes locked on yours. His teeth latched onto your bottom lip as he went in for another kiss, the rocky waves in your stomach turning to butterflies as his tongue moved around yours.

You pulled away after a minute, settling back into his arms with a smile so bright it could have lit up the room.

“Can’t believe we started the day with you thinking your album is more important than me,” you mumbled, a mischievous sparkle in your eye as you tangled your fingers between Harry’s.

“Millions of adoring fans who’d do anything for me versus one woman? I know who I’m picking,” he teased, laughing as you smacked his thigh with your free hand.

“Maybe they were right,” you whispered, peering up at him.

“Hm?”

“About you being an arrogant son of a bitch.”

taglist: @angeldavis777 @softestqueeen @jerseygirlinca @palmettogal508 @drewsephrry @vonnexann @austiebuttbutt @indigo24hughes @peterparkerbae @im-an-overthinker @daphnesutton @loveableidioticweirdo @harryshotpocket @thegrapejuiceblues1982 @tenaciousperfectionunknown @swag13r @ashleighsss @tswiftsgf @chesthairrry @nikkisimps @hannah9921 @lilfreakjez @prettygurl-2009 @s-h-e-l-b-e-e @indierockgirrl @cicicavill7 @harrystylesluverrrr @cohnfusedarling @ell0ra-br3kk3r @stylesfever

[starsjulia]

shattered dreams // leah williamson

a/n : i long angsty one i wrote a while ago, enjoy!!!

warnings : angst, pregnancy, essential tremor.

Essential tremor, also called benign tremor, familial tremor, and idiopathic tremor, is a medical condition characterized by involuntary rhythmic contractions and relaxations of certain muscle groups in one or more body parts of unknown cause.

---

The early summer sun streamed through the open window of their cozy London flat, casting warm rays across the room. Y/N sat at the piano, her fingers dancing over the keys as she played a melody she’d been working on for weeks. The notes filled the room, rich and vibrant, each one flowing seamlessly into the next. It was a song she had written for Leah, capturing the love and joy they had found together.

As she sang the chorus, Y/N’s voice soared, filling the space with a sound that was uniquely hers—strong, emotive, and full of life. She could hear Leah moving around in the kitchen, humming along to the tune, and the familiar rhythm of their daily life brought a smile to her face. This was her happy place, where everything felt right with the world.

But as she reached the final verse, something strange happened. Her voice wavered, the note faltering as if it had lost its strength. She frowned, adjusting her posture and taking a deep breath before trying again. But the same thing happened—her voice quivered, not with emotion, but with something she couldn’t quite place. Frustration bubbled up inside her, but she pushed it down, chalking it up to a rare off day.

Shaking her head, Y/N moved her focus back to the piano, her fingers gliding over the keys. But now, the familiar movements didn’t feel as smooth as they usually did. Her hands seemed to tremble slightly, causing her to hit the wrong notes. She stopped playing, staring down at her hands as if they belonged to someone else.

“What’s wrong with me?” she muttered under her breath, shaking her head as if to clear away the strange sensation. She flexed her fingers, trying to rid them of the slight tremor that seemed to have taken up residence there. But after a few moments, it faded, and she convinced herself that it had just been her imagination.

Later that night, as they lay in bed, Leah noticed the frown on Y/N’s face and the way she kept flexing her hands as if they were bothering her. “Everything alright?” Leah asked, her voice full of concern.

Y/N hesitated, unsure if she should mention the odd experience from earlier. “Yeah, I’m fine,” she said finally, forcing a smile. “Just a little tired, I guess.”

Leah gave her a look that said she wasn’t convinced, but she didn’t push. Instead, she reached over and took Y/N’s hand in hers, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “If something’s bothering you, you know you can talk to me, right?”

Y/N nodded, feeling a rush of guilt for not being completely honest. “I know,” she murmured, squeezing Leah’s hand back. “It’s nothing, really.”

But as the days went on, the symptoms didn’t go away. The tremor in her hands became more frequent, and her voice seemed to waver more often when she sang. There were times when she couldn’t hit the high notes that had always come so naturally to her, and it felt like her voice was slipping through her fingers like sand. She started to avoid singing certain songs, fearful of hearing the cracks and wobbles that had begun to plague her.

Y/N tried to hide her growing anxiety from Leah, not wanting to worry her. But Leah noticed the way Y/N would stare at her hands in frustration, the way she hesitated before picking up her guitar or sitting down at the piano. Y/N’s passion for music, which had always been the most vibrant part of her, seemed to dim slightly, and Leah’s concern grew with each passing day.

One afternoon, Y/N was in the studio, recording a new song she had written. As she strummed her guitar, she felt the now-familiar tremor in her fingers. She tried to ignore it, focusing on the music, but when she went to sing the chorus, her voice cracked and wavered so badly that she had to stop.

“Damn it!” she cursed, yanking off her headphones and tossing them onto the console in frustration. She sat there, breathing heavily, her mind racing. This wasn’t just nerves or tiredness—something was wrong, and she couldn’t deny it any longer.

Leah had been listening from the control room, watching through the glass as Y/N’s frustration boiled over. She pushed open the door, walking over to where Y/N sat, her face pale and her hands trembling.

“Y/N,” Leah said softly, placing a hand on her shoulder. “We need to talk.”

Y/N looked up at Leah, her eyes filled with fear and uncertainty. “Leah… I don’t know what’s happening to me,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “I can’t control it… my hands, my voice… it’s like they’re not mine anymore.”

Leah knelt beside her, taking Y/N’s hands in hers. “We’re going to figure this out,” she said firmly, her voice steady even as worry gnawed at her heart. “But first, we need to see a doctor.”

Y/N nodded, too overwhelmed to argue. Deep down, she had known for a while that something was wrong, but hearing Leah say it out loud made it real in a way she hadn’t wanted to face.

---

The visit to the doctor was tense, both Y/N and Leah filled with a mix of dread and hope. The doctor ran a series of tests, his calm demeanor doing little to ease their anxiety. Y/N sat on the exam table, Leah’s hand firmly in hers, as they waited for the results.

When the doctor finally returned, his expression was serious, and Y/N felt her heart drop. “Y/N, the tests show that you have what’s known as essential tremor,” he said, his voice gentle but direct. “It’s a progressive neurological disorder that primarily affects your hands and voice. Unfortunately, it’s likely to worsen over time.”

Y/N stared at the doctor, her mind reeling. “My hands… my voice… what does that mean for my music?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

The doctor sighed, clearly aware of how devastating this news would be for her. “It will become increasingly difficult to perform fine motor tasks, like playing instruments or writing. As for your voice, the tremor can affect your ability to speak and sing clearly. We can explore treatments that may help manage the symptoms, but there’s no cure.”

The room seemed to close in around Y/N as she struggled to process the information. Her music—her life’s passion, the thing that had always been her solace and her joy—was being stolen from her, piece by piece. She felt Leah’s grip on her hand tighten, but it couldn’t chase away the growing despair in her chest.

“And the pregnancy?” Y/N asked, her voice breaking as she placed a hand on her stomach. “Will it… will it affect the baby?”

The doctor shook his head. “The condition shouldn’t have a direct impact on your pregnancy or the baby’s health. But as the tremor progresses, it may affect your ability to perform certain tasks, like holding the baby or caring for them in the way you’re used to. It’s something you’ll need to consider as you prepare for motherhood.”

Y/N felt tears welling up in her eyes, the weight of the diagnosis crashing down on her all at once. “But I… I won’t be able to hold my baby? Or sing to them?” she whispered, her voice filled with anguish.

Leah’s own tears finally broke free as she wrapped her arms around Y/N, pulling her close. “We’ll find a way,” Leah said, her voice shaking but determined. “We’ll figure it out, I promise. You’re not alone in this.”

But Y/N couldn’t hold back the sobs that tore through her. The future she had envisioned—of playing lullabies for her child, singing them to sleep, holding them close—was slipping through her fingers, and there was nothing she could do to stop it.

---

In the weeks that followed, Y/N and Leah tried to adjust to their new reality. Y/N began working with a therapist to manage the tremors and explored different medications to help control the symptoms. But it was an uphill battle. Every day brought new challenges, new reminders of what Y/N was losing.

The joy of their pregnancy announcement, which should have been one of the happiest times of their lives, was overshadowed by the relentless progression of Y/N’s condition. As her hands grew more unsteady and her voice more fragile, Y/N found herself retreating from the things she had once loved. She avoided the piano, left her guitar untouched in its case, and stopped singing around the house.

Leah watched Y/N’s light dim, her heart breaking for the woman she loved more than anything in the world. She did everything she could to support Y/N—attending every doctor’s appointment, helping her with daily tasks that had become increasingly difficult, and constantly reassuring her that they would find a way to make it through this.

But no matter how hard Leah tried to be strong, there were moments when the weight of it all became too much. Late at night, when Y/N was asleep, Leah would slip out of bed and sit alone in the living room, her head in her hands as she silently cried, overwhelmed by the fear and uncertainty of what lay ahead.

---

One evening, as Y/N sat on the couch, absently rubbing her belly, Leah joined her, sitting down and taking her hand. “How are you feeling?” Leah asked softly, her thumb brushing gently over Y/N’s knuckles.

Y/N sighed, leaning her head against Leah’s shoulder. “I’m scared,” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. “I’m scared that I won’t be able to be the mother I want to be… that I won’t be able to hold our baby, or sing to them, or… or be there for them the way they need me.”

Leah’s heart ached at the vulnerability in Y/N’s voice, and she wrapped her arms around her, holding her close. “You’re going to be an amazing mother,” Leah said, her voice filled with conviction. “You’re so full of love, Y/N, and that’s what our baby is going to need more than anything. We’ll figure out the rest together, I promise.”

“But what if I get worse?” Y/N whispered, her fear breaking through. “What if I can’t… what if I lose my ability to even hold them?”

Leah’s grip tightened, her own tears spilling over. “Then I’ll hold them for both of us,” she said fiercely. “We’ll adapt, we’ll find ways to make it work. You’re not alone in this, Y/N. We’ll do this together, just like we’ve done everything else.”

Y/N nodded against Leah’s shoulder, though the fear still lingered, a dark shadow that refused to be banished. But Leah’s words, her unwavering support, were a lifeline Y/N desperately needed. She wasn’t alone in this, and maybe, just maybe, that would be enough to help her find a way forward.

---

As the weeks passed, Y/N and Leah began to find a new rhythm, though it was far from easy. Every day brought new challenges, new reminders of what Y/N was losing, but they faced it together, holding on to each other through the darkest moments. Y/N started working with a therapist, learning how to manage the tremors as best she could, and finding new ways to express herself through music, even if it wasn’t the same as before.

One day, after a particularly difficult session with her therapist, Y/N came home to find Leah sitting at the piano, softly playing one of Y/N’s old compositions. It was a song Y/N had written early in their relationship, filled with the joy and hope of new love. Leah’s fingers moved clumsily over the keys, and Y/N could see the concentration on her face as she tried to play the familiar melody.

Y/N stood in the doorway, watching Leah’s awkward attempts to recreate the music she loved. And despite everything, she felt a small, fragile smile tugging at her lips. Leah looked up, catching sight of Y/N, and immediately stopped, blushing slightly.

“I was just… trying to learn,” Leah said, looking a bit sheepish. “I know I’m not as good as you, but I thought maybe… if you couldn’t play, I could learn and play for you and the baby.”

Y/N’s heart swelled with emotion, and she crossed the room, sitting beside Leah on the piano bench. “You’re amazing,” Y/N whispered, her voice thick with gratitude. “Thank you for this. For everything.”

Leah smiled, pressing a gentle kiss to Y/N’s temple. “We’re a team, remember?” she said softly. “We’ll find our way through this, no matter what.”

And as they sat there, side by side, Leah’s clumsy notes filling the air, Y/N felt a glimmer of hope return. Their future might be uncertain, and there were still so many fears to face, but they had each other. And for now, that was enough.

---

As Y/N’s pregnancy progressed, the reality of her condition became more and more apparent. Her voice grew increasingly unreliable, and the tremors in her hands worsened. Simple tasks, like cooking or writing, became difficult, and Y/N often found herself needing Leah’s help. It was frustrating and heartbreaking, but Leah never once wavered in her support.

One evening, as they lay in bed, Y/N felt the baby kick for the first time. She gasped, grabbing Leah’s hand and placing it on her belly. “Leah, did you feel that?” she whispered, tears filling her eyes.

Leah’s eyes widened as she felt the tiny movement beneath her palm. “I did,” she whispered back, her voice full of wonder. “That’s our little one.”

The baby kicked again, and Y/N laughed through her tears, the sound filled with a mixture of joy and sadness. “I just… I want to be able to hold them, Leah,” she said, her voice breaking. “I want to be able to take care of them, to sing to them… but I’m so scared I won’t be able to.”

Leah wrapped her arms around Y/N, holding her close. “You will hold them,” she said fiercely. “You will take care of them, and you will sing to them, even if it’s not the way you imagined. We’ll find a way, Y/N. We’ll do this together.”

Y/N buried her face in Leah’s shoulder, clinging to her as the reality of their situation threatened to overwhelm her. But Leah’s words, her unwavering support, were like a beacon in the darkness, guiding Y/N through the fear and uncertainty.

---

As the months passed, Y/N and Leah prepared for the arrival of their baby. They attended birthing classes together, decorated the nursery, and talked about their hopes and dreams for their child. But beneath the surface, the fear of the unknown lingered, a constant companion that they could never quite shake.

Y/N’s condition continued to progress, and there were days when the tremors were so bad that she couldn’t even hold a cup of tea without spilling it. Her voice, once so strong and beautiful, had become shaky and unreliable, and she struggled with the loss of something that had always been such a fundamental part of her identity.

But through it all, Leah remained steadfast. She learned how to care for Y/N in ways she had never imagined, adapting to their new reality with a determination that only made Y/N love her more. And in those quiet moments, when it was just the two of them, Leah would remind Y/N that they were in this together—that no matter what happened, they would find a way to make it work.

---

The day finally came when Y/N went into labor. It was a difficult and exhausting process, but Leah was by her side every step of the way, holding her hand and whispering words of encouragement. When their baby was finally born, the sound of their tiny cry filled the room, and Y/N felt a wave of emotion crash over her.

The nurse carefully placed the baby in Y/N’s arms, and for a moment, everything else faded away. Y/N stared down at the tiny, perfect face of their child, her heart overflowing with love and awe. She had been so afraid that she wouldn’t be able to do this, but in that moment, all she could think about was how much she loved this little person in her arms.

Leah sat beside her, tears streaming down her face as she looked at their baby. “You did it,” Leah whispered, her voice filled with pride and love. “You’re incredible.”

Y/N smiled through her tears, looking up at Leah. “We did it,” she corrected softly. “I couldn’t have done this without you.”

Leah reached out and gently stroked the baby’s cheek, her heart swelling with love for her family. “I’m so proud of you,” she said, her voice thick with emotion. “You’re going to be an amazing mother, Y/N. I know it.”

As Y/N held their baby close, she felt the weight of her fears start to lift. Yes, her condition would be a challenge—there was no denying that. But in that moment, she knew that she could do this. They could do this, together.

And as she looked into the eyes of their child, Y/N made a silent promise. No matter what the future held, no matter how hard things got, she would be there for them. She would love them with everything she had, and she would find a way to be the mother they needed.

Because at the end of the day, that was all that mattered. And with Leah by her side, Y/N knew they could face anything.

---

Time passed, and life with their new baby became a mix of joy and challenges. Y/N’s condition continued to progress, and there were days when it was incredibly difficult. But they found ways to adapt, to make it work. Leah learned how to support Y/N in ways that allowed her to be the mother she wanted to be, even if it wasn’t exactly how they had imagined.

And through it all, Y/N never stopped singing. Her voice wasn’t as strong as it used to be, and there were times when it would shake or falter, but she sang anyway. She sang lullabies to their baby, softly and gently, her love for them pouring out with every note.

Leah would often join in, her voice blending with Y/N’s in a harmony that was imperfect but beautiful in its own way. And in those moments, as they sang together for their child, Y/N knew that they had found a new kind of music—one that was born out of love and resilience, one that would carry them through whatever challenges lay ahead.

They faced their future with hope and determination, knowing that no matter what came their way, they had each other. And that, in the end, was enough to keep them moving forward.

Together.

[weemssapphic]

Lipstick Stains - Pt. 24

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Larissa Weems x fem!reader

warning: this chapter contains smut (g!p)

words: ~ 4.2k | ao3 link in title

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

“My mom wanted me to thank you for all the restaurant recs you gave them. By the sound of it I’m pretty sure my parents were in a food coma all weekend.”

Larissa let out a sound between a chuckle and a snort, her gaze briefly flicking up from her laptop. You were sitting cross legged on the chair across from her, a textbook flipped open in your lap and your phone in your hand, the soft, cool glow illuminating your face as you glanced up at Larissa with a grin.

“I’m glad your parents don’t seem to hate me entirely,” Larissa quipped with a small but genuine smile.

“They could never hate you, Larissa… I think my mom was just being weirdly protective,” you said with a shrug. “Wouldn’t your mom be the same?”

You could see Larissa’s shoulders tense, her smile faltering, and you frowned. Larissa didn’t speak of her parents much, or at all, really - all you knew was that they were still alive, and that they lived somewhere near London. 

“Sorry, you don’t have to-” you started quickly, worried you’d struck a nerve, but Larissa interrupted you before you had the chance to finish speaking.

“My mother has never cared for anyone I’ve chosen to be with, I doubt this would be any different.” Her voice was cool and weirdly distant, and her gaze flickered back to her laptop under the pretense of reading her emails - you could tell, though, that she was just scrolling idly, without really absorbing anything on the screen.

“Oh, so she’s, like, super critical of your partners…?”

“Of everyone. Not to mention homophobic.”

Your stomach dropped at that, your heart breaking into a billion pieces for Larissa. “What about your dad?” you mumbled, your mouth feeling a bit dry as you feared the answer.

Larissa shrugged, snapping her laptop shut and interlocking her hands in her lap as she leaned back in her chair and fixed the smooth, rounded edge of the desk with a distant, pensive stare. “I don’t think he minds, but he wouldn’t dare speak out against my mother, so it doesn’t matter.”

“It matters a lot, Riss, that’s really shit, I th-”

You were interrupted by a pounding on the door to Larissa’s office - it opened behind you with a bang, an alarmingly loud flurry of footsteps spilling into the room. Larissa’s brow furrowed as her gaze snapped to the source of the interruption, and she immediately straightened up in her seat. 

A small group of students you hadn’t yet met all flocked around her desk, their anxiety clearly palpable - until they noticed you, fixing you with curious stares as the girl at the front of the group opened her mouth to speak, glanced over at you, then shut her mouth again.

“Should I…?” you asked Larissa quietly, your voice faltering a bit as you struggled to come to terms with the sudden interruption, subtly shifting in your seat so that you were sitting properly on the chair. 

Larissa shook her head gently. “It’s alright,” she said firmly, turning her attention to the girl and raising an eyebrow. “Ms. Barclay, I hope you have a good reason for barging into my office so late in the evening.”

Larissa was in principal mode, and you sat as still as you could to not draw further attention to yourself as the students, mercifully, turned their heads to look at their principal, and the girl started speaking.

“Principal Weems, Wednesday’s gone off the rails.”

Larissa’s face fell at the mention of Wednesday, and she instantly rolled her shoulders back and placed her interlocked hands atop her desk. “Would you care to elaborate?” she hummed coolly, irritation clear in her voice.

“She’s literally torturing Tyler out in Xavier’s art studio, she thinks he’s the hyde and that tasing him is going to unlock it or something.”

Your jaw dropped at the girl’s words, your stomach churning - a glance at Larissa told you she was having a similar emotional reaction, though she was infinitely better at hiding it, her eyes widening almost imperceptibly and her knuckles turning white.

“We tried to stop her, but she was weirdly into it, she said she had a vision,” offered one of the boys.

“I’m not going to ask how you know this - quite frankly, I don’t believe I want to know. I am, however, going to have to alert the sheriff…” Larissa picked up the phone on her desk, her nostrils flaring as she dialed the sheriff’s phone number. She leaned back as she lifted the receiver to her ear, waiting for him to pick up. “Sheriff Galpin, we have a problem. And her name is Wednesday Addams.”

Larissa quickly relayed the most important details to the sheriff, giving him permission to come to Nevermore to pick Wednesday up and agreeing to meet him at the station afterwards. As she hung up, she let out a frustrated sigh before turning back to her students. “Thank you for bringing this to my attention. I will be dealing with Ms. Addams accordingly and I would be very grateful if you could return to your dorms for the evening.”

The students shuffled back out of the office with mumbled ‘goodbye’s and ‘thank you’s (and a couple curious glances in your direction), and Larissa closed her eyes, a frown on her face as her lip twitched. “I’m afraid I’m going to have to leave for a little while,” she said slowly, her tone laced with annoyance and regret in equal measure. “I would be very happy if you would stay and wait for me, though I understand if you’d rather go home.”

“Of course I’m staying,” you replied firmly, placing your textbook on the edge of Larissa’s desk as you leaned over and took her hand in yours. Larissa’s eyes fluttered open, her gaze instantly softening as it landed on your hand gently but insistently intertwining itself with hers - she gave it a squeeze, before pulling her hand away and standing to fetch her coat.

“I’ll be back as soon as I can,” she said, pressing a light kiss to the crown of your head as she passed you to leave her office in a hurry.

~~~

The tell-tale click of heels just outside the door and the turning of the lock alerted you to Larissa’s return, and you closed the textbook you’d been studying and turned on the little sofa in front of the fire, craning your neck to watch the door as it opened. 

Wednesday stepped into the room first, her gaze instantly meeting yours but giving away nothing of what had transpired - aside from looking a tad spooked.

Larissa stepped through the door next, closing it gently behind herself. Her hard gaze seemed to soften just a fraction when she realized you were up and waiting for her. “Darling, could you please wait in my quarters for me? I’d like to speak with Ms. Addams alone. I won’t be long.”

You nodded in understanding, standing and making your way across the room, feeling Wednesday’s eyes on you the entire time as a soft clicking told you that Larissa was making her way over to her desk. You slipped into her quarters and closed the door behind yourself - the urge to eavesdrop was overwhelming, but you were certain Larissa would tell you what had happened later, so you took to rummaging around her kitchen for a snack and playing a game on your phone as you waited.

And tell you what happened, she did. It took a while but eventually Larissa returned to her quarters for the night, immediately finding you and pulling you in for a hug - one, it seemed, that she sorely needed. She told you she’d had to expel Wednesday, that she didn’t put much stock into the girl’s visions as Morticia’s had been just as unreliable, that she hoped, with Wednesday gone and Xavier locked up, the attacks would cease and the students could sit their end of semester exams in peace, life at Nevermore returning back to normal. 

You hoped she was right.

Then Larissa caught you yawning and glanced at the time - it was well past midnight, and she had a guilty look on her face for keeping you up as she insisted it was time to get some sleep. As you crawled into her bed and tugged at the sheets, a new addition to Larissa’s bedroom caught your eye - the painting, your painting, hung on the wall opposite the bed.

Larissa’s gaze followed your own, a blush rising on her cheeks as she realized what you were looking at. “I wanted to be able to see it every day. I think of you every time I look at it,” she murmured, almost too softly for you to hear - but you did, and it made you grin as you nuzzled into her side.

“Are you tired?” you asked Larissa softly. On the one hand, she looked absolutely exhausted - on the other, you could somehow tell she wasn’t going to fall asleep easily.

“No,” she confessed sheepishly, confirming your suspicions. 

You hummed thoughtfully, tracing your fingertips languidly over her collarbone. Larissa’s arms wound tightly around your waist, her lips pressed to the crown of your head in a firm, never-ending kiss. “I’m not tired either,” you said finally, your mind beginning to wander to all the ways you could potentially tire yourselves out, and Larissa chuckled in response. 

“You could hardly keep your eyes open a few minutes ago…”

“Well I’m wide awake now…” You slid your fingertips down Larissa’s sternum, towards the top of her silky camisole, and Larissa watched you with an amused smirk on her face.

“You’re not trying to seduce me, are you?” she teased, playfully narrowing her eyes - it made you blush as you realized you were doing a poor job of both hiding your building arousal and being seductive, and you averted your gaze.

“No?”

Larissa laughed. “Come here,” she murmured, adjusting herself into a seated position against the headboard and gently tugging at your waist. She placed a firm hand on your shoulder and turned you so that you sat between her legs with your back to her. You could feel her pillowy breasts against your back as you melted into her, her lips brushing against the shell of your ear.

“You’re so beautiful,” she whispered, her breath caressing the side of your face. She paid no mind to the ever-present blush on your cheeks as her left hand began to play with your breast through your t-shirt, her thumb flicking over your slowly hardening nipple. She lifted her right hand to her mouth, sucking her middle and ring finger between her lips for a moment, then released them with a pop - they glistened with her saliva as she brought the hand down to the waistband of your shorts.

“May I?” she husked and, when you breathed out a ‘yes’, slipped her hand beneath the waistband of both your shorts and your underwear - you immediately spread your legs to allow her better access. “Good girl…” 

Larissa’s wet fingers began to rub your clit, slowly and firmly, drawing a throaty sigh of pleasure from your lips as your head lolled to the side, your cheek resting against her shoulder. Her fingers dipped lower, gliding through your folds as her lips found your neck, pressing a series of soft kisses to your skin. You gasped when she bit into the junction between your neck and your shoulder, then moaned as her tongue soothed over the little dents her teeth had left in your skin.

“F-ffuck… Riss…” You bucked your hips against Larissa’s hand, wordlessly urging her towards your entrance - your silent request worked, two of Larissa’s fingers slipping inside you with ease and slowly sinking deeper. Your walls clenched around them, your eyes fluttering shut as you started to roll your hips, eager to have Larissa fill you.

Larissa’s fingers felt so damn good, the way they curled into your sweet spot, stroked your walls, made you mewl and whimper and moan - each ministration showed you how intimately Larissa knew your body, how dedicated she was to bringing you over the edge.

Your mind quickly filled with dirty thoughts and your arousal skyrocketed as you pictured Larissa above you, filling you to the hilt, pounding into you, and, suddenly, you ached for a stretch her fingers couldn’t quite provide.

“R-riss…?” you murmured between gasps of pleasure. Larissa let out a questioning hum that vibrated against your neck, causing you to mewl softly and briefly lose your train of thought. “C-can you… I m-mean would y-you want to - mmmh, fuck…” 

You’d never asked Larissa to shift for you before - during each of the few times she’d done it in the past, she’d always been the one to suggest it, and you suddenly found yourself unsure if she would take it the wrong way, as if you didn’t think she was enough for you just the way she was.

“What do you need, darling?” Larissa prompted directly into your ear, her voice so raspy with desire that it nearly made your eyes roll back in your head.

“C-could you shift and - mmh - f-fuck me?” you finally stuttered out, holding your breath as you waited for an answer - your nerves rising when Larissa’s fingers briefly stilled inside of you. “It’s okay if you d-don’t want to, I shouldn’t h-have as-”

The breath was knocked from your lungs by the sudden feeling of Larissa’s bulge pressing against your tailbone, the rest of your sentence dying in your throat as your mouth went dry.

“Shh…” Larissa murmured in reassurance. “I’m glad that you asked… I want to.” You could tell from the way that the words dripped from her lips like honey, her voice low and velvety, that she did want to - the second your mind was free of doubts, you pressed yourself back against her, the breathy sigh tumbling from your lips mixing with the deep moan that emanated from Larissa’s chest.

Larissa pulled her fingers out of you, her hands trailing up your body, slipping underneath your t-shirt and tugging it up, up, up, until she’d freed your upper body entirely. The t-shirt was tossed haphazardly aside, and Larissa’s hands immediately found your breasts, groping and squeezing, toying with your nipples, pulling moans and whimpers from your lips as she subtly rocked her hips against you from behind, grinding against your tailbone, teasing both herself and you.

“R-riss…” you warned breathily, your arousal so intense, so burning, so all-consuming that you could hardly stand it. 

“Sorry,” Larissa let out with a chuckle that was just as breathy, just as laced with desire, and she gripped your hips, urging you from between her legs and encouraging you to lie back against the pillows, so that she could get on her knees between your legs to make quick work of your shorts and underwear and toss them onto the floor beside the bed. She slipped her fingers beneath the waistband of her own trousers and gave them a tug, revealing black, lacy underwear that clearly wasn’t made to contain the bulge straining inside of it. Your legs spread a little wider without you realizing it, revealing your dripping cunt to Larissa, who quickly removed her remaining clothing to reveal her hard cock. 

She leaned over you, placing one hand beside your head to prop herself up as her other hand began to caress the outside of your thigh, sliding down to the back of your knee and urging you to bend it and spread yourself open as far as you could. She took hold of her cock and ran the tip up your slit, her cheeks flushing and her eyelashes fluttering as she felt how wet you were. “Fuck…” she mumbled, finding your entrance and slowly pushing in.

The stretch felt incredible, and Larissa was careful to go slowly, taking her time as she sheathed herself inside of you. It was hard to keep your eyes open but you wanted to watch Larissa, wanted to see every micro-expression crossing her face as she fucked you, so you fought against your fluttering eyelids, one of your hands reaching to grab Larissa’s forearm next to your head, needing the physical contact.

Larissa gave you a moment to adjust to the feeling of being full once she’d bottomed out inside of you, her now free hand reaching up to cup your cheek and draw you in for a kiss that was so tender it made your heart clench. 

Your cunt followed suit, your walls fluttering around Larissa’s cock as you started to subtly rock your hips against hers. “Mmmh… p-please…”

Every single nerve-ending in your body seemed to light up as Larissa began to thrust, the drag of her cock in and out of you feeling heavenly against your tight, slick walls. Larissa’s hand slid from your cheek to your throat, closing gently around it as her tongue pushed your lips apart and flicked eagerly against your own, her hair falling in waves around your face, acting as curtains and shutting out everything that wasn’t her.

There was something about her moans when she was fucking you with her own cock that drove you mad - they were deep, guttural, loud, a tangible representation of how good you made her feel as she started to pound into you. The air filled with the sounds of skin slapping against skin, your moans mixing with Larissa’s grunts, the occasional bump of the bed frame against the wall. It was obscene and it made your head spin - judging by the arousal written plain as day across Larissa’s face, she was feeling exactly the same way, her eyes scrunched shut in absolute bliss.

You managed to pull a vulgar groan from Larissa’s chest when you sucked her tongue between your lips, humming against it, and her hips picked up their pace, your body jolting with every thrust. You reached a shaky hand between your legs, rubbing your clit with desperation, your breath hitching audibly in your chest.

Feeling the coil behind your navel tighten rapidly, you released Larissa’s tongue from between her lips to mumble out “f-fuck, g-gonna cum…”, your head tipping back against the pillows and your back arching as you tried your best to keep it together so that you and Larissa could cum together.

“It’s okay, d-darling,” Lariss murmured hoarsely against your lips. “‘m - ahh - c-close… let go…”

With Larissa’s permission, you came undone - unraveling completely beneath her. No longer able to keep your eyes open, you rode out your high with your eyes slammed shut, stars exploding against the backs of your eyelids, your orgasm prolonged by the feeling of Larissa trembling above you as she came as well, emptying her load into your cunt.

“Mmmm…” Larissa let out a breathy hum as her muscles began to relax and her cock went soft inside of you, and you could tell that her orgasm had tired her out - which had been your goal in the first place. She slumped against you, her hand releasing your throat and fisting at the sheets next to your head instead, her breath hot and heavy against your collarbone.

Your arms wrapped around her automatically, pulling her tightly against you, her skin warm and sweaty against your own. Her head rested in the crook of your neck, and she brushed her lips against your pulse point with a soft sigh and a sleepy smile.

~~~

The following morning was a slow one for you, with Larissa rising early to take care of some things before she had to drive Wednesday to the train station. 

You curled up on what had unofficially become your side of the bed, your eyes heavy-lidded with sleep as you watched Larissa get ready at her vanity, prying each and every bobby pin open with straight, white teeth, holding them between long, nimble fingers and sliding them into her hair, her usual updo slowly taking shape. It reminded you so much of the first time you woke up in this bed, a little confused and a little embarrassed and just a tad nervous - only this time, you were none of those things. 

Nestled beneath the covers and looking up at Larissa, who twirled her silvery locks between her fingers, whose bright blue eyes danced over her reflection in the mirror as she made herself presentable, you felt a sense of safety, content, of love so overwhelming that it stole the air from your lungs. And this time, instead of frantically trying to cover your bare torso with the sheets, you simply nuzzled against your pillow and allowed sleep to pull your eyes shut again, drifting back to sleep as Larissa took care not to wake you.

You woke a few hours later and took your time getting dressed and making coffee before heading for the door to Larissa’s office with two mugs in hand. You listened first for any signs that Larissa could be on the phone or in a meeting, before using your elbow to gently ease the door open just a crack and peeking into the office.

Larissa’s head turned automatically at the sound, her frantic typing ceasing almost instantly and her lips curling into a soft smile. “Good morning, darling,” she hummed, beckoning you into her office.

“Coffee?” you asked as you strode over to her desk, placing one of the mugs in front of Larissa and the other at the edge of her desk as you leaned down for a kiss, which the principal eagerly returned.

“Thank you,” she murmured against your lips, cupping your cheek as she pulled away. She brushed her thumb across your lower lip for a moment, her eyes tracking the movement, watching your lip snap back into place as she retracted her hand. Her attention fell to her coffee and she closed her eyes as she took a sip. “This is so much better than the coffee in the teacher’s lounge.” 

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to sleep in so late…” Your brow furrowed as you saw the empty mug on Larissa’s desk, not one of her own. “Why did you go all the way there instead of just coming into the kitchen?”

“I didn’t want to wake you,” she replied simply. “You deserve the sleep.”

Your heart swelled at that, so much so that it was hard to keep the smile off your face. “And you deserve good coffee,” you countered with a raised eyebrow.

“I mean it, sleep in while you can.” Larissa smirked. “When you get to my age, your body will start to wake you up early against your will.”

You started to giggle, which turned into a full belly laugh, drawing a chuckle out of Larissa as well. Larissa returned to her work shortly thereafter and left you to prepare some food, as it was almost lunchtime. A meeting would cut Larissa’s lunch break short, but you joined her at her desk to soak in her company while you ate.

At a quarter to four, Larissa snapped her laptop shut and stood from her desk with a heavy sigh. “I want to take you to dinner tonight,” she declared as she slipped her phone into her handbag and rummaged around the top drawer of her desk for her car keys. 

“Yes, ma’am.” You grinned up at her, rising to your feet as well to meet Larissa halfway for a quick kiss.

“Wednesday’s train leaves in an hour, I should be back around 5 at the latest,” Larissa added as she headed for the door, and you called out a goodbye before she shut the door to her office behind herself. You figured that, if Larissa would be back at 5, and would probably want to check her emails again and get changed, you’d be heading out for dinner around 6:30 at the earliest - plenty of time to just chill. 

You ended up getting more time than you’d bargained for - when Larissa still wasn’t back by 5:15, you shot her a quick text, asking if everything was alright. Perhaps Wednesday’s train was delayed, you figured, that wouldn’t surprise you considering how public transportation could be around these parts.

Still, it wasn’t like Larissa to not answer at all, to not even read your text, and you found yourself growing increasingly worried when the clock hit 5:45 and you still hadn’t heard a peep from your partner, your stomach churning uncomfortably.

You stood from where you’d been seated in front of the fire, pacing about as you wondered how much she would have to be delayed to warrant calling the police. As you stood by the window, watching the sky slowly darken as the sun disappeared on the horizon, two figures came into view, crossing the courtyard and heading straight for what appeared to be a large conservatory at the edge of the school’s property.

The back of the young boy’s head looked vaguely familiar, though you couldn’t be quite sure. What you were sure of, however, was that you recognized the girl at his side - and that she was not supposed to be here.

x

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[kathlare]

behind the scenes

Lando Norris x Amelie Dayman

Summary: During a Quadrant promotional shoot, the team’s routine day is shaken up when Amelie makes an unexpected entrance, leaving everyone starstruck.

Wordcount: 3.1 k

Warnings: just fluff

full masterlist // request over here!

January 12th, 2024 - London, United Kingdom

Lando adjusted his Quadrant hoodie as the cameras began rolling. The bright lights of the studio set bounced off the polished floor, giving everything a clean, modern look. Will was already in his element, cracking jokes as the crew set up their equipment. Becky and Zac were off to the side, discussing ideas for the promo, while Max stood next to Lando, fiddling with his phone.

Today’s shoot was an exciting one—Quadrant was introducing their new athlete lineup, and the energy in the room was infectious. Lando loved these moments, surrounded by friends and creative chaos. Still, there was a small part of him distracted, knowing Amelie might drop by. She was in London too, wrapping up a meeting for an upcoming project, and they’d talked about catching up later. What he didn’t expect was for her to walk into the studio mid-shoot.

The first half of filming went smoothly, with Will leading the intros and the crew getting plenty of footage of everyone joking around. As the team reset for a new segment, the door to the set swung open.

The door to the set swung open, and Amelie stepped in, wearing a casual yet effortlessly chic outfit—a black cropped sweater paired with high-waisted jeans and white sneakers. Her hair was loosely styled, framing her face with a natural elegance that immediately drew every eye in the room.

Lando froze for a split second, his heart skipping a beat. He hadn’t expected her to show up so early, and the reaction from the room was instant.

—Holy shit. Is that Amelie Dayman?—Will blurted out, eyes wide as saucers.

—No way. No fucking way,—Becky gasped, practically dropping her coffee.

Zac’s mouth hung open, and one of the crew members literally fumbled with a piece of equipment, causing it to clatter loudly to the ground.

—Guys, chill,—Lando hissed under his breath, glancing at Max, who was already grinning knowingly.

—Mate, you chill. That's Amelie bloody Dayman,—Will shot back in a stage whisper, gesturing wildly in her direction.

Amelie, completely oblivious to the mini-meltdown she’d just triggered, flashed a bright smile and waved. —Hi! Sorry to interrupt. I just wanted to see how things were going.—

—You’re not interrupting,—Max said smoothly, stepping forward to give her a quick hug. —Good to see you again, Ames.—

—Good to see you too, Max,—she replied warmly before her eyes found Lando. The soft smile that spread across her face made his stomach flip.

Lando crossed the room in a few strides, his embarrassment melting away as he saw her. —Hey, you,—he greeted, pulling her into a hug. —Didn’t think you’d make it so soon.—

—I finished early,—she murmured, leaning into him briefly before stepping back. —Thought I’d surprise you.—

—Well, you definitely succeeded,—he said, throwing a pointed look at his friends, who were still staring as if they’d seen a ghost.

Will finally snapped out of it, though his voice remained incredulous. —So, uh, you two know each other?—

Amelie raised an eyebrow, glancing between them and Lando. —Of course. We’ve been friends for years. Didn’t Lando tell you?—

Lando rubbed the back of his neck, his cheeks flushing slightly. —Yeah, uh, friends. Totally. Just... friends.—

Max coughed pointedly, earning a sharp glare from Lando.

Becky, clearly not buying it, folded her arms. —Right. And does “just friends” always look this cozy?—

Amelie tilted her head, confused for a moment, before realizing how close she and Lando were standing. She laughed, a melodic sound that only seemed to make everyone in the room more captivated. —Okay, maybe we’re a little more than friends.—

Will’s jaw dropped. —A little? Mate, are you kidding me?—

—Alright, alright! Yes, we’re dating,—Lando admitted, throwing his hands up. —Happy now?—

The room erupted into chaos.

—This is amazing.— —You lucky bastard!— —Oh my God, I knew it!—

Amelie’s eyes widened as she looked around, a mix of amusement and mild panic. —Wow, okay. You all are very... enthusiastic.—

—Sorry,—Becky said, not looking sorry at all. —It’s just, like, you’re you, and he’s him. This is massive.—

Amelie glanced up at Lando, her expression softening. —I don’t know about massive, but he’s pretty great.—

Lando rolled his eyes, but he couldn’t hide the smile tugging at his lips. —Alright, enough. Can we focus on the video now?—

—Not a chance,—Will declared. —This is the biggest Quadrant scoop of the year.—

—Seconded,—Zac added, pulling out his phone. —This is going straight to the group chat.—

Lando groaned, dropping his head into his hands. Amelie just laughed, patting his arm. —You’ll survive, Lan.—

Max leaned over to Lando, smirking. —Told you it’d come out eventually.—

—Shut up, Max,—Lando muttered, though his tone was more resigned than annoyed.

As the crew gradually settled down, Amelie found a seat off to the side, watching with a bemused smile as filming resumed. Lando kept stealing glances at her between takes, his heart feeling lighter than it had all day.

Every so often, their eyes would meet, and Amelie would flash him a small, private smile that made him forget anyone else was in the room.

When the shoot finally wrapped, Becky sidled up to Amelie. —So... any tips for dealing with this one?—

Amelie grinned. —Patience. Lots of patience.—

—Oi!—Lando protested, but he was grinning too.

As the crew began packing up, Will clapped Lando on the shoulder. —Mate, you better hold onto her. She’s way out of your league.—

—Tell me something I don’t know,—Lando replied, his gaze drifting back to Amelie, who was now chatting animatedly with Max.

The chaos of the day finally started to simmer as the crew packed up the set. The Quadrant promo had turned into a different kind of highlight reel, with Amelie’s surprise visit stealing the show. Lando was still reeling from the revelation. While it wasn’t how he’d planned for their relationship to be revealed to his friends, he couldn’t deny the small thrill of everyone knowing.

He watched from the side as Amelie chatted with Max, her laughter carrying easily through the room. She looked perfectly at ease, despite the initial fan-like reactions from everyone else. If anything, she seemed to enjoy the attention, her natural charm disarming even the most awestruck members of the crew.

Will sidled up next to Lando, sipping a coffee that he definitely hadn’t had during filming. —You’re a sly bastard, you know that? How’d you even pull that off?—

Lando sighed, knowing there was no getting out of this conversation. —It’s not like I planned it. It just... happened.—

Will raised an eyebrow. —“It just happened”? Mate, you’re dating Amelie Dayman. That doesn’t just happen.—

Lando rubbed the back of his neck, trying to suppress a grin. —We’ve known each other for years, alright? It’s not some wild celebrity thing.—

—Still, though.— Will shook his head in disbelief. —You’ve got some serious game, mate. Respect.—

—Alright, enough of that,—Lando muttered, though his cheeks flushed. —Can you all just not make a big deal about it?—

Will smirked. —Oh, it’s already a big deal. But don’t worry, your secret’s safe with us... for now.—

Lando shot him a warning look. —I mean it, Will.—

—Yeah, yeah.— Will waved him off before strolling away, no doubt to find Becky and gossip further.

As the last of the equipment was packed and people started trickling out, Lando made his way over to Amelie. She was now leaning against a table, scrolling through her phone, her expression relaxed. The sight of her, so effortlessly part of his world, made his chest ache in the best way.

—Hey, you,—he said softly, slipping an arm around her waist.

Amelie looked up, her smile lighting up her face. —Hey, yourself. Done being the star of the show?—

—Hardly. You stole that title the second you walked in.—

She laughed, resting a hand on his chest. —I didn’t mean to cause such a scene.—

—You didn’t. They just... weren’t ready for you.— Lando’s fingers traced absent patterns on her waist. —Honestly, I wasn’t either.—

Amelie tilted her head, her smile turning teasing. —Should I have texted first? Given you time to prepare?—

—Maybe.— He leaned down, their foreheads almost touching. —But then I wouldn’t have gotten to see their faces when you walked in. Totally worth it.—

She hummed, her fingers playing with the strings of his hoodie. —So... does this mean your friends approve?—

—They’re obsessed with you. Not that I’m surprised.—

Amelie’s eyes softened. —Well, for the record, I think your friends are great. A little loud, but great.—

Lando chuckled, his thumb brushing against her cheek. —You handled them like a pro.—

—Years of red carpets and press tours. This was easy,— she teased, leaning into his touch.

Lando couldn’t help but laugh at her response. He’d always admired her poise, how effortlessly she navigated situations like this. —Well, I’m glad you came. It’s... nice having you here. Makes this whole thing feel a lot more real.—

She smiled at him, her eyes soft. —It’s real, Lando. Just, you know, not how we expected it to be.—

He leaned down, brushing his lips against her forehead briefly before pulling back, his hand still resting on her waist. —Yeah. But I’m kind of glad it’s happening this way. Feels... natural, I guess.—

Amelie looked up at him, her fingers tracing the edge of his hoodie again. —Yeah, it does. You’ve got your friends, I’ve got mine, and now we get to be a part of each other’s worlds in a way we never really got to before.—

Lando’s heart skipped. That was the thing with Amelie—they’d always been there for each other, even in the years when they didn’t quite work. But now? It felt different. It felt... right.

—So, I’ll see you at mine tonight?— he asked, a little hopeful. He hadn’t planned to get serious with her so soon, but the way she looked at him made him feel like they were already past the point of casual.

—Of course, Lan,—she replied, her voice a mix of amusement and warmth. —I wouldn’t miss it for the world.—

Max, who had been watching from a distance, cleared his throat dramatically, crossing his arms. —Alright, lovebirds, enough with the PDA. You’ve had your moment. Can we wrap this up so I can go home?—

Lando shot him an exasperated look. —Oh, shut up, Max. It’s not like you haven’t seen us act like this a hundred times already.—

Max held his hands up in mock surrender, still grinning. —Alright, alright. Just, like, keep it down, yeah? Some of us still have a bit of dignity left.—

Lando couldn’t help but chuckle, his arm still around Amelie as he pulled her a little closer. The warmth of her presence was enough to make him forget all the chaos that had just unfolded. The crew was starting to wrap up, packing up equipment and heading out, but for a moment, everything felt still.

Amelie looked up at Lando with that familiar mischievous gleam in her eye. —So, how about we ditch all this and go grab something to eat? I’m starving.—

Lando raised an eyebrow. —You’re really trying to get me out of here, huh?—

—You bet I am,—she said with a playful smile, tugging on his arm. —Come on, let’s go. I’ve been on my best behavior all day, now I deserve some downtime.—

Max snorted from behind them. —Right, because you’re always so “well-behaved,”—he said, sarcasm thick in his voice.

Amelie shot him a wink over her shoulder. —Hey, Max, you don’t know the half of it.—

Lando squeezed her waist affectionately, making sure to keep his voice light. —Come on, before he starts talking about us again.—

Max raised both hands, his grin unrelenting. —Alright, alright. Go on. Just don’t forget that I’m the one who knows all your dirty secrets, Lando.—

Lando rolled his eyes, but there was no hiding the smile on his face. —Thanks for the reminder, mate.—

As they made their way out of the studio, Lando kept his arm around Amelie’s shoulders, feeling a sense of peace he hadn’t expected. This was real. They were real. And for the first time in a while, he was looking forward to what came next.

The evening stretched ahead of them, full of quiet moments and inside jokes, and Lando found himself feeling more content than he had in months. They weren’t ready to go public yet, after all, there was still a bit of navigating to do, but being together, in their little bubble, felt like the most natural thing in the world.

—You know, I can’t believe you didn’t tell anyone sooner,— Amelie said softly, her voice steady and thoughtful.

Lando paused, glancing down at her. —I wasn’t sure if we were ready for that kind of attention yet. It’s... easier this way. But, yeah. I guess I should’ve told them. I just wanted it to be... normal, you know?—

Amelie smiled up at him, her fingers still interlaced with his. —I get it. I think I just needed a little more time to figure out how to do this with you.—

Lando nodded, his thumb gently tracing her hand. —We’ll figure it out together, alright?—

She leaned her head on his shoulder, looking up at him with a soft smile. —Yeah. Together.—

Max’s voice came from behind them, loud and exaggerated as always. —Are you two seriously going to stand there, or are we going to grab some food? I’m fucking starving!—

They both turned, sharing an amused glance before laughing.

—Coming, Max,—Lando called out, pulling Amelie toward the car with a smile. —Let’s go before he starts ordering for us.—

As they climbed into the car, the comfortable silence settled in, punctuated only by Max’s animated chatter in the backseat. For Lando and Amelie, it was just another step in their journey—a journey that had started years ago and, now, was something neither of them could have ever predicted.

But in that moment, it didn’t matter. They were together. And that was enough.

[grillthegridmydear]

✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: 　Love You Like A Love Song - Part One :･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧

F1 Grid X Reader

The grid reacts to a love song you wrote about them.

Part Two

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Max Verstappen

✧Wildest Dreams - Taylor Swift

Max was almost always found on the race track, if not in real life then in the simulator with team redline or just solo streaming. It was his comfort zone, what he knew best. Stepping out of that comfort usually had Max counting down the seconds until it was over and he could go back home to you and the cats, but today was different seeing as he had followed you to the studio on this particular winter morning. You were so secretive on the jet ride to London, furiously scribbling in your leather notebook that was falling apart from being under constant strain of ripped out pages, daily use and the odd time that Sassy got her claws on it when it was left out in odd spaces in their home.

"Tell me again why I had to be here today if I am not allowed to hear the new songs yet?" he mumbled with a cheeky grin as he followed you through the door out of the cold and rainy weather, the recording studio was warm at least. Elliot, your producer, got there before them and had boosted the heat in the building to knock the chill out of your bones before what promised to be a long day in front of the mic. "Because we only have one more song to record Maxie, and I want to know what you think of it." You never really meant to be secretive about your music but the nerves of releasing this particular album were leagues higher than in the past since it was your first studio album since you and Max had started dating a year ago.

You met on night two of the European leg of your last tour, Victoria was a big fan of your music and had dragged Tom and Max to your Amsterdam show. His only exposure to you prior to that night had been through the walls of his sisters home when he came to see his nephews but seeing you on stage that night was the nail in the coffin on his single life. Being the world famous racing driver that he was gave him the chance to meet you after the show and the rest was history.

Which led him to where he was today, sitting on the ridiculously comfortable couch behind the production table watching you working on the final piece of the puzzle that would make up your newest record.

"Alright, lets get playback and do a first run through." Elliot prompted you through the microphone that fed his voice through the soundproof booth into your headset. One nod of acknowledgement from you and the playback started, Max could hear the live feed through the speakers for the first time and the drum beat caused him to sit forward with his full attention.

The last thing he was expecting was the lyrics that came out through those speakers,

He's so tall and handsome as hell

He's so bad, but he does it so well

You had always joked about him being your muse since the week you started dating, when you would be on dates and he would see you stop dead in your tracks to pull out that notebook.

Say you'll remember me

Standing in a nice dress

Staring at the sunset, babe

Red lips and rosy cheeks

Say you'll see me again

Even if it's just in your wildest dreams, ah-ah, ha

He felt the flush in his cheeks and the grin rise on his cheeks before he even had the chance to fully process what was happening. The song you were most excited to show him that you couldn't even wait until the album was finished, it was about him.

After the initial recording session Elliot busied himself with the hundreds of buttons, sliders and dials on the panel in front of him, you crouched to get your water bottle, ready to go again if needed but Max, he couldn't take his eyes off of you even if he tried. When the ok was given from Elliot you crept out from behind the door of the booth with a shy smile on your face as you made your way to stand in front of him, awaiting the reaction of the love of your life.

"so what do you think?"

Max could barely get the words out between the kisses he was peppering all over your face and neck.

"Vic is going to be so jealous I got a song."

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✧Lando Norris

✧Nonsense - Sabrina Carpenter

Your Vegas show was strategically planned to fall the day before Lando had to be stuck in the paddock all weekend for the first Las Vegas Grand Prix, which led to many of the drivers and their girlfriends to fill up the VIP section of the theatre that housed hundred of excited fans waiting excitedly to see you take the stage.

You and Lando had known each other for years, being in the same year in school up until your GCSE's when he had left to focus on racing and you had moved from England to the states to pursue your music career. You were childhood sweethearts that stood the test of time and the long distance to end up where you are today, both living in Monaco during the off season with you accompanying Lando to each and every race in the last year, spending all your spare time in one of two places, the studio or cuddled up in Lando's arms in the privacy of your apartment. But with your first full studio album skyrocketing you through the charts a world tour soon followed and it had been a few weeks since your schedules had synced up enough to allow you both some real time to spend together. Lando had never been so thankful to have the racing season coming to a close in a few weeks, and with your last 5 shows coming in the following days to wrap up the tour he was ecstatic to have you all to himself for winter break.

His conversation with Oscar and Lily was cut short when the familiar piano notes of 'Emails I Can't Send' ring out through the venue and the screams and cheers of everyone in the room make a dumb grin break out on his face. Your figure appearing on the stage in your iconic tour outfit that Lando was obsessed with, but what made his smile bigger was the slight changes in the style of the outfit that graced your body on the stage, your dress that was usually a hot pink or lavender colour was changed to the oh so familiar papaya colour he knew as his team colours and your white boots had the number 4 emblazoned on them in his iconic neon yellow branding on the chunky heel stem.

The night was electric as he watched you up there, giving the crowd what he would say is the night of their lives as song after hit song was performed with your infectious talent and energy.

Right as the final notes of 'Sue Me' rang out to the crowd he expected the show to end as he knew the set list by heart from being to a few shows at the beginning of the tour, but you weren't leaving the stage and as you started speaking to the crowd his fixed gaze that had been watching you the whole night was broken as he heard the hushed conversation of some of the WAGs that were surrounding him, he barely had time to notice that Alexandra, Lily and Rebecca were looking at him with shit eating grins on their faces and Carlos was recording him on his phone before you stole his attention again.

"So guys, my boyfriend is actually in the crowd tonight." was all you managed to say before the fans cheered, hundreds of faces looking right at him as you let out that beautiful laugh he loves so much before continuing. "Lando is racing in Vegas this weekend and I've been on tour so I haven't been able to see him in like, forever. But the cool thing about that is he hasn't been able to hear this next song, same as you guys."

An unfamiliar melody started to loop through the venue as the cheers of fans kicked up once again. Pure confusion spread across his face as you continued to introduce the new song. "So this is my new single on the deluxe edition of the album and I hope you all enjoy it."

The room was electric as you began to sing, and Lando very quickly realised the reason why everyone of the drivers and their partners surrounding him had the same reaction, because Lando was not expecting to have a song about him drop that very night, but god was he glad it was.

I'll be honest

Lookin' at you got me thinkin' nonsense

Cartwheels in my stomach when you walk in

And when you got your arms around me

Ooh, it feels so good I had to jump the octave

His face felt like it was on fire but his ego was growing by the second.

I'm talkin' all around clock

I'm talkin' hope nobody knocks

I'm talkin' opposite of soft

I'm talkin' wild, wild thoughts

You gotta keep up with me

I got some young energy

I caught the L-O-V-E

How do you do this to me?

The song began to end and the last lines of the outro had Lando impossibly excited for the night to end so he finally got to have you to himself again.

he loves me so good its downright heinous

this songs P1 in my boyfriends playlist

what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas

Oh yeah, he was definitely glad he got you all to himself.

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Oscar Piastri

✧Human - Dodie

University had been consuming what felt like your entire existence, barely having enough time or energy to apply to anything that didn't involve coursework, especially since you had your contemporary song writing final project due in a few days. Life had consisted of spending days locked away in your dorm room in front of your travel keyboard trying to construct a melody that felt lightyears away from you.

"You can't keep rotting away in there you know, I don't think we will get our deposit back if you melt into the carpet."

Hattie had been your best friend from the day you started preschool, your entire lives had been spend joined at the hip, you were unable to be separated in your younger years, down to the first days of school every year which were spent in the Piastri home's kitchen eating a breakfast that Nicole had made while you and Hattie chattered so loud that the whole house was brought to life with your laughter. Your tight bond had extended to today, where you both sat in the shared kitchen of your university housing, cups of tea decorating the table along with a pair of laptops and more sheet music blank than filled.

This had easily become the hardest assignment of your degree for you, where Hattie seemingly had no issue and was just finishing the arrangements of her own work before she got to submit her assignment and go home for summer break, you on the other hand felt like smacking your head against the wall, your fractured concentration being split even further by the commentary coming from your phone that was propped up in front of 6 crumpled pieces of composition paper, the Spanish Grand Prix well underway on the other side of the world, where Hattie's brother (who just so happened to be your boyfriend) was in the final laps of his race weekend.

"I know, I cant for the life of me figure out what's wrong. Nothing I've written feels good enough and I really don't want to fail this assignment. The last thing I need is to be back here in three months to repeat this class."

The voices that seeped from your phone announced that with that final lap the race was over and glancing at the chart that took up the left side of the screen a smile broke out on your face. Hattie let her curiosity get the better of her as she rounded the table to watch over your shoulder. "P2, He will be happy with that."

Your whole body itched for a change of scenery after a further 30 minutes with no progress so while Hattie started on dinner for you both you slipped on a jacket and stuffed your notebook into your pocket, heading outside for some fresh air. The weather had cooled only slightly compared to the usual stifling Australian heat which allowed you to sit under the awning of the bike sheds outside the building. Your phone rings not 2 minutes after you settle into a comfortable position, a the familiar contact flashing on the screen as you swipe to answer.

"Congratulations on your podium, Osc." Your words rang out through the empty courtyard as familiar breathing was heard in your ear, the boy you had loved since your childhood clearly having settled in his drivers room after his race. "Thank you, how is your assignment going? Still giving you trouble?" Your audible groan at the mention of the demonic workload hanging over your week was met with warm laughter on the other end of the phone. "That bad huh?"

"I don't know why but I haven't been able to focus enough to even get a melody going, everything I've tried sounds like it was written by The Wiggles." The snort of laughter that rang through her ears eased the stress that held her body hostage by the second and her own laughter broke out to match. "Hey, everyone loves The Wiggles, I think you would make a very cute Wiggle personally."

Oscar's words had her breaking up laughing this time. "Yeah, you would say that." Her voice taunted him over the line, memories flooding her mind of the ridiculous stories that Nicole had told her when she and Oscar had first gotten together when he came back after graduating from his British boarding school, about Oscar being five years old and in love with the Yellow Wiggle at that stage in his life. "I know you can make something amazing, everything you write is so incredible but you need to be kinder to yourself love, you're only human after all."

Oscar's advice rang through her mind as she ended the call with him, his presence being required to go to his post race debrief before he could go to the airport to fly back home to start the summer break with her. Before she could blink the floodgates in her mind finally let loose the creativity that she had been craving since she began the writing process a week ago. Sprinting up the stairs she had just enough time to grab the bowl of spaghetti Hattie had prepared her with a rushed thank you thrown over her shoulder.

An hour and a half later she finally submitted the dreaded assignment and packed her microphone away with the rest of her minimal recording equipment, quickly attaching the audio file to a text and sending it to Oscar before the night caught up with her and she drifted off to sleep in the navy blue OP81 hoodie that she wore to death.

The next morning was hectic, full of packing and cleaning as both girls got ready to pack up Hattie's car and get on the road, with the semester finally over and the promise of a few weeks on the road with Oscar melting the last of her stress. In the chaos of the morning she didn't get to check her messages until noon, where she was met with two texts, one from Logan and one from Oscar.

Oscars message was opened first, a quick 'I knew you could do it <3' sent in the middle of the night, considering the time difference it must have been when he was getting on his flight. The message from Logan showed a video of Oscar sitting on the plane, her voice playing through the speakers of Oscars phone as he stared at it with pure adoration in his eyes.

I want to give you your grin So tell me you can't bear a room that I'm not in Paint me in trust I'll be your best friend Call me the one This night just can't end Oh Oh, I'm so human We're just human

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George Russell

✧Bewitched - Laufey

"Remind me why I'm doing this again, this feels like something that I shouldn't be allowed to do."

The ball of stress that stood in front of George pacing in a midnight blue evening gown would have been the funniest thing in the world to him if he was looking at anyone in the world other than you, his beautiful girlfriend who looked about 3 seconds away from passing out. This seemed like an appropriate time as any for you to suddenly develop stage fright, because you were used to busking on the streets of London with your guitar in your teenage years, eventually moving up to small, intimate gigs in your early 20s to crowds that seemed smaller than a classroom, this was in a whole different ballpark. George met you when you both attended a charity event three years before that was funding for sick children across the UK, part of what drew him to you was your unwavering confidence that you walked through life with, he supposed that musicians had to be born with a certain level of audacity but you were unlike anyone he had ever met before, which is why your anxious behaviour was such a shock to the system.

It eventually became too much for George to take as he stood from his seat in the dressing room and held you firm by the hips, halting you from burning a permanent line in the ridiculously expensive carpet that lined the floors. That seemed to do the trick as you finally managed to take a deep enough breath to ease the tension in your body long enough to look him in the eyes. "What if it's shit Georgie?"

Your statement pulled a chuckle from him before he he could think to stop it. "Impossible love, you've never been shit at anything you've ever done." His reassurance sent a visible comfort through your body as the rest of your muscles relaxed. "Except for padel, you are brutal at padel." George took the laugh that lit up the room as a good sign, god he loved your laugh, he once described it as reminding him of sleigh bells at Christmas which got a good laugh out of Lando and Alex, they still hadn't let him live it down, not that he minded much.

The knock at the door sent your body rigid once more as the stage hand that had been sent for you poked his head around the door to give you a 5 minute warning until you took to the stage. It was unlike anything you had ever done before, George supposed that being invited to perform at one of the most prestigious concert halls in the UK was daunting to begin with, but being asked to perform at their anniversary celebration that was being attended by what seemed like every important person they could think of, royalty included, well George was impressed that this was the extent of your nerves. A big deal indeed.

"You'll be watching me the whole time?"

Your request was endearing if unnecessary, because there were very few moments in his life now that George was not totally enraptured by you, he had been the muse of many memes in his time but his favourite had to be all the times that journalists and fans alike had compiled evidence of the many times that George was probably supposed to be paying attention to something, a meeting, a conversation, but his eyes never left you. "I'll be in the wings the entire time my love, now go, break a leg."

Heavy velvet curtains hid him from sight as the lights faded on to reveal you, centre stage and framed by a beautiful orchestra. The polite applause was so different from the screams of fans that he was used to hearing on a race weekend, but it set the tone as the orchestra began to play, now George was familiar with pretty much every song you had ever written due to how often your voice could be heard through your shared home, but this song was completely new, you had kept it under lock and key deeming it a surprise. As your voice joined the strings and woodwinds he began to realise that this was a wonderful surprise indeed.

You bewitch me Every damn second you're with me I try to think straight But I'm falling so badly, I'm coming apart You wrote me a note, cast a spell on my heart And bewitched me Bewitch You bewitched me

As the audience broke out into thunderous applause and you took your bow, George took a moment to pat the small square box in the pocket of his suit jacket, the box that held the promise of forever.

Bewitched was the only word word to describe him.

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Logan Sargeant

✧Pancakes for Dinner - Lizzy Mc Alpine

In the last few years Logan had been away from his family and friends during the Fourth of July weekend. It was never easy, he spent most of his childhood surrounded by all the people he loved most, with barbecue food and football on the beach filling up the day, the celebrations starting early in the morning and ending with the insane firework display at night. They were some of his favourite memories, the ones that comforted him on the days and nights when his career started to feel like a noose around his neck that tightened with every race weekend that didn't go according to plan.

Which is why he was so happy that this year, the race calendar perfectly bordered his beloved holiday, with Austria ending mere hours before he found himself on a flight back to Florida to celebrate on his week off before Silverstone. Seeing his family was a welcome reprieve from his hectic life, but seeing you was the cherry on top of a perfect week.

The firepit that roared at the beginning of the night had died down to a comforting glow, the beach behind his family home now empty apart from you and him, the rest of the guests gone inside to continue the festivities in the house. "It's good to have you back Lo, I miss you a lot when you're off living the dream" your voice carries across the space between you as you messed with the guitar that sat on your lap, beer forgotten at your feet as you strummed random chords. You had always been his best friend ever since you both met at a karting track as kids, he used to race with your brother before he decided that baseball was his calling, but you and Logan were attached at the hip until he left to move to England to take his career to another level. Now your friendship consisted of facetime calls, battling with time zone differences instead of a 10 minute walk to your house. "You should agree to come to more races then, you know you're invited to basically every one right?"

In reality he knew that globetrotting with him to a new country every fortnight wasn't that simple. You were a veterinary nurse in Florida and he was a racing driver, both of your schedules too hectic to allow for any real time spent together that didn't involve him making the trip back to his hometown. "You really want to put me and your boss on the same continent, I'm too pretty to go to jail!"

The two of you busted up into laughter at the idea of James Vowels being unfortunate enough to be close enough to you that you could finally give the man a piece of your mind. "I do miss Lily though, so might have to take some time off for Austin this year." The fake offended noise that left his lips made you laugh hard enough that Logan was sure his neighbours could hear you. He was sure that the only bond that could rival the one you shared with him was the one that you held with his teammates girlfriend, the fact that you had spent more time at the golf course with Lily this year than you had seeing him face to face sparked emotions in him that he wasn't quite ready to acknowledge.

"What are you playing there?"

The sly smile that crept up onto your face, illuminated by the firelight made his heart stutter, your answer didn't betray your emotions as you started strumming the melody more clearly.

"I wrote you something."

Logan swore his pulse started up in double time as you met his eyes. You had played guitar since you were eight years old but your own songs had been secret for as long as he can remember. But something in the moment caused you to let him into a part of your life he was sure he would never see.

"Play it for me."

The world around them was muffled and felt a million miles away as you nodded before training your eyes on the black ocean in front of you both. Lyrics flowing from you before you changed your mind.

I wanna eat pancakes for dinner I wanna get stuck in your head I wanna watch a T.V. show together And when we're under the weather we can watch it in bed I wanna go out on the weekends I wanna dress up just to get undressed I think that I should probably tell you this In case there is an accident And I never see you again So please save all your questions for the end And maybe I'll be brave enough by then

Laughter from the house behind you both broke the electric energy that filled the air.

"So? What do you think?"

Logan could only hope his kiss was worth a thousand words.

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Alex Albon

✧Juno - Sabrina Carpenter

There wasn't a person alive that believed the joke that Alexander Albon was the biggest WAG in the world than the man himself. While he spent his days driving his Williams car in the midfield of the F1 grid he was more than aware that you kissed him good morning every day you spent together, only to go and play a sold out concert to a stadium of adoring fans, of which Alex was your biggest.

He still found himself pinching his arm whenever he saw you, either on stage playing the global superstar or in the comfort of your own home playing with your puppy Juniper. It seemed uncharacteristic of him when he slid into your DM's one night after seeing a concert with his sisters, but fate apparently had his cards picked out in his favour when you visited a race a few weeks later as a guest of Red Bull and he got to meet you in person, the rest was history as you had been dating the Thai driver ever since.

The distance wasn't always easy but this particular summer break lined up perfectly with the end of the US leg of your most recent tour, which is how you both ended up spending your three week break in Bali, completely wrapped up in each other with no work interruptions.

Until today that is.

His place in your shared bed gave him the perfect view of you pacing the balcony of the villa that had been rented for the duration of your stay. His eyes easily following your body as it appeared in the doorway before disappearing just as quick, back and forth as you spoke to your management team on the phone, a call which was hitting the forty minute mark, causing his patience to wear thin. Luckily just before the call was about to hit an hour in length you ended it and your figure bounding back into the room caused him to sit up against the headboard. You grabbed your laptop from your bag before sliding back into bed, lips meeting his before you settled in and began furiously searching through the files on your desktop.

"what part of vacation do they not understand?" he groaned, his face finding the crook of your neck as you let out a laugh, nudging his side.

"That was Marcus, Short and Sweet drops in an hour."

Alex could feel the excitement vibrating through your body. Your most recent album had been in the works for months and while he usually got to live through the entire process with late night writing sessions and studio visits between races, you had been oddly secretive when it came to this one. He was excited for you, he loved your voice and your music was what had brought you together so seeing you continue to make the music that made you so happy made the challenges that came with your relationship worth it.

A soft "aha" pulled him out of his daydream as you pulled up the folder that contained the songs. He sat up again, ready for the full listening party that he was so used to at this point. Which is why his proud grin turned a tad confused as you dragged the cursor down to the third to last track on the album, his question died on his tongue as you pressed play on the file titled Juno (A.A<3) and the music started to pour through the speakers of your laptop.

Oh, I know you want my touch for life If you love me right, then who knows? I might let you make me Juno You know I just might (Might) Let you lock me down tonight One of me is cute, but two though? Give it to me, baby You make me wanna make you fall in love

His ears burned as the song ended and by the look on your face he was reacting exactly how you wanted.

"So? What do you think?"

Your laptop tumbled onto a stray cushion that found its way onto the floor, as he tackled you back onto the sheets. laughter filling the room.

Thank god for the end of the tour.

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Part two will be up asap. Requests are open.

Hope you enjoyed!

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[weirdgenetic-fuckup]

heyy can u do a fem reader x slash smut with like daddy kink and praise kink or some shit like that. he’s just so damn fine and also the most recent slash one u did was 10/10 anyways thanks sweetie

A/n: I've had this idea for SO LONG and I needed an excuse to finally write it so thank you <3

Warnings: Smut, age gap, fingering (f receiving), squirting, daddy!kink, praising, if you think I missed anything let me know otherwise enjoy!

Part 2

You were living with Duff for University, it was cheaper for you to go to school in a different country and he happened to have signed up to take in exchange students. Duff was an advocate for better education and obviously wanted to do what he could so why not?

He was great and when he found out you were into rock he wanted to introduce you to his band, Guns N' Roses.

He brought you down to the studio just so you could sit around and hang out. You, however, noticed a certain someone paying special attention to you.

Slash had a hard time taking his eyes off of you and you didn't miss the way he continued to shift uncomfortably in his seat every few minutes.

You weren't sure who brought it up since you hadn't been in the room when they were discussing it but Duff told you about Slash's oldest son, London, and said he was around your age so he wondered if you'd want to hang out.

You agreed since Duff and Susanne had been talking about a date night anyway, thus leading to you spending the night at Slash's house.

London was nice enough, you shared some interests and had a fun time but when it got later you retreated to the guest room.

You tossed and turned but you couldn't ignore the sounds coming from the downstairs TV. You got out of bed and made your way towards the noise and found Slash on the couch watching some horror movie from the 1980's.

He didn't seem to notice you until you sat down on the couch. He glanced over at you, shamelessly eyeing you in a band shirt and nothing else. It was big enough to cover you but even so it had him readjusting himself again.

"What're you doing down here?" He asked, keeping his voice low though no one should be awake to hear.

"I heard the TV." You replied simply, gesturing to the glowing light across the room.

Slash pat the spot next to him. "Come closer, no need for you to be over there." You hesitated a moment, biting your lip before moving closer to him.

He had his arm over you, giving your shoulder a gentle squeeze. Knowing he enjoyed this you leaned into him, resting your head on his shoulder.

You weren't watching the movie and you sure Slash wasn't either, you were too busy thinking about Slash and that musky smell coming from him, his big hands resting on you and the couch. Fuck, you couldn't get him off your mind.

"What do you think you're doing?" Slash asked, not taking is eyes off the TV. You looked up at him with a confused expression on your face. You hadn't even noticed the way you were mindlessly touching yourself, your hand squeezed between your thighs, your hips bucking up every few seconds.

"I-I wasn't- I didn't-" You stuttered, trying to explain yourself and failing.

"C'mere." He ordered, patting his thigh. You moved to sit in his lap, your back pressed against his chest. He hooked your legs over his, spreading them with ease. He ran a hand over your thigh, teasingly tapping your sensitive inner thigh. "Now, why'd you really come down here?"

You bit your lip, back arching at his touch. "Wanted to see you."

"Just 'see'?" He whispered, words falling right into your ear. His hand moved further up, fingers rubbing your clit through you pretty lace panties. "Wet through your fucking panties already." He grinned. "Might as well take them off if they're gonna be that useless, huh?"

You nodded weakly, shifting in his lap to help him take them off of you. You gasped when his calloused fingers touched your bare clit, two rubbing the sensitive bud in circles.

You moaned at the feeling, letting your head fall back onto his shoulder. Slash slipped a finger into you and your eyes widened, another gasp leaving you.

Slash shushed you. "Watch your fucking voice." The digit inside you moved at a slow pace, pushing and prodding at your gummy walls until he found that heavenly spongey spot. Once he found it his pace gradually increased.

Your hands clenched and unclenched, begging for something to grip as Slash finger fucked you. "Fuck, just like that." You moaned, voice airy. He inserted another finger and you moaned louder at the stretch. "Oh, fuck, feels s'good."

A warmth grew in your gut, spreading to the rest of your body. Slash groped your chest, plump lips sucking your neck, his thick fingers sliding in and out of you, using your wetness as lube.

"You keep doing that, sweetheart." He muttered, referring to the way your walls kept fluttering around him. "Gonna be a good girl and cum on daddy's fingers." His words fueled the knot growing in you and when it snapped he pulled his fingers out of you and rubbed your clit.

Your vision went white, you couldn't hear how loud you were being but you felt Slash's free hand slapping over your mouth, you could hear his deep groans in your ear.

Your breathing was heavy and your body was twitching as you came down from your high. "Look at that." Slash's soft voice came in your ear. You struggled to figure out what he was talking about, soon you saw the puddle and splatters on the wooden floor in front of you, the wet spot on the couch more prominent than anything. "I'd definitely like to see that again."

"Dad?" A tired voice called. You panicked and sunk down on the couch, using Slash's broad body as coverage.

"Yeah?" Slash responded, looking over the back of the couch.

There was a long moment of silence before you heard footsteps walking away.

Slash looked down to you. "Fuck was that for?" You chuckled softly and moved back up the couch. Slash gave your thigh a pat. "Why don't you go to bed and I'll clean up for you?" You nodded, leaning against him for a moment before getting up.

You took a step away but Slash pulled you back, wrapping an arm around you and kissing your abdomen. "I'll be seeing more of you soon, right?" You smiled and nodded before heading back upstairs.

You paused outside the guest room, just a little ways further was Slash's room. He was still downstairs cleaning, he deserved a reward for that, right?

You slipped into his room and crawled into his bed. The sheets smelled just like him and you couldn't get the thought out of your mind of him getting in with you, knowing he slept naked.

You pulled a pillow close to you, inhaling his scent deeply before bringing it between your legs and grinding against it, eagerly waiting for him to come find you.

[msilwrites]

Papa Bear Material - (Captain Price Fic) - Matchmaking Chapter 1 (Shorter Version)  Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 (Last Chapter)

A/N: I hope you guys can be patient with me as I set up the scene and context for the story! I know you might be eager for Papa Bear John, so if you can't wait, feel free to scroll all the way down or check out the short version. But if you’d like to enjoy the full background and get all the details leading up to the moment, stick around here for the original version. Thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoy! Warning: Mention of child abuse in the story. Summary: Y/N is a reserved former constable and master sniper in the London police force, now working full-time as an artisan. She reconnects with old colleagues at a grill house for a catch-up, where her former junior, Kyle 'Gaz' Garrick, tries to play matchmaker. Gaz’s attempt to set her up with the retired SAS and Papa Bear material, Captain John Price, is met with resistance as Y/N is caught off guard by the unexpected attention.

Y/N stepped into the familiar warmth of the grill house, the smoky aroma of sizzling meat mingling with the distinct hum of rugby commentary from the TV above the bar. The place had that well-worn, comfortable charm—like an old friend. She spotted her old colleagues almost immediately, seated around a table, beers in hand, laughter spilling into the air.

“Oi! Look who’s gracing us with her posh, artsy presence!” came the teasing voice of one of the officers. “You still wearing them fancy shoes, Y/N?”

Y/N rolled her eyes, a half-smile playing on her lips as she made her way over. "Oh, please. I’d have to sell a few more prototypes just to afford these," she said, giving her Gucci Princeton Leather slip-ons a quick glance. "You know, designing and crafting, prototypes for others, specially demanding architects and students—it's harder than catching a criminal on a Sunday shift."

The group laughed, and one of them raised their glass. “Come on, that’s not true. Bet you’re all over the art scene now, living the dream!”

“Sure,” she said, narrowing her eyes as she slid into her seat, “if by ‘living the dream’ you mean sometimes starving in a studio, getting rejected by every gallery in town, and designing things no one’s ever heard of, yeah, it’s just like the movies.”

They all burst out laughing again. One of the lads signaled to the waiter, who was making his rounds. "Oi, get her a proper drink," he said with a grin, "she looks like she needs it."

A tap of beer was quickly placed in front of her, and she gave her colleagues a mock glare, but couldn't help but smile. "You lot are too kind. Just wait ‘til you see my next masterpiece—a painting of you lot after too many pints."

As the laughter faded, they began catching up, each group diving into stories and teasing. "Any funny incidents lately?" one of the officers asked, a grin spreading across his face.

Y/N raised an eyebrow. "Oh, plenty. You lot wouldn't believe half of them, but I'm still waiting for the call-up for my big art show... not holding my breath, though."

The conversation shifted, and soon enough, someone asked, “When’s your next reservist shift, then? You’re still doing that, right?”

Y/N leaned back in her chair, taking a moment before answering. "Ah, next month. Got my refresher course first, so I'll see you lot after that." She picked up her glass, the cool beer sliding down her throat as she sighed contentedly.

It had been a long day—too long. But, she was glad to be here, catching up with these old faces, the familiar rhythm of their banter and laughter settling into her. The worries of her day faded, replaced with the warmth of good company and the taste of a well-earned pint.

The table buzzed with laughter and the clink of silverware as everyone dug into their meal. Y/N, content with a bite of lamb chop, was about to take another when Kyle’s voice broke through.

“So, Y/N,” he said with a mischievous grin, leaning forward, “how long’s it been since you’ve been single?”

Y/N paused, looking at him like he’d just asked if she wanted to run a marathon. She narrowed her eyes, the chop still in her hand. “You’re not about to start playing matchmaker, are you, Gaz?”

Kyle shrugged nonchalantly, completely unbothered. “Well, you know... I might have a perfect guy in mind. Could introduce you next time.”

The table erupted into teasing shouts, and a few of the women at the table nudged her playfully. “Ooh, a ‘perfect guy,’ eh?” one of them said with a sly smile. “Sounds like someone’s trying to get you out there, Y/N!”

“Yeah, yeah,” another girl chimed in, grinning. “You can’t stay single forever, love. You need to live a little!”

Y/N laughed, raising her glass of beer to her lips. “I’ve been living plenty, thank you very much,” she said, taking a sip. “I’ve been single since I was 22. Too much going on in my life. Can barely keep up with myself, let alone anyone else.”

One of the guys leaned in, grinning like a Cheshire cat. “Come on, Y/N. You can’t just keep dodging the love life thing forever. You’ve gotta try at least once. Who knows? Maybe this ‘perfect guy’ will be just what you need.”

“Or,” another woman piped up, waggling her eyebrows, “he’ll just be an excuse for a nice date night and some free food. Win-win.”

Y/N put a hand on her chest, feigning shock. “Oh, I see how it is. You lot just want me to get free dinner at someone else’s expense!”

Kyle laughed, raising his beer. “Well, if you don’t like him, I’ll pay for the meal myself. But I’m tellin’ ya, he’s worth a shot.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow, her tone dry. “Tell you what—if I get to choose the place, I’ll consider it. But no more ‘perfect guy’ nonsense, alright?”

Her colleagues cheered, raising their own glasses. “To Y/N’s perfect guy!” someone shouted, and the table erupted into more laughter.

Y/N just rolled her eyes, taking another bite of her lamb chop. “Alright, alright. You lot are relentless.”

As the teasing continued, Y/N raised an eyebrow, clearly curious. “Alright then, who’s this ‘perfect guy’ Gaz has in mind? One of your mates?”

Kyle leaned back, clearly proud of his matchmaking skills. “Yeah, mate. His name’s Price. Former SAS, top bloke—don’t let the gruff exterior fool you. He’s solid. Got a good head on his shoulders.”

The table went silent for a moment. Some of the guys and girls exchanged glances, clearly impressed by the mention of SAS.

“Ooh, SAS, huh?” one of the women said, grinning. “That’s like, the real deal, right? Tough, mysterious, probably has a six-pack or maybe even eight! Hidden under all that tactical gear.”

“Oh yeah, totally,” another guy added, practically waggling his eyebrows. “Rugged, muscular, probably a bit brooding. Can already see the whole ‘I’ve been through the worst’ vibe.”

“Sounds like someone’s got a lot of mystery about him,” one of the other women teased, nudging Y/N with her elbow. “Could be just the thing you need, Y/N. A real adventure.”

Kyle, clearly delighted by the reactions, went on, “Yeah, you’ll like him. He’s been through the ringer, mate. The kind of bloke you don’t wanna mess with. Tough as nails.”

The group went on, each person adding their own humorous speculation about Price’s rugged, mysterious persona—tough military training, intense eyes, dangerous aura. The teasing was infectious, and everyone was in on it now, laughing and playfully suggesting how wild or sexy Price must be.

But Y/N’s expression had already shifted. Her hand, still holding the lamb chop, froze mid-air, and she stared into the distance, her eyes darkening as she took in what Kyle had said. The laughter around her faded into the background, her own thoughts taking over.

One of the guys, noticing the shift, raised an eyebrow. “You okay, Y/N?” he asked, clearly sensing the change in her mood.

Y/N blinked, breaking out of her thoughts. She took a deep breath and forced a smile. “Yeah, fine,” she said quietly, but her tone was noticeably subdued.

Kyle, still excited, didn’t notice. “I’m telling you, mate, he’s a proper top guy. You’ll get along fine with him, I’m sure of it.”

But Y/N’s eyes had taken on a more somber look. “Yeah, maybe,” she muttered, her voice much softer than before. “Look, I’m not saying all military guys are the same, but…” She paused, her hand tightening around her beer glass. “My father was ex-military. Bit of a bastard, to be honest. Mentally and verbally abusive. So, I’ve... never really been into that kind of thing, if I’m honest.”

The teasing stopped abruptly. The table grew quieter as her words sank in. Kyle, finally sensing the shift, looked at her with a soft expression. “I didn’t mean to bring up anything heavy, Y/N. Just thought I was being helpful…”

Y/N gave a small, weary smile, waving it off. “It’s alright, Gaz. You didn’t know.”

One of the women, noticing her mood, reached out and gave her shoulder a comforting squeeze. “Hey, you don’t have to meet him, Y/N. No pressure.”

Y/N nodded, the smile returning just a little, though it was faint. “Yeah, don’t worry about it. I’m sure he’s a great guy. Just not sure I’m ready for... anything like that right now.”

The table grew quieter as the conversation shifted away from matchmaking and towards other, lighter topics. Laughter bubbled up again, but Y/N’s mind wandered back, the memories creeping in despite the cheerful chatter around her.

Her father… It didn’t take much to bring his image to the forefront of her mind. The memories of him were sharp and unpleasant, lingering like an unshakable shadow. He’d been in the military for years before moving into MI5 when she was a child. After he retired, though, he never really left the mindset behind.

She could still hear his voice in her head, cutting through the air, as if he was right there. The constant little digs—his sharp tone when he'd see her, trying to maintain that military discipline, as if he could control every aspect of her life. Every time he looked at her, it felt like he was seeing an enemy, like she was still just a soldier under his command.

He’d belittle her. Criticize everything, from her clothes to how she held herself, as though she were an extension of his authority. It wasn’t just the verbal abuse, though. There were moments where the anger would spill over. He’d hit her, sometimes, not out of frustration but out of a need to keep her “in line.” If she argued or disagreed with him, there were times he’d drag her out of the house, leave her stranded in the middle of nowhere just to teach her a “lesson,” and then come back hours later, violently pulling her into the car as though nothing had happened.

Y/N shook her head, pushing the dark thoughts back. She’d spent so long trying to bury them, trying to focus on anything else that didn’t make her feel like a child again, helpless under his control.

It wasn’t until that one night when she was 19—kicked out of the house, no place to go, just a bag and nothing but cold streets—that she decided enough was enough. She didn’t have the luxury of time or an easy choice. She’d had nowhere to go but a friend’s couch for a few nights, and that’s when she made the decision: she would join the police force. She needed the money, the stability, and more than anything, the chance to break free from the past.

The police program offered her a way out, an escape, a way to stand on her own two feet and start building something for herself. At the time, it also came with education, which was a huge draw. She could pay for her tuition while working, get the training she needed to eventually leave all that behind. She’d never intended to stay long in the force, but it turned out to be the best decision she could have made, even though it came with its own set of challenges.

Her eyes flickered back to the table, the laughter still ringing around her, but now muffled, distant. She had come a long way since those dark days, but sometimes—like now—the weight of it all crept back in.

It was easy for her to laugh along with the others, easy to let the jokes flow. But sometimes, when the noise died down, she could still feel the sting of her past, just beneath the surface.

Her thoughts snapped back to the present as someone nudged her elbow. “Oi, you alright, Y/N? You went all quiet there,” one of her friends said, concern lacing their voice.

Y/N blinked, shaking herself free of the memories. She smiled, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Yeah,” she replied, taking another swig of her beer. “Just a long day, that’s all. Don’t mind me.”

They didn’t press further, thankfully, but she could feel their eyes on her for a moment before the conversation shifted again.

The laughter from the table faded as everyone began to gather their things, slipping out one by one into the cool night air. Y/N lingered for a moment, the clink of glasses and murmurs of her friends still echoing in her ears, but it felt distant now—like a tune she was no longer part of. As she stepped outside, the damp pavement underfoot caught the glow of the streetlights, each step sharp and purposeful. She let out a long breath, the chill of the evening sinking into her skin. She hadn’t realized just how much she’d needed this—quiet, space to herself, far away from the constant chatter and noise that seemed to follow her every move.

Her phone buzzed in her pocket, snapping her from her thoughts. She glanced down at the screen. An unknown number. Normally, she wouldn’t even bother answering, but something told her to check it.

She unlocked the screen and swiped open the message.

"Hi, Y/N. John Price here. Gaz gave me your number. We should grab a drink sometime. Maybe chat about a few things. Cheers."

Y/N stopped dead in her tracks, eyes narrowing. Her thumb hovered over the screen as her mind scrambled for a reaction. John Price. The John Price? The former SAS legend, now retired, and apparently still involved in some highly classified business? What the hell was Gaz thinking?

"What the fuck, Gaz!!!" Y/N hissed under her breath, staring at the message with disbelief. Her gaze snapped up and scanned the street. She could see her friends walking ahead, far down the street now, their backs turned. Gaz, that bloody menace, had passed her number along without a second thought.

She stormed a few paces ahead, but her steps were more frustrated now. Her mind raced as she considered her options. She didn’t want any part of whatever ‘chat’ Price had in mind. She wasn’t a fool—she knew how these things worked. She could already picture the smug look on Gaz’s face when he thought he was doing her a favour, setting her up with some ‘good guy’ from his circle of military buddies. But military men… well, she had enough of that in her life already.

Y/N scrolled through her contacts, her fingers moving like clockwork. She was about to fire off a quick response to tell Price to kindly go to hell when she caught sight of her reflection in a shop window. Her face looked tired, the exhaustion from the day finally catching up to her. She could feel the cold seeping through her coat, and for a moment, it was like the weight of everything—the years of trying to make it on her own, the trauma, the nightmares—settled right back on her shoulders.

She quickly closed her phone and shoved it back into her pocket. A drink with John Price? Yeah, that was definitely not going to happen. But Gaz? He was going to hear about this. She didn’t care if he was busy with some top-secret ops or whatnot—this was a step too far.

"Next round’s on you, Gaz," she muttered to herself as she walked toward the corner, feeling the familiar mix of annoyance and amusement begin to churn in her stomach. ----------

Y/N's eyes fluttered open to the soft light of the morning, spilling through the gap in her curtains. The events of last night—Gaz's matchmaking attempt and the unexpected message from John Price—already felt like distant memories, lost in the haze of sleep. She groaned and stretched, her arms reaching out before she swung them over the side of the bed and planted her feet onto the cool wooden floor.

She was hungry. More than that, she was starving.

With a deep sigh, she pushed herself to her feet, feeling the weight of yesterday’s long hours still in her bones. Her body moved on autopilot as she made her way to the kitchen. The smell of fresh coffee hit her senses before she even flicked on the kettle. The day ahead was full—pottery to finish, pieces to deliver, and the usual grind of meeting deadlines for design projects. But the pottery was the steady foundation. It brought in consistent income each month, even if it required hours of backbreaking work.

The market was always a good outlet for her—hands-on, personal, where customers could appreciate the craftsmanship and effort she poured into each item. She enjoyed the physicality of it, the quiet satisfaction of shaping clay into something functional and beautiful. She had a reputation for it, too—well-known in the area for her distinctive, handmade pottery, with a smooth, glossy finish that always caught the light just right.

After a quick breakfast of scrambled eggs and bacon, she shuffled into her workshop. There was something grounding about the familiar rhythm of her craft. The kiln had cooled overnight, and her latest batch of pottery—plates, mugs, vases, and a few statement pieces—was ready for inspection. Y/N carefully removed the items, one by one, from the kiln. The glaze had set perfectly, giving each piece a rich, lustrous shine. She ran her fingers over the smooth surfaces, admiring the precision of her work. Her hands were still stained with the evidence of yesterday’s labor, but it didn’t bother her. It was part of the process.

As she carefully packed the finished pieces into protective wrapping for transport, she nodded in approval. She may have put the hours in, but the result was always worth it. The market would love these.

Later, Y/N stood in front of the mirror in her bedroom, examining her reflection with a critical eye. She’d always believed that people treated you better when you looked your best—when you seemed approachable and friendly. And since she was about to step into the public eye again, it was important to put a little effort in. She applied her makeup with precision, the soft strokes highlighting her features, then slipped on a small pair of gold-plated silver earrings that added a touch of chic to her look.

She was wearing a loose white linen shirt with long sleeves, its cuffs casually rolled up. The shirt was light and breathable, perfect for a day of carrying boxes and setting up her stall. Over it, she tied her craftsman apron—dark, worn from years of use, but still functional, with enough pockets to hold all the tools she needed.

Her wide-legged chinos reached just to her ankles, the fit comfortable and practical, paired with her slip-on loafers—a soft, leather pair she’d had for years. It was casual yet still put-together, an outfit that made her feel at ease while still ready for whatever the day might throw at her.

She practiced her smile in the mirror—a grin that wasn’t too forced or strained, but warm and inviting. Some days, it felt like a performance. But she’d learned long ago that a good smile could sell a piece of pottery. And that was what she needed today: to sell, to engage, to make her art speak for her.

With a deep breath, she adjusted her apron, straightened her shoulders, and gave the mirror one final smile before grabbing the first box of finished work.

She had a day of selling ahead. And though sometimes the world felt heavy, she was ready to face it head-on. Her pottery, her designs—they were the bright spots in her life, the reasons she’d fought so hard to keep going, to stay grounded.

With another steadying breath, she stepped out into the cool morning air, the day ahead waiting for her.

-----------

Once Y/N had finished unpacking and arranging her wares at her stall, she took a moment to step back and admire the display. The pieces were neatly arranged—vases catching the light, mugs stacked just right, and her signature pottery glistening with its smooth, glossy finish. She felt a small sense of pride bubble up, but it was quickly tempered by the hustle of the market around her. There was no time to linger; there were customers to engage, products to sell, and a whole day ahead.

Grabbing her phone, she tapped into the group chat with her friends, which, of course, included Gaz. A small smile tugged at her lips as she typed out a quick message:

“Hey guys, I’m set up at the market today—stall 30 if you’re in the area and fancy dropping by. Would be good to catch up if you have the time! 😎”

She added a few relevant emojis, then hit send, tucking her phone back into her apron pocket with a sigh. If they could make it, great. If not, no big deal. It would be nice to see a familiar face, but she’d already grown accustomed to the solitude of her work.

As she glanced up from her phone, she was met with the hustle and bustle of market-goers milling around her stall. Some stopped to admire the pottery, others just passed by, lost in their own little world. Either way, it was all part of the game. She adjusted a few pieces that had shifted during the unpacking and waited for her first customer of the day. -------------

Y/N was arranging the last of her pieces when a tall, broad-shouldered figure stepped up to her stall. She glanced up, quickly taking in his dark blue shirt, trim hair, and the kind of build that made him look like he could carry a truck on his back if he wanted to. The guy looked like Papa Bear material—muscular, solid, and with a presence that seemed to fill the space around him.

He stood still for a moment, his eyes scanning over the pottery on display, then back at her. Y/N couldn’t help but notice how effortlessly attractive he was. He had the kind of look that made heads turn, even if he didn’t seem to be trying. She could feel a little flutter of nerves creeping in, but she pushed it away, focusing on the pieces in front of her.

"Hi there," she said, forcing a smile as she adjusted a mug on the table.

"Hey," the man replied, his voice deep and steady. "You’ve got some brilliant work here."

Y/N nodded, her hands still busy with arranging. "Thanks. I’ve been at it for years, trying to get the perfect finish."

There was a pause as he looked at her again, this time with a more direct gaze. “You’ve definitely nailed it. Everything looks... well, perfect.”

Y/N felt a little warmth in her cheeks. What’s with this guy? she thought, still unsure of why she was feeling so off-kilter. He didn’t strike her as the type who would be interested in pottery, let alone strike up a conversation about it.

Then, with a small smile, he stepped forward and said, “I’m John, by the way. Gaz sent me.”

Y/N blinked, her heart skipping a beat at the mention of Gaz’s name. Gaz? The first thought that shot through her head was, No, no, not this again. Her stomach turned as she realized that Gaz hadn't given up on matchmaking her with this Papa Bear of a man. Gaz!! You matchmaking bastard, why'd you do this to me!!

She tried to shake off the feeling. "Gaz, huh? Of course. I should’ve known."

John’s smile softened. “Yeah, he said I should come over and introduce myself. Said you’re someone I should meet.”

Y/N gave him a wry grin, glancing at the ground for a moment. "That sounds like something Gaz would say." She forced a casual tone, but inside, she was already second-guessing everything.

There was a brief, knowing pause between them before John continued, his voice a bit quieter but warm. "I’ve seen the pictures Gaz sent me... you’ve definitely exceeded that. And you look even better in person."

Her heart pounded, and she could feel her pulse picking up, but she didn’t want to let him see how much his words affected her. Gaz... you absolute idiot.

John continued, stepping a bit closer. "I don’t usually do this, but I’d love to take you out sometime. Dinner, drinks... whatever you fancy."

Y/N felt a flush creeping up her neck. This was it, wasn't it? Gaz and his matchmaking nonsense had really gone this far... She looked up at him, her expression softer now, but still holding a hint of surprise. This guy wasn’t just tall and fit; he was exactly the kind of person Gaz would go on about.

“Look, I am a little busy right now... uhhmmm,” she said, but there was a small, teasing smile playing at her lips.

John smiled, his eyes twinkling with something playful. “Take your time. I’m patient.”

Y/N sighed inwardly. Gaz hadn't given up on this... She couldn’t help but feel the pressure of it all, even as she admired John's presence. Big guy, military background, and that soft, paternal charm. She’d met her fair share of tough guys, but there was something different about John Price. The way he carried himself—genuine, steady, and disarmingly kind—was impossible to ignore. A/N: I do hope you enjoyed that one! I’ll be writing another chapter when inspiration strikes, or feel free to drop any suggestions you might have! On to the NEXT CHAPTER ----->

[earthtoharlow]

Don’t Like The Lights

Sequel to Flashing Lights series, must read Flashing Lights first to understand

Series Masterlist

19. L’amour De Ma Vie

Noah and London were now six months old, and doctors gave Jack and Maryse the go ahead to start introducing them to baby food, and today was the first taste. Jack had Noah and London strapped into their high chairs, armed with tiny spoons and jars of baby food, while Maryse chatted with her manager Coco on the phone in the next room.

“Alright, Noah, London,” Jack grinned, holding up a jar of banana baby food. “Let’s see if you’re ready for the good stuff.”

He scooped a tiny spoonful of the banana mush and held it up to Noah, who eyed it curiously before opening his mouth. Noah’s face lit up the moment he tasted it, and he reached out for more, babbling excitedly, kicking his feet. 

“Looks like someone’s a fan,” Jack chuckled, spooning another bit into Noah’s mouth as his son happily gobbled it up.

Turning to London, he offered her a taste with equal enthusiasm. But the moment it touched her lips, London made a face of pure disgust, wrinkling her nose and letting the banana mush dribble out of her mouth. She gave Jack a look as if to say, “How could you do this to me?”

“Oh, not a fan, huh?” he laughed, grabbing a napkin to clean her little chin. “I thought everyone liked bananas!”

In the other room, Maryse overheard the commotion and chuckled to herself as Coco paused mid-sentence. “Sounds like things are going… well?” Coco asked with a smirk in her voice. 

Maryse laughed, glancing over to see Jack trying to win London over. “You could say that,” she said, “Noah’s loving it, but London… not so much.”

She leaned against the wall, watching as Jack continued his adorable efforts, gently encouraging London with another tiny spoonful. “Come on, girl, just one more bite. It’s not that bad, promise.”

But London pursed her lips defiantly, giving him a look that left no room for negotiation. Maryse smiled, knowing she was witnessing the twins’ little personalities shine through already.

As she balanced her phone between her shoulder and ear, Maryse listened to Coco running through her upcoming schedule. “Since you’re back in the studio again things are definitely about to pick up. They want you to perform the national anthem at the closing ceremony for the Paris Olympics….”

As Maryse listened to Coco on the other end of the line, her eyes widened. “Wait, Coco, are you serious?” she asked, barely able to contain her surprise.

Coco laughed. “Yes, I’m serious! The committee wants you to sing the national anthem at the closing ceremony of the Paris Olympics. It’s a huge honor, and they’re thrilled at the idea.”

Maryse’s mind started racing. The Olympics… in Paris. A massive global stage, and a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. “Wow… I don’t even know what to say,” she breathed, glancing over at Jack, who was still amusing himself trying to coax London into another spoonful of baby food.

Jack noticed her expression and raised an eyebrow. “What’s going on?” he mouthed.

Maryse held up a finger, smiling in disbelief as Coco continued. “Look, it’s big, but they want an answer soon. Think about it, but know they’d be honored to have you.”

“Okay, I’ll talk it over, but… yeah, wow, Coco. Thanks for telling me. I’ll get back to you soon.” She hung up and paused in the doorway, her heart melting at the scene in front of her. The twins were facing each other in their high chairs, babbling in what sounded like a secret language only they understood. Little giggles and expressive hand gestures filled the room as they looked at each other with wide, curious eyes.

Jack turned to Maryse with a grin, whispering, “I think they’re plotting against us. Look at them.”

Maryse laughed, leaning into him. “I wouldn’t be surprised,” she replied, watching as Noah’s babbling grew louder, and London responded with an enthusiastic clap.

Jack grinned, “We’re doomed.”

Maryse laughed again, leaning into him. “If they team up to take us down, we don’t stand a chance.”

They both let out huge laughs, after coming down Jack squeezed her hips, “So what’s the big news?”

“So… they want me to sing the national anthem at the closing ceremony of the Olympics,” she said, letting the weight of it sink in.

Jack’s face lit up, a huge grin spreading across his face. “Paris? Babe, that’s huge! You have to do it!” 

Maryse laughed, her excitement mixing with a touch of anxiety. “I know, it’s… I can’t even wrap my head around it. But performing live, on a stage that big… it’s kind of terrifying, too.”

He stepped closer, wrapping an arm around her. “You’re gonna kill it. If anyone can own that moment, it’s you. Besides,” he added “You performed at the Super Bowl while pregnant.”

“I did do that, huh.” She said with a smirk as she looked up at him. 

As Maryse soaked in the excitement, her expression shifted. “Wait…” She looked up at Jack, a flicker of worry crossing her face. “Isn’t that the same weekend you’re booked to perform in Saudi Arabia?”

Jack’s smile faded as he did a quick mental check. “Oh man… yeah, it is.” He ran a hand over his head, realizing the dilemma. “I completely forgot they overlap.”

They looked at each other, both trying to piece together a way to make it work. “We’re gonna be on two different continents,” she murmured, disappointment settling in. “This is huge for both of us, though…” 

She glanced at Noah and London who were busy with their baby food. “And… who’s going to watch the babies?” She looked back at Jack, concerned in her eyes. “We’ve never left the country without them before. A couple hours away sure but…”

He nodded, the same worry flickering across his face. “I know. We’d need someone we trust completely.” He thought for a moment before adding, “Maybe my parents could stay at our place? They’ve handled them for weekends, and the twins love them.”

Maryse sighed, still looking uncertain. “Yeah, they’d be in good hands, but it’s so different knowing we’ll be so far away.”

He put his hand on her shoulder, squeezing gently. “I get it. I feel the same. But if this is something we both need to do, we can make sure they’re safe and loved. And we can be on FaceTime constantly.”

She nodded, finally letting herself smile a little. “Alright, if we can set up everything for them, maybe we can make this work. And you better believe I’ll be FaceTiming every chance I get.”

Jack pulled her close, reassuring her with a warm smile. “Look, as soon as I’m done in Saudi Arabia, I’m heading straight home. I’ll pick up the twins, and we’ll all meet you in Paris.”

Her eyes lit up. “Really? That’s a lot of traveling…”

He nodded, squeezing her hand. “Yeah. I don’t want you missing them that long, and I want us all together. Plus, the kids’ first trip to Paris? Gotta make it a family thing.”

She laughed, her face softening. “You really think of everything, don’t you?”

“Only when it comes to you and them.” He grinned. “It’s all planned out—we’ll be cheering you on in the crowd while you blow everyone away with the anthem.”

LIFEOFMONET

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LifeOfMonet: STUDIO SCHMUDIO

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user: we readyyyyy

user: BOUT TIME!!

user: side note you and Jack’s home studio is so nice

user: show us the twins !!!

dojacat: Hell yeahhhhh

jackharlow: I took these

user: that hair tho 😍

As they loaded her bags into the car, Maryse held Noah and London close, her eyes welling up with tears as she kissed each of their heads. “I hate leaving them. They’re just so little…”

Jack gently grabbed the twins from her and handed them off to his parents, then put his arm around her, pulling her into his chest. “Babe, it’s only a couple of days. And they’ll be right there with you soon enough—probably before you even start to miss them.”

She sighed, leaning into him. “I already miss them. I just feel like…like I should be here.”

He stroked her back, keeping his voice soft. “You’re doing amazing. They’re happy, they’re healthy, and they’ve got everything they need—especially with you as their mom.” He wiped a tear from her cheek, smiling. “And, you’re allowed to do something for you, too. We’ll be right behind you before you know it.”

She sniffled, nodding, and glanced back at the babies, who were both smiling and babbling away in his parents arms. “Promise?”

He chuckled. “Promise. I’ll see you in Paris with these little ones soon, and you’ll rock that performance. We got you.”

With one last kiss to each of them and a deep breath, she climbed into the car, waving as she pulled away, her heart tugging—but feeling a little lighter.

As Maryse’s car disappeared down the road, Jack let out a sigh and turned to find his mom giving him a knowing, sympathetic look.

“She’s been having a tough time,” he said, shifting Noah to his other arm as London reached for her brother’s hand. “She’s feeling all that mom guilt…like she shouldn’t be leaving, even for just a couple days.”

His mom smiled gently, resting a hand on his shoulder before reaching for Noah. “She’s a wonderful mom, and it’s completely normal. But you’re right here, and she knows you’ve got it handled.” She leaned down, softly brushing a hand over Noah’s head. “Give her some time. It’ll get easier.”

Jack nodded, feeling that bittersweet pride. “Yeah…I just want her to know it’s okay for her to have her own time, too. She deserves it.”

Back inside the house, they went into the living room, London sitting on his lap, his mom studied him for a moment before speaking gently.

“Have you thought about suggesting she talk to someone?” she asked, tilting her head. “It’s not easy to admit, but I think she might be dealing with some postpartum depression.”

Jack’s jaw tightened slightly as he glanced down at London, who was playing with his necklace. “Yeah…I’ve thought about it. She’s been up and down, and I know she’s struggling more than she lets on.”

His mom nodded thoughtfully. “It’s nothing to be ashamed of. A lot of women go through it. I think it could help her, even if it’s just having someone to talk to outside of you.”

Jack sighed, running a hand through his curls. “I know you’re right. I just don’t want to make her feel worse by bringing it up.”

“You won’t,” his mom assured him. “Just remind her how much you love her and that it’s about making sure she feels her best, not just for the babies but for herself too.”

He nodded, a look of determination crossing his face. “I’ll bring it up when she gets back. She deserves to feel okay…better than okay.”

“And you deserve some credit too,” his mom added with a warm smile. “You’re doing a great job, Jack. She’s lucky to have you.”

Jack smiled faintly, bouncing London slightly. “We’re all lucky to have her, too.”

***

In his dressing room, Jack paced back and forth, his phone pressed to his ear. It had become a mini ritual of his to call Maryse before every show, even more so now that they were apart. He glanced at the clock. Luckily, Paris was only a couple of hours behind Saudi, so it wasn’t too late to call.

After a few rings, her familiar voice came through. “Hey, babe.”

“Hey,” he said, a smile tugging at his lips. Just hearing her voice eased some of the tension in his chest. “What’re you doing?”

“Trying to figure out how to navigate the room service menu in French,” she joked. “I think I accidentally ordered snails earlier.”

He laughed, adjusting the chain around his neck. “Snails, huh? Fancy now.”

“Don’t start,” she teased, but he could hear the smile in her voice. “How’s it going over there?”

“Getting ready for my second show,” he said, sitting down on the edge of the couch. “You know I can’t go on stage without hearing your voice first. It’s my good luck charm.”

“Cheesy,” she said softly. “But you don’t need luck. You’re going to kill it, like always.”

He leaned back, looking up at the ceiling. “Yeah, but it’s different when you’re not here. I miss you. I miss the kids.”

“I miss you too,” she said. “But just think, after this, we’re all going to be in Paris together. You’ve got one more show, then you’re home to grab the twins and come meet me.”

Can’t wait,” he said sincerely. Then, after a pause, he added, “You good, though? For real?”

There was a slight hesitation before she answered. “I’m okay. I still hate being away from them, but I’m managing.”

He nodded, even though she couldn’t see him. “You’re doing amazing, you know that? Don’t be too hard on yourself. The kids are fine, and you deserve to have moments for you too.”

“Thanks,” she said softly. “You always know what to say.”

“Of course I do,” he teased.

Jack leaned back on the couch, phone to his ear, grinning. “So, how’s Paris? Are they treating you like the star you are?”

Maryse chuckled. “It’s been good. Oh! When I got to my hotel room, they had an Eiffel Tower made out of macarons waiting for me. It was so cute!”

“Macarons, huh? They know how to spoil you,” he teased, shaking his head. “What else? Did they roll out a red carpet to your room too?”

“Not quite,” she said with a laugh. “But rehearsals were good. And…Tom Cruise sent me flowers.” Jack could hear the smile in her tone. 

He sat up straighter, his eyebrows raising. “Wait, wait, hold up. Tom Cruise sent you flowers?” He exaggerated her tone, mimicking her emphasis. “Like, ‘Oh, Tom Cruise, action star, Mission Impossible, Mr. Hollywood’?”

Maryse burst out laughing. “Stop it! That’s not how I said it!”

“No, no, you said it like, ‘Oh, Tom Cruise,’ like he’s the one that got away or something,” he teased, shaking his head dramatically.

“Whatever,” she said, trying to suppress her giggles. “He was just being nice.”

“Nice?” Jack  smirked. “Looks like I got some competition’”

“Oh my gosh, you’re ridiculous,” she said, still laughing.

“And you’re over there fangirling,” he shot back playfully. “Bet you saved the card, didn’t you?”

She gasped in mock offense. “I did not!”

“Mm-hmm,” he teased.

“Jack, you don’t even need to worry, you’re the only white guy I'll ever love.”

Jack froze mid-laugh, his face breaking into a wide grin. “Wait, what did you just say?”

Maryse, barely holding back her laughter, repeated with a playful tone, “I said you don’t need to worry because you’re the only white guy I’ll ever love.”

He leaned back, pretending to look offended. “Oh, so I’m just the token white guy now, huh? Is that what this is?”

She burst out laughing. “I’m just saying, Tom Cruise has nothing on you.”

“Damn right he doesn’t,” Jack shot back, smirking. “I mean, he could never rock a curly mullet? 

“Exactly,” she teased. “You’re safe.”

“Safe?” he repeated, pretending to be wounded. “That’s not the kind of reassurance I want! I want to hear I’m your one and only forever.”

“Oh no I think my phone is breaking up!” Maryse started making noises into the phone. 

“M!” Jack said laughing 

“Love you, I’ll be watching clips later!” Maryse said giggling before hanging up.”

Jack smiles when he immediately looked down at his phone when a text came through from Maryse. 

“You’re my forever.”

***

Jack stepped off the plane, his face showing every bit of the exhaustion he felt. Noah was squirming in his arms, while London fussed in Urban’s. As they headed to the gate, Urban chuckled, “Man, I don’t know how you’re still standing.”

“I’m not,” Jack replied, stifling a yawn. “The only thing keeping me upright is the thought of getting to Maryse.”

They finally reached the luggage area, and Jack carefully placed Noah into the double stroller before Urban secured London next to him. The kids, already cranky from the long flight, began to whine.

“Alright, alright,” Jack murmured, crouching down to adjust Noah’s blanket and handing London her pacifier. “I know it wasn’t the best flight, but we made it. Let’s not start a scene, huh?”

Urban shook his head, laughing softly. “Bro, you really thought traveling with two six-month-olds was gonna be smooth?”

Jack groaned, running a hand through his messy hair. “I was hoping.” He glanced at the kids and sighed. “Man, I just can’t wait to get to Maryse. She’s gonna fix all this.”

“You mean you’re gonna hand them both to her and take a nap,”  Urban teased.

“Honestly?” Jack said with a tired grin. “You’re probably right”

They made their way to the car waiting to take them to Maryse hotel. As the driver loaded their luggage, Jack slumped into the backseat next to them, stealing a quick glance at his sleeping twins. “

“Finally,” he muttered under his breath, leaning his head back.

But as the car sped through the Paris streets, his exhaustion slowly shifted into excitement. He couldn’t wait to see Maryse’s face when he walked through that door—with her babies in tow.

Halfway to the hotel, Jack’s phone buzzed with a text from CoCo, Maryse’s manager. His eyebrows furrowed as he read it:

CoCo: Hey, just a heads-up—Maryse is at rehearsals, but she’s not really herself today. I think she’s missing you and the babies. You might want to swing by and surprise her. I think it’d do her some good.

Jack sighed, glancing at Urban, who was busy trying to entertain Noah with silly faces.

“What’s up?” Urban asked, noticing the change in his expression.

“CoCo says Maryse’s not acting like herself. Thinks she’s missing us,” Jack replied, looking back at the twins. “She said we should stop by rehearsals to surprise her.”

Urban smirked. “Man, you know she’s missing y’all. She’s been glued to those kids since they came out. Let’s do it.”

Jack leaned forward to the driver. “Change of plans. Can you take us to the venue instead of the hotel?”

“Of course,” the driver replied.

Noah started fussing again, and Jack handed him a bottle to keep him calm. “Alright, little man, we’re about to see Mama. No more tantrums, alright?”

London cooed from her seat, and Urban chuckled. “London’s the easy one. Noah? That’s your troublemaker right there.”

Jack shook his head with a tired smile. “They both have their days. Double trouble.”

As they pulled up to the rehearsal venue, Jack took a deep breath, feeling the weight of the long trip fade at the thought of surprising Maryse. He unbuckled Noah, while Urban handled London, both of them now wide-eyed and curious about their new surroundings.

“Alright, kids,” he said as they approached the doors. “Let’s go make Mama’s day.”

Maryse stood on stage, gripping the microphone tightly as she tried, once again, to hit the opening notes of the national anthem. A song she could normally perform in her sleep now felt like a mountain she couldn’t climb. She kept messing up—wrong key, missed breath, or tripping over a word. Each mistake sent a wave of frustration crashing over her.

“Alright, that’s enough for now,” she finally said, waving at the sound engineers. “I need five.”

She flopped down on the stage, her back hitting the floor with a dramatic thud. Throwing her arm over her face, she groaned quietly.

Why can’t I get this right? The thought played on repeat in her mind. Between missing the twins, worrying about the performance, and dealing with the guilt of leaving her babies, everything felt heavier than usual.

Lost in her thoughts, she didn’t notice the soft sound of footsteps approaching until she felt a sudden, tiny pressure on her stomach. Her eyes flew open, and there, on top of her, was a smaller version of Jack—Noah.

“Noah!” she gasped, sitting up in shock as Noah leaned forward, his tiny face scrunched in determination as he planted the wettest, sloppiest kisses on her cheek.

She laughed, not even caring about the drool or the mess. Her arms wrapped around him instantly, holding him close as tears threatened to spill over.

“Oh my god, Noah!” she whispered, covering his little face in kisses of her own.

When she sat up fully, still clutching Noah, her eyes lifted to see the rest of her heart standing just a few feet away. Jack stood there, holding London, whose chubby cheeks lit up with a grin as she reached out for her. Behind them was Urban, a diaper bag slung over his shoulder, grinning like a proud uncle. 

“What—how—” she stammered, standing up with Noah in her arms. “I thought I wasn’t going to see you all till later tomorrow.”

“Surprise,” Jack said, his tired eyes softening as he handed London over.

Maryse took her daughter eagerly, pulling both babies close as she blinked back tears. “You must be so exhausted!”

“You were missing us, weren’t you?” Jack asked, a knowing smirk tugging at his lips. “CoCo might’ve snitched.”

Maryse let out a watery laugh, holding her babies tightly. “You have no idea how much I needed this.”

“We do,” Jack said softly, stepping closer to wrap an arm around her waist. “And we’re here now. All of us.”

In that moment, everything else faded—the pressure, the stress, the guilt. She was with her family again, and that was all that mattered.

The hotel room was finally quiet, the chaos of the day melting away. Maryse lay on the bed with Noah and London sprawled on her chest, both in deep sleep for the first time all day. She gently rubbed their backs, her fingers tracing soothing circles as she stared off into space, lost in thought.

The bathroom door opened, and Jack walked out, his hair damp, a towel slung low around his waist. Maryse’s eyes flicked to him, and she couldn’t help but bite her lip. Despite her exhaustion, a part of her couldn’t deny how much she missed him, in every way.

Jack caught her staring and smirked as he sat on the edge of the bed. “You good over there?”

“Sure,” she replied, her voice low. “But you’re gonna need to put on some clothes because I’m already distracted.”

He laughed, shaking his head as he stood to grab a pair of pants. “Fine, fine. Can’t have you losing focus.”

Once dressed, he sat back down and leaned toward her, his expression soft but serious. “I wanted to talk to you about something.”

Maryse’s  brow furrowed. “Okay… What’s up?”

He hesitated for a moment, his thumb brushing over the bedspread before he spoke. “Have you thought about maybe…talking to someone? Like a therapist?”

Her body stiffened instantly, and her guard went up. “A therapist? For what?”

“For you,” he said carefully. “I just… I’ve noticed how hard things have been for you lately. You’ve been overwhelmed, and with the twins, the performances, and everything else, I think it could help to talk to someone.”

Maryse gently placed the twins on the bed so that she could sit up. “I don’t need a therapist. There’s nothing wrong with me.”

Jack sighed, his voice calm and patient. “I didn’t say there was anything wrong with you. But you’ve been through a lot, babe. Pregnancy, postpartum, leaving the kids for the first time—it’s a lot. You’ve been carrying it all, and I don’t want you to feel like you have to do that alone.”

Her eyes softened, but she still shook her head. “I’m fine. I’m just tired, that’s all.”

“You’re not fine,” he said gently, reaching over to place his hand on hers. “And that’s okay. It doesn’t mean you’re not strong, and it doesn’t mean you’re a bad mom. It just means you’re human. I just want you to be okay—for yourself, for me, and for them.” He glanced down at the sleeping twins, his voice laced with emotion.

When she stayed quiet, he continued. “You never really talked to anyone after the stalker broke into our apartment either. You just kept going like it didn’t shake you, but I know it did. You’re carrying all of this stuff, and I just don’t want it to get heavier.”

Maryse’s defenses crumbled slightly, her fingers brushing over Noah’s hair. “You really think I need to talk to someone?”

“I think it could help,” he said honestly. “You don’t have to decide now, but just think about it, alright? For me?”

She nodded reluctantly, her voice softer now. “Okay… I’ll think about it.”

“That’s all I’m asking,” Jack said, leaning in to kiss her forehead.

Backstage at the closing ceremony, the air buzzed with energy as Maryse prepared to step into the spotlight. Jack sat in the corner, gently rocking the stroller back and forth, his eyes locked on her. Urban snapped candid shots of her as she adjusted her all-white suit, brushing a hand nervously through her hair. Jack could tell from her small, fidgety movements that she was feeling the weight of the moment, but he also couldn’t stop marveling at how breathtaking she looked.

The crisp white suit fit her perfectly, exuding elegance and power. It reminded him of a future he’d been quietly dreaming about: her walking toward him in a different white outfit, down an aisle, with the same mixture of nerves and confidence.

She turned toward him, crossing the room to check on the babies. Her lips found Noah’s forehead, then London’s, as she murmured a few soft words to each of them. When her eyes finally met Jack’s, she noticed the way he was watching her—intense, unblinking, and full of admiration.

“What?” she asked softly, a nervous laugh slipping out as she straightened her suit jacket.

“You’re just… so beautiful,” he said simply, his voice low and steady.

Her cheeks flushed, and she ducked her head, fiddling with the buttons on her cuff. “Stop staring at me like that.”

He smirked, leaning back in his chair. “Why? I like making you nervous.”

She gave him a look, but the corners of her mouth twitched upward. “You’re impossible.”

“And you’re perfect,” he countered smoothly.

She rolled her eyes but couldn’t suppress the smile that followed. “I’ll be back in a bit,” she said, brushing a hand over Noah’s tiny fist before walking toward the stage entrance.

As she disappeared from view, Jack chest swelled with pride and love. She might’ve been nervous, but to him, she looked every bit like the star she was born to be.

***

AN: 🥹 hope you all love this

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[ladykailitha]

Icarus Part 10

Just a little metal band Steve while the poll for what do with boy w/a bat and werewolf Steve is ongoing. Here if you want to vote.

Corroded Coffin is almost done with their album when the shit hits the fan and Eddie soothes away some of Steve's insecurities (and accidentally creates one more.)

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

****

Eddie was grateful that with the album ninety-eight percent done the label had released Jeff and him from their jail sentence so that they could go out and be people again. Brian had also been released for good behavior, but Dr. Owens suggested that Gareth stay away from the booze and parties for awhile, so Gareth had chosen to continue the exile willingly.

So to say he was excited to see Steve without all that shit hanging over his head. It was like a rare cool breeze against his skin on a hot summer’s day.

He got a table at the bar he told Steve to meet him at and ordered their drinks. He looked around the room as his knee began to bounce. He didn’t think Steve would stand him up. Steve wasn’t like that. But what if something happened? What the new studio they got was in New York or London or Chicago? How could he suggest that to Steve? He nee–

A warm hand touched his shoulder and all anxiety vanished as Steve murmured his hello.

Steve tapped the center of his forehead as he sat down. “What’s going on inside that head of yours? I can tell you’re spiraling, you’ve got this wide-eyed panicked look to you.”

Eddie rubbed his forehead and pouted. “Everything.”

Steve sighed and tenderly took his hand. He brought it up his lips and kissed each knuckle separately.

“The music business isn’t a forgiving industry at the best of times,” he murmured gently. “But it’s really rough on relationships. All kinds of relationships. Family, friends, lovers. But you’ve got me, okay?”

Eddie let out a low shuddering breath and then nodded.

“So tell me about your day,” he said with a slightly crooked smile. “You talk to Robin and your friends?”

Steve looked around the bar and nodded. “Robin says she’s working on the change of scenery, but she’s not sure how long it’s going to take. As for the other thing... we’re split down the middle. Me and Spence want June, while Simon and Shane want January.”

Eddie cocked his head to the side. “Why the split?”

“Spence and I have hope we can get the,” he lowered his voice, “album,” he raised his voice again, “done and want the time to finish it. While the other two are clawing at the walls, chomping at the bit, and just begging for a chance to travel again.”

Eddie sighed. “I’m sorry, Stevie. We’re pretty much into editing portion of the album and agreeing on the song order. But we can tour whenever. That’s the best part about being us. We can take six months to do five shows if we wanted to and our fans would eat it up. But if your guys want to wait until next summer, then we can do that. If your guys want to leave right after the New Year, fuck we can do that too.”

Steve sighed. “The record label is just pushing us to the limits and I think even Robin is beginning to crack. First there was the mix up with our contracts then this new thing, plus the touring and everything else. It’s a lot put on her and she’s starting to go mad.”

“They like to do that, unfortunately,” Eddie agreed. “I know Celeste is a good manager, but I think that The Fallen could use an actual agent, someone to take the load off of her back.”

Steve chewed his lip. “But won’t they have to be brought in on the secret if The Fallen were to get an agent?”

“Not if you don’t want them to,” Eddie said with a shrug. “A lot people use stage names they have to have contracts. So...” he waved his hand. “I’m assuming Celeste has control of all the fiddly business stuff for each member of the band?”

Steve shrugged. “Pretty much I guess.”

“They could work through Celeste if the band doesn’t want them to know,” Eddie said with another shrug. “But I recommend bringing them in. They can’t put out fires if they don’t know there’s more than just smoke.”

Steve rubbed his bottom lip. “Yeah...I don’t know. I’m not in the band so I couldn’t say for sure, I’m only a lowly peon.”

“Maybe, but they trust you,” Eddie scoffed. “Look I get that you don’t feel like you think the band can trust someone else with this, but agents are there to protect the band. They could lose all their business if they went around blabbing shit about their clients.”

“Maybe they should just get yours,” Steve joked. “Who is it?”

“Nancy Wheeler.”

The color drained from Steve’s face and he shook his head. “We’ll find someone else. I don’t–can’t trust her with a secret that big.”

Eddie tilted his head to side as he considered Steve’s odd reaction.

“Oh shit.”

Steve laughed weakly. “Yeah, oh shit.”

Nancy was another one of Hawkins High’s alums. Bright and powerful, smart and capable. Steve could see why Corroded Coffin had gone with her. Only he couldn’t trust her to hand him a knife, much less a secret as big as this one.

They had dated before she decided that he wasn’t ambitious enough for her and dumped him for Jonathan Byers. But not before cheating on him with the guy first.

Nancy had stabbed Steve in the back once, he had no desire to give her the ammunition to do it again.

Eddie paid for their drinks, and then took his hand to lead him outside. He pulled them into a small alleyway, barely big enough to fit them both, where they would have some privacy.

Eddie took Steve’s face in his hands and pressed their foreheads together, letting their breaths mingle. Steve’s fast and panicked, Eddie’s slow and calm.

Eventually Steve’s breaths matched Eddie’s and Eddie sealed their lips together.

“You’re okay, baby,” he soothed. “I’ve got you. You’re safe in my hands. You know that right?”

Steve gasped, taking in air as if coming up from the bottom of a vast lake and break the water for the first time.

Eddie combed his fingers through Steve’s hair as the other man fought to get his emotions under control.

Steve let out one more shuddering breath and Eddie smiled. “There you are. I was getting worried for a moment there, sweetheart.”

“I’m sorry,” he murmured. “Opening up our secret to other people is always terrifying, but Nancy? That’s monster level dread right there.”

Eddie continued to run his fingers through Steve’s hair. “I understand that, but do know what would happen if she did that? She wouldn’t just lose you as a client, she would lose her whole catalogue of clients. Corroded Coffin included. And not just because of who we are to each other. It would be such a serious breech of confidentiality that she would literally be scorch earth’ing her whole career.”

Steve let out a long breath. He knew that objectively. He knew that she also could just not take him as a client. Decide that The Fallen wasn’t worth the risk.

“What if we sent in Robin as Celeste Baptiste and see what she thinks?” Eddie suggested. “You know Robin’s instinct is killer. It’s why she’s such a good manager. Or even better, why doesn’t Robin meet with Chrissy and have Chrissy go over agents with her and see what Robin thinks? That okay?”

Steve smiled and brought their lips together. “You take such good care of me, Eds. I love you so much.”

“Back ‘atcha, pretty boy.”

Eddie’s phone rang and he picked it up.

“‘Ello?”

He pinched his nose and sighed. “Yeah. How long?”

There was brief pause as he listened to the other person on the line.

“I’ll check Mancharo’s and El Dios and you check out that strip of bars a few blocks south of the hotel.”

Again he listened, his brows furrowing deeper.

“Then I’ll just hit up El Dios and let you know if I find him,” Eddie muttered and then hung up.

“Fuck!”

Steve rubbed the wrinkles between Eddie’s nose until his pinched expression soften.

“That was Jeff,” Eddie murmured when he was calm enough. “Gareth stormed out of his therapy session today and hasn’t been seen since. They thought he was in his room, but when they checked, he was gone.”

Steve ran his hands up and down Eddie’s arms soothingly. “I’m sorry, Eds. Do you want me to go with you?”

Eddie wanted to answer yes, but if Gareth saw Steve he would absolutely pitch the biggest bitch fit outside of literal toddlers.

“Nah,” he murmured instead. “You’ve had a rough day. I’ll call you when I have news, okay?”

Steve nodded. “I love you, babe.”

“Back ‘atcha, darlin’.”

Steve sighed as he watched his boyfriend hail a cab.

He pulled out his phone and went right to Gareth’s Instagram. His location was off but Steve almost recognized the background.

He called Robin and sent her the picture. “We’ve been here before, right?”

“Uh...” she said. “Yeah! Dustin’s twenty-first! The Devil’s End!”

“If you weren’t a lesbian and I wasn’t dating Eddie I would kiss you on the mouth!”

“Eww...” she huffed. “You going to tell me what this is about?”

“Meet me at the apartment and I’ll fill you in.”

Then he sent off a brief text to Eddie.

-Try The Devil’s End. It’s where we had Dustin’s birthday bash.

The reply was almost immediate.

-God I love you.

-On it, babe.

Steve smiled to himself as he put his phone away. He couldn’t repay Eddie back for how kind he had been tonight, but at least he could help with this.

He just hoped Gareth was okay.

He knew that this business could and would chew up the best of people and spit them back out again without a single care.

Having a double life helped keep Steve and his friends humble. But he had no doubts in his mind that that could change at any moment.

Because if it wasn’t the business that would do the trick, it would be the isolation of not being able to tell anyone about what they really do for a living.

If he was being honest with himself, had it not been for Eddie figuring out who he was, Steve would have bet on himself being the first to fall to the Beast.

Both of his parents were raging alcoholics and he knew for awhile there when he was in middle school, his mom had gotten into some pretty heavy drugs.

It was why his high school days were so lonely. Because his dad was either hauling her off to rehab, or going on long trips where he would cheat on her and the cycle would begin again.

But now, with Eddie to keep him grounded?

His bet was on Simon. Hands down. The guy was very insecure outside of his alter ego Asmodeus.

If Steve only knew.

Trouble was brewing on the horizon, just not in the way Steve had thought it would go.

****

Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 Part 16 Part 17 Part 18 Part 19 Part 20 Part 21 Part 22 Part 23 Part 24 Part 25

Tag List: @mira-jadeamethyst @rozzieroos @itsall-taken @redfreckledwolf @emly03

@spectrum-spectre @estrellami-1 @zerokrox-blog @gregre369 ​@a-little-unsteddie

@chaosgremlinmunson @messrs-weasley @danili666 @chaoticlovingdreamer @maya-custodios-dionach

@val-from-lawrence @goodolefashionedloverboi @i-must-potato @carlyv @wonderland-girl143-blog

@justforthedead89 @vecnuthy @irregular-child @yikes-a-bee @bookbinderbitch

@bookworm0690 @anne-bennett-cosplayer @awkwardgravity1 @littlewildflowerkitten @genderless-spoon

@cinnamon-mushroomabomination @y4r3luv @dragonmama76 @scheodingers-muppet @ellietheasexylibrarian

@thedragonsaunt @useless-nb-bisexual @disrespectedgoatman @eyehartart @dawners

@thespaceantwhowrites @tinyplanet95 @iamthehybrid @croatoan-like-its-hot @papergrenade

@cryptid-system @counting-dollars-counting-stars @ravenfrog @w1ll0wtr33

[ofmdrecaps]

09/02-03/2024 Daily OFMD Recap

TLDR; David Jenkins; Rhys Darby; Taika Waititi; Samba Schutte; Con O'Neill; Kristian Nairn; Nathan Foad; Leslie Jones; Lindsey Cantrell; Connor Barrett; Dominic Burgess; Sept 2: OFMD Marmalade Day; Trends; Articles; TellTaleTV Final Round; WWDITS 10th Anniversary Blurays; FanSpotlight: FanWeeks: OFMD Sequel Week; Stede Whump Week; Never Left Podcast; Love Notes;

== David Jenkins ==

David's out at the US Open with Kinga!

Source: David Jenkins' Instagram Stories

== Rhys Darby ==

Rhys is EVERYWHERE this week, jeez. He really is causing a stir on every single platform, let me tell you. Below he's having a bit of a drink with some friends, out and about with Rosie!

Source: Facebook

Next up-- there's a new Indy Dramedy that just wrapped called "Song Of The Bigfoot" and Deadline has some new info on it!

Source: Rhys' Instagram Stories

Rhys is also looking to help raise some funds for the Kitten Rescue we all remember well from earlier this year! You can bid on this signed OFMD picture of the cast! To bid, visit here.

Source: Rhys' Twitter

Rhys also shared an older video of him discussing wanting to be Earths Ambassador!

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by 10,000 Dreams x Fraser Grut (@frasergrut)

Source: Rhys Darby's Instagram

Annnnnd more shots are becoming available from the 100th episode of the Cryptid Factor, Live in London!

Source: The Cryptid Factor Instagram

And finally, Last But CERTAINLY not least, there's a new The Cryptid Factor special episode for the $10 / Tier on Patreon!

Source: The Cryptid Factor Patreon

== Taika Waititi ==

Some more shots of Taika while he was out and about! Also a recipe for the Pispili that he and Andy Hearnden shared on instagram a while back!

Source: Instagram

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by Andy Cooks (@andyhearnden)

and lastly a quick little tiktok of the Forever Young Rita & Taika!

Source: Rita Ora's Tiktok

== Samba Schutte ==

Samba's out at Nickelodeon studios doing some voice over work!

Source: Samba's Instagram

== Kristian Nairn / WJW ==

Surprise #WeeJohnWednesday! 9pm BST (4pm EST, 1pm PST) tomorrow-- Sept 4!

Source: Kristian's Twitter

A huge thank you to @adoptourcrew for getting us the Kristian Nairn OFMD blurb from the latest Popverse Article (it is behind a sign up, but here's the article!)

Source: Adopt Our Crew Twitter

== Con O'Neill ==

Con taking a nap with Cooper now that he's back from Mexico <3 (and David Fane was a sweetheart and popped his head in as well).

Source: Con's Instagram

== Nathan Foad ==

Nathan back at the bedroom selfies again!

Source: Nathan's Instagram Stories

== Linds Cantrell ==

Linds Cantrell did an Ask Me Anything on Instagram today while she was waiting for a plane! She answered several questions, including something regarding OFMD BTS which may be completely out, but she'll be going to LA Comic Con in October! I'm planning on making a post with all her answers when I get a moment, but here's a few!

Source: Lindsey Cantrell's Instagram Stories

== Leslie Jones ==

Leslie is out here rocking a workout, and looking bad ass <3

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by Leslie Jones (@lesdogggg)

Source: Leslie Jones Instagram

== Dominic Burgess ==

Our dear Jeffrey Fettering, Dominic, blessed us today with some kitties as well as a shot.. of well him getting a shot!

Source: Dominic's Twitter

== September 2, Marmalade Day ==

Several of our crew members continued the September festivities with Marmalade Day on Sept 2!

Source: HSavernake's Twitter

Source: Astroglide Twitter

== Articles ==

Thank you @adoptourcrew for sharing another article talking about OFMD!

Source: Adopt Our Crew's Twitter

== More Trends ==

Heyyy guess who was trending on Sept 2 on TUMBLR! (I believe it was because of the Sept 1 Dickfuck/Lighthouse day, but could be have been more! let me know if you know something else happened! Thank you to the badass @poison-into-positivity for catching it <3

Source: @poison-into-positivity's Tumblr

== Tell Tale TV Voting Reminders ==

Reminder! Stede and Ed are in the final round of Ship of the Year! Please visit TellTale TV! Thank you @ofmd-ann for the reminder dear!

Source: Ofmd-Ann's Tumblr

== What We Do In The Shadows Bluray ==

Okay so WWDITS is not OFMD but it has Rhys and Taika so gonna send a boost out of this! Thank you to the absolutely spectacular @ jimjim531969 over on twitter for always bringing the latest cool news regarding the cast. You truly are a gem <3

Also per Jim:

Links to pre-order the WWDITS 10th anniversary blu-ray:

Australia & NZ (16 October, 2024)

USA & Canada (November 1st, 2024): Amazon or Barnes & Noble

UK (01/11/2024)

Source: @ jimjim531969 on Twitter

== Fan Spotlight ==

= Upcoming Fan Weeks =

* OFMD Sequel Week *

There's a new Fan-Week been announced for Nov 17 - 23, OFMD Sequel Week! Check them out on Twitter and give them a follow to keep up with the latest news!

Source: OFMDSequelWeek Twitter

* Stede Whump Week *

Stede Whump Week will be happening 28 Oct - 3rd Nov, and the bingo cards for that week are now available on Twitter!

Source: Stede Whump Week Twitter

= Never Left Podcast =

There's a new episode of Never Left out, and it's Part 2 of the discussion on Birds! Wanna check it out? Visit their linktr.ee!

Source: Never Left Podcast Instagram

== Love Notes ==

Hey lovelies. Hoping your week is progressing in an upward direction. I hopefully get to finally talk to my dad tomorrow after over a week of everything going on, so I'll be in and out of things again. I know everyone is dealing with their own level of craziness right now, and I want to remind you that you're doing great no matter what you're dealing with. It could be little, it could be huge, it could be life-changing, or could be making you regress further back than you'd like-- whatever it is, you are getting through the best way you can, and you never have to feel bad about that.

I know it can feel like there's never an end to the chaos-- but remember that there are pockets of joy and love there in this life too, and however you need to cope with your daily struggles, don't feel bad in taking solace in that. Enjoy the little things, no matter how small. Rest up lovelies, breathe in, breathe out, drink some water, and keep going. Below is a very appropriate love note (for me personally but for so many others as well), courtesy of the amazing The Latest Kate. Not everything is clear right now, but it'll get there, just stay with us, and don't give up. Sending you so much love, crew <3

Source: The Latest Kate's Tumblr

[simp-ly-writes]

Friend of the Captain (pt.2)

Pairing: Edward "Eddie" Horniman x afab!Reader

Summary: Years had past since you had last seen Eddie. Doctor, CEO and soon to be girlfriend of another man. You end up seeing him at Freddy and Tammy's wedding yet other forces keep pulling your both away from admitting to your feelings. What will it take for one of you to see the truth?- as Charlotte ever so indelicately puts it.

Warnings: 3755 words, utter jealousy, language, and light teasing, angst to potential fluff and lots and lots of pining.

A/N: I have watched an unhealthy amount of edits while on dinner break- I must be stopped (gods i'm supposed to be on break!)- this is way longer than I was expecting it to be, perhaps even a part three...

Masterlist | Taglist | somewhat un-edited.

(pt.1) (pt.2) (pt.3)

↳ Years had past since you had last seen Edward. You still kept in contact with his siblings and his mother, of course. Lady Sabrina refused to let you go- often sending various treats and letters towards your family's estate, you called her ever other week with updates to your studies, travels, and love life. Your mother teasingly voiced her jealousy towards her best friend choosing her own daughter over her best friend.

↳ You often joined the older ladies out for a dinner or lunch with Charlotte tagging along when she was not in school (yet you would never tell Charlotte's parents otherwise to you signing her out as a trusted guardian and taking her even out of the country some weekends). Clicking your glasses together while looking down upon the busy London streets, you smirked seeing someone wearing a piece of yours from across the street.

Tugging at your mothers dress-sleeve she trued around in her seat, grasping your hand in a tight squeeze of excitement and pride as her wrist glittered in your newest bracelet collection. After finishing your PHD of Business Administration you took a fake name to hide your identity for the public and papers for as long as you could. You often blushed now- seeing your face on gossip articles with your date of the evening.

Dinner tonight was a celebration of your recent contract with an up-and-coming movie star- he would be wearing your necklaces on the red carpet by the end of the week. A bottle of bubbly, bubbled your laughter to the surface as they all screamed in your ear, jumping up and down and clapping their hands in the restaurant as you ducked your head, trying to stray away from the attention.

↳ Unknowing to you though is that your's and Edward's mother collected all the gossip magazines, continuing their bet as Sabrinas heart fell every time you looked so in love with your new partner. Charlotte would often make side comments about your "slut era" she called it as you knocked her shoulder with your own, rolling your eyes before your mother swatted your shoulder at the dinner table and insisted on maintaining appearances in the public eye.

--

↳ When inside your studio-office space, drafting up new designs with your creative team. You spun around of your chair and became shocked when you eventually rolled back around to find a wax-sealed envelope with the Halstead crest so beautifully stamped. Peeling away the wax as carefully as you could, the thick, textured paper settled nicely between our hands as you read through the invitation. Tears beginning to well in your eyes before you were squealing in Freddy's ear through the desk-phone as he winced and handed the phone over to Tammy. Both laughing over your childish excitement to their own wedding.

↳ You called the brainstorming off early, rushing to help Tammy find just the right dress later that afternoon as she thanked you for assisting with the wedding planing (already fed up with Lady Sabrina's input into the event- though she was funding a large portion of it due to Freddys... interesting resume).

↳ Wedding dress shopping happened later that spring as you teared up seeing the woman in white. Helping her into your exclusively design accessories and veil. Later that day, you third-wheeled the couple during cake testing- eating double of your weight in sweets as your teeth ached afterwards.

↳ During the bridal party. You all got dressed up in small red dresses and matching heels as you style one another's hair and got your nails done for the evening. You all went to a bar to start of the week strong, you had never felt so carefree and young after the countless sleepless nights of being a CEO and Doctorate student- you really let yourself go that night. Waking up in the bed of a stranger who wrapped their muscled arm over your waist.

Trying to wiggle your way out of their grip and find your various articles of clothing spread round the downtown flat, you ended up stealing one of their shirts- not bothering to look at the design plastered on the front as you placed your phone on to charge and started breakfast.

The oven dinged, the eggs were done as you put out a spread across the countertop before doing a light clean of last nights activities- doing your best to put away things where you thought they belonged and were stopped halfway by an arm pulling you back into their chest and placing a kiss against your forehead, "thank you, love. Didn't have to do any of this at all- I appreciate it very much."

A blush spread over your cheeks as you led them towards the still hots plates and ate together. There name was William from your foggy memories of last night. By the groaning the man in front of you was excepting while pouring himself a coffee, he seemed as well wasted as you were.

"Can I get you any Advil or orange juice?" William asks, placing a coffee in front of you with a smile as you wipe your mouth and take a small sip. "No, I'm alright." When washing up the dishes together, he offered to place your things in the wash while making small talk throughout and even going for a round three later that morning.

Becoming lost in the bubble you both formed for yourselves, hands casting through the short strands of dirty blonde hair that tickled your palms. Your heart dropped in the slightest bit when his phone rang as a show you were both listening to in the background was paused. He whispered a sorry towards you, patting your knee before taking a stand and walking over to the bedroom, you could only hear the start to the conversation, "Captain, everythin' alright?"

Deeming yourself overstaying your welcome, you walked towards the hall bathroom, preparing yourself for the next day and left a small note with your name attached, softly shutting the door behind you before leaning your forehead against it. A stupid smile showing itself across your features as your hands drifted through your contacts, landing on Charlottes picture as it dinged for a few moments.

"Girl, where the fuck have you been since last night?"

"I think I'm in love Char," you stated while the elevator doors closed behind you and the busy city streets awaited you.

--

↳ In the remaining days of the bridal party, you all rented out a vineyard, playing various lawn games with sunbathing by the pool. You subconsciously looked up towards the glass doors of the modern home- unknowing of what you were expecting before returning to your book, humming along to the radio as Tammy splashed you with her dive. Drawing a quick 10 score on your phones notes app and presenting it to her, Charlotte snorted and did a dive of her own as you all laughed and enjoyed the warm weather.

--

↳ Your did frown later that night when William had yet to text you, throwing your phone onto the bed. You really have to get yourself together, you thought to yourself- waiting here on some guy... some guy that treated me fairly. And in this day and age, it was a rare sight to find. Charlotte had already given you a major thumbs up as did the rest of your university friends and some of the past boyfriends you still kept in contact with. They all approved.

↳ Looking into your suitcase, you picked up Williams freshly washed shirt- you had forgotten to return it as your head drifted towards your phone. A perfect excuse to see him once more, your fingers drifted over the keys, breath paused on the send button before tapping the green arrow in a split second. Your adrenaline soared as you ruffled your hair, huffing out and looking at the shirt once more.

Your fingers drifted over the warn edges, pausing at the left breast pocket before your eyes went wide in shock. Displayed was the same coat of arms as Eddies regiment, FUCK, FUCK, FUCK. Was all you could think, hands now gripping at your roots as that text now burred your phone and your mind. It was the night before the wedding at by the looks of it, you were going to be up with your thoughts.

--

↳ The day of the wedding at arrived, you smoothed out your dress as you waited in front of the large wooden doors to the Halstead estate. The wedding was being held in the gardens- now in full bloom as the first week of summer sprang into season. The blush pink complimented your rosy cheeks as you sweated lightly in the blissful heat, everyone had already been partnered up and as the maid of honour- you were more than worried that Freddy's best man had yet to appear

Much to your shock, Edward slowed his steps, feet tripping over the blood red rug beneath your feet as he stumbled to a straight stand by your side. He dropped his gaze down towards your shoes, taking a long drag up of your form before casting you a charming smile. The voices around you soon became muffled as your gaze fell onto his broad shoulders, the scar against his chin and you wondered if the scar you left from throwing a rock at his head while children's was still behind his ear in the same place you remembered it to be.

He wore a navy suit, crisp white shirt underneath as his tie held small pink flowers- perfectly matching your dress. He picked up your hand, maintaining eye contact as he pressed a light kiss to your gloved hand. You were ever-so thankful for purchasing the matching gloves in this moment, holding that the material hid your light shakes from his reassuring hold. His hand soon slipped up your arm. Breath hitching as strings began to play in the background.

His fingers drifted to the skin left uncovered by your tall gloves and dresses arm before looping his arm with your own. The doors soon opened as you both faced forward, smiles plastered on brightly as you walked in perfect rhythm down the isle. You looked towards one another, a few gasps being hear distantly in the crowd yet you couldn't bring your eyes to see where the sound came from. Arms dropping as you continued separately to your respective sides.

Looking up towards the clear blue skies, letting out a breath, your gaze turned to find Freddy looking at you, soft smile on his face as he gave you a singular nod before turning to his wife who began her walk down the isle. You took her bouquet, tears streaming down your eyes as you silently sobbed in happiness for the couple.

You clapped when they kissed, cheered as Freddy dipped her as Lady Sabrina tossed a comment on their outrageous display yet you haded her the bouquet as she shut her mouth abruptly, turning quickly behind to stare at your mother who was already watching as you and Eddie walked down the isle, arm and arm. Your gaze solely focused on the couple, unknowing to the man on your arm who stared at you the whole time- enamoured by your happiness as another stood in the back isle's, rose in hand they stole from the gardens as they waited for the festivities to start.

--

↳ As the first dance had finished and the cake had been cut, the DJ started to turn on the selected playlist and you headed straight to the bar in order to hug the newly weds who had a mission of getting absolutely wasted by the end of the night. After chatting with them for a few moments, a cough from behind you has your eyes going wide as does everyone else in the general area who stops to watch

You pause, drink slipping through your fingers as they catch it just in time with a smirk. "Hello, love," William speaks in hushed tones, knowing of the curious glances around you. Your eyes fly across the white warm-event weather uniform he wears. The sharp colour of his blue pants matching his eyes as your mouth soon falls agape. He takes a hand, lightly underneath your chin as he closes your mouth, pressing a kiss to the side of your lips.

Your eye's drift over to his shoulder, looking at his rank as you return a kiss to his cheek in greeting, now taking the barstool behind you as he leans against the bar top, taking his hat off and setting it between you. "Why hello there, Lieutenant," you say before taking a sip of your drink to gain some liquid courage as the eyes around you both begin to turn back to their personal conversations.

"You know my rank?" he questions with a raised brow as you shrug your shoulders. "Have close friends in the military as well, memorized all that chest candy," you state, eyes now darting across the metals he displays. Williams chuckles, ordering himself a drink as the bartender nods in confirmation as you both ease into conversation with one another.

--

↳ Eddie currently talks with his family as Freddy perks his interest. "Did you see that guy she's been talking to at the bar?- dude is seriously laying it on thick." Freddy rolls his eyes as you throw your head back in laughter, hand pressed against the white uniform as the man looks down to your touch with another teeth-filled smile. Charlotte shrugs, stealing a sip of Eddies drink as their mother quickly steals the wine glass from her and returns it to Eddies open hand who tries to peer over Freddys shoulder as he continues on and on about the bachelor party he had.

Eddies eyes go wide, seeing the white uniform, seeing you pressed up against another mans chest as he spins you lightly, eyeing you up and down and how your dress twirls at your feet as you get both of your glass topped off once more. His gaze hardens as he catches Williams face, his arm drifting around your waist, mouth pressed to your ear as he kisses your skin teasingly- eyes darting towards the door as you look up at him through your lashes.

Eddie's hands turn into fists, his eyebrows furrowed as he starts to take a step forward yet Freddy still mindlessly talks as nobody is now listening as Charlotte begins to fill their mother in as she looks towards her son with concern. Hand ghosting on his arm that he has yet to take notice of. He watches as you bite your lip, pulling at his collar as you trace the seams of his uniform. Eddie lets out a sharp breath of air as he seems your lipstick begin to stain his skin, his mothers hand now tight against his arm as he stares down at it.

Charlotte shakes her hand, Sabrina now walking away to talk to your mother sat in the corner conversing with Tammy's parents. Freddy had finally taken notice of the lack of attention, returning to his wife's side as they stole bites from the cake before the official cutting. When Eddie turns back to see where you went, the bar is empty the door swinging closed as he speedily walks towards the hall only to find it empty both ways. As he begins to walk, a cough has him turning around to find Charlotte taking off her heels as she leans against the wall next to a suit of armour.

"Thought that you two were not together, no feelings right?" she presses, gaze determined as she slips off the last of her heels and begins to walk towards her brother who's shoulders only rise in their tensed form. He shakes himself off as she stands directly in front of him, shaking off his suit as he adjusts his suit-cuffs. "No, still is the case- just worried for my childhood friend is all."

"Alright, then..." Charlotte takes notice as his eyes keep darting back down the hall behind her, hope and hatred bleeding through his eyes as she smirk's, going in for the jab. "...If thats all you care about, he's a good man- that not right Captain?- They fucked a few times..." Charlotte presses her heels into her brothers chest as he keeps them there. His sister signals him to follow her outside as they begin to stroll towards the gardens all those Christmas's ago.

"She even told me she's in love with him-"

"What?" Edward asks in a breathy tone, his heart dropping as his sister continues walking further into the gardens and towards the centre fountain. "I warned you before Edwina, she's too good to have to wait so others take action. You had your time with her it seems, now it is time for someone else to take your place." She ends with a bittersweet smile. "You know... I always hoped she would become my actual sister- mom too but a best friend is better than nothing at all, right?"

The sharpness of her words twists itself deep in Edwards heart as he staggers, shoes dropped to the gravel beneath his feet, hands clenching at his tie that now seems too tight, his breathing laboured as he starts to see blood flashing on his hand and across his face. He hears your laughter filling his ears, the smell of your conditioner flooding his nose as it drifts off with the evening air.

--

↳ When Eddie returns to his work on boarder patrol, checking various people and their cars through the checkpoint. He enters the change-room at the end of every night, giving a nod and handing off his gun towards another officer who would be taking over the night patrol that evening.

↳ He often see's William changing as he enters, his shift ending 30 minutes before his own. He looks at the mans back, the angry red ail marks clawing their way up to his shoulders as the muscles his his back flex when a shirt covers up majority of the markings yet this shirt is old and warn. Having lost a great deal of his green colour, now a muted muddy colour as the neck hands low.

↳ Edward see's the the hickeys you undoubtedly left across his collarbones and neck, he recognizes that bite from the occasional moment you both shared as teenagers. William nods towards his superior officer outside of working hours. Picking up his jacket before moving to the sleeping quarters. Eddie sits on the centre bench, elbows against his knees, hands in his head as he grips and tugs at his hair. Frustration eating him alive as he imagines your touch, your lips against his own, the taste of your skin-

↳ Every day the same, every vacation time taken at a similar point as he notices a year afterwards the diamond ring hanging off Williams dog tags. He constant has been looking at it underneath his uniform throughout shifts, smiling before his mask returns as another car pulls forward. Eddies brain was struggling to come to cope with the images of that small ring hanging off Williams neck. He cursed himself alive as Freddy punched him square across the face when he drunkly ranted towards his brother a weekend he spent back home

↳ When he returned back to base, the ring he had around his dog tags was gone. William nodded towards the Captain as usual, that little display now irking him- pouring more fire into the gaping wound he sustained as the lieutenant paused. Face turning over his shoulder as eh spoke out into the empty change room, "I have been requested by management to switch towards the front lines... It has been a pleasure working with you sir. I wish you the best."

"Thank you, William. Do take care of her," Eddie states, looking at him square in the eyes. "Till the day she loves me no longer and afterwards," William promises before gently closing the door behind himself. Eddie does now feel himself crying before he calls his mother, not saying a word as he cries, she cries, as he can feel his fathers disappointment, his sisters distaste, and Eddies side remarks.

↳ But why stop at that? Eddie was soon being called back for your engagement photo, he glared at the ring on your finger. It's small for a jeweller, he thinks to himself yet had already bought the ticket, a gift and written a card voicing his congratulations to you both.

--

↳ Edward was beyond confused to walk into the empty venue space a few months later. Handmade stars hug above his head, a tray of champagne by his feet as the lights were dimmed, the afternoon sun finding its way through the blinds casting patterns onto the hardwood floors beneath. In his steps, the floors creaked as your tearstained face meet his eyes. He walked faster, taking a kneel beside you as you flung yourself into his chest as he dropped the gift, kicking it aside and held you tightly to himself. Hands beginning to drift through your hair as he pressed a kiss to the crown of your head.

He felt your tears staining his sweater, the rapid spikes of your shoulders as you sharply breathed between sobs. "H-He, He cheated on me! I fuckin' love another man and he cheats on me!" you wail, shaking your head into his neck as he rubs your back. Eddie holds himself from question the slight hope at, love another man.

"I am sorry to hear that darling, you are the most underserving person of such treatment I know. Downright motherfucker," Eddie whispers into your hair before you fall backwards, tugging Eddie by his shoulders to join you laying on the floors. You both stare up into the various stars coating the ceiling as you squeeze your hand in his own larger one.

A few moments pass as you listen to each other breathe in the empty room. Rain slowly begins to fall against the window panes as you turn your head to already find Eddie look at you with a soft smile. "Thank you, Eddie, for staying here with me... you're the best friend I could ever ask for," you speak out softly, hand resting on his cheek as he turns his head to kiss your palm.

"Always."

(pt.1) (pt.2) (pt.3)

↳ Taglist: @daffodilstark @leavemeslowly

[butididntpourthewhiskeys]

🤍 seven feet in the swing - I 🤍

As Taylor pushes open the door, the familiar creak feels heavier than usual, like a warning. The house is quiet, a stark contrast to the bustling studio she just left behind.

"Trav?" she calls out, her voice wavering slightly, but the only answer is the silence that envelops her. She sighs, drops her bag by the door. She sighs when she receives no answer, turns on the lights in the hallway and realizes that he's not home. The gym is locked by the alarm system. The lights are off. And it's not the same. It's not the same as it used to be when she came home from the studio, knowing he was in the city. The living room greets her with its disarray—pillows scattered, his stinky sweatshirt from his earlier workout hanging over one of their dining chairs. Her sigh bounces off the walls, but it's met with only the soft patter of paws coming from their hiding spots, weaving around her legs gently. She kneels down to scratch Olivia behind their ears. She smiles. In contrast to her sister, this cat will forever be happy to see her. 

"Where's dad?" she whispers to herself and the cat and gets up again, the phone she just placed on the dining table lighting up. 

Hey babe, I'll be home late. Got caught up with some stuff. Don't wait for me.

Stuff. She can imagine what that word implicates. He met up with a few of his buddies for drinks. A new habit of his that she wasn't used to up until last year. Last year when he hurt his knee bad enough to know that he won't be able to play for another cycle. Last year on that rainy day in Rhode Island, when she held him for hours, his face pressed against her chest, crying like a child, knowing that one of the most important times of his life would come to an end soon. She knows he's been struggling ever since he quit football, but it feels like he's pulling further away, like the distance between them has become a chasm. At first, she thought he just needed time to grieve the end of football. She thought he needed time to clear his head, get clear on what projects he wants to focus on post season. But then, he did get those projects kick started. He got the roles he wanted, he got the success he wanted and she's there. She's always been there, to celebrate and support him at every step of his way. But still, things are different. Old feelings of anxiety are slowly interrupting her dreams at night nowadays. Songs that once were about the deep feeling of happiness have slowly become more dark, angsty, melancholic. She's been here before. Right before she left London four years ago, she found herself in the exact same spot. Next to her partner, but feeling completely alone.

Taylor swallows, making her way into their bedroom. She can't think like that, can't always compare her relationship to past ones. She quickly turns on the little night light, yawns loudly as she sits down on her side of the bed and takes off her shoes. A lot has changed in this house since Travis moved in as well. Getting married has made it even easier to turn every single one of her houses into their house. A bigger bed, more space for his sneakers and a new wallpaper are lighting up the room. It's not just her space anymore, it's his space too. And she'd be lying if she said she didn't love it. She loves sharing her life with this man. From the moment he made her laugh for the very first time, almost exactly three years ago, Taylor knew that her heart would never be the same. He opened up areas of her soul she thought were closed up forever. He brought nothing but joy, excitement and magic into her life and she wants to be the same for him, especially now where he's the one dealing with some hard stuff. 

Taylor yawns once more, changes into one of his t-shirts that she usually sleeps in and enters their shared bathroom. It's not even ten o'clock but she's absolutely exhausted, which is not typical for her at all. She's usually a night owl, having a completely different sleep rhythm to most people she knows, which entails going to bed more often when the lights come out and sleeping well into the afternoon. She's gotten a lot better after the eras tour has ended, but going to sleep at ten o'clock is early, even for her. 

Taylor reaches for one of her hair clips to stick up her hair a little before washing her face with warm water. A few minutes later she's brushed her teeth, moisturized her face and sighs slightly annoyed when picking up some of Travis' socks that he managed to toss right underneath the sink instead of simply placing them in the laundry basket. She still doesn't understand why that's so hard? With cold hands and a few cramps in her stomach, Taylor turns off the light in the master bathroom and sneaks under the sheets of their shared bed. She reaches for her phone and checks her emails for a moment. Benjamin has just made his way onto the soft bedsheets and Taylor just caresses the soft fur for a moment.

"I know. Dad is coming home late. We can go to bed already.." she mumbles to the little cat that confusedly starts to pull at Travis' side of the bed.

A few moments later, she closes her eyes, fighting sleep until her body just gives in.

___

Taylor wakes up all of the sudden, a loud bang of the front door causing her to sit up in bed upright. She feels dizzy, slightly nauseous from having been taken out of her deep sleep all of the sudden. Her night light is still on, and even the cats are looking at her confused. Trav's side of the bed is still empty. She swallows. Her hair in all directions, her eyes puffy from sleep.

"Trav?" she yells tiredly, realizing quickly that the loud bang of the door must have been her husband coming home, finally. She checks her phone quickly. 1:37am. She can't believe he is just now coming home. For a moment, she can't hear anything from downstairs. He also didn't answer her, which is absolutely unlike him.

"Baby?" she tries one more time. No answer. Taylor feels panic arise in her. She's alone in the house. If this was Travis, he would've replied to her already. Just when she reaches for her phone to give him a call is when she hers footsteps coming up the stairs and towards the bedroom.

"Travis?" she yells again, no answer. Immediately, Taylor feels her hands getting sweaty. Her breathing pattern becomes faster and more shallow. Someone broke into the house. She needs to call security, right now, before whoever this person is gets to her. With shaking hands, she tries to unlock her phone, but fails. Panic builds up in her like a tidal wave. This is it. The person who intruded her home will be in this room in less than two seconds. For a moment, she feels helpless. A whining cry emerging from her mouth all of the sudden when she starts to rummage the drawer next to her bed for her pepper spray. This is it. Her biggest nightmare is coming true. She can feel Benjamin jumping from his spot, seeming to feel the fear radiating from her. And just when she was about to scream, he just stands in the doorway. Him. The big, tall guy she knows so well. Within a second, she starts crying and he looks at her with utter confusion.

"Tay, what.."

"Why didn't you answer?!" she sobs yelling, immediately getting up. She feels so ridiculous all of the sudden. Ridiculous, ashamed, angry.

"What do you mean?" he just asks, standing there in his sweats in confusion, taking one of his AirPods out of his ears.

"I heard you come home and I called you and you didn't answer!" she says, tears streaming down her face. She's angry. Angry and terrified. For a moment, she really feared for her life.

"I.. I had my headphones in listening to a podcast. I'm sorry, babe. I didn't hear anything when I.."

"You know how scared I get when I'm alone in the house and.."

"Tay, I swear to god, if I had heard you, I would've.." "You can't just walk up the stairs in the middle of the night and not let me know that it is you." she says then, standing in front of him in nothing but his oversized tee, her long hair curly and in all directions, arms crossed and tears rolling down her cheeks. He feels horrible all of the sudden, notices her hands shaking uncontrollably when she tries to wipe away the tears from her cheek.

"Fuck, I.. I'm so sorry, Tay. I wasn't thinking..."

He's glad she's not yelling anymore. Glad she seems to listen finally.

"I'm so sorry, baby. I really didn't mean to scare you. Come here." he mumbles, immediately pulling her in for a tight hug. His face quickly finds the spot he calls his home. His face in the crook of her neck, the smell of her skin entering his nose and wandering up to his blood stream. Coming home means coming to her. How could he ever forget. How could he forget this feeling for just a second? 

"I'm so so sorry, sweetie." he whispers into her skin a few times, beardy kisses tickling her neck. But all she does is hold on to him with closed eyes. She's safe again. She's finally safe again in his arms.

Travis pulls back, his two hands landing on her cheeks. She can see the shock in his eyes, too. He really didn't mean to scare her. She knows. Her hand wanders to his and she nods, her chin still trembling from before. Travis slowly leans down to plant his forehead against hers. He feels her take a deep breath, trying to calm herself down. He gives her a few seconds, then comes closer to kiss her lips. For a moment, she enjoys his proximity. But then, she notices something else. A very particular smell.

"Have you been smoking?" she asks then, has pulled back and looks at him in confusion. Smoking weed is something he struggled with in school and college, she knows. But it's been something he has done only twice since she knows him. Both times were the night out after winning a Superbowl - a good excuse to pretty much do anything you would like to do to celebrate for the night. But aside from that, Travis pretty much stays away from anything intoxicating at all times. She knows that ending his career as an athlete means more food and alcohol freedom, but she isn't used to him coming home at almost two in the morning on a Tuesday evening smelling like weed. She knows she guessed right, when he just lets go off her face, takes a few steps around the bed to his side, and starts to take off his watch.

"Maybe." he says, and he knows she doesn't like it.

"Uhm.. okay, why?"

He looks at her in pure disbelief, letting out a low hissing sound and shaking his head.

"You're asking me why I smoked?" he says, and she knows this is not a question. He's mad at her for asking. And she's having none of it. Her arms are crossing instantly.

"Yes, I'm asking why you decided to smoke weed on a Tuesday evening."

"Well, mom, I went to celebrate my friend's Parker's fortieth birthday and we tried some of his cigars and then had some weed later on. Is that a problem for you?"

"Why didn't you take me to your friend's birthday party?" she clearly hates the fact that he just called her 'mom' but she won't get into this now. She doesn't understand why he didn't tell her about his plans earlier today. Doesn't understand why he didn't ask her to join him, the way he usually always does. 

Travis just snorts amusedly at her earlier comment, tiredly rubs his eyes while taking off his shirt.

"Baby, this was a boys only thing. None of the guys had their spouses there."

"Okay." she just replies, tries really hard to not make a big deal out of this. And she usually wouldn't. Two years ago, she would've welcomed him with open arms, giggling into his chest over the fact that he smells like an Irish pub on a week night. She would've asked him to walk half naked on a line to prove his alleged sobriety and probably couldn't wait to feel his naked body weight on hers in bed finally. This is how the old Taylor would have reacted. The version of herself that was imminently, ridiculously and uncontrollably in love with this man. Her best friend. Her man. Her future husband. 

The love of her life.

But two years ago, things were different than they are now. There were no texts left unresponded. No weekends in the same city spent apart. No absent of sex for over a week while sleeping in the same bed every night. He's depressed, absent, not himself at the moment. She knows. But she misses him. She misses his smile, his big hands, the happy sparkle in his eyes. She misses the man who always made an effort to be his best version for her. Not the shell of a person she finds standing across the room from her now. Absent, annoyed, almost...cold. 

She swallows, just watches him get ready for bed. 

"I thought you had to fly to LA tomorrow morning?" she asks then, following him into the bathroom where he stands half naked in front of the sink, brushing his teeth with two left hands. He's still high as hell, and there's no denying it. She can tell.

"Yup. Meetings."

"When are you gonna be back?"

"On the eleventh." he mumbles with his toothbrush in his mouth.

"Great. So you'll be gone for a good week and this is how we spend our last evening." she murmurs, obviously hurt and just steps bare feet back to bed. He sighs, rolls his eyes for a moment and follows her to bed as soon as he's dried his face.

"Tay, it's a week. I'm not going away for a month."

She doesn't say anything, just turns off her little night light and tucks herself into bed, facing away from him. She's annoyed, and he can tell. But he's way too out of it right now to have a serious conversation with her right now. It's not a big deal, and he doesn't understand why she has to turn this into one.

Travis snuggles into the sheets as well, sets his phone alarm and turns off the lights on his side, too. He lets himself fall into his pillow, then moves his arm to hold her close. From behind, his lips find their way back into her hair and remain there, kissing her head a few times.

"I'm sorry, baby. Don't be mad at me." he whispers and she sighs. She's not angry, she's sad. For whatever reason, all she can feel is worry and sadness.

"I'm not mad." she whispers back, her hand landing on his that is wrapped tightly around her torso. "I just miss you." she says then and he doesn't react, his lips stealing her naked shoulder one kiss. "I'm right here. I'll always be right here, Tay." he replies and she stays silent for a moment. 

"You're not." 

Travis doesn't move for a moment, then turns around in bed and managed to turn on the little night light again. 

"What's up?" he asks again, now sitting up in bed and looking at her. She's got watery eyes and he has no idea what is going on with her. She also slowly sits up now, her curls standing in all directions, which he loves so much. 

"Nothing. I just.. I'm worried about you." she says then, and he looks at her in confusion. 

"Why?" 

She hesitates for a moment, can't believe that he doesn't feel it, too. He must feel that something has changed, that their relationship has changed. But instead, he acts like it didn't. 

"I don't.. I don't feel as close to you anymore as I used to." she finally gets out, her eyes hyper focused on her hands now, her voice on the verge of breaking. She doesn't know where these emotions are suddenly coming from, but they're there. They're there and she feels them stinging in her chest. 

"Tay, what.. what are you talking about?" he replies now, feels worry rise in him for the first time tonight. He doesn't know where she's going with this, but for a moment it scares the living hell out of him. 

The blonde looks up at him, a little tear escaping her eye and making its way down her cheek. 

"I know that.. that you're just getting used to this new schedule of.. of no football and refocusing your life, and.. and I'm so proud of you." she says, her voice shaky but steady. She looks into his eyes, for the first time really tonight, a slight smile on her lips. 

"I'm really so proud of you and excited for what's to come. But.. sometimes, I feel like we're drifting apart, Trav. And.. and it scares me so much.." she murmurs, her voice breaking in the end. And he can't believe it. He can't believe her mind would even go there. 

Travis watches her pick her fingers and places his hands on hers, interlocking both of her hands with his. 

"Baby, we're not drifting apart. I love you." he says, looking deep into her eyes and she nods for a moment. She's still not happy and he knows it. 

"I know. And I love you, too." 

He sighs for a moment, hates to see her like this.

"Why do you think we're drifting apart? Where does this come from?" he asks, confusion and worry in his voice. She picks up on that quickly, and in some way it relieves her. He still cares. He really does. 

"I think.. I think our relationship has changed, which.. which is normal. I think the time leading up to.. up to getting married is always exciting and magical and then once that's over you sort of fall into this low where.. where things slow down and a marriage begins, and.. and life becomes normal again. And, trust me, I love that. I love just.. living life with you as my husband. It's just.. we never used to fight and we do now. And I know that's normal for couples, but.. we didn't have sex all week, Trav. All week. And.. this has been going on for months now. This.. this is the first time in three years, where..." 

He sighs, and she can't tell whether he's angry. All she can feel is him letting go off her hands and it breaks her heart for a moment. 

"Tay, I've told you that this has nothing to do with you or us, I.. I'm stressed. I.. I can't do it when my mind is just.. so busy. I-" he stops talking and this time, she's the one coming closer again. She gently places her small hands on his. She knows, she nods. 

"Hey, I know. I'm sorry for bringing it up. I just wish I'd know what is going on in your mind, so I can help you. You.. you always used to let me in. I just... I want you to let me in again." she said, got more and more quieter in the end. He looks into her eyes, for real for the first time tonight, and the look he gives her almost breaks her soul. Tears form in his eyes, his chin starts trembling as he starts to speak but stops again for a moment, trying to collect himself. She immediately places her hand on his cheek, won't stop looking at him. This is him opening up. This is him finally opening up.

"I just feel so different, Tay." he then gets out, his face sunk, a first tear meeting her hand on his cheek. "I'm not.. I'm not me anymore since..." 

She nods, immediately. She knows what he means and she feels his pain as if it was hers. 

"I know, baby." she just says, doesn't argue with him, doesn't force him to be fine again. She's just here, sitting on his lap in the middle of the night, holding his face and listening to him crying. 

"Everything feels so meaningless. I used to be.. like.. great at something. Now, I'm mediocre at everything. And.." 

"You're not mediocre, Travis." she says, almost mad for a moment that he would talk about him like that. "You're.. funny, charismatic, smart. Things that.. things that people go to acting school for comes to you naturally. That's not.." 

"I just.. I just don't think I want to be an actor, Tay." he says then, his eyes desperate and lost, just looking at her for help. She's never heard him say these words and in a way, she never thought they would ever cross his lips. This has always been his plan. Ever since she met him, this was his post-football plan. 

"That's okay." she just says, her hand still caressing his stubbly cheek. "Whatever you want to do, I'm with you. I'm not team Chiefs, or team Actor, I'm team Trav. Whatever you want to do, baby, I will support you." she reassures him and he nods, just sinks his head. For a moment, she comes closer to him and kisses his forehead gently. She can feel his grip tighten around her torso. He needs her. He pushes her away when in reality he needs her more than ever. 

"I just don't even know what I want to do. I'm just.. lost." he whispers, half to himself, half to her. She swallows. This is officially the lowest she's ever seen him. And it scares her. It scares her to witness the rock of her life to be so helpless and small all of the sudden. 

"You're not lost. You're here. With me." she whispers, her hands now on his shoulders, forcing him to look up. She forces a smile to reassure him, then places another kiss on his head. 

"You're more than your career, Trav. It's okay to get some distance to it all. Let's take a break together. Let's.. travel somewhere, just you and me." she says, her eyes full of stars for a moment when imagining him and her on adventures together. It reminds her of the summer two years ago when he followed her around Europe for tour. Late night walks through Italy, bike rides at night in Amsterdam, laughing with him at the sausage museum in Germany. He's always been her favorite person in the whole world and she would do anything, take him anywhere, just to see his smile one more time. 

"I don't know, Tay. I don't think running away will help me. Or us." he just gets out and it sobers her for a moment. 

"Maybe this is it, Trav." she says then, can't believe her brain has gone there. But it did. And she even found the courage to let these words slip her mouth while looking into his eyes and being so close to him. 

"What?" he whispers, because she's so close. Their noses are almost touching and he loves to feel her hot skin under his shirt that she's wearing. 

"Maybe this is.. this is the time where.. we actually do what we always used to talk about." 

"Why do you talk in riddles, Swift?" 

She snorts laughing nervously for a moment, her hands playing with his hair, then wiping away one last tear from his cheek. 

"Let's make a baby." she says, nervously biting her own lip. He just looks at her in shock and confusion. 

"You... what?" 

She smiles, takes a deep shaky breath. "I.. I don't know, but.. we always said once you retire and we're married we would start a family. And.. lately, I don't know. I just.. I feel ready, Trav. I'm not scared anymore. I want us to be an actual family. Not just us and the cats. Just.. a real family. And before you, I could never see myself even wanting that. But maybe, you being unsure where to go next, and me just.. trying out stuff in the studio without direction.. I don't know, maybe this is the right time to.." 

"Have you absolutely lost your mind?" he just says and for a moment, she feels like she didn't hear him right. 

"What?" she says in shock, as he already has let go off her and left the bed, leaving her in between the sheets cold and alone. 

"You.. you must have absolutely lost your mind for saying this." he mumbles, angrier than she's ever witnessed him, pacing up and down their bedroom, trying to make sense of what she just said. "What.. Trav, why.." 

"I'm.. I'm sitting here, in your arms like.. like a goddamn looser. Crying like a little girl, telling you how lost I'm feeling and.. and you tell me this is the right time for me to become a father? Are you.. are you even serious right now?" 

She looks at him in shock, pain swelling in her chest and tears filling her eyes once more. 

"I don't see why you wouldn't be a good father, Trav."

"That's not the fucking point!" he yells at her and for the first time in her life, she gets scared. Scared of his tone, scared of his anger, scared of how unexpected he reacted. It's quite the opposite of how he used to make her feel. Quite the opposite of the familiarity and emotional safety she used to know when it came to him. 

"Stop yelling at me. I'm scared." she mumbles with a shaky voice and he just stops wandering around the room, his hands covering his eyes. He nods. 

"I'm sorry for yelling." he says then and she can hear in his voice that he's tearing up. She's shocked. This is not her husband. This is not the person she knows and loves so deeply. 

"Tay, this.. I just can't believe you would think that this is.." 

"Why not? Why is it so fucking wrong of me to suggest this? I'm almost thirty-seven. I can't.. I won't be able to get pregnant forever. And you know that. And.." Taylor is the one getting loud and emotional now, almost unable to stay in bed. She's shaking, her entire body feeling the anxiety of this moment. This was their plan. Why is he not sticking to their plan. 

"Trav, I know you're struggling at the moment. And you know I'm here for you. But.. your reaction to me suggesting this, is just.. shocking." she says, a first tear rolling down her cheek. She swallows, looks at him with begging eyes. Begging for him to become her everything again. Begging for him to fall on his knees, apologize, and tell her he can't wait for them to have a baby. That he was wrong. That he's just scared. 

But none of that happens. 

He just sits down on her bedside, still unable to look at her. But he has calmed down. His voice quiet and steady now. 

"Tay, you know I love you. You know I want to have kids with you. I just... I'm not ready to become a father right now when my career is just.. a fucking mess. This is the first season I won't be playing. I have no clue where I'll be a year from now. And.." 

"Are you ever going to be ready to have kids with me then?" she says, tears streaming down her face. She can't believe this. She can't believe he wants her to keep waiting. She can't believe he won't choose their dreams, their plans, their family. He chooses the gods of his bluest days and leaves her alone. With their dreams, their plans, their little family that she's been day dreaming about for four years.

"I want to, Tay. It's just.. how can I take care of a human when I can't even take care of myself at the moment." 

She looks at him, nods. She presses her lips together, trying to suppress her tears, her anger. 

She's heard these words before. 

"I didn't mean to yell, earlier. That was.. that was out of line. I know you.. you mean well, but.." 

"It's.. it's fine." she lies, slowly pulling the blanket from her legs and leaving the bed. "I just.. I need.. some air for a moment.." 

Travis just looks at her and sighs as she leaves the bedroom. His head sinks in his hands and he feels hot tears streaming down his face. He knows he fucked up. He knows that his anger at himself just did more damage to the only person he's ever loved than he would have ever intended. 

To be continued.

[goblinontour]

Knives Out

he’s in the studio…

warnings: dad!alex, angst, smut, piv, arguing

word count: 6.6k

The temporary move to LA was rough. Really rough, if either of you were being honest. It wasn’t like you hadn’t anticipated the so-called adjustment period, but you hadn’t quite expected how much it would affect your little family. Poppy had always been easy going for the most part. Manageable. Or so you both thought. But this move had thrown her, and by extension, the two of you, into uncharted waters.

Alex couldn’t begin to guess what was going through her mind. He’d never experienced a move like this as a kid. He’d grown up in the same house for years, familiar streets and faces always within reach. Even if he had moved, he probably wouldn’t have remembered the details at that age anyway. But here she was, uprooted from everything she knew in London and dropped into the sprawling, sun-drenched landscape of Los Angeles. There was a certain helplessness he felt in watching her navigate this huge change.

The silver lining was that, little by little, she seemed to be finding her footing. There were signs of her adjusting, however small. For one, she now had her own separate playroom, a “luxury” they didn’t have back in London. 

Not that it made much of a difference.

The playroom, for all its shiny newness, remained largely untouched. Poppy, ever the little shadow, still followed her father into the place he’d affectionately dubbed the “Lunar Surface”. The Lunar Surface was still their shared territory. She hadn’t left his side since the move. No matter how many toys or distractions were placed in front of her, she’d always end up trailing after Alex, as if there was something in there she needed just as much as he did.

It made sense, in a way. Maybe she thought she had important business there, too. Maybe she felt it was theirs, a place not just for him to create, but for them to share.

You couldn’t help but feel a twinge of jealousy every time you saw her curling up in a corner of the room while he worked. She never followed you like that. Never clung to you the way she did him. You were the one who stayed behind when he went on tour, the one who kept everything stable and running at home when he disappeared for months or years at a time. Yet, it was him she trailed after, her little feet pattering through the hallways until she found him wherever he was.

You’d never say it out loud, of course. It wasn’t worth admitting that small, irrational jealousy. But the truth was, it stung a bit. You loved watching them together, his little mirror, absorbing every note and gesture. It was beautiful, really. Still, sometimes you couldn’t help but wonder if she followed him because she was afraid he might leave again. That’s what he did, after all. He left. For the studio, for tour, for everything that kept him him.

It was late afternoon, and the house was bathed in a warm, golden light that streamed in through the large windows. From the kitchen, you could see them: Alex, sitting cross-legged on the floor, his guitar resting in his lap, and Poppy, perched next to him, her tiny hands clumsily trying to mimic the way his fingers moved across the strings. He was teaching her some simple chord progression, his voice low and patient, while she watched him with unwavering focus.

You leaned against the counter, drying your hands on a towel, watching them from a distance. There was something so intimate about the scene that you didn’t dare disturb it. Not that you could, anyway. She seemed to have forgotten about you entirely, lost in the little world she and Alex had created, a world you weren’t a part of in that moment. 

You didn’t begrudge her for it. Not really. It was natural, the way she gravitated toward him, the way her eyes lit up every time he showed her something new. But as you stood there, arms crossed over your chest, a soft ache settled in your stomach. 

Alex didn’t think to include you. It wasn’t intentional, you knew that. He was just so absorbed in what he was doing, in that quiet bond he shared with her. But it hurt all the same, watching from the sidelines, feeling like an outsider in your own home. There was something about the way they were together that made you feel…invisible.

You sighed, shaking your head at yourself. You were being dramatic, you knew that. But the weight of it all, this move, the boxes that still littered every corner of the house, the never-ending cycle of unpacking and cleaning, taking care of her needs and making sure everything ran smoothly, it was all starting to pile up. And then there was him. Alex, waking up at noon with the excuse that he’d stayed up late working. Alex, disappearing into the studio for hours on end, as if the world outside didn’t exist. Alex, coming home and going straight back to his music, continuing whatever song or riff he’d been working on in that damn studio.

And then there was her, always at his side, laughing and playing with him as if everything were perfect, as if the house wasn’t still a mess and you weren’t silently unravelling.

It wasn’t that you didn’t understand. You knew how he worked. You’d known from the beginning that this was how it would be with him.

He had the luxury of checking out, of diving into his art whenever he felt like it, and then emerging to be the fun dad who taught his daughter guitar. You, on the other hand, had no such escape. Your days had become a blur of mundane tasks.

From the corner of your eye, you saw her little face scrunch up in concentration as she tried to press down the strings of the guitar, the way Alex had shown her. Her fingers weren’t strong enough yet, but she didn’t give up, and Alex encouraged her softly, his voice a murmur you could barely hear from the kitchen. She grinned when she got it right, and Alex’s face lit up with pride.

You should have been happy, seeing them like that. And part of you was. But another part, the part that was tired and lonely and feeling more than a little neglected, felt like crying. It wasn’t just the move or the endless responsibilities. It was him. He was here, but not really. He was present, but not with you. It was as if the two of you existed on parallel tracks.

And the two of you never quite met in the middle.

You knew it wasn’t fair to think that way. He was doing his best, in his own way. But lately, it felt like his best wasn’t quite enough for you. Not when you were drowning in everything that needed to be done, while he got to disappear and come out only for the fun parts.

You glanced over again, catching the moment when Poppy leaned into him, her head resting against his arm, completely content. He kissed the top of her head absentmindedly, fingers still moving across the strings of the guitar, and she sighed happily, lost in the moment with him.

You swallowed the lump in your throat, setting the dishrag down and turning back to the sink. It was silly, really, to feel so left out. You were part of this family too. But watching them from a distance like this, it was hard not to feel like you were slipping through the cracks, becoming a little less visible with each passing day.

You took a deep breath, trying to push away the rising frustration. There were still boxes to unpack, laundry to fold, and dinner to think about. Maybe later, when the house was quiet and Poppy was asleep, you’d talk to him about it. Or maybe you’d just let it go, like you always did.

Either way, you couldn’t help but wonder when, if ever, you’d stop feeling so alone in all of this.

The light was low by the time they finished, the last of the sunset casting long shadows across the living room floor. Poppy was yawning, rubbing her eyes with the back of her tiny hand, though she was still nestled against Alex’s side, not wanting to let go of him just yet. He seemed to have endless reserves of patience when it came to her.

With you, it was different.

He stood up, guitar still in hand, and scooped her up without missing a beat, her head resting on his shoulder, her legs dangling against his side. It was effortless, the way he held her, his lean frame barely shifting under her weight. His T-shirt was wrinkled like he’d been lounging in it all day, which he probably had been. His jeans were slung low on his hips, and the way his hair fell into his eyes, messy and unbothered, made him look like he had just rolled out of bed. 

He might as well.

Without a word to you, he carried her down the hall to her room, not even glancing back. His voice was soft, murmuring something to her that you couldn’t quite hear from where you stood. His steps were slow, measured, like he was savouring this last moment of the day with her. The light from the hallway caught the sharp angles of his face, the scruff along his jawline that he hadn’t bothered shaving, his long fingers gently brushing her back as he carried her to her room. You felt the familiar knot tighten in your stomach as you stood there, the sound of his low murmurs barely audible as he settled her in. The house was quiet, but your thoughts weren’t. 

You leaned against the counter, the edge pressing into your lower back, and stared after them. He made it look so easy. Effortless. The way he floated in and out of her life. Of your life. Like some distant planet in a lazy orbit. There when he needed to be, and gone when it suited him.

It wasn’t long before he reappeared, the soft creak of the bedroom door closing behind him. He walked back down the hall, stretching his arms above his head as if to shake off the last bit of exhaustion from the day. His shirt rode up slightly, revealing a sliver of skin above his jeans. The way the fabrics clung to him was just a reminder that it was still warm in this LA heat, and his movements were slow, like someone who had nowhere else to be and nothing else to do. He rubbed at the back of his neck, yawning, and didn’t even glance in your direction at first.

He walked into the kitchen, rubbing his jaw with one hand, the hint of stubble catching the light. “Is there anything for dinner?” he asked, his voice almost too casual, as if he didn’t notice the way you were standing there, still, waiting for something, anything, that resembled effort.

You blinked at him, a little taken aback. He didn’t seem to realise how thoughtless the question was, how it felt like he hadn’t noticed a single thing you’d been doing all day. It wasn’t about the food. It was about everything.

You stared at him, your grip tightening on the counter’s edge. There was a moment, just a flash, where you envisioned throwing something across the room at him. Maybe a plate. Maybe the whole table. Instead, you took a deep breath, trying to steady yourself, but it didn’t stop the surge of irritation from rushing through you.

“Dinner?” you repeated softly, trying not to let your frustration bleed into your voice. 

He leaned against the counter, crossing his arms over his chest, his eyebrows raised slightly as if he didn’t understand why you weren’t already moving to grab something. “Yeah. I mean, we haven’t eaten, right?”

“Dinner?” you repeated, incredulous, your voice sharper than you intended. You let the word hang in the air for a beat, watching as he shifted his weight from one foot to the other, his hands casually sliding into the pockets of his jeans. “Dinner, Alex?”

He blinked, clearly not picking up on the tone yet. He tilted his head, his brow furrowing slightly.

“Yeah, what?” His voice was soft, a little slow, a little too casual. It grated on you, that easy, laid-back way he spoke, like the question wasn’t loaded with everything you’d been bottling up for weeks. “What’s up?”

You swallowed, your eyes dropping to the floor for a second before looking back up at him. “I haven’t had a chance to make anything.” you said quietly, feeling the lump in your throat grow. “I’ve been…busy. With everything.”

He sighed, but it was subtle, more of an exhale through his nose. “Yeah, me too.” he muttered, glancing down at his hands like they’d been doing the hardest work in the world all day. 

You shook your head, letting out a humourless laugh. Me too. You wanted to slap him. Instead, you pushed away from the counter, turning to face him fully, arms crossing over your chest.

“Alex, I’ve been dealing with everything all day. You wake up whenever it suits you, waltz into the studio, and then come home like you’ve done a hard day’s work. You barely notice me, and now you’re asking if dinner’s ready?”

He blinked again, the crease between his brows deepening. “Babe, I was in the studio-”

“I know you were in the studio.” you snapped, cutting him off. “You’re always in the studio. Or with her. But never with me. I know the music’s important to you, but…”

He blinked, finally looking at you properly, but there was a slight defensiveness in his eyes. “What, you think I’m just…what? Messing around all day?” He straightened a little, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, that casual tone turning sharper. “I’m working, you know? It’s not like I’m ignoring you on purpose.”

“I didn’t say you were.” you replied quickly, but there was a tremor in your voice that you hated, like you were apologising for feeling something. “I just…I feel like I’m doing everything else. And it’s exhausting, Alex.”

His mouth twitched slightly, as if he was going to say something but decided against it. Instead, he ran his hand through his hair again, tousling it even more. “Look, I didn’t realise it was that bad.” he muttered, his voice quieter now, but still missing the point. “I thought you had it handled.”

“I do have it handled.” you shot back, a little sharper than you meant to. “But I’m tired of having it handled alone.”

He shifted uncomfortably, glancing away, clearly unsure of how to navigate this. He wasn’t great with emotions, never had been. He exhaled through his nose, his jaw tightening. You could see the tension in his shoulders now, the way his fingers flexed at his sides. He was trying to stay calm, trying to understand, but it was clear he hadn’t expected this. 

His eyes darted back to you, and his expression softened, though there was still a hint of frustration in his tone. “I’m not trying to make you feel like you’re on your own, alright? It’s just…I don’t know. I didn’t think about it.”

“That’s the problem.” you whispered, the tightness in your throat growing, but you kept your voice steady. “You don’t think about it. You just assume I’ll take care of everything.”

His shoulders dropped a little, and for a second, he looked like he didn’t know what to do with himself. His arms unfolded, and he took a tentative step toward you, his hand rubbing the back of his neck. “I’m sorry.” he mumbled, his words coming out awkwardly, like he wasn’t used to apologising. “I didn’t mean to make you feel like that.”

You looked at him, taking in the way his jaw clenched and the way his eyes darted away every few seconds like he was uncomfortable being in this moment with you, but not entirely detached either. He wanted to reach for you but didn’t know how.

“I know you didn’t mean to.” you said softly, your voice wavering slightly but still steady. “But it doesn’t change how it feels.”

He looked at you then, really looked, and for a second, something in his face shifted. His eyes softened, that defensiveness fading. “I’m…I’m sorry.” he repeated, his voice lower now, almost a whisper, like he wasn’t sure if it was safe to speak louder. “I didn’t know you felt like this.”

You laughed again, that same bitter edge clinging to it. “Of course you didn’t. Because you haven’t been here to notice. You’re here, Alex, but you’re not really here. You come home, you play with her, and then it’s like I don’t exist.”

He shifted his weight again, “That’s not fair.” he murmured. “You know I’m trying to balance everything. I’m doing my best.”

You stared at him, your arms still crossed tightly, trying to hold yourself together. “Well, your best isn’t enough.” you said quietly, the words hanging heavy between you.

His expression faltered, the sharp lines of his face softening as if your words had cut deeper than either of you expected. He stood there for a moment, silent, and you could see the wheels turning in his mind, trying to find something to say that would make it better, trying to figure out how to fix what was unravelling right in front of him.

But he didn’t have the words. Not this time.

He looked down, his hand rubbing the back of his neck again, a nervous gesture you recognized all too well. His hair fell over his eyes, and he didn’t bother pushing it back this time. “I…I’ll do better.” he said, the words slow, hesitant. He wasn’t sure they’d be enough. “I promise, I’ll try to be more…present. With you.”

You watched him, unsure whether to believe it, unsure if it would change anything at all. But the exhaustion in his eyes, the way his posture slouched now, made you pause. He wasn’t trying to ignore you, not deliberately. But that didn’t make it hurt any less.

“Dinner’s in the fridge.” you said after a long moment, your voice quieter now, the fight draining out of you. “Heat it up yourself.”

He nodded, almost as if he knew it was the best he was going to get right now. He didn’t argue, didn’t push. He just walked to the fridge, his movements slower now, more careful, as if he was trying not to disturb the fragile air between you.

As he pulled out the leftovers, you turned and walked out of the kitchen, the weight of the day still pressing down on you, heavier than ever.

You lay on the bed, staring at the dark ceiling, trying to will your mind into quiet, but it didn’t come. You squeezed your eyes shut, pulling the covers up closer to your chin as if it could somehow shield you from the heaviness pressing on your chest.

The house was silent now. Poppy was asleep, and Alex was in the kitchen, reheating his dinner. You heard the faint hum of the microwave, the soft clinking of dishes. It was almost too normal, too routine, for how you felt. 

You wanted to let it go, to brush it off like you had so many times before, but tonight it stuck with you, sharp and jagged. The loneliness gnawed at you. The kind of loneliness that only comes when the person you need the most is right there, but somehow feels miles away.

You turned onto your side, facing away from the door, pulling your knees closer to your chest. Maybe it was easier to sleep like this, with your back to the world. Maybe if you stayed still long enough, you’d drift off, and the ache would dull by morning.

Then you heard it. The soft creak of the door opening, the faintest sliver of light spilling into the room from the hallway. You didn’t move, keeping your breathing steady, though your heart started beating a little faster. His footsteps were soft, hesitant, the familiar sound of his feet lightly scuffing against the hardwood floor. He was trying not to wake you, or maybe he was just testing the air between you, unsure of how fragile it really was.

The bed dipped slightly as he sat on the edge, and for a moment, you thought he might stay there, distant and unsure. But then the mattress shifted again, and you felt him slip beneath the covers. The warmth of his body radiated toward you as he settled beside you, his movements slow, careful, as if he wasn’t quite sure how close he was allowed to get.

Then, after a beat of silence, you felt it, his chest pressing gently against your back. The weight of his arm tentatively draped over your waist, and he stilled, like he was waiting to see if you’d pull away.

You didn’t.

His breath was warm against the nape of your neck, steady, but you could tell he was awake, his body tense with unspoken words. You could feel the faint tremor in his chest, the rise and fall of his breathing, like he was working up to say something but wasn’t sure if now was the time.

Then, after a long pause, he whispered, his voice low, rough around the edges, as if he’d been holding the words in for too long. “I hope you don’t doubt that I love you.”

He didn’t say anything else. Just that. It was simple, but it felt like more, like it was the one thing he needed to say right now. The one thing he could say.

You lay there, still, your heart beating a little too fast. You didn’t turn to face him. Not yet. But the warmth of his body against yours, the quiet vulnerability in his voice, it chipped away at the wall you’d built up during the day. 

“I don’t.” you whispered back, your voice barely audible, but in the quiet of the room, it was enough.

For a moment, neither of you moved, both of you just lying there in the dark, the silence now filled with something softer, less strained. You could feel him relax slightly, the tension easing from his body, his arm wrapping a little more securely around you.

You reached for his hand, gently curling your fingers around his, and brought it to your lips. You pressed a soft kiss to the back of his hand, feeling the roughness of his skin against your mouth. It was a small gesture, one that spoke the words you weren’t ready to say yet. I still love you, I still need you.

Alex let out a breath, but it wasn’t the kind of exhale you’d heard from him before. It was shaky, broken, like something deep inside him had cracked. You’d never heard him sound like that. His arm tightened slightly around your waist, but when you turned to face him, his eyes were still closed, his brow faintly furrowed as if he was holding something in, something he didn’t want to let you see.

You looked at him in the dim light, the faint outline of his face visible in the shadows. You knew he wasn’t sleeping. He was afraid. Afraid that if he opened his eyes and looked at you, everything he was trying to hold together would fall apart. He didn’t want to break, not in front of you, not now. Not when he thought it would only make things harder.

But you could feel it, the way his body seemed to tense and release with every breath he took, like he was fighting to keep his walls up. And you couldn’t let him carry that alone, not tonight. 

Your hand moved up to his face, fingers lightly tracing the familiar lines of his jaw, the slight scruff on his cheeks. He didn’t flinch, didn’t pull away, but he didn’t open his eyes either. His breath hitched just slightly as your hand travelled lower, down the curve of his neck, over his chest. You could feel the rise and fall of his breathing beneath your palm, the subtle quickening of his heartbeat.

You lifted the hem of his shirt, pushing it up so you could feel the warmth of his skin against your fingertips. There was something grounding about it, something real, the contact pulling you both back from the edge of whatever distance had grown between you. He gasped, just barely, as your hand slipped beneath the fabric, your fingers brushing lightly against his stomach.

His lips parted, his breathing becoming uneven, but he still didn’t say anything. His eyes remained shut, his jaw tight, as though he was trying to hold onto the last bit of control he had left. You felt his muscles tense under your touch, every inhale deep, every exhale strained.

You pressed closer to him, your fingers trailing lower, down the soft skin just above his waistband. His breath caught in his throat when your hand slipped under the band of his sweatpants, your fingertips brushing against him. 

“Ugh…” His voice was a low rasp, like he was about to say more but couldn’t find the words. His eyes stayed shut, his head tilting back slightly as if surrendering to the moment, but still resisting. He didn’t want to make this about him. Not when the weight of your unspoken pain still hung in the air between you.

But you didn’t stop. You didn’t pull away. You kept your touch gentle, tender, letting him know without words that it was okay. That tonight wasn’t about blame or anger or hurt. 

You trailed your hand back up, over his chest, feeling the rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your fingertips, steadying, grounding. You moved closer, resting your forehead against his, your breath mingling with his as you whispered, “I’m still here.” 

And finally, after what felt like an eternity, he opened his eyes. They were darker in the low light, filled with a mixture of emotion you couldn’t quite name, relief, love, all tangled together. He didn’t speak, but the way he looked at you, like he was searching for something he’d thought he’d lost, said enough.

His arms wrapped around you a little tighter, pulling you against him like he needed the contact just as much as you did. For the first time in what felt like forever, it wasn’t about what was wrong. It was about what was still there.

You leaned in, brushing your lips against his, softly at first, testing the space between you. His breath hitched, and for a moment, you both stayed there, suspended in that delicate quiet. Then you kissed him, properly this time, pressing your mouth to his in a way that felt urgent, necessary. He responded slowly, his lips moving against yours, hesitant, unsure where this was headed. But you didn’t hold back, not now.

Your hands trailed back down his chest, feeling the warmth of his skin under your fingertips, his muscles tensing slightly at your touch. His breath quickened as your leg slipped between his thighs, pressing against him. He let out a soft sound, something caught between a sigh and a groan, his body responding instinctively even as his mind seemed to hesitate.

But then, he pulled back, breaking the kiss, his hand gently pushing against your shoulder. “No.” he breathed, his voice low and rough. “Wait…no.”

You blinked, confusion washing over you as you stayed there, hovering above him. “What?” you whispered, your voice barely audible. “Don’t you…don’t you want me?”

He closed his eyes, his brow furrowing as if the question had hurt him somehow. “I do.” he said, his voice soft, strained. “It’s not…it’s not about that, I just-” 

“Shut up.” you interrupted, the words tumbling out before you could stop them. “Please, just…shut up.” You kissed him again, harder this time, desperate for the connection, for him to stop thinking and just be with you. Your hand slipped behind his neck, pulling him closer, and for a second, he hesitated, but he didn’t stop you.

You pushed him back onto the mattress, your hands gripping his shoulders as you straddled his lap, pressing your body against his. His eyes flickered open, dark and stormy with the conflict brewing inside him. His hands hovered at your waist. He wanted to hold on but couldn’t let himself give in fully.

“You…” His voice was a low rasp, but he didn’t say anything more. He didn’t pull you off, didn’t push you away. His eyes searched yours, his chest rising and falling in uneven breaths as you sat above him, your thighs pressed tight around his hips.

You leaned down, kissing him again, harder this time, and he groaned into your mouth, his hands finally gripping your waist, pulling you closer. His fingers pressed into your skin, his touch firm, and you could feel the tension in his body as he let go, just a little, surrendering to you.

His hair was messy, falling into his eyes, his lips swollen from your kisses. There was something raw about him in this moment, his usual confidence stripped away, leaving him vulnerable beneath you. His skin was warm, almost burning under your touch, and you could feel the tautness in his muscles, the quiet restraint he was still clinging to.

But you weren’t stopping. You trailed your hands down his chest again, feeling the rapid beat of his heart beneath your palm. His eyes fluttered closed as you rocked your hips against him, grinding slowly. His breath came out in shallow gasps, his fingers digging into your waist, but he didn’t say no again.

“Why are you holding back?” you whispered, your lips brushing against his ear. “What are you afraid of?”

“I’m not…” he started, but his voice faltered, and he didn’t finish the sentence. His eyes opened, meeting yours, and there was something there. Guilt, maybe. Or fear. He swallowed hard, his jaw clenching as he tried to gather his thoughts, but nothing came out.

You kissed him again, cutting off whatever excuse he was about to make. “Don’t think.” you murmured against his lips. “Just…be here. With me.”

He exhaled shakily, his hands sliding up your back, pulling you down to him. His grip tightened, his hesitation fading the longer you stayed pressed together. He kissed you back this time, properly, his lips moving with yours in a way that felt desperate, needy. 

“Fuck…” he groaned softly, his voice rough, thick with something he wasn’t quite ready to admit. His hips shifted beneath you, pushing up into you as you moved against him. His hands slid down to your thighs, gripping them tightly.

“Don’t stop.” you whispered, your breath hot against his neck. His skin was damp with sweat, his pulse racing beneath your lips as you kissed down the side of his throat, feeling the way his body trembled beneath yours.

“I’m trying.” he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper, his head tilting back into the pillow, eyes squeezing shut as if to keep himself grounded. “I’m trying not to lose it…”

“Maybe I want you to.” you said, your voice low, your hands slipping back under his shirt, feeling the heat of his skin beneath your fingertips.

He groaned again, this time louder, his grip on your thighs tightening as he gave in, finally letting go of whatever was holding him back. His lips found yours again, and this time, he kissed you harder, deeper, his body arching up into yours, pulling you down onto him with a force that sent a shiver down your spine.

It wasn’t perfect, and it wasn’t gentle. It was exactly what you both needed.

The room felt thick with silence as the space between you vanished. His hands slid down, trembling as they caught the waistband of his sweatpants, pushing them down just far enough, exposing himself to you. You pulled off your shorts with a shaky exhale, your body moving on instinct more than anything else. There wasn’t any time for hesitation, no slow unravelling, no careful lead-up. You were both too far gone, too desperate to feel something, anything that would bridge the distance between you.

He was inside you before either of you were fully ready for it, his body meeting yours in a quick, almost frantic rhythm. It wasn’t planned, wasn’t measured, and the sudden rush of sensation felt overwhelming. Your hands gripped his shoulders, fingers digging into his shirt as you moved together, but it wasn’t about pleasure, not in the way it usually was. It was messy, uncoordinated, a little too fast. 

His breathing came in quick, ragged gasps, and you could feel his heart racing against your chest as he held you tight, like letting go would mean losing everything. His hips moved roughly beneath you, and you tried to match him, your bodies working in this frantic, unsynchronized rhythm. It wasn’t nearly the best you’d ever had. Not even close. It didn’t matter.

You both were searching for something in each other, something you couldn’t name, something you didn’t even know if you’d find. It was more about release than connection, about letting go of everything that had built up between you, the frustration, the resentment, the silence.

The room was filled with the sound of your uneven breathing, the soft creak of the bed, his hands clinging to you like you might slip away. His hair fell into his eyes again, damp with sweat, his lips parted as he gasped for breath, his brow furrowed with effort. You could feel his body shaking slightly, the tension in his muscles, the way he tried so hard to keep up, to stay with you.

But it wasn’t perfect. It was quick, almost too quick. You felt him stiffen beneath you, his grip tightening as he gasped out your name, his voice rough and broken. You followed moments after, not because it was the height of pleasure, but because the emotion of the moment pushed you over the edge. It was more like giving in than being consumed.

When it was over, the silence between you returned, but it felt different now. Less strained, more exhausted. You stayed there, your bodies still tangled, your forehead resting against his chest as you caught your breath. Neither of you moved for a long time, neither of you said anything. The moment wasn’t about words.

He let out a long, shaky sigh, one that seemed to start deep in his chest. But as the air left him, it got stuck in his throat, and that was when he broke. You could feel it. The sudden shift, the way his body tensed beneath you before he closed his eyes, trying to hold it together. He gently pulled you off him, moving you to the side, his movements almost too careful, like he didn’t want to add to whatever mess was already between you.

He quickly tucked himself back in, pulling his sweatpants up. He covered his face with his hands, his shoulders slumping as if the weight of everything had finally come crashing down on him. 

“Sorry.” he muttered, his voice muffled by his hands. But this time, it was different. He wasn’t saying it because he thought he was supposed to, or because he wanted to end the argument. This time, he really meant it. You could hear it in the way the word caught in his throat, like it was hard for him to even say.

You sat up slowly, still catching your breath, watching him as he sat on the edge of the bed, his elbows on his knees, his hands covering his face. 

“I’m sorry.” he said again, quieter now. He dropped his hands from his face, staring down at the floor like he couldn’t bear to look at you. “I don’t…I don’t know what I’m doing.”

You swallowed hard, feeling your own emotions tugging at you, but you stayed quiet, waiting for him to continue.

“I tried.” he said, his voice rough and halting. “I tried to be here. For you, for her. I really did. But I…I don’t know how to do it right. I don’t know how to be enough.”

His words hung in the air, and you could see how much they cost him. He wasn’t the type to talk like this, to admit when he was struggling, but there it was, laid out between you.

“You’re trying.” you said softly, unsure if it was the right thing to say, but needing him to know that you saw him. That you understood.

He shook his head, letting out a short, bitter laugh that didn’t reach his eyes. “Trying isn’t enough, though, is it? I’m here, but I’m not really here. Not the way I should be. And I know that. I know it, and I hate it, but I don’t know how to fix it. I don’t know how to…be better.”

You shifted closer to him. “You don’t have to be perfect.” you whispered. “No one’s asking you to be perfect.”

“But I’m not even good enough.” he shot back, his voice cracking slightly. Frustration and confusion etched into every line of his face. “I’m not there when you need me. Not really. I get wrapped up in everything else, in the music, in…whatever, and I can see it. I can see how it’s pushing you away, but I don’t know how to stop.”

You felt a lump forming in your throat, but you forced yourself to push through it. “I don’t need you to stop everything. I just need you to…be with me when you’re here. Be present.”

He exhaled sharply, rubbing his hands over his face again. “I thought I was. But I look at you and Poppy and…God, I feel like I’m just standing on the outside, watching, and no matter what I do, it’s not enough. I’m not enough.”

His voice cracked on the last word, and he looked away, his jaw tight, like he was ashamed of what he had just admitted.

Your heart twisted painfully at the sight of him like this. You reached out, gently placing your hand on his back, feeling the way his body stiffened for a moment before he let out a shaky breath, as if he was finally letting himself feel it.

“You are enough.” you whispered, and you meant it, even though everything felt tangled and complicated. “You are. You just…you get lost sometimes. But you’re still enough.”

He closed his eyes, his hands clenching into fists on his thighs. “It doesn’t feel like it. You’ve said it.” he muttered. “I feel like I’m failing you. Both of you.”

He let out another shaky breath, dropping his head forward, and for a moment, you thought he might cry, but he didn’t. Instead, he just sat there, his shoulders slumped, his body heavy with everything he had been holding inside.

“I’m sorry.” he whispered again, and this time, it felt like the apology was more for himself than for you.

You slid closer, wrapping your arms around him from behind, pressing your cheek against his back. His body was warm, his breath still uneven, but he didn’t pull away. He sat there, letting you hold him, letting the quiet between you settle into something softer, something that felt like the start of understanding.

a/n: i don’t know what this is.

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