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omgrachwrites · 4 years ago

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Our Souls Crave This Magic- Chapter One

Pairing: Prince Caspian x Reader

Summary: All you want is a quiet year of university as you and your best friend, Edmund move to New York City. Though, that all changes when you meet the spoiled trust fund brat, Caspian. College au.

Warnings: fluff, slow burn romance, swearing

Words: 2619

Disclaimer: Everyone in this fic is 18+ and this gif doesn’t belong to me!

A/N: Here we are, first part of my college au! It was a little weird to be writing a Narnia college au, I’d never thought of writing one before! Hope you guys enjoy this and please let me know what you think and let me know if you would like to be tagged! I love you all! xxx

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Chapter One - Once Upon a Time in New York City

The air in New York was hot and muggy, even with the roof of your rental car being down there wasn’t much of a breeze and you were beginning to feel irritable and the smog in the air was heavy. The traffic over here was slow, somehow even slower than it was in London but you knew that it was a small price to pay for your freedom.

When your best friend, Edmund received a chance to study overseas in New York for his final year of college he took the chance straight away and he had pretty much begged you to go with him. You had never known Edmund to beg for anything so you knew that this was serious. You didn’t want to lose your best friend so you agreed to go with him, as did his little sister, Lucy but you didn’t mind, it was her first year at college.

From the back seat you could hear Lucy gasping in awe as she glanced up at the impossibly tall skyscrapers that were beginning to make you feel a little sick, “I love this city already, thanks for letting me come with you guys!”

Ed grimaced as he leaned forwards to turn your rock music down which earned him a scathing glare, “it’s not like we had much of a choice,” he muttered.

You rolled your eyes at Ed before smiling at Lucy in the mirror, “ignore him, Lu. I’m glad that you’re here.”

“Thanks Y/N,” she grinned at you before pulling a tongue at her brother, “I can’t wait to see the loft,” she sighed happily.

Neither of you wanted to stay in some shitty dorm room on campus so ever since you were accepted into NYU, you had begun saving money from your bar job and your student loan. Between the three of you the most you could afford was a loft apartment in Brooklyn. You spotted the moving van a couple of doors down from the loft and got ready to turn into a parking space on the busy street.

As you were reversing into the space, a yellow taxi blared its horn at you as it zoomed past you, “yeah, very nice, arsehole!” you yelled out of the window, knowing the driver couldn’t hear you but it made you feel better all the same.

Edmund rolled his eyes as he fixed you with an unamused look as he ran his fingers through his hair, “I’m beginning to regret asking you to come with me.”

You laughed, winking at him as you got out of the car, “you know that you love me.”

Ed laughed before he bit his lip, looking at you nervously, “you should call your mum, and tell her that you made it here in one piece. I know that you’ve been putting it off Y/N,” he sighed and pulled you into a one armed hug, “you can catch up with us in a bit.”

You sighed as you watched Ed and Lucy walk towards the moving van, he was right – most of the time he was right – you had been putting it off, and for good reason. You dialled your mum’s number as you lit up a cigarette and took a long drag of it. Just as you suspected, you were met with your mum’s voicemail. She was probably out, spending time with her new family, she was almost too happy when you told her that you were moving to New York.

“Hey mum, I’m just calling to let you know that I made it to New York, safe and sound. I didn’t want to call but Ed thought that I should, anyway call me back if you get this. Or don’t, it really doesn’t matter to me either way.”

The lie tasted bitter in your mouth but you didn’t want to dwell on it any longer so you quickly hung up the phone. You rubbed your temples as you took another drag off your cigarette, blowing out a large billow of smoke.

“Do you mind?” you heard a cough with the sound of a smooth honeyed accent. Your gaze started at his feet and you quirked an eyebrow when you saw that he was wearing expensive leather shoes. You travelled up his body with your eyes and they finally came to land on his face.

He had deep brown eyes that were almost black and he was very handsome with thick dark hair and clean stubble along his jaw, he looked just like the brooding hero in all those romance novels. You didn’t want to judge but he looked exactly like a trust fund baby, someone who got whatever they wanted on a silver platter. He coughed again as you blew out more smoke and he ran a hand through his hair, narrowing those gorgeous eyes at you.

“You can clearly see that I’m smoking here, it’s your fault for getting in my way, pretty boy,” you didn’t miss the scowl he shot you as you crushed the stub of your cigarette beneath your shoe as you turned away. You couldn’t let a stranger piss you off, no matter how good looking he was.

As you walked into the loft you were immediately taken aback by how spacious and beautiful it was, it seemed like good value for your money which was extremely rare in a big city. You decided that you were going to take the smallest room – you wanted Ed and Lucy to have the most luxurious rooms – but it seemed that you definitely got the room with the best view. New York was such a beautiful city and you were so glad that you got to live here.

As you were coming out of the room that you had claimed as your own, you noticed that the handsome stranger was in your apartment. Suspicion ran through your body as you narrowed your eyes at him, “what the fuck are you doing here?”

He opened his mouth to reply but before he could, Edmund came striding into the apartment, carrying a cardboard box, “Y/N, this is Caspian; he’s offered to help us move in.”

“How nice,” you smiled tightly, Caspian was a trust fund name, you were sure of that.

Caspian raised an eyebrow and he smirked at you, and you ignored the way that his deep brown eyes sparkled. You just wanted a quiet final year of college; you wouldn’t let a handsome young man ruin it. You had worked too hard to be here.

When Caspian walked out of the loft with Ed, Lucy smirked at you, “Caspian’s cute isn’t he?”

You laughed as you unpacked the kitchen boxes, “suppose so, for a trust fund baby.”

“What makes you think that’s he’s got a trust fund?” Lucy asked as she leaned against the kitchen counter.

“Come on Lu, his shoes cost more than our rent, it’s obvious that he’s rolling in money, and with a name like Caspian,” you let out a low whistle, “the evidence speaks for itself.”

Finally, you were all moved in – and Caspian had thankfully left, turning down Edmund’s offer to stay for a drink – it was early evening and your breath was stolen away by how pretty the sky looked. It was all pink and orange hues, and you were almost certain that you’d enjoy living here. New York seemed like such a romantic city – despite the smog – every story that was worth reading began in New York City.

Edmund grinned at you and flung an arm around your shoulders, “are you hungry? We were thinking about ordering pizza.”

You shook your head, although the notion of pizza sounded amazing, “no can do I’m afraid, I gonna go out and actually look for a job. How else are we going to be able to pay the rent?” you smiled.

Lucy raised her eyebrow at you, “Y/N, we’ve literally been here for a few hours and already you’re thinking about getting a job?”

You nodded at her as you kissed Edmund’s cheek, “you guys know how much I worry,” you laughed as you shrugged on your leather jacket, “I’ll see you guys later, and make sure to save some pizza for me.”

“I can’t make any promises,” Ed called after you, making you laugh.

You forgot just how hard it was to get a bartending job as you walked down the streets of New York, it had grown cool now and you wrapped your jacket tighter around your body. Finally, you came up outside a bar called; Aslan’s which had a golden lion on a field of red on the sign. Even from the outside it looked like a dive bar but you supposed that beggars couldn’t be choosers.

The bar stank of stale beer and cigarette smoke, and the floor was incredibly sticky. There was a pool table in the middle of the room and a juke box in one corner, playing loud music. The bar was a complete dive to be sure but you could also tell that it held a lot of character. You smiled at the sandy haired bartender; “I was wondering whether I could speak to the manager?” the bartender nodded and smiled at you as he walked into the back.

A couple of moments later, the bartender returned with an older man, the older man grinned at you as he offered you his hand, his eyes twinkling kindly, “I’m Aslan, the owner,” his voice had an Irish twang to it and you offered him a small smile. You were kind of surprised that he was the owner, he looked like a complete dad, and you had expected someone with tattoos and piercings, not a man in a cable jumper with his hand wrapped around a Spiderman mug.

“I’m Y/N; I was wondering whether I could give you my resume?”

“Certainly,” he smiled and you handed it over and his eyes scanned it before he glanced at you with a raised eyebrow, “are you a university student?” he smiled when you nodded, “have you done bar work before?”

“Yes sir,” you nodded, “I worked in a busy bar in the centre of London for a couple of years,” his eyes widened slightly and you could tell that he was impressed.

“Come in for a trial shift on Saturday so I can see what you’re made of.”

You breathed out a sigh of relief, this was better than you could have hoped for, “I’d be glad to, thank you so much, Aslan.”

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Caspian knew that pre law would be difficult but he just had no idea, after only a couple of days he was exhausted. It seemed strange but he was happy, no matter how exhausted he was. He had a deal with his parents where they agreed that he could go to a school of his choice where nobody knew him. He didn’t want people to treat him any differently.

Edmund – one of his first friends from class – grinned as he clapped Caspian on the shoulder as they made their way across campus, “that Professors kind of a hard arse, huh?” he chuckled, mirth lighting up his freckled face.

Caspian smiled in response as he ran a hand through his hair, “I think that’s the lawyer that we should all strive to be.”

Ed chuckled as he looked across the quad and pointed, “oh, hey there’s Y/N. You remember her?”

Caspian glanced up and saw the pretty girl in a Sex Pistols shirt and ripped jeans with red converse. She carried an easel over her shoulder, she didn’t strike Caspian as the artistic type, “how could I forget?”

Edmund smiled as he pulled his friend into a hug, “hey, Y/N, you remember, Caspian?”

Y/N smirked as she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and she looked Caspian up and down in a way that made him feel small. He flushed and looked away from her burning gaze, “of course I remember, Cas.”

“Caspian,” he spoke through gritted teeth as he felt a wave of annoyance wash over him as she smirked.

If Ed sensed the tension he didn’t say anything, instead he flung an arm over her shoulders, “are you coming to the party tonight?”

Y/N grimaced as she shook her head as she placed a cigarette between her red painted lips, “Aslan needs me to work a shift tonight, clearly I got through the trial period successfully,” she laughed.

Caspian raised his eyebrow at her in surprise, “you work at Aslan’s?” he chuckled, “isn’t it a shit hole?” he had never gone in and he had no intention of doing so.

Y/N glared at him, if looks could kill, he’d already be six feet under, “it’s got character, I wouldn’t expect someone,” she trailed off as she looked him up and down, a scowl on her face, “like you to understand.”

Her insinuation made his blood boil, he was starting to like her less and less by the second, “what the hell is that supposed to mean?”

Y/N opened her mouth to answer, most definitely with a scathing retort on her lips but Ed cut her to the chase, “I’m gonna go get a pretzel, does anyone want one?” he walked off before either of them could reply.

The tension was unbearable in the hot and heavy air, Caspian scowled at Y/N while she looked up at him as she took another drag of her cigarette, she looked completely unbothered. In fact, Caspian thought he saw amusement glitter in her eyes. Caspian coughed as the billow of smoke she blew out went right in his face. Normally he wouldn’t have cared but there was just something about Y/N that made him want to piss her off.

“Do you really have to do that here?” he grimaced.

Y/N smirked around the end of her cigarette but Caspian noticed that she turned to the side slightly so the smoke went in the opposite direction and he opened his mouth to thank her, stopping short when she replied, “last time I checked, this was a free country, Cas.”

Caspian clenched his jaw so tightly that he was afraid that he’d break his teeth but he didn’t bother correcting Y/N on his name. He wanted to ask her why she had it out for him, it had seemed that way ever since they met. Instead, what came out of her mouth was a stupid observation.

“I didn’t peg you for the artistic type,” he swallowed as she paused and looked up at him, the glimmer of a scowl on her face, “I had you down for a Psychology major or something, maybe that would explain why you’re manipulative,” his words were harsh but she didn’t even flinch as she crushed the stub of her cigarette beneath her shoe.

She looked away from him, wrapping her arms around herself, even though the day was warm. A flicker of emotion that he hadn’t seen before flickered across her face, “I used to paint with my dad, from a young age,” she looked back at him, that smirk was back on her face, “pre law, huh? That’s exactly the sort of major I’d expect from a trust fund baby.”

He let out a laugh and noticed that Ed was finally on his way back, pretzel in hand, “what makes you think that I’m a trust fund baby?” he asked, biting his lip.

Y/N raised an eyebrow, “oh sweetheart, with expensive clothes like that,” she gestured down at his outfit, making him scowl, “and such a pretty face, how could you not be?” she turned around to take a bit out of Edmund’s pretzel, laughing when Ed shouted out in dismay.

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@smiithys @elayneblack @amelie-black @generalblizzarddreamer @blackbirddaredevil23 @whiskeywinter89

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itsadamcole · 4 years ago

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graduation day

fem!reader x finn balor

Finn is reader’s English professor. He's spent the semester doing everything he can to make sure he doesn't do anything deemed inappropriate to her. Little does he know that reader feels the same way. The day of graduation, reader stops by Finn's office and the two confess how they've been feeling .... "is this what you want?" & "i've never wanted anyone to fuck me this bad before."

word count: 3k+

warnings: smut, a brief student/teacher relationship, sex in a semi-public area (office)

— enjoy this that i wrote at 3 am bc i was bored and couldn’t sleep .... idk what made me even think of this honestly. maybe it’s the thought of finn in a suit, idk .... there also could be a part two to this, i may need to think about it tho —

masterlist || part 2 | part 3 | part 4 | part 5 || request an imagine here

~ 18+ content below - read at your own risk ~

You've always found your English professor attractive. He's made the school day bearable. Everyday at 3 pm, you'd walk into that classroom and everything would instantly feel better for that hour long class.

When he would teach, you would look at how his muscles looked in his shirt or how well his pants hugged his butt. He'd notice you looking at him but never thought anything of it because he thought you were just paying attention to the subject of the day.

Finn's always found you quite attractive as well. You've made his school day exciting. Everyday at 3 pm, you'd walk into that classroom and his day would instantly get better for that hour or so of class. After he'd assign his students their work, he'd always sneak glances at you.

You had noticed these glances but never thought anything of them because he occasionally glanced up to make sure everyone was doing their work.

It was graduation day today. Your white gown and cap hang in your car as you pulled up to campus. You hoped that Mr. Balor would be here. He'd told his students on the last day of classes that he'd be in his office from noon until 3 on graduation day to make sure everyone's grades were okay or if anyone needed to talk about how nervous they were to be graduating college.

It was 2:45 when you parked your car in your usual parking spot in the student parking lot. No one was here on campus. It was practically empty. Everyone wouldn't be arriving until five or six for the scheduled seven o'clock graduation ceremony. Only faculty members wandered around campus, packing up the last few things from their offices no doubt.

You got out of your car and checked the time again on your phone. 2:47 pm. The English building was at least a five minute walk from the parking lot. You'd just barely make it.

So you ran. In your white three inch heels you'd decided to wear to graduation. The skirt on your white dress you decided to wear under your gown was flaring out as you ran toward the English building. You pressed your hands down on the skirt so nothing would be revealed to any onlookers. You were terrified that you would pop out of the dress too as the neck dipped very low, revealing a lot of your cleavage. The dress looked a lot like the famous white Marylyn Monroe dress, just a lot shorter and the neck was more lowcut.

Finn was wrapping up in his office as you made your way across the large campus. He finished filing the last papers he had to and he turned off his computer. He leaves his office to run down to the teacher's lounge area to clear out his things from that room.

You check the time again when you arrive to the doors of the English building. 2:52 pm.

You'd been to this building so many times. The classroom you looked forward to coming to everyday was located in this building. His office was located two floors above the classroom.

You take the stairs, running up to the fourth floor.

As you walk down the hallway of the office floor, you check each room's name plate as you walk by, looking for the "Mr. Finn Balor. English Professor" name plate on the door.

One room door was open. You approach it and look at the name plate on the wooden door.

Mr. Finn Balor. English Professor.

You swalllowed, walking into the medium sized room.

Everything was neatly packed away. Everything filed. Computer off. His supplies were neatly placed on his corner desk that took up about 25% of the space in the room. His jacket hung on the back of his desk chair. The backpack full of summer work sat on the black leather love seat that faced the desk on the other side of the room. The door marked the halfway point between the desk and the love seat. Two book selves were placed opposite the wooden door. The medium sized room had a cozy feeling to it.

You had never come to his office before. You were too scared. Scared that something would happen and he would know about your little crush that you've had on him since day one of class in January.

Finn noticed this. How you'd never ask for an appointment or stop by his office for a question. Your grades were excellent and that's why he assumed you never stopped by.

You wait a few minutes in his office to see if he had gone somewhere and will come back. 3 pm approaches and your hopes diminish. He probably left.

You let out a defeated sigh as you make the decision to leave.

As you walk out the door, you physically run into something. Not something. Someone.

"Miss L/N," the all too familiar Irish accent said. "Nice of ya to stop by. I was just thinking about ya."

You finally meet Mr. Balor's too blue eyes and you ask, "You were?"

He nods and walks around you into his office. You swallow nervously as you stand in the doorway and watch as he places a box full of objects on the large desk. "I was hopin' to get to see ya before the ceremony," he says. "I'm glad ya are here."

"Why's that?" you ask curiously, walking into the center of the room.

Mr. Balor looks over at you before he says, "I wanted to congratulate ya on your big day and because ya passed Honors English with flyin' colors. Ya should be very proud of yourself, Miss L/N."

You say, "Thank you, Mr. Balor."

He blinks at you before he says, "Ya graduate today, Y/N. Let's stop with the formalities, shall we? Call me Finn."

"Finn," you echo, trying to get his first name to sound more familiar than foreign. Calling your professor by his first name is not something you had done during the semester.

Finn smiles as you say his name. "So, Y/N," he says, dropping all professionalism. "What brings ya to my office on graduation day? I know it's not to talk about grades."

You shake your head and say, "No, it's not."

He packs a few pictures on his desk away into the box he'd just brought into the room as he asks, "So what do I owe the pleasure?"

Nervously, you say, "I wanted to come talk to you, um, about how I've been feeling for a while."

The packing stops as Finn looks up at you. "Nervous about graduation?" he asks.

You rub the back of your neck and say, "Not really."

"What's going on?" Finn asks, leaning back on his desk. He crosses his arms over his chest and his ankles.

The light grey button-up shirt Finn is wearing is tighter than usual and accentuates his arm muscles when he does this simple movement. It's tucked into his black dress pants. The first few buttons are unbuttoned. He's dressed somewhat casually.

You say, "I graduate today. In about four hours, I will no longer be your student and you will no longer be my teacher."

Finn nods along as you speak. "That's correct," he says.

Before you say anything else, you quickly run your fingers through your Y/H/C color curls. "I thought that now would a good time as any to tell you that over the semester, I've developed some feelings for you and I find you very attractive," you blurt out, trying to speak as slow as you can but it still comes out as a mess.

He's caught off guard by that statement. In that one sentence, he's realized that when he thought you were paying attention to the content on the board, you were looking at him. He's realized that you never came by his office was because of your crush on him. He's realized that you feel the same way that he does about you.

You watch as Finn lets out a sigh of relief and you tilt your head in confusion. "I'm so happy that you said that," Finn says. "Because I've been feeling the same way."

That's when you realize that the glances he's been stealing from you all semester were because he felt the same way. He could never keep his eyes off of you while you concentrated on your work.

A smile forms on your lips as you look at your soon to be former professor.

Finn smiles at you as he walks over, closing the door in case anyone was around.

"It has killed me over the past four months to be your teacher," he says as he approaches you.

You look up at him and ask, "And why is that, Mr. Balor."

He smiles and says, "Because it's prevented me from doing this." He leans down and lightly presses his lips to yours.

You've envisioned kissing Finn a bunch of times, his his soft kiss exceeds all your expectations.

As your lips move against Finn's slowly, you drop your arms. You hadn't realized that you crossed them over your very exposed chest while having that conversation with Finn.

The light kiss continues for a second before Finn pulls away and looks down at you. Even in heels, you're about five inches shorter that Finn's five foot eleven frame.

"Ya look absolutely stunning in that dress, Y/N," Finn says, complimenting you.

Your face turns a light red as you say, "You don't look too bad yourself, Finn. Is that what you're wearing to the ceremony tonight?"

He shakes his head and says, "I had a suit I was going to wear tonight but now, I don't think I'll be wearing it."

"Why won't you be wearing it?" you ask.

Finn says, "Because if ya think I'm going anywhere right now, you're crazy. I won't have time to go get the suit from my place and make it back here on time for the ceremony."

You glance at the time on the clock in the office. It's close to 3:30 now. You look back at Finn and say, "There's still about two hours before everyone starts to arrive for the ceremony. There's plenty of time to kill."

His eyes scan you as he says, "I plan on killing every second."

In one movement, his lips are back on yours. This time, they move more harshly and passionately than they did the first time. Your hands fly to cup Finn's face.

Finn's hands go to your thighs and he lifts you up, walking you over to his desk and setting you down gently on it. His tongue makes its way into your mouth as the kiss intensifies.

You find your fingers on the buttons of Finn's button-up after you pull the shirt up to untuck it from the waistband of his pants. Your fingers work to undo each button quickly but carefully.

He shrugs off the shirt and your hands run up and down his toned chest and abs. Finn's fingers are under the skirt of your dress as you kick off your heels. The digits slowly slide up your thighs, closer to your throbbing core. You are aching for him, just like you have all semester. Except now, you'll get the satisfaction of his fingers instead of yours.

The thought of Finn's fingers inside of you is enough to make you wet. Well, wetter than you already are. The white colored panties you're wearing are probably ruined at this point.

Finn's free hand works at sliding the sleeves of your dress off your shoulders. The fabric falls, exposing your breasts to Finn.

He pulls back from the kiss to look at your exposed chest. "So beautiful," he mutters under his breath. "All mine."

Finn pushes you back on his desk and stands between your legs as he starts to kiss and suck on each breast. You let out soft sighs as your core starts to pulsate again.

You need Finn to touch you before you explode.

"Finn," you gasp.

He looks up at you with his eyes and he asks, "Something wrong, my love?"

You swallow and say, "I need you to touch me. Down there. Please"

Finn crouches down in front of his desk between your legs. "Of course," he says, pushing your skirt up to expose your panties. "Already so wet for me."

"Only for you," you sigh as Finn runs a finger over your clothed core.

He takes the waistband of your pantie in his fingers and pulls them down slowly, almost teasingly. He sees just how wet you are. Your folds are soaked with arousal.

Finn kisses your thighs and says, "I've always wondered what you've tasted like."

You throw your legs over Finn's shoulder and say, "I want your tongue. Please." Desperation is laced in your voice.

He smirks and runs his tongue slowly through your folds. You gasp and smile. He sucks on your clit for a second before swirling his tongue around it. You feel him push a finger inside of you, making you moan softly. Finn moves the digit slowly, teasing you.

You reach down and run your fingers through Finn's short hair as his finger speeds up. He soon adds a second finger. He stands back up, hovering over you as he fingers you. You're a moaning mess beneath Finn's touch.

Finn kisses your neck gently as he moves his fingers a little faster. Your body jerks under his touch occasionally as you're pulled closer and closer to your pending orgasm.

"Ya taste so good," Finn says against your neck. "And ya take my fingers so well."

Your fingers run up and down his back lightly as he speeds up his fingers, adding a third one. You gasp and moan as his fingers move inside of you.

Right as you're about to reach your orgasm, Finn pulls his fingers out and you whine. He sucks on the three digits he had inside of you before he says, "Get on your knees for me, my love."

You nod and get off the desk. You get on your knees in front of Finn. You reach up and start to undo the button on his pants. You pull down the article of clothing and run your finger over Finn's hard member. You free him from his boxers. You're shocked by the size of Finn's member. You knew he was packing but not this much.

You take Finn in your hand and pump him a few times before you take him in your mouth. You start slow and shallow before eventually taking most of him in your mouth. You move your head, sucking occasionally. Finn starts to thrust into your mouth as saliva drips down your chin.

Finn groans softly as you suck him off, but it's not long before he stands you up and his lips are on yours. You push the dress off your body, stepping out of it.

He turns you around so your butt is pressed against his erect member. He gropes your breasts and kisses your neck. You gasp and moan as his member runs through your folds.

You're bent over the desk and Finn spreads your legs apart. "Is this what ya want?" he asks.

"I've never wanted anyone to fuck me this bad before," you admit.

That's all Finn needs to hear before he pushes himself into you. You grasp onto the desk as he pulls out, only to thrust hard into you again, making you moan.

Finn's trusts are hard and deep from the beginning. He's waited a while for this moment, and so have you. He's not going to be gentle with you.

You pull your left leg up onto the desk and hold it, giving Finn more access. He thrusts harder and harder, making you moan loudly.

When Finn finds your g-spot, you let him know immediately. "Oh, Finn," you gasp. "Right there." He starts slamming into the spot over and over again, making you moan louder and louder.

After a few moments of this, Finn stands you up and turns you around, laying you on your back across the desk. He thrusts harder into this time and his lips are on your neck. You gasp and moan as he moves.

One of Finn's fingers rubs your clit as he thrusts hard into you.

You lift Finn's head up and kiss him roughly. Your tongues battle for dominance and his hand rests around your throat.

A thin layer of sweat has formed on both your bodies as he continues moving.

Your walls begin to clench around Finn and he pulls back from the kiss, resting his forehead on yours. "Come with me, princess," he says, out of breath.

"Tell me when," you gasp.

After a few more seconds of movement, Finn says, "Now."

The two of you come together. You let out soft moans and whines as Finn helps you ride out your climax. He collapses on top of you. The two of you sloppily kiss for a few seconds before detaching from each other.

Both you and Finn get dressed but the kissing and touching doesn't stop. You make your way to the love seat, where you lay and makeout with Finn until six.

He walks out of the building with you and walks you to your car. Other seniors have begun arriving by this time.

Finn says, "Come by my house around nine tonight. I'll show ya a real celebration then."

You stand in front of Finn and look up at him. "What will this mean for us?" you ask. "Will we get to see each other after I graduate?"

He says, "Let's cross that path once that graduation cap is in the air and you've officially graduated."

You giggle and nod. "I'll come by at nine," you say. "Tell me the address and I'll be there."

Finn tells you his address then says, "See ya when ya walk across the stage."

"I can't wait."

#finn balor imagine #finn balor smut #finn balor x reader #wrestling imagine #wrestling smut #wwe imagine #wwe smut #imagines #imagine #smut #nswf imagine

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lonelyreputation · 4 years ago

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C’est Toi (coffee shop au) • CHAPTER FOURTEEN, wc: 8.2k

previous chapter | let’s chat | C’est Toi Index

Wednesday - February 20, 2019 - 21:18

Shawn’s here. Like he’s in my dorm which is something I honestly didn’t think would happen. Since the first time I ordered coffee, I just imagined myself fawning over him from afar and watching my back account dwindle with how much I was spending on coffee as an excuse to see him.

But now I’m saving money on coffee, he wants to see me just as much as I want to see him, and he’s in my room.

WARNING: ALLUSION TO SMUT.

“I’m just saying––”

“I don’t think you should say anything.”

With open books and loose leaf paper scattered on top of the table, Ella and I were in a stare off. Her eyes were narrowed in on me and I gripped the pen between my fingers. For the last half hour, studying had been long forgotten on Ella’s end. She kept pestering me on what happened with Shawn and I after the soccer game on Sunday.

And I repeated the same sentence I told her not even five minutes ago.

“Nothing happened,” I dropped my pen and buried my face into my hands with a sigh, “We came here, helped Niall fix something with the espresso machine, and then just spent time together.”

With both palms flat on the table, Ella leaned forward and whispered, “Bullshit.” I leaned back on my chair, raising my eyebrows as I crossed my arms over my chest. She continued on, “He was literally about to leave without saying bye to you.”

Ella’s eyes softened as I broke eye contact with her and turned toward the door.

I slumped down in the chair, “He admitted he was jealous,” Ella’s eyes perked up at the information, “And he…I asked if we were okay and he said he didn’t know what––” I uncrossed my arms and lifted my fingers to put air quotes around the next word, “––‘we’ I was talking about.”

Ella’s eyes widened, “What?!”

I nodded my head slowly, “Yeah, it wasn’t––I tried to leave, he told me to stay, said he was jealous, admitted to liking me a lot, and then we ended up here; at Brightside…” My voice trailed off at the end.

Ella scrunched her eyebrows together, “That doesn’t make any sense––He says he doesn’t know about the ‘we’, but then says he ‘likes’ you?” Her eyes shifted from mine and glared over my shoulder, presumably at the person of topic, “He’s an idiot.”

I picked up my coffee to take a sip, but frowned when I was met with cool air instead of hot espresso. I set it down on the table and shrugged, “I don’t blame him.”

“Don’t you dare take the blame for him,” Ella shook her head, “He obviously knows there’s something between you two, so for him to say that––” Her glare at Shawn intensified for a second before looking sincerely into my eyes, “Want me to beat him up?”

I tipped my head back in laughter, “I don’t think that would work out in your favor.”

“Most likely not,” Ella shrugged nonchalantly, “But he’s dumb.”

I rolled my eyes and picked up my pen, hoping to get back to studying, but Ella closed her books and pushed them aside.

“You need to define your relationship with him.”

The pen I just picked up dropped and fell to the floor, “Define the––I don’t think I can be the one to bring that up––I still––Do you remember what happened when I asked for his name?”

Ella rolled her eyes, “But you know him now,” she exaggerated her next words, “it’s different.”

“I don’t think I could do it.”

Again, Ella leaned forward, “You have to––”

“What’re we gossiping about?”

Not expecting to hear Niall’s Irish accent, I jumped in my seat, with my elbow knocking into my empty coffee cup. It bounced a little as it fell to the ground, Niall bent down to pick it up, and then stole a chair from the empty table next to us, and then sat down next to me.

He rested his chin in the palm of his hands as he looked between Ella and I, “Hm?”

I shook my head and glared at Ella, “We were just getting back to studying––”

“I was saying how she needs to define her relationship with Shawn.”

“Ella!”

My mouth dropped as I whisper yelled at her. She just shrugged her shoulders and Niall held his stomach as he laughed. Once he calmed down and wiped a tear away from the corner of his eye, he scrunched his eyebrows together and looked at me.

“You’re basically his girlfriend.”

I shook my head and let out a sigh, “We haven’t talked––”

“That’s what I’m saying!” Ella cut me off once more with an eye roll.

I slumped further down in my chair, “But we’re not––”

“As he was leaving yesterday, I asked him where he was going, and he said––I quote,” He gave me a pointed stare with raised eyebrows, “Off to see my girlfriend.”

I blushed and looked down at my notes. I fiddled with my hands as Ella let out a loud ‘Ha’ as her way of saying I-Told-You-So.

Without acknowledging either of them, I went to flip a page in my textbook, “That doesn’t mean––”

Niall leaned back in his chair with his arms crossed over his chest, “Shawn calling you his girlfriend really pissed Lola off,” he smirked, Ella happily cackled, and my mouth dropped wide open, “She was in a mood for the rest of the shift.”

“We––”

“I’m telling you,” Ella reached across the table and closed my textbook, “You have nothing to worry about if you bring it up to him.”

I let out an annoyed breath and I ran a hand through my hair, “What is it with you two cutting me off today? You seem to be on the same wavelength.”

“Don’t change the subject,” Niall nudged my shoulder, “I know Shawn, and Ella knows you, so when you put us together…” he offered both Ella and I a blinding smile, “You get one wavelength about your relationship.”

I silently looked between them before letting out a dramatic sigh. With my eyes closed, I leaned my head back against the chair, “I wish it wasn’t this complicated.”

“It’s not.”

I peaked one eye open and glared at Niall for his response, “It’s not complicated to you,” I let out another sigh before running a hand through my hair, “But to me, it’s just…complicated.”

Ella took it as her turn to speak, “But why is it complicated?”

Yeah, I thought to myself, why is this complicated?

In theory, everything was fairly black and white; I liked Shawn and he liked me. We spent a considerable amount of time together, we both knew that the other wasn’t seeing anyone else, and I enjoy our silences just as much as the times he makes me laugh.

When he gently brushes the tips of his fingers against mine, before slowly slipping his hand into mine, it’s a feeling I never want to go away. The way he softly caresses my face, as he leans his forehead against mine, before he kisses me is another feeling I never want to go away. And the zip of electricity I feel down my spine when I hear him call out my name from behind the counter…His eyes soften, his shoulders relax, and he says my name with a little bit of relief.

It’s the same way I feel around him.

I never want that feeling to go away.

Nothing would make me happier than to call Shawn my boyfriend. But a real title meant a real relationship. And a real relationship came with commitment. And with commitment comes an extended amount of time you spend with a partner for the unforeseeable future.

Which is what made this whole situation so complicated in my eyes.

“My Visa,” I let my shoulders drop as I regretfully looked between the two people I’ve only known for about two months, but was already finding it difficult to picture my life without them, “I leave in June.”

The cheeky mood that hung around the air of discussing the possibility of a potential boyfriend quickly dissipated. It was as if they too also forgot I was only here for a few months, and not indefinitely.

Niall sucked in a harsh breath and Ella casted a look downard as she bit the inside of her cheek.

Niall drummed his fingers on the table, “He’s smitten,” Ella nodded her head in agreement, but knowing Shawn’s feelings toward me didn’t relieve the heaviness in the middle of my chest, “He…Just don’t think about that now.”

I whipped my head around to look at Niall with wide eyes, “Don’t think about it now?! How do I––That’s all I can think about.”

“Just be present in the moment,” Niall slowly nodded his head in reassurance that this was the best route to go, but his blue eyes were a bit more dull, as if he didn’t agree with his own advice, “Enjoy your time here.”

I shook my head, “I have a literal expiration date––”

“Maybe he’s right,” Ella’s voice was small, and I turned my head to look at her with the same wild look I had given Niall, “Just go for it. Don’t think.”

After a few beats of silence I let out a single laugh of disbelief, “You’re agreeing with him?” Ella’s only response was a small shrug of her shoulders. “Him––Niall? You’re agreeing that I pretend like I’m not setting myself up for failure?”

They both stayed silent. Because while they both wanted to see their respective friends happy…They couldn’t deny that this outcome would be earth shattering devastating for both Shawn and I if things were to progress further.

I shook my head, “I don’t think I can––”

“Don’t think you can what?”

Hearing another voice I wasn’t expecting––except this voice was Canadian––I felt myself jump more in my chair, a feeling of panic flooding every inch of my body.

How long had he been behind us?

But when I slowly turned around, the tension I felt in my joints melted away when I saw Shawn’s disheveled hair and a yellow cup with steam coming out from the top in his hands.

I offered him a lie that was as easy as the smile on my face, “Write this paper.”

Shawn rolled his eyes and, like Niall had done earlier, he stole a chair from the empty table and brought it around next to me. But unlike Niall, Shawn had set the chair down almost right up against my chair so we could sit as close as we could together.

“I saw your empty cup fall to the floor,” Shawn pushed the yellow cup of coffee in front of me, “So I brought you a new one.”

Even if I tried, I couldn’t hide the smile that overtook my face.

“Thanks,” I whispered as I wrapped my hands around the cup, and looked into it. I stifled out a laugh and looked up at Shawn, “That’s a nice flower.”

Shawn smiled triumphantly and nodded his head, “I’ve been practicing––”

Ella leaned over the table to look at the latte art herself. Her eyebrows were scrunched together as she picked her head up from the latte to look at Shawn, looked down into the cup again, and then back up at Shawn, “It looks like a cobweb.”

Niall barked out a loud laugh as Shawn’s cheeks turned red.

I glared at her, “Of course you wouldn’t know what a flower looks like––”

Ella’s eyebrows shot up as her soft accent rose in pitch, “I wouldn’t!” She pointed an accusatory finger at Shawn, “Because he only makes latte art for you.”

I was in the middle of taking a sip of the latte Shawn made for me when Ella hastily spoke. I set the yellow cup down on the table and shut my eyes as I coughed into my elbow. Once I felt like hot espresso wasn’t going to come up my throat, I wiped the wetness from the corner of my eyes and looked at Shawn.

He immediately looked away from me with cheeks even more red than before.

I glared at Ella. But she just raised her eyebrows in an I-Told-You-So manner as she leaned back in her chair. She was about to say something, but then the bell above the door rang, and all of our heads whipped around to see who had walked in.

It was a small group of university students with slightly hunched over backs from carrying their books and a look of strong desire for anything caffeine in their eyes. I didn’t miss the small sigh that passed through Shawn’s lips.

And it seemed as if Niall didn’t miss it either because he stood up and greeted the students with a––I’ll be with you guys in a sec––as he returned the chair to its rightful table. He clapped Shawn on his shoulder and said, “Take a little break.”

Shawn didn’t have to be told twice before he let his whole body slump forward on the table; head buried in his elbows. Instinctively, I brought my hand up and grazed the tips of my fingernails up and down his back. I felt him release a deep breath.

“Long day?”

Keeping his face hidden away, he nodded his head.

I looked down at him, and even though he couldn’t see me, I offered him a sympathetic smile. With his head tucked away, I didn’t know if he felt like talking, so I just kept lazily running my fingers up and down his back. I was about to pull a textbook toward me to read, but then I caught Ella’s stare.

She wasn’t either looking directly at me or at Shawn; she was more so looking at my hand comforting Shawn. The movement came naturally to me––I just wanted to make him feel better––it would make me feel better to see him at least a little bit relaxed. But the look in Ella’s eyes wasn’t her usual lovey-dovey know it all look she usually gave Shawn and I.

She looked somber.

Ella was the first person who I told every little detail about Shawn to. She was the first to know about my little crush on him, she was the first to know when I found out his name, the first person I told every little interaction––no matter how big or small––I had with Shawn, and she was the person I celebrated with when Shawn asked me out on our first date.

And there was no belittling Ella’s attempts at playing matchmaker either.

Ella had seen the very first encounter I had with Shawn, and she would most definitely be here to see my last encounter with him. I could see her brain churning out thoughts, debating with herself if she still thought it was a good idea to pretend like I didn’t have to legally leave the country in four months.

I continued to softly run my hand up and down Shawn’s back, but my movements had definitely slowed down a bit. I continued to look at Ella, who hadn’t caught onto my staring, as I saw her frown morph into a small bittersweet smile.

And for the first time since coming into Brightside today, Ella willingly opened up a textbook and started taking notes.

It was nearing closing time, the gray misty sky was now pitch black with street lights dotting the sidewalk, as Shawn and I were the only ones in Brightside.

Ella had silently left hours ago, claiming she had to practice a monologue in front of her mirror. And just like every time Niall’s shift was over, he clocked out right on the dot and ran out the door. Shawn ended up sitting at the table with Ella and I for close to forty minutes with his head tucked away. From the way his breathing evened out, I knew he had used the time to take a little nap.

It was only Wednesday, but I was sure Shawn had already worked a full work week already.

On Sunday, he worked the opening shift, came in to help Niall with the espresso machine after soccer, and worked up until an hour before close. Monday, he worked from opening to close. Tuesday––Yesterday––He worked the opening shift once again, and when we were at his flat watching a movie, he had to work until close because someone had called out sick.

And Wednesday––Today––Shawn had worked another opening to closing shift. And he was due to open the store again tomorrow.

Needless to say Shawn was exhausted and it was clearly catching up to him with the few times he messed up behind the counter.

Brightside hadn’t seen a customer in well over an hour, and Shawn did everything he could to complete his closing procedures early so he could leave right when the clock hit eight. I abandoned my school work a few hours ago in order to help Shawn with his closing procedures, in hopes it would help him clock out right when the store closed.

I climbed up and down the stairs multiple times to bring up stacks of cups wrapped in plastic, various sizes of black lids, napkins, and anything else Shawn rattled off to me. I helped with the easy tasks, but if there was something more specific, I would stand behind the counter for Shawn as he fetched whatever he needed.

There were only a few times when customers would waltz in, and were put off by my American accent, when I told them that the actual employee would help them shortly.

But that was nearly an hour ago, and now I was finishing off washing the last table on the main floor. There was only twenty minutes left until Brightside officially closed. And Shawn took it in his liberty to make it look like the store was already closed from an outsider's perspective.

“Is it really necessary to have all the lights off except the one above you?”

Shawn held a finger up to me, silently letting me know he’d answer my question the moment he was done counting out his drawer. I playfully rolled my eyes as I walked behind the counter to put the sanitation spray bottle in its spot under the sink. As Shawn was still busy double checking his count, I lifted myself up to sit on the counter.

And right as I fully sat down, with his back to me, Shawn said, “That’s unsanitary.”

I let out a soft laugh, “I’ll wash it again.”

The register made a noise as it printed out a slip of paper and Shawn ripped it off, scanning it over once, before turning his head around to face me with a soft smile, “You better.”

He collected the stack of money, deposited the coins in a yellow cup, and walked to where I was sitting on the counter. When he was right in front of me, he rested a hand on my knee and opened up my legs with enough room for him to stand between them.

“To answer your question,” his voice was mesmerizing, but I could only focus on his hand that was still on me, now tracing circles along my kneecap, “If the store looks empty and dark then people won’t bother coming in. And we,” he squeezed my knee which caused a smile to light up my face, “can leave early.”

I tilted my head, “Aren’t you afraid of getting in trouble?”

Shawn let out a tsk, “Not when I’m the manager.”

“Touché.”

He let out a small laugh and looked down at his hand on my knee. A soft closed lipped smile toyed at the corners of his mouth, but when he looked back up at me, I could see just how exhausted he really was. He kept having to repeatedly blink his eyes to keep them from drooping, his skin looked a little pale, the bags under his eyes were a tad more prominent, and his hair was falling a little flat.

I offered him a small smile in return and brought my hand up to run through his hair. His eyes closed and a content sigh softly passed through his lips.

“I just have to do my drop and then we can leave.”

With one last scratch to his scalp, I let my hand fall and his eyes opened, “Sounds good to me.”

He smiled again, “Be right back.”

In one swift motion, he kissed my cheek and retreated from my legs. I watched him as he took long strides toward the steps and walked down. With a smile still on my face, I hopped down from the counter, and kept to my promise of grabbing the sanitizing spray to wipe off where I had just sat.

Right when I threw the damp napkin into the empty trash bin, I heard Shawn’s footsteps, and soon I saw his mop of curls as he continued to climb the stairs. Once he was fully on the main floor, I could tell that he looked more relaxed bundled up in his soft pink hoodie and jacket, backpack over his shoulders.

“Ready?”

I nodded my head with a smile and went over to the table where I had set up shop since arriving a little before the lunch hour. Once my jacket was on and zipped up, I slung my tote bag over my shoulder and smiled at him, “Ready.”

At my response, Shawn took a few long strides over to me, grabbed my hand, and we left out the front door. We both shivered when a particularly cold gust of wind hit us, and I felt even colder when Shawn dropped my hand in order to lock the door.

Once he double checked the door was locked from the outside, he stuffed the key back in his backpack and picked up my hand, already leading us in the direction of the Temple Underground.

After a few steps of silence, Shawn spoke up, “You didn’t have to stay.”

“I wanted to,” I squeezed his hand, “I got to spend more time with you. That’s always a bonus.”

I could see Shawn’s breathy chuckle through the cold London night air. He turned his head to look down at me, “I really appreciate you.”

Breaking eye contact with him, I looked down at our feet that were in perfect sync with each other. I bit the inside of my cheek to suppress my smile, but I could feel my face redden with blush. Shawn bumped his shoulder against mine which caused me to look up at him.

“Aw c’mon, don’t hide your smile.”

And this time I didn’t.

I let the butterflies in my stomach consume me as I felt them travel everywhere from the tips of my toes to the ends of my hair. I let the smile overtake my face, showing all of my teeth, with my eyes crinkling at the corners. There was an overwhelming burst of zeal in the center of my chest that I felt course through my veins as I saw him smile down at me the same way I was smiling at him.

For once, my face hurt from my smile reaching its full potential, not from the cold London wind. And when I looked deeper into Shawn’s eyes––even though they were only lit by the dim street lamps––they shined with the same elation I knew was present in my eyes. The moment I knew Shawn felt the same burst of energy in his chest was when I screwed my eyes shut, to exaggerate my smile for him, and his laughter boomed through the empty streets of London.

The feeling was happiness.

I matched his laughter, albeit a little softer, and squeezed his hand, “You’re too nice to me.”

Again, Shawn bumped his shoulder against mine, “If it makes you smile it’s worth it.”

As much as I wanted to shield my smile away from him again, I didn’t.

The rest of our walk to the Underground station was spent in silence. The only noise on our walk came from me, when Shawn dropped my hand and threw his arm around my shoulder and pulled me close into his side. The sound was a content sigh escaping my lips when he pressed a kiss to the top of my head.

When the Underground station came into view, I momentarily shut my eyes and nuzzled my head further into his warm sweatshirt. I felt Shawn’s chest slightly rumble with a chuckle as he hugged me closer. And when we came up to the entrance, neither Shawn nor I pulled away from each other.

I shifted my body from being tucked away in his side to his front and circled my arms around his waist in a hug. Shawn let out a deep exhale as he hugged me back and traced small incoherent patterns across my back.

“I don’t wanna get up in the morning,” he groaned. I nodded against his chest and he continued grumbling, “I feel dead.”

“You look dead too.”

Shawn lifted his head up and poked my side, “Where’s the reciprocation for my niceness towards you?”

I let out a small laugh, “Just being honest.”

He pinched my waist and I wiggled out of his hold with a laugh. I opened my mouth to offer a rebuttal on how him pinching me wasn’t very nice, but then an idea struck my mind. While his flat was only about a twenty minute ride on the tube…I could get to my dormitory in fifteen minutes or less. It was only a five minute difference…The possibility of asking Shawn if he wanted to stay the night in my room made sense if it gave him some extra time to sleep in. But I didn’t know if it would make Shawn uncomfortable, or if it was too soon in whatever our relationship was.

“Are you planning on stopping by tomorrow––”

“I have a question.”

I felt my eyes double in size as the words slipped out of my mouth before my mind could comprehend what conversation I was initiating. Instead of being put off by my bluntness, Shawn’s eyes shined with curiosity as he nodded his head at me to continue.

I let out a deep breath as I felt a ball of tension form in the middle of my chest, “I know…Traveling back to your place takes a bit of time––And if you wanted––Not that you have to or anything––But I know my place is close, and you’ve had a long week,” Shawn’s eyes twinkled with amusement at my rambling and I took a deep breath, closing my eye for a second, before getting the question out, “You could stay the night at mine, if you want?”

My voice cracked with uncertainty at the end.

Silence.

With one eye squinted, I slightly leaned back from Shawn and inhaled a sharp breath. But before I could backtrack my offer in a ramble, Shawn eagerly nodded his head.

“Yeah, I could––That sounds––Yeah,” he easily smiled at me, “That sounds nice.”

“Great.”

We stood there for a moment in silence before Shawn tugged my hand, “Lead the way, I’m sleepy.”

I nodded with a bright smile and led the way into the Underground station and to my designated platform. We waited for the train in silence, and I could feel Shawn leaning more into my body as he tried to fight off his sleep. Luckily we didn’t have to wait too long until the train approached and we hastily stepped inside.

Much like our night before, the whole tube ride back to Waterloo was spent in silence, with only Shawn’s soft breathing reminding he was next to me as his head was tucked away on my shoulder.

When we got to our desired destination, Shawn was still a bit delusional from having fallen asleep for a little, but when he noticed we were almost at my place, he walked with a little more purpose. I tapped my Oyster card as Shawn tapped his phone to exit the Underground station at different turnstyles, but when we were both out, our hands reconnected like a magnet.

I scanned into the residence hall and led Shawn to the elevator. He seemed to be taking in his surroundings, but with how fast he was blinking, I was sure he was just trying to keep himself awake. Thankfully, the lift dinged right when I pressed the up button and we quickly stepped inside as I pressed my floor number.

The ride up seemed to take no time at all, and before I knew it, I was fumbling with my keys to unlock my door with Shawn standing close behind me. Once I heard the desired click and was able to push the handle down, I stepped inside and flicked the lights on.

Shawn followed my steps and he took his time examining my room more than he did with the lobby. With a small smile on his face, he slipped his hands into the front pockets of his sweatshirt, “So this is where you spend your time when you’re not at Brightside.”

I scoffed, “I don’t spend all of my time there.”

He raised his eyebrows and teased me even more, “Are you sure? You were there for most of the day today.”

I turned my back to him as I placed my bag down on the desk chair, “What were you saying about always wanting to be nice to me?”

Shawn let out a chuckle as he turned around to close the door and locked it. He shrugged his shoulders, “This is just teasing. I’m still being nice.”

“Mhm,” I hummed with a slow smile creeping up on my face as Shawn walked toward me and picked up my hands.

We were standing incredibly close, the tips of our shoes touching, as he played with my fingers and looked at a few scattered pictures along the wall next to my bed, “It’s a cute room.”

I rolled my eyes, “Thanks.” I tried to ignore the nervousness I felt in my stomach, “There’s uh, you can shower if you want.”

Shawn smiled in appreciation, “That sounds nice.”

I nodded my head and looked anywhere in the room that wasn’t his eyes. While his eyes were arguably my favorite thing about him, I felt incredibly apprehensive under his gaze now. While we’ve been alone together at his place, something about Shawn being in my room and staying the night seemed a bit more intimate.

I cleared my throat, “I think I have clothes that’ll fit you? I can check––”

His hands squeezed around mine for a second, which caused me to look up at him. His eyebrows were pulled together and I noticed his jaw was more tense than before, “You have boy's clothes in your drawers?”

I nonchalantly shrugged my shoulders, “Yeah, I stole some from my brother before I left. Figured it would help with homesickness,” I tilted my head as I looked up at him, “You guys look to be the same size.”

Something in Shawn’s eyes visibly relaxed as he let out a deep breath, “Oh that’s––I forgot you had a brother. That makes sense.”

Thoughts of Shawn’s lingering jealousy over Jack swirled around my mind at how tense he was acting. So like he did with mine moments ago, I squeezed his hands in reassurance, “You have nothing to worry about.”

I leaned up on my tip toes and kissed his cheek.

A faint tinge of red spread across his cheeks and I smiled at his bashful reaction.

“There are towels in the bathroom you can use,” I dropped his hands and pushed him toward the small bathroom that was luckily inside my single room, “The sooner you shower, the sooner we can sleep. You also smell.”

Shawn stumbled backwards, “Hey!” As he turned his head around his shoulder to playfully glare at me, “That’s not very nice.”

I rolled my eyes, “Shower.”

He was still somewhat laughing as he retreated into the bathroom. And soon enough, the door was shut and I heard the water running. With a sigh I walked to sit on my bed and pulled out my journal from the drawer in my nightstand. I tried my best to write in it daily, and right now was the only free time I had between classes and spending all day at Brightside with Shawn.

So before I would be interrupted by Shawn finishing his shower, I picked up a black pen and flipped to a fresh page. Like always, I checked the date on my phone and wrote it on the line––Wednesday, February 20, 2019––and checked the time to write that too; 21:18.

When I had all the details I needed, I started to hastily write in cursive so I could get a quick entry in.

But now I’m saving money on coffee, he wants to see me just as much as I want to see him, and he’s in my room.

I still can’t believe he’s here. I still can’t believe I asked him to come over. Still patting myself on the back for that…Even if I did ramble on like a little bit of a mad person. But thankfully Shawn seemed to be more enamored by it than put off.

There’s just something about his presence that makes me feel calm. Something I haven’t felt with any past boyfriends––Or really anyone in general. I could be having the most stressful day, but if I were to see him, I could think about how in that moment my life felt just a little better. I didn’t have to be with him at all times during the day either to feel like that. I could see his smile flash through my mind if I was having a particularly hard day and feel content.

But all of these feelings make me more nervous about when I have to leave––

“McLane?”

I slammed my journal shut and threw it aside as I heard Shawn’s voice bring me out of my own head. I quickly lifted my head to see what he needed, but when I was met with a dripping wet Shawn in a towel, absolutely everything in my mind disappeared.

He had the towel wrapped around his hips, and I tried not to make it obvious that I was staring at him, but from the way I felt my voice get caught in my throat, I knew I failed. Just standing in a towel, I could see his slightly defined muscles and tattoos that had been partially covered by his shirt. His chest still had some water droplets that the lights were reflecting off of, and his curls were matted down on his forehead.

I gulped.

“I––Um––Yeah?”

Shawn smirked at the crack in my voice.

“Do you have your brother’s clothes by chance?”

My eyes widened in realization that I never handed them over to him and I scurried off my bed. I knew my whole face was flaming red, especially when one of my legs got caught up in a bed sheet and I almost face planted on the ground. But I quickly recovered and avoided all eye contact with Shawn.

I opened and rummaged through three drawers before I found where I had my brother’s sweatpants and sweatshirt. Pulling them out, I walked over to Shawn with my head down and held them out for him to take.

When I felt him brush his hands against mine as he took the clothes, I looked up at him to see that he still had the same prideful smirk on his face.

Taking advantage that I was actually looking at him, Shawn dipped his head down and pressed a quick kiss to my lips that left my forehead wet from his curls.

He pulled away slightly and whispered, “Be right back,” against my lips. And just as fast as the kiss was, Shawn spun around and went to change in the bathroom.

I took a deep breath before going back over to my drawers and picking out a pair of shorts and an old t-shirt to sleep in. Soon enough Shawn was out of the bathroom, wearing my brother’s clothes, and before he could get a quip out, I scooted past him and made my way into the bathroom to get ready for bed.

And to get my flustered thoughts together.

While I changed and brushed my teeth, I tried to calm myself down. There was no reason why I should be this nervous about sleeping in the same bed as Shawn. We’d spent enough time alone together that I was comfortable with him. And it wasn’t like this was my first time sleeping in a bed with someone I had feelings for.

But the nagging voice in the back of my head told me this was different.

My feelings for Shawn were different.

With a deep breath and a semi-clear head, I twisted the bathroom door knob and stepped into my room. I saw Shawn sitting on my bed, back pressed against the wall my bed was up against as he looked intently at the pictures tacked up.

When he heard me walk over, he turned his head with a smile, “You look nothing like your brother.”

I let out a quiet laugh and sat next to him on the bed. He was looking at a picture of William and I sitting on a boat that was taken last summer. William had an arm thrown around me while my head was leaning on his shoulder, as the wind blew my brunette hair in front of my face, and William had a hand on top of his blonde hair to keep it from blowing around.

“Throws everyone off when they find out we’re twins.”

Shawn let out a small laugh as his fingers traced over a different picture, “Who’re they?”

I smiled at the memory as I leaned my head on Shawn’s shoulder, “My highschool friends. That was our prom.”

Shawn hummed in acknowledgement and rested a hand on my thigh, “You look pretty in your dress.”

“Thanks,” I whispered.

His fingers started to lazily trace circles on my thigh, “Do you still talk to them?”

I nodded against his shoulder with a faint smile, “We FaceTimed last week. It gets a bit hard with the time difference, but they’ve been my friends for like…ever,” I looked up at him through my lashes to see a slight frown on his face, “So it’s worth it.”

“Do you miss them?”

“Yeah,” his fingers stopped their movements on my skin, “But we all go to different universities, so being away from them is nothing new.”

Shawn nodded his head slowly, a slight frown still present on his face. His fingers slowly went back to tracing shapes on my leg, but I could sense that his mind was somewhere else. He kept a low-spirited gaze trained on my senior year prom picture, as we sat in silence and I wondered about what was troubling his mind.

My wall was only of pictures from home, only happy memories that I knew would keep me company abroad. So while I stared at them with a fond smile, Shawn stared at them with the opposite facial expression, and then something in my head clicked as to why he seemed upset.

It was my life before him.

And it would be the life I returned to after I leave London; after I leave him.

I soon felt my smile tugging down into a small frown that matched Shawn’s.

Ella and Niall’s words of ill fate wisdom popped up in my head––Just go for it…Don’t think about it…Be present in the moment––And I half-listened to them. Be present in the moment. That’s all Shawn and I could do.

“We’ll take lots of pictures and I’ll hang them up here,” I whispered into the crook of his neck, hoping he would take it as a promise that I wasn’t planning on leaving him any time soon.

I felt his hand inch ever so slightly up my thigh, as he tore his solemn gaze away from the pictures and looked down at me in an adoring way, “I like the sound of that.”

His eyes flickered down to my lips, as if he could also feel the strong pull between us. He darted his tongue out to wet his lips as I picked my head up from his shoulder. He took his hand that wasn’t on my thigh, and slowly lifted it up to reach under my hair and cup the back of my neck. With his forehead resting against mine, we stared at each other for a few seconds before I couldn’t wait any longer.

I leaned forward and caught his lips in a kiss.

Without hesitation, Shawn kissed me back slowly. The kisses were innocent as I let my hands wander to his chest and clutch the fabric of the sweatshirt he was wearing between my fists. With my hands pulling him closer, Shawn’s hand that was on my thigh continued to creep up until he slid it under my t-shirt, and ran his hand down my bare back.

He glided his palm and tips of his fingers down the expanse of my back. I shivered as he delicately touched every ridge of my spine, every bone, and every curve. He pressed his palm flat on my back, pushing me toward him as the tip of his tongue peeked out in a quick stripe across my lower lip.

An involuntary whimper left my lips as Shawn continued to press his lips against mine.

“Lay down,” he managed to rush out in between his kisses.

I was barely able to nod my head in agreement before Shawn pressed his lips back against mine and started to slowly lower me down. When the back of my head landed on the pillows, Shawn slid his hand from my back to rest on my hip. As he laid me down, he didn’t once break the kiss, and I craned my neck up to meet his lips that were hot with anticipation and need.

There was a brief moment of hesitation where we shifted our legs to intertwine and he slid his knee between my legs.

I unclenched my hands from the sweatshirt and slowly ran them up his chest, over his neck, and tangled my fingers in his hair.

While just moments ago Shawn dismally looked at my past through photographs, he touched me as if he didn’t give a damn about anything except a future together. It terrified me a bit how strong my feelings were for Shawn; I didn’t even know he existed at the beginning of the year, but now, I didn’t want to go any longer without his presence in my life.

Just be present in the moment.

It was a piece of advice that was easier said than done. Easy for two people looking in on their friends and wanting them to achieve happiness. Easy when a person wanted to forget about reality and fall into the fantasy of having their ideal life. Easy for people who lived in the same country.

And I knew Shawn was having these exact thoughts; every kiss was deepened with a fiery passion and the trail of his fingertips on my body would leave a lasting burn.

It was a silent agreement that we both wanted nothing more than to be present in our moments together.

Overcome with emotion, I had to break away.

As I tilted my head out of the kiss, Shawn didn’t lift his head up as he nuzzled his head into my neck and deposited a few kisses. He nipped at the skin as I sucked in a deep breath when he hit a particularly sweet spot right above my collarbone.

Slowly, he kissed his way up my throat until he got to the corner of my mouth, and placed another sweet kiss. He gasped for air as he leaned his forehead against mine, with his eyes still closed. I still had one hand in his hair and my other hand cupped his jaw as my thumb moved in soft circles on his cheek.

Eyes still shut tight, he gulped as if he was revealing his biggest fear.

“I really like you, McLane.”

His voice was convincing, but the smallest waver behind his tone wasn’t lost on me.

I ran a hand through the front of his damp curls, and when he finally met my stare, I offered him the softest of smiles. I leaned up to press a quick kiss to his lips, “I really like you too.”

Shawn let out the faintest of laughs, returning my smile, as he brushed a piece of hair out of my face and tucked it behind ear. He leaned down and mumbled, “Good,” against my lips as we both smiled into our next kiss.

Both of our hands wandered a bit more freely and with a bit more certainty. Like how my hands were first clutched around the sweatshirt Shawn was wearing, they found their place there again, except this time they were clutching at the hem of the material. I wasn’t sure what Shawn was thinking, and my hands were definitely more timid than they were before, but after a few moments of indecisiveness, Shawn broke our kiss and reached behind him to pull the sweatshirt off over his head.

Unlike when I saw him shirtless in a towel, I didn’t have much time to stare at Shawn’s chest above mine before he dipped his head back to reattach his lips to mine. Carefully, I let one of my hands trail down his chest. My fingertips ghosted over his skin when I felt his stomach muscles contract. I went to remove my hand, but Shawn shook his head against mine.

“Hands are cold,” he murmured between kisses, one of his hands fiddling with the hem of my shirt, gradually pushing it up against my stomach, as his warm hand laid flat on my stomach, “‘S fine.”

I let out a giggle and nodded my head against his.

“Are you okay with this?” He momentarily broke our kiss to lean his forehead against mine, eyes fully opened and staring deep into mine.

With a hand gripping onto his shoulder, I caught my breath before answering with a swift, “Yeah.”

The corners of Shawn’s eyes crinkled with a smile as we were both on the same page with each other. We moved in sync as I slightly leaned up with Shawn so he could remove my shirt, leaving my upper half bare.

We fell back onto the mattress togher, chests pressed flat, latched in an openmouthed kiss. Before coming over to my dorm, Shawn was half asleep on the tube, but now it seemed as if he was wide awake and didn’t have to be back at work in less than ten hours. I felt jitters in my nerves and blood running hot through my veins.

Shawn gently ran his hands over every bit of my skin he could reach; his fingers skimmed my neck, over my collarbone, caressed down my sides, until his hand rested on the waistband of my shorts. His fingers stayed immobile for a few moments before he shallowly dipped his thumb just under the elastic.

He slowed down the pace of our kiss until they were just pecks as I held my breath.

“Are you still okay with this?”

When I opened my eyes, he was already intently staring down at me with attentive eyes silently saying he would stop if I wanted. But I didn’t want him to stop. I wanted to live in our moment.

I swallowed, “Yeah––I––Still good. Really good.”

Shawn chuckled at my short phrases and pressed a searing kiss to my lips, the same time his hand dipped into my shorts. I thought I knew what it was like to have my breath stolen away from me, but the moment Shawn’s fingers slipped past my underwear, I felt a sudden shiver of euphoria as my eyes closed in bliss.

After we reached a new threshold in our relationship dynamic, I was curled up into Shawn’s side in a half-awake stage as his even breathing indicated he was asleep. As I laid my head on his chest. with his arm curled around me, I could finally pinpoint why I felt apprehensive the whole night from when I asked him to stay over up until now. Because even though I’d only spent a mere two months in London, a majority of that time with Shawn, I finally felt like I truly belonged somewhere.

And I didn’t want to mess it up.

A/N: Hiiii!! It’s been a bit longer than expected…But here’s the chapter! Whoop!! Getting some progress between the two! They had their first sleepover 😌 And she stayed to help him close!! How cute 🥺

I’d love to know your every single one of your thoughts!! They make me happy happy and give me lots of motivation!! I already have the ~next chapter done and let’s just say…There’s some jealousy on both sides

Thank you so so much for reading & staying with C’est Toi!! I am forever in debt to every single one of you who has let me share this story with you!! Love you all lots!!!

taglist (add / remove yourself): @mendesficsxbombay, @5-seconds-of-mendes, @pupsandpucks, @musicalkeys, @madatmendes, @im-salt-but-not-salty, @shawnmendez, @determined-overthinker @lenamds, @samaratheweirdo @shawnsreputation, @ineedmorestyles, @kerwritesthings

#Shawn Mendes #Shawn Mendes Fic #Shawn Mendes AU #Shawn Mendes Fanfic #Shawn Mendes FanFiction #Shawn Mendes Fan Fic #Shawn Peter Raul Mendes #Shawn Mendes Coffee Shop AU #Shawn Mendes Imagine #Shawn Mendes Writing #Shawn Mendes Story #Shawn Mendes Fics #Wonder #Shawn Mendes Wonder #Sm4 #Shawn Mendes fan fictions #I really really hate tags #hope you enjoyed this chapter!!!

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pedros-mustache-main · 4 years ago

Text

when your love reaches me (i)

summary: 1978 is decidedly not 2020. nor is your life ever the same when you meet a guitarist, curly haired, soft spoken, and true.

word count: 9.3k+ (i am abundantly sorry for how long this is. curl up with a snack, my dudes)

warnings: required: total suspension of disbelief. also: screwed up historical timeline, slight angst, language, innuendo, suggestive moments and blink-and-you’ll-miss-it smut (not 18+ but be mindful)

a/n: hi! a day late, but i wanted to respect the ‘out of time’ epilogue which came out yesterday as this is very much inspired by @perriwiinkle and her lovely fic. this is my take on a similar theme, only with brian and just three (3) parts. thank you to @deacyblues for your beta-ing help on this mini-series; i heart emoji you. anyways, let me know what you think. enjoy! xoxo!

in this chapter: something—be it fate or otherwise—transplants you to a place you do not belong.

it’s raining hard, thunder and lightning battling for dominance in the gray sky. you clutch your textbook to your chest and duck your head against the onslaught, feet nearly slipping on the flat stones of the sidewalk. london weather has always been unpredictable, but you’ve never seen a storm like this, never been caught in one either. it’s too far to make it back to your flat without catching pneumonia and the library feels just as far away so you push forward. the sky turns bright white followed closely by a boom of thunder, and you squeak, picking up your pace.

across a muddy patch of grass stands union concert hall. it’s likely to be locked on a saturday evening, but it’s worth a shot. you squelch through the mud and run the remaining hundred yards to old brick building. your hands, wet with rain, scrabble against the brass doorknob, which, to your surprise, turns with ease. muttering a prayer of thanks, you wrench the door open as a gust of wind turns the rain sideways. you slip inside, breathing heavy, and fall against the door as it shuts.

silence. blessed silence.

you heave a sigh of relief and run a hand through your drenched hair.

the concert hall is empty, but the lonesome rows of chairs and desolate stage come as no surprise. with fall break around the corner, imperal college is largely devoid of students on the weekends. there’s parties to be had, memories to be made; no one wants to be cooped up on campus. you, however, don’t have that luxury. there’s too much to be done in too tight a span of time.

as the rain pounds the roof and slides down the windows, you take a seat at the back of the hall. the plastic chair creaks underneath your weight, and each time you move a soggy squish echoes about the room. your textbook—creating exhibitions: collaborations in the planning, development, and design of innovative experiences—rests open on your lap. the laminated binding curls as it dampens, but you’re soaked to the bone. there’s no avoiding the damage. if you must, you’ll pay the thirty pounds at the end of the semester to turn your rental into a purchase.

if you think about it, it really is quite sad, the way you’re sitting on your own on a saturday night, highlighter clamped between your teeth, eyes scanning the pages of your textbook with far too much interest. if you think about it, you know you should be out with your friends. this morning rachel had tried to convince you to come out after your shift at the museum, but you’d said no—again. you’ve been given a full ride in the masters of science communication program, and you’ll do nothing to jeopardize the once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. rachel insists that a simple evening at a local pub is harmless, and you know she’s right, but your answer is always the same: no. it’s easier that way.

you read for awhile, highlighting the text and annotating the margins of your textbook with the thoughts or questions that flit through your mind. as you dry, the legs of your jeans turn stiff, and your hair feels frizzy with humidity. not for the first time, you wish you’d remembered the pink umbrella leaning against the coatrack in your flat.

an hour passes, maybe two. with a heavy sigh, you shut your book and meander through the rows of chairs toward the bathroom. the washroom light flickers a muted yellow when you switch it on, an incessant electronic buzz filling the room. crossing to the counter, you stare at yourself in the mirror. you look atrocious: tired bags under your eyes, streaks of mascara on your cheeks, hair unruly, clothes sodden and weighed down on your body. you’d laugh if it wasn’t so damn depressing. you look like a madwoman, like some sort of victorian nightmare. in an effort to clean yourself up, you splash cold water on your face and scrub the makeup away until your cheeks hurt. you wet your hair, run your fingers through the tangles, and attempt to dry yourself under the hand dryer.

it’s still raining outside. there’s a single skylight in the bathroom, and when you look up, it’s a funny sensation, watching the rain slam against the window but never hit your face. you smile faintly; there’s just something about being inside when it rains. it’s similar to a warm hug or a—

a crack of lightning breaks you from your reverie. the sound goes straight to your heart, stopping it with the force of its blow. with a gasp, you clamp your hands against your ears, eyes screwed shut, and you’re suddenly six years old again, scared of a simple thunderstorm. white light pours through the skylight, drowning the room in an almost heavenly glow. thunder trips over the heels of the lightning in an effort to make itself known. the thunder is more like a roar, and you swear you can feel the foundation of the building jostle.

then all is quiet. even the sound of the rain on the roof has stopped.

you pull your hands from your ears, breathing heavy, and look around the bathroom. maybe... maybe you should call a cab or an uber. you’d rather not be stuck in the concert hall overnight, and the storm feels eerily close.

grabbing your bag from the counter, you fumble for your phone in its depths. you come away empty-handed, but you must have left it on your chair alongside your textbook. you pull open the bathroom door and step into a crush of bodies.

your heart stutters in your chest, confusion stealing the air from your lungs.

there’s a crowd of people in the concert hall. it’s hard to move, to breathe, to think. the room is dim, lit only by orange and white lights on the stage. there’s music pounding through the room, and it sounds vaguely familiar, but you’re too stunned and confused to place it. a haze of smoke filters over the heads of onlookers; the air smells like cigarettes and sweat. where had everyone come from? how long had you been in the bathroom? surely not long enough for a band and a crowd and—

a thought strikes you: this is not the union concert hall you were just sat in seeking shelter from a bad storm.

a hand circles your arm, and you startle, head twisting to the left. “you okay, love?” a voice asks. the man is short with warm-toned skin, his hair like a dark halo around his head. he stares at you in earnest, and you’re sure you’ve gone pale.

in lieu of answering, you stumble backwards, back into the bathroom. the subway-tiled walls of moments past have turned a dull green, and the hand dryer has been replaced with a paper-towel dispenser. the linoleum under your shoes is grimy, unwashed and stained. the air is heavy with cigarette smoke thanks to the women lounging around the open stalls, dripping ashes to the floor with a simple flick of the wrist. the scent clings to the inside of your nose, and you blame the tears pricking the corners of your eyes on the smell.

“excuse me,” you mutter, shouldering past a lithe woman with blown-out blonde hair. she gives you a once over, her brow furrowed, before leaving the bathroom.

at the sink, you brace your hands against the edge. the sink feels like cheap plastic, easy enough to rip from the wall. where the sturdy white countertop has gone, you aren’t sure. for the second time in one day, you splash water on your heated face.

“hey. are you okay?”

you look up and meet the doe eyes of a short girl standing behind you. her hair is bobbed at her neck, her eyes lined with a deep purple liner. her appearance is warped by the faded mirror, but you can see the way she’s looking at you, and you don’t blame her. you’re sure you look as crazy as you feel.

you straighten at the sink and shut the water off. “i’m just...” you flounder for a good excuse. your insides feel like mush, and your brain has paused, as if the loading symbol is looping over and over in place of producing any coherent thought. “do you have a phone i could borrow?”

“there’s a payphone around the corner,” she says, her words slow with apprehension. “did something happen out there? you look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

there’s a pounding in the back of your head, hard and steady, and you rub your temples. “i was studying and then i was here and i don’t really remember the rest.” you pause. “it’s been a long day.”

the girl’s face softens as she smiles. she moves to stand beside you and withdraws a thin tube of lipstick from her clutch. “i know what you mean. i can get pretty bogged down and feel like the time’s flown by and i’ve been asleep the at the wheel, but, god, it’s queen! they started here, you know, in this very concert hall. and now they’re back, just for us! how bloody exciting is that?” as she speaks, her irish accent grows stronger, in tandem with the excitement lighting her face.

you frown, unsure if you’ve heard her correctly. “queen? like... the band queen or queen elizabeth?”

she pauses in her lipstick application. “the band queen, silly. are you really that knackered?” with a grin, she puts the lipstick down and takes your shoulders in her hands. “you’re at a queen concert, love. it’s friday, september first, ninteen-seventy-eight. has been all day, ever since you woke up in your jammies.” she laughs, her blunt bob swaying as tilts her head to the side. “you gonna be fine?”

your first thought: no, absolutely not.

the only answer you can give, punctuated by a weak smile: “yeah. yeah, i’m gonna be all right. thanks.”

the girl puts her makeup away and gives your shoulder a final squeeze. “i think they’ll be finishing soon, so i’m gonna pop back out so i don’t miss it. try and get some rest, yeah? you look like you could use it.”

she exits the bathroom, a song momentarily pouring through the door, and you find yourself alone in the empty room.

before you can stop yourself, you twist on your heel and lunge for the nearest toilet. you vomit, heaving what little remains in your stomach, until there is nothing left to unearth. dropping back against the stall, you duck your head between your knees.

this is just a fever dream. maybe you got scared during the storm, hit your head, and passed out on the bathroom floor. there’s no way in hell—no way in hell—this is nineteen-seventy-eight. that’s preposterous. and sure, queen might have gotten their start at imperial college—everyone knows that—but that was eons ago. freddie mercury is dead, john deacon is retired, and brian may and roger taylor are well within their seventies. the girl must be mistaken or strung out or high or all of the above.

or maybe you are. you can’t be sure anymore.

your legs tremble beneath you as you stand. if any good has come of this, it’s that you’re dry now—suspiciously so. despite the pale sheen on your face and layer of sweat on your forehead, it’s as if you were never drenched to begin with. your cream pleated trousers have no wrinkles along the back after you spent all afternoon stuffing and unstuffing boxes on the floor. your navy top is void of the stubborn coffee stain you’d gotten this morning as you rushed into the museum ten minutes late. it’s almost as if the day never happened.

it’s almost as if the day—saturday, september fifth, twenty-twenty—is still forty-two years in the future instead of thirty minutes away from ending.

“all right, we’ve got one more for you lovelies tonight! this one’s new, so keep it a secret ‘till the record comes out, okay?”

you turn at the sound of a familiar voice amplified over a loudspeaker.

freddie mercury.

though you’ve never been a huge queen fan, you’re positive anyone with even a passing knowledge of classic rock could hear his voice and pick it out in a lineup.

heart in your throat, you sling your bag over your shoulder and squeeze out the door. the energy in the hall has heightened tenfold since you last stood in the bathroom doorway. perhaps it’s due to the fact that the concert is rapidly drawing to a close and everyone wants to drink in the last moments before it’s all over.

perhaps it’s simply because it’s queen.

as your eyes slide to the stage, you can’t help but feel a giddiness rise in your chest. your throat goes tight, eyes misty, as you weave through the crowd on auto-pilot. you’re drawn to them; who wouldn’t be? the floor shakes beneath your feet as the music surges around you. he’s magnificent—freddie. he commands the crowd with ease, and you feel at home, relaxed, like you’re watching a friend goof around. seeing him there—whole, well, happy—is nothing short of a miracle.

“aren’t they marvelous?” you turn to see the girl from the bathroom. she holds your bicep tight in her fingers. her smile is radiant, her face glowing with unbridled joy. “i’m glad you made it out for this!”

you nod dumbly, swiveling back to drink in the final moments. matthew at the coffee shop you frequent would kill for something like this. you want to text him, to rub it in his face with a good-natured wink, but he hasn’t been born yet, has he? seeing freddie mercury on stage confirms it.

you’re not in twenty-twenty anymore.

the song draws to a close, and you find yourself smiling despite the uncertainty of your current situation. you can’t help but applaud alongside the rest of the audience. someone shouts “encore” but freddie waves him off with a laugh.

“we just did a fucking encore!” he says.

they take their bows—all four of them—and then disappear backstage. a moment passes before the house lights flicker on, and the crowd begins to disperse. trash litters the floor, and the room doesn’t feel as magical as it did seconds before, but you find it hard to breathe nonetheless. try as you might, you can’t tear your eyes away from the stage.

“oh my god, wasn’t that brilliant?” bathroom-girl practically jumps up and down on her ballet-slippered feet. “i’m anna, in case you were wondering,” she says.

you hesitate. there’s too much going on around you, so many things you’ve only read about or seen in pictures: the fashion, the hair, the fucking band. you feel dizzy—dizzy with fear and excitement. it’s like you’re standing in line for a rollercoaster. you know what’s coming: the slow climb up the first hill, anticipation bubbling in your stomach before the first drop, then the madness of letting yourself plummet at incredible speeds. all you can do is laugh, just like you do on the rollercoaster.

“[y/n],” you say between fits of amusement. “sorry! i don’t know what’s gotten into me!” you press a hand to your mouth, shaking your head back and forth.

anna grins. “that was me when the concert first started.” she bends her head toward yours conspiratorially. “i nearly pissed myself when i saw john deacon walk out for the first time.”

your laughter turns to girlish giggles and holding her forearm is all you can do to keep from falling to the floor. you’re drunk, surely. drunk off what, you can’t say, but you’ve felt like this before.

“hey!” anna’s eyes go wide, and you can see the lightbulb turn on above her head. “i saw where they parked their vans. we could go have a look-see!”

your initial reaction is a resounding no. just the thought of standing mere meters away from queen makes you want to break out into hives. you’re sure to say something stupid and embarrassing or screw up some time-continuum-thing. you’ve seen enough doctor who to know not to mess about with time.

oh god, you must be really fucking crazy if this is what you’re life has come to, deciding what the right or wrong move is based on a children’s television show.

yet there’s still a sliver of your heart holding on to the hope that this is all a dream. you could wake up at any moment, still in the concert hall, yes, but where you belong and a soaked mess from the rainstorm. so, even though you know you shouldn’t, even though your heart of hearts tells you that you’re a girl out of place and far away from home, you nod and let anna drag you toward the a side-exit door.

outside, the air is chilly, but it soothes your hot skin.

standing outside the concert hall is perhaps more strange than standing in it. you know this spot; you walk behind the building every day. if you follow the winding path toward the dormitories and then veer to the left, you’ll eventually reach your flat—or you would if this were some other time. it’s not a terribly long walk, and most of the time, you find it refreshing. but today, with the sun replaced by the moon and the evening air and anna’s nervous energy, you find yourself a mite too cold. the cold settles in your stomach, not on your body, and you catalog the area. the parking lot has been repaved, all the dips and cracks you know so well gone. the tree which overhangs a dumpster in the corner is but a small sapling, and the dumpster is nowhere to be seen. the cold in your belly spreads to your chest, and, for a moment, you forget what it is anna dragged you here for.

but then her fingers grip your wrist tightly, and you remember: queen.

“look,” she whispers. “there they are.”

you follow her eyeline to the gaggle of men descending a ramp propped beneath a set of double-doors. in the thin veil of darkness you inhabit, it’s hard to make out who is who. brian is unmistakable, what with his gangly arms and legs and tilted shoulders. freddie is easy to pick out, too; he walks with a swagger only he can pull off. everyone else is a jumble of faces obscured by the night and a cloud of cigarette smoke. they’re loud, but not rowdy, and it reminds you somewhat of a group of teenage boys out to make trouble.

“let’s go over.” anna steps forward, but you stop her with a hand on her elbow.

“no, we shouldn’t. i’m sure they’ve got security, and we really can’t just waltz up there. besides, what would we say?” you shake your head. “this is close enough, don’t you think?”

“fuck no!” her exclamation startles you, your eyebrows lifting, and she laughs. “this is likely the only time we’ll be able to meet true rockstar royalty. you can stay back if you want to, but i’m gonna go.”

“go where?”

in unison, you turn with anna on the ball of your foot. your movements are slow, hers hurried, but you both come face to face with roger taylor and you both inhale sharply.

your first thought is foolish: he looks so young. but of course he does. he’s twenty-nine here, not seventy. half a cigarette hangs out of his mouth, and his blond hair brushes the collar of his jacket as he goes to remove the cigarette and puff a plume of smoke to the side. he wears sunglasses, despite the late hour, and if you weren’t so bloody unsettled, you’d find him attractive.

anna finds her voice first. she points her thumb over her shoulder. “well, we were gonna go and... that is, we thought we might...” she heaves a sigh, and her smile turns angelic. “you put on a great show tonight.”

roger grins, his eyes fixed on anna. “i thought i saw you in the crowd.” his voice is raspy and high and dripping with innuendo. you all know he did not see anna from behind his drum set, but that doesn’t stop her from pulling her lower lip between her teeth and batting her eyelashes.

“oy, rog, can we get a move on, please?”

roger frowns and slips between you and anna, his hand firm on her bicep. he shouts in the general direction of the disembodied voice. “don’t get your fucking knickers in a twist, crystal, jesus!” he rolls his eyes and looks back at anna. “sorry, he’s like a damn mother hen. i didn’t catch your name.”

“anna.” she’s breathless, ready to drip to the floor in a puddle of goo. it’s painfully obvious, and roger seems to like that. his hand rubs an untraceable pattern over her shoulder.

“and your friend?” he doesn’t look at you when he speaks, just jerks his head in your direction.

you should be offended, but really you feel like crying. an overwhelming homesickness builds in your chest. everyone you know, every place you hold so dear, none of it is as it should be. those fleeting magical moments during the concert are quickly wearing off, and you feel yourself slipping back to the panic you’d fought in the bathroom.

“that’s [y/n].”

“would you gals like to join us for some drinks?” this time roger does look at you, his gaze soft but purposeful. he’s daring you to turn him down.

maybe it’s the homesickness. maybe it’s the idea that you can be anything, anyone, here with few personal repercussions. maybe it’s the haughty glint in roger’s eye. whatever it is, it finally gets you talking.

“lead the way,” you say, your eyebrow raised in silent challenge.

roger’s smirk widens, and he tugs anna against his side with an arm around the waist. “gladly.”

the inside of the tour bus is cramped. you suspected it might be so based on the outside, but you didn’t realize just how tight the quarters would truly be. you’re stiff, sat on a stool between two men with long brown hair and equally long faces. there’s a tremor in your leg, and you itch to steal the cigarette out of the man-on-your-left’s mouth and smoke your anxiety away.

for anna’s part, she seems at ease, and you envy that. she’s wrapped around roger’s arm, pressed against him on the couch, and in that moment you feel a certain flare of hatred toward her. you’d always been jealous of the girls who could so effortlessly flirt and make a move and get what they want. you never had to the confidence to follow suit. sitting as you are near the back of the bus, crammed between two sullen and tired roadies, you’re reminded of secondary school lunches. a rush of discomfort heats the back of your neck, and you shift on the stool. your movement must disturb to the man next to you because he shifts, too. he leans away, twisting his neck to look at you.

“you good?” the smoke that leaves his parted lips circles around your head, stinging your eyes.

“i wish everyone would stop asking me that,” you mutter. it comes out before you can stop it, and when you realize what you’ve said, you sink down further on your stool. your hand comes to squeeze your forehead. “oh god.”

but the man just laughs. “here.” he hands you an unopened beer. it’s cold to the touch, dripping with sweat. “you look like you could use it.”

you lift it slightly in a sign of thanks before popping the tab and taking a swig. it’s cheap, and that surprises you considering it’s queen, but you drink it anyway.

“so, who picked you up?”

your eyebrow arches, and you look at the man on your left with a mixture of shock and distain. “no one, thank you. i came on my own accord and i’ll leave in the same way.”

out of the corner of your eye, from his place on a low bench in front of you, you think you see brian turn slightly, his curls swaying with the movement. but he doesn’t face you after all, so it must have been your imagination.

“okay, okay!” the man holds his hands up in surrender, mirth etched along the lines in his face. “sorry!”

you resist the urge to huff, cross your arms, and pout like a child. you pull at your beer instead.

the man nudges you with his elbow. “chris taylor, by the way. crystal.” he points to the man on your right. “that’s ratty—pete.”

pete looks tired enough to fall out of his chair. all he can do is raise his eyebrows in greeting and drop his head back against the wall.

“i’m [y/n].”

crystal mirrors ratty’s movements and stretches his legs out underneath the card-table. “well, i must admit that you might be one of the most level-headed lasses we’ve had in here—and we’ve had plenty of girls grace this bus.”

you aren’t sure if he’s bragging or simply making conversation, so you ignore the comment and say, “i’ve had a... strange day. it’s a lot to take in.”

you’re not lying. really, it is a lot to take in. the tour bus is hot and sweaty, but conversation is quiet, like a background hum. it’s not what you thought it would be; nothing is.

“didn’t think you’d end up here?”

you shake your head. “absolutely not.”

crystal smiles, and you find yourself smiling back, the truth in your words humorous to you and you alone.

the bus door opens, and a flurry of sound enters the already-cramped space. crystal sits forward; ratty seems to wake up. at once, the energy is higher. you feel your heart begin to pound against your ribcage.

freddie enters the bus in all his post-concert glory. you’d been a baby when he died, but now you sit at the back of his tour bus, watching as he laughs and jokes and lives. it makes you want to throw up all over again.

he stands in the center of the bus, hands on his hips, surveying the jumble of roadies and groupies and band members. “well?” the corner of your mouth quirks upward at the sound of his voice; you can’t help it. “have we decided where we’re crashing yet?”

“uh, yeah.” john deacon pipes up from his spot at the front of the bus. you hadn’t noticed him all night, but there he stands, leaning against the driver’s seat, a map in hand. “i think we’re gonna—”

“oh hell, we don’t need that!” roger slaps the map out of john’s hands. it crumples between his fingers, and he all but pulls anna onto his lap. she squeals in delight. “we’ve got our own personal tour guide right here. not to mention brian. he’s got to know his way about.”

“don’t forget [y/n], roger!” anna says, ever the good friend.

no, please. please, for the love of god, forget [y/n].

as one, the tour bus turns to look at you. this time bile does rise in the back of your throat.

sitting in the back of the bus you can handle. crystal is nice, and simply being in the presence of music royalty is sure to be the peak of the rest of your life—whatever that may look like. but having them all look at you, expectantly, waiting for you to giggle or blush or say something, it’s that too much you told crystal about moments earlier. only this time, it’s so much you feel like your head might explode.

even though it feels like decades, only a few seconds have gone by since everyone began waiting for you to make a peep. so when you look at anna and say, “i’m sure you know better than me,” it doesn’t sound awkward. it sounds like a comment shared between friends. you’re thankful for that, at least.

“okay, fine.” anna claps her hands together. “what are you in the mood for, freddie?”

your eyebrow lifts at her familiarity, and beside you, crystal chuckles behind his hand. god, she’s good. you are... decidedly not.

“anything fabulous. we’ve just had a good show, if i do say so myself, and i want to have some fun before we really have to start working.”

“we are working, fred.” it’s the first thing you’ve heard brian say all evening. you can’t see his face from where you’re sitting, so his voice sounds far away. far away but ever so nice to the ears.

freddie waves his hands dismissively. “you know what i mean.”

“there’s a disco club a few blocks from here,” anna offers. “it’s not garishly disco, but it’s fun.”

there’s a pause before freddie says, “it’s late, so it’ll have to do.” he turns to brian with a grin. “do you think we should call ahead?”

twenty minutes and three phone calls later, you’re walking side-by-side with crystal and ratty, hands twitching at your sides, desperately wishing for the comfort of a pair of pockets. if you’d hazard a guess, you’d say there’s about twenty people headed for the club. you know you should feel happy, exuberant at the chance to party with queen in the 70s, but your head hurts. it really, really hurts, and you haven’t the faintest idea where you’ll spent the night. you have no money, no contacts—nothing but the clothes on your back and the half-empty purse thrown over your shoulder.

“[y/n], where are you from?” ratty asks. his questions is harmless enough, but it breaks your underarms out in an uncomfortable sweat. how can you explain that you’re from here, the very here you’re walking on, without also explaining why you have no idea where the disco club is or where the charming flower stand on the corner has gone?

you settle on something vague, but passable. “not from around here.” the toe of your shoe kicks at a loose pebble, which skips forward, nearing the long strides of brian.

“on holiday then?”

“something like that, yeah.” you smile to soften the blow of your unsubstantial answers, and it seems to appease.

you chat with the roadies about inconsequential things—roger’s horrible morning breath, the oil crisis and its impact on the upcoming tour, whether or not pigeons lay eggs. it’s small talk, and you ask more questions than give answers, but it relaxes the ache in your shoulders. you have to remind yourself breathe, drink in what you can while you can. you’ll be okay.

you have to be.

the group rounds the corner like an amoeba, all uneven edges and uncertain direction. though the hour is rapidly closing in on one a.m., the road is filled. a few of the cars closest to the curb honk and frenzied arms reach out windows to wave as queen passes them by. a girl flashes her tits from the sunroof of her car; roger gives her a thumbs up.

“is it always like this?” you ask.

crystal laughs. “this is nothin’, dove. we’ve got this party planned for october in new orleans, and i am honestly a little bit afraid of what might happen.”

the club comes into view, music ebbing through the open front door. climax is written in bright yellow lightbulbs across the marquee, and someone squeezes anna’s shoulder with a laugh. the line waiting to enter is long, roped off in anticipation of your arrival. those in queue push forward as your party begins to enter. freddie signs a few autographs on the back of receipts. brain scrawls across the crest of someone’s hip with a shit-eating grin on his face.

the resounding thought that you shouldn’t be here flickers through your mind and not for the first time. you ignore it as crystal leads you into the club, a hand tucked in the small of your back. his touch is anything but sexual, and it’s a relief. he likely sees you as a lost puppy, out of her depth, and you might have to lean into that come closing time.

“do you want something to drink?” he shouts over the music and laughter and shouting.

you nod eagerly. “yes, please!”

weaving through horde of dancers, you find a spot at a cocktail table tucked near a back corner. “boogie wonderland” plays over the louder speakers, and it grates against your headache. the disco ball in the center of the room spins and spins and spins, casting sprinkles of white light over the room. you can’t stop watching it, wondering what it would feel like to wrap yourself around the ball and stay there forever. it probably wouldn’t feel very different from how you feel right now, though your legs are planted firmly on the ground.

“lost in thought?”

you turn, expecting to see crystal with your drink, but you’re met with the incredibly tall form of brian may. you have to tip your head back to meet his eyes he’s standing so close. he must notice because he takes a fraction of a step backwards, his smile widening.

your mouth goes dry, but you manage a shaky nod. “yeah, i guess.” you blink and run your eyes over his face. like roger, he’s painfully young. his curls are dark and full, his skin smooth. he’s handsome, ridiculously so, and despite what some may believe, you think he knows it too.

“you’ve been awful quiet tonight.” he leans against the table with ease. the edge, which reaches your chest, seems to dig into his hip, and he adjusts himself to a more comfortable stance. “most girls are chatty.”

“that’s what crystal said.”

brian chuckles under his breath. “yeah, crystal would know.” he glances over his shoulder then looks back at you. “[y/n], right?”

you’re surprised he remembered or overheard or asked someone before walking over. it’s a simple thing, but just hearing your name grounds you. you don’t care who says it; it reminds you that you are, in fact, still human. and it doesn’t hurt that brian’s voice is like butter. it could put anyone at ease.

for the first time that evening, you feel a lightness in your chest as you smirk and meet his gaze. “brian, right?”

at this, he throws his head back to laugh. his reaction brings a blush to your face, and you duck your head, uncertain where your burst of flirty energy has come from. moments ago, you’d been yearning for the comfort of a good bed and solid night’s rest. now, you could stand in this dark corner and look at brian, hear him laugh, until you fall asleep standing.

when he’s calmed, brian looks at you again. there’s a shift in his stare, one you can’t quite place. “what do you do, [y/n]?”

this time, you decide to answer honestly. “i’m a student, most of the time,” you say. “but eventually i’ll be a curator for museums.”

his eyebrows lift. “a curator? that’s bloody brilliant.”

you shrug. “i like history and photography and design. it’s kind of the perfect blend.” glancing at your empty hands, you fumble for your words then meet his eyes through the underside of your lashes. “a little birdie told me you’re pretty smart yourself.”

he tilts his head in a noncommittal manner, and you swear you can see a tinge of color rise along the top of his exposed chest. “i suppose.”

“what is your specialty again? besides the guitar, of course.”

“astrophysics with a concentration in interplanetary dust.” before you can make a quip about how much interplanetary dust is actually around to study, he leans close. he has to bend at the waist to lower his mouth to the shell of your ear, and when he speaks, it’s hardly above a whisper. “i’m good at other things, too, you know? besides space and the guitar.”

you draw back slightly, enough look into his eyes. his pupils are dark, overpowering the hazel tint of his irises. if you move an inch, your lips will brush his mouth; you stay still, your eyes darting back and forth between his.

you feel utterly ridiculous for a fraction of a second. he’s brian may, first of all, and you are decidedly not worthy of his attentions. but more than that, this isn’t your home, your time. the thought makes you cringe.

fucking hell, you don’t belong here.

his long fingers skim your waist. the touch is feather-light, a mere whisper, but it pulls you from your thoughts.

“what are you thinking?” he breathes.

“not much.” it’s a half-truth; you can barely focus on your existential crisis with his fingertips working along your skin as they are. he’s brazen enough to dip underneath the hem of your shirt just enough to touch the skin of your hip. you bite your tongue. “wondering where you got the nerve to be so cheeky all of a sudden.”

he withdrawals his hand as if he’s been bitten by fire, cheeks gone red as flame. “sorry, sorry,” he stammers. “i just thought that—”

you know you shouldn’t, that it will only lead to trouble, but you do it anyway.

you grab his wrist and squeeze tight. “i’m only joking, brian.” your grip relaxes as you grin. “come dance with me.”

he huffs a sigh of relief, shaking his head. “damn, you really—”

you interrupt him again, your feet moving on their own accord toward the dance floor. there’s this strange desire in you—a desire to forget—and he seems willing enough to be the one to help you lose track of your troubles. “come dance with me.”

“i don’t really know how,” he admits, though his smile is wide, showing off his teeth.

“me neither! we can look like idiots together.”

somewhat reluctantly, brian follows you onto the dance floor. the music is louder here, the song changed to something you don’t recognize. you weren’t lying when you said dancing wasn’t your forte. in primary school, you’d stepped on the toes of every boy in your music class during the week of mandatory dance lessons. things haven’t changed much since then as you promptly land your foot on brian’s seconds into the song.

you gasp and clamp your hands over your mouth in an effort to obscure your laughter. “shit, i’m sorry!”

“it’s fine!” he yells, straining to make his voice heard over the thrumming of the music. “the clogs, they’re kinda like a protective shell.”

swaying to the beat, your hands slide along his forearms. “oh yeah? what do they protect you from?”

“klutzy girls like you.”

looking back on the moment years later, you wonder if that’s when you fell in love with him first, on the dance floor, his gangly body unaccustomed to fluid movement. he makes you laugh with his two left feet, and you forget, like you’d hoped, that you do not belong in his arms. as the music ebbs and flows like the tide, you follow it, swinging, swaying, twirling in whatever way you can. you’re sweaty, and he’s sweaty, but you’re both smiling. at some point, you bump into anna who bumps into roger who bumps into freddie and then it’s some version of disco mosh pit, arms and elbows and feet tangled together. you’re laughing—truly laughing for what feels like the first time in ages—and, if you could, you’d stay in that moment forever.

the music slows. you breathe hard, nodding as anna whispers something in your ear about leaving with roger. you aren’t sure if you’ll see her again, aren’t sure if it matters, but you’re thankful for her nonetheless. hers was the first kind face you met, and for that, you can never repay her.

a pair of arms wrap around your middle, pulling you tight against a lean chest, dipping you side to side as the music trills in the background. he mumbles against the skin of your neck. “rog’s leaving with anna.”

you nod and curl your fingernails around his forearms. “i know.”

“is it too presumptuous of me to ask if you’ll do the same? not leave with him, i mean. leave with me.”

you could say something about his proposal being too forward after only a handful of hours together, but you don’t. you feel dizzy from dancing, dizzy with a sense of freedom. normally, you’d never follow a guy home after just meeting. it’s never been in your nature, despite the times you wished it were. tonight, though, you feel like you can do anything.

and if that means letting brian may take you back to his hotel where he’ll likely screw the daylights out of you, so be it.

you twist slightly in his arms, enough to look up at him. you repeat your words of earlier. there’s no hint of a challenge in your voice this time, only desire. “lead the way.”

by the time you reach the door of brian’s hotel room, you’re fumbling with what buttons on his shirt are actually buttoned. his lips are pressed against yours, and you can feel his smile on your teeth as you struggle to both kick the door open with your heel and work the last two buttons.

“you know,” you mumble against his mouth. “you’d make it a lot easier for me if you just don’t button any of them. you’re halfway there, anyway.”

“so i’ve been told,” he replies, his own fingers pushing the three buttons of your blouse through the small holes.

the comment gives you pause. your hands still on the warm skin of his shoulders, and you pull back. his eyelids are heavy, his lips parted and plump. you don’t know what it is about his words that make you stop. maybe it’s the idea of him in a similar situation with another girl. of course, you know you aren’t the first concert-goer he’s dragged home; you aren’t that much of an idiot. still, the thought niggles at the back of your brain.

his hands slide away from your shirt to cup your face, and he bends down to kiss you softly. this kiss is different from the ones he’d given you in the lift—hungry and demanding—and in the hallway—earnest and consuming. he’s gentle, painfully so, and tears spring to your eyes. you’ve never been kissed like this, not so tenderly. it makes your heart stop.

“just you and me, [y/n],” he whispers when he breaks the touch. “just you and me.”

you nod and finish pushing the white shirt off his shoulders.

he doesn’t fuck you. he truly makes love to you, worshipping your body until you both are spent and sweaty, sheets tangled around your limbs. when he collapses beside you with a soft groan, you feel the overwhelming urge to cry. it’s embarrassing, really. but it’s been such a long day, and you’re tired—tired and happy and warm. you throw your arm over your eyes to keep from showing your emotion. you absolutely refuse to be the girl who cries after having sex with brian may.

you feel the bedsheets rustle as he props himself up on his elbow. his fingernail skims along your collarbone. “you’re so... divine.”

you drop your arm to stare at him, heart thumping in your chest. his eyes flick up to meet yours. he smiles and looks at you as if he’s known you his whole life, not seven hours. there’s nothing you can say that will capture how you feel in this moment, so you simply grab him by the neck and pull him down for a bruising kiss.

later, when you’re drifting off to sleep, one of his sleep shirts swallowing you, his chest against your back, one leg pushed between both of yours, you wonder if you’ll wake up in the morning and find it was all a dream. it certainly would make for a good story once you make it home to your flat. even so, if it isn’t a dream, the part of you that so desperately yearned for home hours earlier is slipping away.

you could stay here, like this, if he let you.

shaking your head, you burrow against him. such silly thoughts. even if you have to stay here, out of place, for the rest of your life, this night was a one-time thing. you must know that. so, you’ll cherish his arms around you while you can and commit everything to memory.

come morning, you find yourself still in nineteen-seventy-eight and deliciously sore. you’re embarrassed to say you smile at the revelation of both situations.

stretching your arms over your head as your eyes flutter open, you groan with your stretch. after your eyes have adjusted to the bright morning light streaming through the open curtains, you look around the room and find brian sitting at the small table in the middle of the kitchenette. he has the hotel phone cradled against his shoulder and ear and looks delightfully sleep-muddled. you slip from bed, uncertain how you should act.

will he send you away now that the night is gone? you wouldn’t blame him. your fingers twist the hem of his shirt as you sway from foot to foot at the base of the bed.

he looks up and waves you over. a good sign, at least.

bare feet padding against the carpet, you cross to his side, but don’t reach out to smooth the unruly curls on his head as you wish you could. the thought crosses your mind that you are painfully in love with him already, and it doesn’t even phase you. it just makes you laugh to yourself.

“what do you want for breakfast?”

you blink. “sorry?”

“breakfast? what do you want?”

“i don’t really care. anything,” you say with a shrug. at his pointed look, you concede with a roll of your eyes. “fine. a waffle.”

he adds a waffle to the order, thanks the person on the other end, then puts the phone down. he’s quick to grab your waist and pull you to his lap, his lips attaching to a sensitive spot on your neck. you giggle and swat his shoulder.

“i thought you wouldn’t be so keen about me come morning,” you admit, keeping your tone playful as you pull back to brush the hair from his face.

his forehead crinkles. “why wouldn’t i be?”

you shrug. “we barely know each other. plus, i’m [y/n] [y/l/n] and you’re brian may. not exactly an obvious match.”

he’s quiet a moment, eyes searching yours, before he says, “what do you think about plato’s allegory of the cave?”

you choke on a laugh. “i’m sorry?”

“you know, plato’s cave—what do you think about it?”

he’s being serious, something that absolutely stuns you into answering honestly. you settle on his knee, arms twisted around his neck, as you consider your response. “well, i mean, i think it’s a good metaphor.” you pause. “it makes me think of people and their cell phones.”

“cell phones?”

shaking your head, you backtrack. “i mean, just technology in general. when it comes to technology, we never really know what we’re getting, do we, usually until it’s too late. i know it wasn’t his intention, but the cave makes me think of that. the way technology can so easily take control and we’re powerless to stop it.”

your words hang in the air for a long while. then he dips forward and claims your mouth with his. you shuffle in his lap, surprised, a soft oh parting your lips. he kisses you with that same hunger you’d felt in the lift the previous evening. when he draws back, he presses his forehead to yours.

“come with me,” he breathes.

you still completely, hands dropping from his neck to his arms. the clock on the desk in the corner ticks, loud and annoying. “what?”

“come with me.” he draws back to run a hand over the hair framing your face. “on tour. we leave next month.”

“you’re insane, brian.”

he shakes his head. “no, i’m not.” his words are resolute, anything but unsure.

“we’ve only just met and i don’t think you know what—”

“i know what i’m saying, [y/n].” his hands move to hold your face. “come with me. i’m crazy about you. say what you will about the timing, but i don’t care. you’re smart and funny and beautiful and i want to get to know you more, but i’m leaving. i’d kill to have you by my side.”

“brian...”

your head is spinning, your throat gone dry. someone knocks on the door in the hall—room service—but he keeps talking.

“it’s north america first, then europe, then asia. it’s long, i know, but you don’t have to stay the whole time. i couldn’t ask you to leave your studies like that. you can leave any time you want.”

“brian,” you say again, this time more forcefully, yet he continues.

“i just think that... after last night... fuck, i really like you, [y/n], and i’d hate to see some other guy swoop in while i’m gone.”

he stops at last, breathing heavy, his wiry frame practically trembling with anxiety. you smooth your hands down his neck and across his shoulders, smiling softly. and maybe you’re just as crazy as he is because you lean in, kiss his lips, and say, “okay, i’ll come with you.”

you don’t think twice. don’t have to, really.

he grins, his fingers squeezing your thighs. “really?”

you nod. “really. but only so long as we can go to a disco every now and again. i think john would like that.”

he laughs and delves his fingers in your hair, kissing you hard. you forget about the breakfast waiting in the hall. it doesn’t matter.

a month and a half later, you’re stood outside the record company’s london office, thumbing through your hastily-acquired, perhaps-not-totally-legal passport. crystal had gotten it for you. there being no record of your birth, you aren’t sure how he managed it, but you don’t ask any questions.

the last month and a half have been a whirlwind, to say the least.

you’ve been, largely, happy. any chance you get is spent by brian’s side, and he seems just as eager to pass his free hours with you. you were able to snag a job at a corner diner to make some money for basic necessities—a change of clothes, for starters—and anna, also invited on the tour, gave you free reign of her pull-out sofa without asking for an explanation.

but despite spending more time in brian’s hotel room than anna’s living room, and despite the blissed-out evenings and comfortable mornings and long chats and shared moments of quiet, despite everything that makes you happy here, you still know it’s not right. it’s not where you belong.

so as you’re standing outside the record company, heavy suitcases at your feet, roadies and groupies alike milling about, you can’t help but feel on edge. it’s that same feeling you had the first night you arrived: your heart is in your throat, your chest tight.

maybe it’s the clothes: the tight, flared jeans, white prairie blouse, chunky tan heels. it’s cute, but it’s not you. not yet, anyway.

maybe it’s the hair: you’d had to get it cut earlier in the month, anna dragging you to a salon after claiming your hair was too dowdy. when you look in the mirror now, you feel like farrah fawcett, and that’s not totally bad, but it’s taken some getting used to.

maybe it’s the lack of technology: you’re so used to your phone being attached to your palm, or your car keys jingling in your purse, or your earbuds falling out of said purse at inopportune times. now, you just have a bag with a book in it and a few pieces of really uncomfortable makeup.

all of it serves as a reminder that this is not home.

“ready to go?”

you look up from your passport and squint as the sun hits your eyes. brian stands in front of you, and he moves to block the sunlight. you laugh. “you’re like my own personal sunblocker.”

“it’s a gift and a curse.” dropping a duffle bag, he bends to unzip it and pull out a box wrapped in plain brown paper. “here, i got you something.”

you frown. “brian, that’s not necessary.”

he pushes the box toward you. “just hush and take it.”

with a sigh, you take the box from his hands. over your shoulder, gerry stickells, tour manager, calls for everyone to load the bus with their belongings. the flight to dallas doesn’t leave for several hours, but he likes to be punctual, and the band plus thirty-odd crew and three or four extra girls makes for a hard group to wrangle at once. you don’t envy him his job.

brian leans a little closer, dropping his voice as he watches gerry herd stragglers toward the bus doors. “open it before he comes to shout at us.”

“fine, but you still shouldn’t have gotten me anything.”

you rip the paper from the box then slide your nail under the edge. pushing back the cardboard folds, you find a camera nestled amongst sleeves of tissue paper. it’s a small camera, the name canon etched along the silver rim. a thin leather strap is curled around the black casing.

“brian,” you breathe. you meet his eyes, which shine and sparkle and send a thrill to your chest. “this is too much.”

“when we met you said you liked photography. i figured there might be things you’d like to take pictures of while we’re gone.”

cradling the box against your chest, you rise to your toes to press a firm kiss to his mouth. your fingers wind in the hair at the back of his neck, and his hands come to rest on your sides. as has become custom, you feel his smile on your mouth.

“does that mean you like it?” he murmurs.

drawing back, you nod. your cheeks hurt your smile is so wide. “yes, of course! thank you!”

gerry’s voice interrupts brian’s response, and you turn to see him, red in the face, pointing to the running vehicle. “hey, you can do that on the bus! get a move on!”

by the time you find your seat on the bus, the tour is already running behind schedule. gerry blames brian, who only shrugs in apology. there’s a brief speech of general safety and schedule from gerry then one of excitement and giddiness from freddie. then the bus rolls out of the parking lot.

you’re nestled on brian’s lap, his arms around your stomach, a game of scrabble on the table in front of you. to your right, john pulls at a cigarette.

“fred, we haven’t even left the country. i don’t want to be sick of this game before tomorrow.”

freddie sticks his tongue out. he places a letter square down and rubs his hands together. “ha! that’s... sixteen points. deaky, write it down!”

brian shifts to glance over your shoulder. “no, that’s not a word, fred.”

“of course it is!” he points to you. “[y/n], please tell him it’s a word.”

instead, you smile and take a picture of him, consternation on his face, finger pointed in the direction of the camera. he groans and rolls his eyes, dropping back against his chair. brian snuggles you close, his breath ghosting over your neck.

as the bus heads for the airport and the game of scrabble continues, crystal leaning over your seat to add his two-cents, you lean back and sigh. there’s a warmth in your chest, in your heart, that you haven’t felt in a long time. you intertwine your fingers with brian’s and squeeze his knuckles.

maybe... maybe this where you belong after all.

~*~*~*

taglist: @bhmay @grigorlee @teenagepeterpan

#brian may #brian may fic #queen #queen fic #j writes #brian may x reader

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wowweeharrystyles · 5 years ago

Text

Part 11 | Fringe & Change | 7.2k words

Sequins & Zippers’ Summary: An internship with Harry Lambert transformed into a job of a lifetime - Aurora Del Gatto finds herself touring the world with the one & only Harry Styles as his ‘Head of Wardrobe.’ Aurora is nothing but nerves & excitement as she packs her bags & almost 100 custom designer suits that belong to an unbelievably kind rockstar. She never thought she’d fall in love on top of it all.

Read Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10

Masterlist

a/n: 6 weeks later & we’re finally back !!!! thank you all for your patience & thanks to gwen for listening to me complain about writers block week after week. I’m very excited to get back to sharing this story with y’all.

as always, reblogging helps a ton & comments & feedback are ALWAYS WELCOME !!!!

Warnings: brief mentions of anxiety & panic attacks

Here’s part 11 !

Aurora’s standing next to Harry, a drink in her hand when Niall launches into “Drag Me Down.” She flashes Harry the biggest grin before singing along, just as she has with every song. Harry smiles back at her, she doesn’t see it but he doesn’t care. He finds himself singing along to a song he used to sing night after night on stage. It’s strange to watch Niall sing his own version and Harry figures Niall felt the same when he sang his own arrangement of their old tunes back in Dublin. Harry looks back to Aurora. She can feel his eyes on her but waits for the song to end before turning to him.

Her fingers are delicate and barely touch Harry’s neck as she reaches up to him. Her lips brush against his ear before she speaks. “I miss your bit at the end,” Aurora shares and Harry chuckles lowly. She doesn’t pull away though and Harry takes the opportunity to pull her into him with an arm around her waist. His fingers find where the hem of Aurora’s shirt meets the top of her jeans. As Aurora presses her lips to the warm skin of Harry’s neck she can feel his calloused fingertips press into her skin.

“Havin’ fun, love?” Harry assures. Aurora doesn’t have to verbally respond because the smile on her face after pressing another lingering kiss to the base of his neck says it all.

Aurora feels warm and it’s not just because of the hot humid air of Buenos Aires. It’s the heat that's radiating from where Harry’s hand is pressed against her skin. The heat that flushes the tops of her cheeks from the cheap alcohol. The heat in her jaw because she hasn't stopped smiling for the better part of 2 hours. She gets to see Harry perform live almost daily, she gets that concert feeling every night, but to share it with him is something different. To share this experience in the traditional way for the first time is another one of those moments she’ll look back on forever.

Many things are similar to the aftermath of Harry’s shows - showing their passes to the security guard at the gate near the stage, the ringing in Aurora’s ears from the screams, the scratchy feeling in her throat from singing (badly, at that), the buzzing feeling that lingers in her body from the music. The difference is the feeling of Harry’s hand in hers as they slide backstage to find Niall.

Aurora also notices the striking difference between Niall’s backstage post show and Harry’s. Niall and Harry may have done this together years ago, running off stage together and onto a crammed tour bus but they’ve both found their own way on their own. It's a different kind of loud and chaotic after Niall’s show. Niall’s band is following him to a large green room that is equally as rowdy as a group of guys headed into a party. They’re high off the show and honestly so are Aurora and Harry.

“So how’d ya enjoy the show?” Niall asks, his Irish accent thick, before taking a chug of water.

“Rory enjoyed it the most I think. Belted out every single word,” Harry answers as he tucks Aurora into his side. Aurora crosses her arms in front of her in lieu of wrapping one around his waist.

Niall’s dropped to the couch, his chest still heaving from the performance.

“Hey,” Aurora whines as Harry and Niall laugh together. “You didn’t miss too many lyrics yourself, Har,” she playfully bites back.

“Know all the words to my album, Haz? That’s what I like to hear.”

“Don’t trust a thing she says,” Harry jokes before kissing the top of Aurora’s head. Niall’s laughter echoes off the walls.

“Hey, I’d be a bit nicer to Aurora. I like her quite a bit. Don’t want you to chase her away so soon,” Niall advises with a wink to Harry.

“Unfortunately, I think it’d take a lot more than that to chase me away,” Aurora tells Niall. “Anyways, who else is gonna get him dressed?” Niall’s laughing again and his band joins in, Aurora as well. Harry rolls his eyes trying to subside his own laugh but eventually joins in.

Aurora relaxes into one of the leather covered chairs and Harry sits on the wide arm rest when Niall asks them if they want to stay for a bit and have beer or 2. Aurora leans forward to rest her elbows on Harry’s knees, her chest falling against his thigh. Harry presses the cold bottle of beer to the back of Aurora’s bare neck making her jump from the sudden change in temperature. He switches the bottle to the opposite and lightly digs his fingers into the muscles in Aurora's shoulders. Bending down he kisses her temple before whispering, “We can go whenever you want,” softly, reassuringly.

Aurora’s extent of her anxiety had been brought up in conversation a few nights ago, Harry wanting to be able to help or at least do what he can to subside it if possible. Nobody had ever asked her how they could help or understood enough to want to know more. Her parents tried to understand, they really did, but something to do with the generational gap made it hard for them to really get it, to believe it even. So when Harry asked about it out of nowhere Aurora was shocked.

She explained what it's like in different ways and how it comes about. The social anxiety aspect of new people and new places is what triggered Harry’s question just now. She told him about how she’ll feel trapped like she can’t go anywhere and she doesn’t want to create a scene, doesn’t want to offend anyone by leaving. She talked about the anxiety she had from the thought of a new hotel room and new arena every day before she left New York. But she was pleasantly surprised when it felt okay, that the faces became familiar and even though they were new arena’s daily, the pink flowers and TPWK signs became comforting. Harry’s heart swelled when Aurora shared the last bit. After she answered all his questions and told him about how she copes and what he can do that would make it easier, better even, Aurora thanked him. She thanked him over and over again when she crawled into his lap. She thanked him as she pulled off his shirt and kissed the swallow tattoos on his chest. She thanked him when she sank down on him. She shared everything that night, her mind, her body, all of it. She had never felt so understood, so safe.

Harry can tell Aurora’s in another world, squeezing her shoulder, he says her name softly. She looks up to him, a hint of worry in his eyes. She smiles, the memory of nights prior still floating in her head. The worry washes away when Aurora takes his hand that’s on her shoulder and presses a kiss to the palm of it.

“I’m good right now,” she reassures him. “Thanks for asking.”

“What're you thinking ‘bout?”

“I’ll tell ya later.”

She does tell him later, after they’ve said their goodbyes to Niall, after the car ride back to the hotel, after they get into Harry’s hotel room. She tells him between kisses. She tells him how nobody has ever said “we can go whenever you want” in any way and meant it. She tells him how she was thinking about how she thanked him and how she couldn't stop thinking about it.

It doesn’t take them long to rid each other of their clothes. It was early morning by the time they fell asleep, their bodies sticky with sweat but too tired to shower now.

Morning comes too fast and Harry groans into the back of Aurora’s neck when the alarm goes off. He turns away from her, his arm sliding from her waist to call room service. Aurora only pays enough attention to make sure he orders plenty of coffee and then lets herself succumb to sleep again.

She wakes up only a little bit later when there’s a knock on the door. Harry’s curls hang heavy from his shower and Aurora can’t help but giggle as he tries to blow some of the curls from his forehead as he sets her coffee on the bedside table nearest her.

After Harry and her eat breakfast, Harry has to jump on a call and Aurora decides to shower back in her own hotel room where her suitcase still is. Considering they had spent most of the past 10 days together, the morning and afternoon apart is nice. She takes a nap and catches up on a few shows, somewhat of a normal day for her.

Aurora is excited to get back to the shows. To get back to seeing Harry on stage, to seeing Helene, to tour life again. It may have only been just over a week but she misses it. She gets it now, when Harry talks about touring being his favourite part. Aurora’s surprised how much she loves it.

| | | | |

Aurora’s in the middle of sending a text message when Harry comes from nowhere and pulls her along with a tight grip on her hand. Aurora’s eyebrows furrow as a giggle leaves her mouth after his name does. When she gets a good look at him she smiles. He’s preemptively put on his black St Laurent trousers for his show tonight in Santiago but instead of the green glittery shirt he’s meant to be wearing, he has a white Treat People With Kindness t-shirt tucked in.

“Come on, Angel,” he says with a smile as he walks them through the hall. The music and noise from the audience grows.

“Harry, where’re we going?” Aurora almost shouts so he can hear her over the ever growing music. He flashes her a smirk, a dimple showing up.

He nods his head at one of the security guards at a double door and they open a door for them. Aurora thanks the guard with a smile before getting pulled along behind Harry. He slows his pace so she can catch up with him. Once she’s standing by his side, his hand drops from hers and throws his arm around her shoulders. He leads Aurora the rest of the way to where a set of metal stairs lead to the stage. Aurora smiles up at Harry when they stop. He quickly kisses her cheek and his arm slides further over her shoulders, his hand hanging off casually. Harry hums along to ‘Shy’ as Leon Bridges performs on stage.

Though a moment like this isn’t deemed normal by most, it feels completely and utterly normal for Harry and Aurora. Both loving the time spent together at Niall’s show, they grasp onto that feeling - the feeling of music making them closer, reaching a new spot in their souls. He continues to hum and sing along throughout Leon’s set and Aurora finds herself closing her eyes, soothed by the live music and his low humming near her ear.

Harry moves to stand directly behind Aurora, his hands sliding up and down Aurora’s arms while kissing the back of her neck as “Bet Ain’t Worth the Hand” finishes. As the audience cheers for Leon, his hands pause at her shoulders before falling forward, hovering over the front of Aurora casually. He sneaks a kiss behind Aurora’s ear and she giggles at the soft touch, her hands reaching up to settle on his forearms. Aurora turns her head just enough to leave a light kiss at the hinge of Harry’s jaw as “River” begins.

She sighs, remembering the night in Harry's car in London, her body relaxing completely into his. She can still remember the sparkle in his eye, even in the dark of the car, and the small smile when Aurora mentioned loving this specific song and her excitement to hear it live.

There’s a warmth radiating off of Harry’s chest and spreading across Aurora’s back. She can feel the rattle of his chest from the vibrations of the speakers mixed with his quiet singing. His lips are centimeters from her ear. Every couple of words they brush against the shell of her ear, sending continuous shivers down Aurora’s spine. Aurora settles a kiss on his arm, on his bicep near his anatomical heart tattoo. Aurora lets her lips graze there for a moment, completely caught up in the music and the incredibly safe feeling she’s overwhelmed with being wrapped in Harry’s arms. The broadness of his shoulders and his height allows for him to completely envelope her when he crosses his arms over her chest, pulling her into his chest even more. Aurora continues to sink into his chest, melting into his t-shirt and feeling like there is no end to how far she can fall into him. Aurora can feel his slight scruff rub against her cheek every so often. The roughness mixed with the softness of his voice is a feeling that she can’t describe but it makes her heart beat a little faster.

Harry sways every so often, perfectly in time with the strum of the guitar and rattle of the tambourine. The song is nearing the end and the audience is singing along with Leon, the lyrics echo through the arena. Aurora lets her hands drop from his arms and twists around to face him. She wraps her arms around his neck as his wrap around her waist, hands clasping his opposite elbows to pull her in closer. Her hips are square on his, a place she finds herself more often than not. Careful not to ruin the curls Ayae has already set in place, Aurora barely weaves her fingers in the hair at his neck. Harry brushes his nose against hers before he looks her in the eyes. The vocals coming from stage are just as vulnerable as they feel right now. Not a single person in the crew that is bustling around backstage is relevant to them right now. Aurora and Harry feel as if they are the only people standing there in the dark, Leon singing to them and only them. They meet in the middle, Harry’s lips taking in Aurora’s bottom one first. The kiss is slow and deep. When Harry pulls away barely a millimeter it’s only to tilt his head to deepen the kiss.

A 4 minute song. A moment for just the 2 of them. A memory from weeks ago. Aurora wishes somehow that there was a way that she could have 2 Harry’s - one to perform his show on stage and one to love on as she enjoyed the show. Show him how much she loves him. How much she loves listening to him, watching him perform. She’ll have to think of more ways to show how much moments like these mean to her. Ways to show him how she wishes she could hold him as he sang has heart out. Show him how he really is that shining light.

And that’s when the opening lyrics of “River” hit Aurora. Lyrics she’s heard a million times.

“Been traveling these wide roads for so long

My heart's been far from you

Ten-thousand miles gone”

It may be a spiritually inspired song, but for Aurora, especially in this moment with Harry's lips on hers, it's all about them. Coming from miles away from each other, only to travel thousands and thousands of miles together. Hearts finally feeling safe again.

| | | | |

The stage set up is different for the South American leg. Without the rising screen, Harry walks on stage in full view as the opening of ‘Only Angel’ begins. The second he’s on the stage, the minimal lights that are shining on the stage catch the sparkle of the rhinestones that cover each strip of fringe. He faces Sarah’s drum kit, takes a swig of water then raises his arms out to the side showcasing the beautiful detail of his jacket - fringe hanging down from his arms and a row across his back. . Aurora can’t help but smile and the second he turns around as the music kicks off there’s a giant smile on Harry’s face as well.

Aurora’s standing off to the side of the pit, leaning against the wall of the tunnel that leads you in and out of the arena. She sinks her hands into the pockets of her pants as a sigh leaves her lips. Subconsciously, she sings along, song after song. She admires the way he almost saunters across the stage, how he effortlessly draps his hands on the mic stand, the way his hair, even when completely disheveled, is always just so, how he exudes confidence and inclusion, how his voice transports the entire audience to a new place.

During ‘Ever Since New York’ he has to stop singing a few times because he can’t avoid the smile that appears on his face. It makes it impossible to sing the lyrics and Aurora smiles too. She knows that smile. He’s explained it before, it’s like he can’t believe what he’s seeing in front of him, can’t believe it’s real.

Aurora’s heart feels heavy in her chest every time he slows down and sings ‘Meet Me In The Hallway’. The care and focus that goes into every note. The pained look on his face that she wants nothing more than to erase. The softness of his closed eyes contradict the tension in his jaw when the words “you left me in the hallway” come floating out of his mouth and echo through the arena.

He’s back on the main stage, guitar slung over his shoulder after running back from the Bstage. Laughter rumbles through the audience every so often during ‘Anna” as the fringe on his sleeve gets stuck on the pins at the bridge, then again on the strings. It doesn’t faze him though, he keeps going like it really didn’t happen. He does laugh at himself after the song ends, trying to talk with the audience but his habit of talking with his hands fires back at him. The fringe becomes somewhat of a spectacle after he has to yank it from the opening of the guitar when he eventually takes it off.

The fringe really adds to the chaos of Harry’s dancing during ‘What Makes You Beautiful.’ The rhinestones catch every light and just like many times before, he’s his own disco ball it seems. He tries to clip the mic back into its stand while he sings the chorus again, but the fringe flies and gets trapped before the mic fits in it’s home. He shakes his head as he messes with it and continues singing. The smile that’s become permanent on his face only grows bigger.

It’s during ‘The Chain’ and ‘Kiwi’ that she starts to see a few red strips of fabric fall to the floor. Aurora laughs for a bit as she watches Harry on stage but then it turns to a groan when she realises that she’ll have to fix the jacket for tomorrow.

“Guess fringe on your sleeves wasn’t the most functional thing,” Aurora says to Harry as she takes the jacket off his shoulders. “Looks like you shredded a few and ripped some off when they got stuck on your guitar strings,” she laughs.

“Sorry,” Harry apologizes.

“No worries, I’ll just fix 'em tomorrow.” Aurora takes a closer look at the sleeves once it’s back on the hanger. “I could adjust it a bit if the fringey bits were annoying, just move them away from the cuff,” Aurora offers.

“Didn’t really notice ‘em until they got snagged, but even then it didn’t bother me.”

“Okay, let me know if you change your mind before I work on it tomorrow.” Harry hums.

“You did really great tonight, feel like I don’t say it enough,” Aurora compliments, a feeling of guilt at the bottom of her stomach. She takes the trousers from Harry, hanging them up besides the jacket. “You always do great,” she adds. Harry doesn’t say anything, but he doesn’t have to. Aurora can see in the mirror off to the side, his dimple sinking in and a smirk coming across his face. “Didn’t realise how much I truly love watching you on stage until this past week.”

It wasn’t until Harry got back up on stage in Buenos Aires that Aurora realised how much she missed seeing him on stage. It wasn’t until then that she realised they’d be traveling back to the US and that they’re more than halfway through the tour. It’s not that she hadn’t been enjoying it. Aurora always gets this way when something is nearing the end. Like in the last semester of college and during the last few weeks of high school, she had gotten this weird feeling in her chest, something that almost resembled regret but she didn’t have too many regrets from high school or college. The same feeling appeared at the end of her internship with Harry Lambert, but there were absolutely no regrets then. She finally put it into words what this almost regretful, sad, deep feeling was. It was simply her not wanting change, not wanting to lose the familiarity of her current life. Why should things end when you’re enjoying them? Living in the moment, as cliche as it is, is what Aurora has to remind herself--remind herself to enjoy what’s happening right now rather than what will come later. So here she is, after watching him perform on stage, a range of emotions flowing through her, all interrupting what she’s trying to get out. How does she tell the rockstar in front of her that she loves him in every sense of the word. That she loves him on and off stage. How does she explain that she thinks she’s scared of what the end of the tour will bring. And at the end of the day, how does she, Aurora Marie Del Gatto from a small suburb in New York, get to love the rockstar that performs on stage every night to thousands of people and the man that is so inherently down to earth and loving?

Aurora takes his sweaty white button down from him and hangs that up as well and instead of bringing up what’s actually running through her head she says, “Should wear the black button down tomorrow, I’ll get the white one dry cleaned when we get to the US.”

She turns to Harry as he’s pulling down a black t-shirt over his stomach. He runs a hand through the mess of hair on his head, a soft smile on his relaxed face. The look he gives her organizes her brain in an instant it feels like.“I always knew I loved watching you on stage, but seeing you back up there-” she pauses and shakes her head. “Being with you is one thing,” she continues as she steps closer to him, a light touch of her hand along his jaw, “but seeing you up there… it’s something else.” Aurora’s other hand reaches for his face before she speaks again. “I’m- I’m- I don’t even know if I have the word to explain it properly.” A shake of her head like she’s rattling her unorganized thoughts around in her head. “Proud of you,” she says simply before she presses her lips to his. Harry’s arms wrap around Aurora’s waist tightly, simultaneously bringing her closer to him and opening his mouth up to kiss her more. It’s Aurora who pulls away first, both of their chest rising and falling more than before. Her hands move from his face, then scratch at his back before she’s properly hugging him. Aurora’s arms are heavy on his shoulders and she feels his jaw move slightly as she noses at the vein in his neck.

It could be 2 minutes or 2 hours later when Harry loosens his grip on Aurora, pulling away from her, his smile bright but tired. Harry hums as he kisses her temple.

“I’m gonna make the rounds, quick,” he says, his voice gravelly and tired.

“I promised Issac, I’d call him tonight.” Aurora’s mentioned Issac, her best friend from childhood, a few times to Harry. “He’s 2 hours behind us so it’s kind of a perfect time for him,” she explains. Besides her sister, Issac knows absolutely everything, maybe even more. He wasn’t the best with advice but he always listened. Issac and Aurora always joked about how they are pretty much the same person while they were growing up and even in adulthood not much has changed.

“Oh yeah,” he says, remembering Aurora mentioning it earlier. “I’m sorry, just tired.”

Aurora’s eyebrows furrow, “no need to be sorry.” She lifts a hand to his face, “get some rest, okay? and I’ll see you tomorrow,” she assures him.

“Ror, thanks for uh-” he doesn’t know how to thank her for what she said earlier. “Thanks for-”

“No need to thank me,” she cuts him off, shaking her head. She reaches up to kiss him one last time for the night. “I love you, Harry.”

“Love you too,” he whispers with a squeeze to her waist then a hand through her hair.

Aurora waves to everyone in the arena saying goodnight and see ya tomorrow’s to everyone see passes. It's pretty much perfect timing when her phone rings as she unlocks her hotel room door no more than 15 minutes later.

“Issac!” she greets him when his face shows up on her phone. His hair is hidden by one of the many national park hats he owns and his face is covered by his thick beard.

“Roo!” he says excitedly. When they first met when they were 5, ‘Aurora’ wasn’t the easy name to pronounce and Issac being Issac came up with his own nickname for her and ‘Roo’ was it.

“How are you?” she asks, setting the phone down on the bathroom counter.

“I’m great! My last trip was amazing. The dogs loved it and I got some really good photos.” Issac is a photographer for the National Park Service which means lots of camping trip and lots of traveling. “I’ll have to send you some photos tomorrow when I edit them.”

“Yes please! Where are the pups?”

Issac turns his facetime to the back camera. His 2 Australian shepards are passed out next to each other on the rug. “They’re always so tired when we get back,” Issac comments as he flips the camera back to him. Aurora aw’s as his dogs as she wipes the makeup off her face. “How was the show tonight?”

“Really good.”

“I know that look,” Issac comments. “Tell me more.”

Issac reads her better than anyone, Aurora didn’t even know she had a specific look on her face. “I don’t know,” she says, drying off her face and then moving to drop herself on the bed. “Adult feelings are hard,” Aurora says with a laugh.

“You guys already said ‘I love you’ and are sleeping together… what else could there be?”

Aurora groans. “Him being an international rockstar messes with my head sometimes and tour is almost over.”

“Ohhhh,” Issac says realising what’s happening. He’s been there for every single ‘existential dread of change’ conversation--his name for it, not hers. “Roo, you’ve got a full month of tour in front of you and if you think Harry’s gonna drop you the second that last show ends you’ve got something coming.”

“You don’t know that,” she says with a frown. “Roo, do you not think he actually loves you?”

“No!” she says quickly. “I’m not questioning that!”

“If you’re not questioning that then why would you even think anything is going to change?”

“Things always change and touring is a different world. Once tour is over, everything changes.”

“Not everything will change. He’ll still love you after that last show and you’ll both start something new. He’ll make more music, you’ll keep styling him and maybe your boss will get you some other jobs in the meantime.” Aurora lets out a heavy sigh. “And he’ll tour again and you’ll do it again.”

“I know you’re right. You always are with these things,” she sighs again. “I miss you.”

“I miss you, too.”

“Thanks for talking me down,”

“Always.”

“Now, shall we drink and talk or drink and watch a movie?”

Issac gets a cold beer from his fridge and Aurora orders wine via room service. They decide on a movie they’ve both seen a million times because without a doubt they’ll end up talking through it anyways. When the movie ends they continue chatting through the credits.

“Okay, you compare the tour dates with your calendar and then let me know which one works for you,” Aurora confirms.

“Maybe I'll just tag along on the rest of the tour,” he jokes.

They’re both laughing despite their tiredness but they eventually stop and say goodnight.

Aurora snuggles into the hotel bed after messing with the sheets and tossing the extra pillows to the floor. She falls asleep fast now that her head is clear, the feeling in her chest is not so heavy--the magic effects of a facetime with her best friend.

| | | | |

Aurora’s sat on the worn down couch in Harry’s dressing room, Harry’s fringe covered jacket that he wore the night before sprawled across her lap, those random Gucci pillows to her left. In front of her on the coffee table, her laptop is propped open, her mother’s smiling face looking back at her.

“Yeah, I’ve gotta reattach the ones we still have and then I’m making some makeshift ones to fill any other empty space.”

“You know better than anyone that you should always do a dress rehearsal,” Aurora’s mom reminds her.

“Mom,” she groans, “yes, I know that, but that’s kinda hard when there’s almost 100 looks. We didn’t have much time before the tour started.”

“Doesn’t he rehearse or something before each show?” Aurora rolls her eyes. She is more annoyed with herself than her mother right now.

“Soundcheck, yeah.” She lets out a sigh. “I should’ve had him wear the jacket for soundcheck at least.” Aurora threads a needle with red thread that matches the fringe. “Didn’t really cross my mind. Everything was already designed and made with him performing on stage and everything, but I didn’t think about things getting stuck in his guitar. I was only thinking about how amazing the fringe would look as he danced around.”

“Rory, sweetie, it’s okay, this is your job anyways, yeah? Making sure he looks good on stage, making repairs and all. I saw a few videos and you were right about how amazing it looks.”

“Yeah it’s fine. I just can’t believe it didn’t cross my mind.” Aurora shakes her head with a laugh. “Anyways, how’ve you been doing?”

“Busy at work but Leila came to visit last weekend. She tells me you’re pretty smitten,” her mom shares.

“Leila,” Aurora hisses. “What on earth did she tell you?” She asks with her eyes narrowed. She does a quick look at the door and it’s still only ajar like she left it. She’d prefer not to have this conversation with everyone being in earshot but this is the best she could do now.

“More than you have.”

“Mom, come on! You can’t expect me to tell you everything or that I tell you everything I tell Leila!” Aurora drops her head back and it lands on the back of the couch. “Leila has something else coming for her when I see her.”

“Aurora Marie,” her mother scolds. Aurora groans. “If it makes you feel better I don’t think she told me everything, but it was still more than you’ve shared.” Aurora looks at her mom through the webcam on her laptop. “She said you stayed at his house in London,” her mother’s eyes soften, trying to relay that she's concerned and skeptical before she continues, “and that he also acted extremely jealous-”

“Do not,” Aurora warns her mother. “Do not pretend like you know anything.”

“Aurora, I’m just worried,” she pleads.

“Harry is not Adrian.” Aurora can’t believe she even has to say that sentence out loud. She can feel her chest tighten up. She catches a glimpse of what she looks like in the small rectangle at the top of the screen and she’s met with her own scowl. Aurora closes her eyes and lets out a breath through her nose. “It was nowhere near the same situation, Mom. I can promise you that.” She can’t believe her mom had the audacity to even think about comparing Harry to her ex boyfriend, Adrian.

“It’s hard not to make those conclusions if you’re keeping things from me.”

“Can you see why I didn’t tell you?”

“Rory, please, you have to understand that I worry, it’s my job.” Aurora can see her mother is trying to apologize.

“Mom, you have to trust me. Yes, Adrian was a jealous asshole and it ruined me. You don’t have to remind me, I was the one in the relationship.” Aurora doesn’t want to go through this. At this point she’d rather Leila told their mother about her sex life. “But this is not Adrian, it’s Harry and the situation was completely different.”

“A jealous man is a jealous man,” her mother says with what seems to be an all knowing tone.

“Mom, stop, please. It was so far from anything that I have ever dealt with before,” Aurora’s growing frustration is boiling in her chest now. Neither of them speak for a minute. Aurora is running through her thoughts trying to find a way to explain this in a way her mother will understand. “Harry’s different. The whole situation was completely different.” A memory sparks and Aurora takes a deep breath. “Okay, look at it this way. You know how I used to get during dance competitions? When I was overly exhausted and stressed? All my emotions at an all time high? That’s what tour is like, but times 10. Harry’s on stage almost every night and add in the traveling and sprinkle in the stress of our new relationship, which at the time was not official. I was stressed over the last part. I had just met his mom and sister and all his friends and I won’t go into it but there was a lot going on. There was a lot going on for both of us and in the midst of the exhaustion and stress and all the other emotions that were floating around, Harry jumped to conclusions. His brain played tricks on him.” Aurora pauses for a moment, her mom nodding along with the explanation. “My brain did the same to me during competitions. You know what that looks like, you know exactly what happened all of those times. I always needed a reasoning voice to calm me down, to explain to me what was really going on. You had to be tough on me sometimes, but you did it because you love me. I dealt with Harry the same way, with love and care but didn’t take any bullshit.” Aurora’s mother sighs then purses her lips together in thought. “Harry did not act on his jealousy like Adrian did. He came to me, we talked it out. I made him apologize.”

Okay is all her mom says so Aurora goes on.

“Mom, you’ve gotta trust me. I’ve learned from the past. I’ve grown up. I’m doing good. and god, I’ve never been happier.”

“I can see that,” her mom says with a smile. “I don’t know how much I have to say this, but I will always worry about you.”

“Please just try to not worry so much.” They look at each other through the screen. “I love you,” Aurora reminds her mother with a smile.

“I love you too, sweetie.”

“Any other burning concerns?” Aurora jokes. Her mother shakes her head with a soft laugh. “Good, anyways, not long till I’ll see you and you’ll get to meet him.”

“Can’t wait!” Her mother beams.

“Well, I called ‘cause I missed ya but also ‘cause I had a question.” Aurora hears the door creak and she turns her head to see it open and Harry come through. He’s wearing an old red t-shirt and black workout shorts. It’s clear he’s just finished training with the sweat clinging to his curls, the water bottle in his hand and his headphones in his ears.

“What was the question?” Aurora’s mother’s voice brings her attention back to the screen and the jacket in her lap.

“Yeah, so I have to make a few more fringe pieces to replace the missing ones and I couldn’t decide which fabric would match best,” Aurora reaches to the side of her for the few pieces of fabric she pulled from her case earlier.

“Hiya, Ror,” Harry says softly as he rounds the back of the couch. “Oh hello,” he says surprisingly when he sees an older woman on the screen. “You must be Rory’s mum,” he concludes. “Ror, looks just like you.” The eyes that stare at him through the computer screen are familiar and her hair is just like Aurora’s only with some flecks of grey throughout the dark dark brown strands.

“Well hello, Harry,” Aurora’s mom responds with a smile.

“Don’t want to interrupt,” he comments quickly, “just grabbing a quick kiss and then off to shower.” Aurora’s cheeks heat up quickly as she lets out a disbelieving huff. And with a promise on his word, Harry bends down, tilts Aurora’s chin with his free hand, lands a fleeting kiss on her lips and walks out of frame. Aurora’s mom has a bright smile on her face.

“What is that look for?” Aurora asks her mom through a giggle she can’t suppress.

“He’s sweet.”

“Shush, now help me decide which fabric to use so I can get back to work,” Aurora begs.

“My mom thinks you’re sweet,” Aurora says as she stands in front of the mirror in the bathroom of the hotel room. Harry’s ears perk up and he follows her voice. When he leans against the door frame of the bathroom he smiles at the sight in front of him.

The pair of cotton cut off shorts Aurora is wearing are rolled at the waistband to make up for the fact that they’ve stretched out over the years she’s had them. One of the few tour t-shirts she’s acquired over the past few months hangs loose off her shoulders and is tucked into the waistband of her shorts. Hot pink fuzzy socks cover her feet.

“Does she?” Harry asks as he crosses his arms over his chest. Aurora’s face is covered in soap now. She reaches for a clean washcloth to wet and wipe the soap from her face. She smiles at him through the mirror as she hums back to him. “and why’s that?”

“Well we were talking about you, had to clear some things up but then you came in and said Hi to her and then she didn’t question a thing.” Harry’s eyebrows furrow at the answer. He decides to walk into the bathroom and leans against the counter, his back to the mirror and head turned towards Aurora. She’s applying a new product from a blue bottle to her face, Harry doesn’t pay much attention to what it is, more interested in Aurora’s admission.

“What d’ya mean clear things up?”

“Oh,” Aurora says softly. She reaches out a hand to one of his forearms that’s crossed over his chest. She squeezes it before dropping her hand and grabbing another beauty product from her makeup back. “Nothing you have to worry about. She brought up my ex from a few years ago. He wasn’t-” Aurora pauses and looks to Harry, “he wasn’t the greatest.” She applies moisturize before she continues, Harry's eye’s not moving from her face. She takes a deep breath then turns her whole body so she can comfortably look at him. “My mother worries that every guy I meet is going to be like him. No need for me to go into detail but, he was obscenely jealous. No matter what I did he got upset over it. I thought I loved him at the time and didn’t really see how bad it was. Took a lot of convincing from my friend and Leila and my mom that he was bad news. He really messed with my head for awhile.” Aurora sighs as she searches Harry’s face. She can’t tell exactly what he’s thinking but his brows are furrowed, a crease in his forehead and there’s tension in his arms that wasn’t there before. “But I learned from it, know how I deserve to be treated now.”

“You deserve the world,” Harry says and it surprises Aurora. “Just hope I can give you it.”

Aurora’s eyebrows raise in the middle of her face and her lips part. Never has anyone said something like that to her. She releases a breath before a small smile creeps up on her face.

“Think you might deserve even more than the world,” Harry adds.

Not even a full second passes before Aurora is cradling Harry’s face and placing a bruising kiss to his lips. Just as fast, Harry’s arms wrap around her waist, pulling her body into his. “I’m gonna try my damndest to give you it though,” he says against her mouth when they pull apart momentarily. Twisting them around, he grips her waist tighter and lifts her onto the empty space on the bathroom counter.

“I hope to do the same for you, ya know,” Aurora whispers back to him. Their foreheads are pressed together and they just look at each other for a moment. They end up giggling and Aurora can’t help but kiss each and every crinkle that appears on Harry's face as he smiles that smile, the one she’s pretty sure he saves just for her. She starts at his dimples, which are so deep that they seem never ending. She kisses high on his cheek, leading to the creases at his eyes. It’s here she can see the brightness of the green in his eyes even through the squint he has right now. Her kisses land on the bridge of his nose and travel down following the lines that appear as he scrunches his nose, giggles still leaving his mouth. She gives up on trying to land a kiss on every single crease and line and divot and decides to kiss every square inch of his face before she finds his lips again. They’re both giggling lightly still and thought it makes it hard to kiss properly, they don’t stop. Their teeth knock together several times, kisses barely landing on each other's lips but they don’t care.

It’s long past midnight but neither of them care to move from where they are. Tomorrow’s a travel day, they can catch up on sleep thenn. And anyways, standing in the crappy fluorescent lighting of the hotel bathroom Harry can’t help but think about how he’s falling more in love by the second.

Her laughter mixes with his and it echoes off the tiled walls and it sounds just like a song.

__________

thanks for reading !!! I hope you enjoyed !!!

#harry styles imagine #harry styles one shot #harry styles blurb #harry styles x reader #sequins & zippers #aurora on tour #harry styles fanfiction #one direction imagine

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itsallavengers · 5 years ago

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gee i don't want to bother you you can 100% ignore me but it's been a shitty week panic attacks are stronger than ever and some of my friends keep making fun of my anxiety (i downplay the whole thing so it's not really their fault) could you please give me some light hearted stevetony with italian!tony? ily so much youre a blessing for this world keep being yourself

Steve was going to be honest here: he didn’t like the sun.

Bucky and Natasha would kill him for slandering the current Mediterranean summer weather like that, but it was true. He was an Irishman. His skin was pale and unused to anything above mild temperatures. Not to mention the fact that it was just damn uncomfortable to sit and sweat with no way to cool down all day. He wasn’t entirely sure why he’d come on this holiday with his two friends at all, actually. He didn’t like the sun, he didn’t really have the money for it, and he was currently acting as the third wheel to what could have just been Bucky & Natasha’s romantic getaway. But Bucky had asked, and said that Steve needed to take a bit of time off, so here he was.

Sweating.

It wasn’t so bad, though. While Nat was off looking around in a little local museum and Bucky was trying to sleep off the hangover from last night, Steve was sitting in a quiet cafe, reading his book and sipping on a latte. He was in the shade to prevent burning, and it was early enough in the morning that the heat wasn’t unbearable. It was actually quite nice.

There was also an incredibly beautiful young man sitting on a table a few feet to his right, nibbling a sandwich and working in a scruffy-looking notebook while he shot Steve occasional furtive glances. That was very nice too.

He looked to be in his early twenties, and clearly native to the town. They hadn’t picked a touristy spot, which was good for the culture, but bad when it came to the language barrier. And the man didn’t sport any of the typical touristy items; instead lounging around in a breezy white cotton shirt with a few buttons undone, tucked into a pair of form-fitting navy slacks and then ending with some expensive-looking loafers. Atop the dark mess of curls were some aviators, and he wore a black ring on his forefinger that contrasted wonderfully against the olive of his skin. The way he held onto his pen made his fingers flex, and occasionally he would run it over his bottom lip in thought, suck it in, frown for a second before he wrote something else down.

Yes, Steve may have been staring for a long time now. But in his defence, the man was stunning. Steve could admit he was more than a little enthralled.

He checked his watch briefly, wondering at what point this was going to get weird and he would have to either approach the other man or leave. He could order another coffee, he supposed-- but too much caffeine gave him a headache. Maybe the man was a regular here. Steve might get to see him tomorrow, maybe smile at him or something.

“hai intenzione di stare lì a fissarmi tutto il giorno o vuoi venire qui?”

Steve blinked, watching the man as he pulled the pen from his mouth and then leaned his head backward, apparently speaking to no one in particular. But then his neck rolled, and he looked Steve right in the eye, his mouth curling into a gorgeously cheeky smile. “I take it you do not speak Italian then?”

Oh. Oh, he was talking to Steve. Fuck. Okay. He spluttered a little and then sat up, resisting the urge to push his hair back or smooth out his shirt. He was calm, he was suave. “I...no,” he stumbled, shaking his head, “was that... sorry, were you talking to me?”

The man nodded, slipping sideways on his chair and then leaning forward so his elbows rested on his knees and his hands were clasped in front of him. He was slim, but muscular. Steve could see the way his shirt smoothed over strong arms as he hunched. And now he was face on, Steve could truly get a feel for what the man looked like. Sharp jaw. Hair that fell artistically over his perfectly-proportioned face. The most beautiful hazel eyes Steve had ever goddamn seen.

“I said, are you going to sit there and stare all day or are you planning on coming over?”

Steve realised he was being spoken to only a second after he’d stopped watching the way the man’s mouth formed the words, his accent thick, but his English perfect. Steve should probably respond to that, shouldn’t he. “Well, if it’s all the same with you,” he began, before cracking a smile and then standing up. In a few strides, he was at the man’s table, slipping into the seat opposite. He was in the sun here, but he figured that he could make the sacrifice, just this once.

There was a second of silence, and then the man turned to face him again. His eyes were alight, shining in the sunlight and mingled with intrigue. “Was that an Irish accent I heard just then?” He asked, and God, even his voice was beautiful. Steve had never thought voices could be beautiful until today.

He nodded. “It was. Born and raised there ‘til my mam moved us over to America. We don’t fare quite as well in this sun as you though. Hence the shade I was in.”

“Oh. We can move?” The man waved his hand backward, but Steve was quick to shake his head, simply smiling in reassurance.

“It’s fine. I’m Steve, by the way.”

“Ah. I’m Tony.” He smiled and leaned his head into his hands, looking across the table at Steve with that fiery smile of his. His fingers traced idly over his notepad as he eyed Steve, and the writings he’d done were absolutely foreign- not even because they were written in a different language, but because they were all just complex-looking equations and diagrams and things Steve couldn’t even name. He didn’t dwell on them though. There were much more interesting things to be looking at just then.

Leaning back in his chair and throwing an arm casually across the backrest-- and no, not to flex his muscles like Bucky tried to say whenever he did that-- he let his eyes walk slowly up and down Tony’s body, before stopping for a second at his mouth. The pen was back again. A brief thought crossed his mind, and he swallowed it down hastily. That was most definitely not appropriate for the first conversation.

But Tony looked like he knew exactly what Steve was thinking anyway, because the smile widened and he took the pen back out from between his teeth again, spinning it in those agile fingers of his. “So tell me- what is an Irishman who doesn’t like the sun doing in Italy right now?” He asked, one eyebrow rising curiously.

Steve explained the situation easily, talking of Bucky and Nat, the vacation they’d all planned, Steve’s need for a little break. In turn, Tony explained how he’d ended up here, him having come from America too, but much longer ago, back when he was a child and his parents had divorced. He talked emphatically and used his hands when he spoke, and Steve found himself hanging on to every word, Tony managing to make everyday events seem like film-plots. Their conversation came easily, like one would with a long-time friend, and soon Steve realised that a whole hour had passed since he and Tony had begun talking. He blinked in surprise at his watch and then felt the back of his neck. “God, I’m gonna burn,” he muttered to himself, popping his collar up.

Tony pulled a face, clearly unimpressed by the weakness of his pale skin, but then it turned into a smile as he jumped from his seat and grabbed for Steve’s hand, tugging him upward. “I know how to cool you down,” he said enthusiastically, and Steve found himself being pulled into standing and guided out of the cafe. “How much time do you have?”

Well, Natasha wanted him to join her in the museum about ten minutes ago, so-- “no plans for the day,” he said easily, letting Tony guide them through the winding streets, their bodies brushing and their hands linked together while they navigated the people and market-stalls. Tony greeted locals as he passed them by, the Italian words rolling off his tongue easily. Steve hung on to every word he said, not knowing what he meant, but willing to listen to Tony talking like that for the rest of the goddamn day if he wanted to. It was like music.

Eventually, Steve realised Tony was leading them to the coastline, and he frowned. “I haven’t bought any swim-trunks with me,” he said warily, but Tony just laughed, turning around and walking backwards while he looked up at Steve.

“Just wear your boxers, they’ll dry off quickly once you get out!”

“I... I don’t--” but Tony was already leading them down a rickety set of wooden steps, winding down the cliff edge. It was a secluded place, and when they reached the bottom, Steve looked around in awe at the beautiful cove he’d been brought to. There was a small outcrop which slid off straight into the sea, and a few feet onward, a dusting of sand covered by the shade of a tree.

Tony beamed at him. “I come here to do work sometimes. Come, come. The water is lovely.” Without a moment of hesitation, he toed off his loafers and then skidded over the outcrop, where he then started to untuck his shirt from his pants. Steve could only watch, somewhat shocked at the man’s lack of embarrassment, as Tony quickly stripped down into his underwear, finally ending with chucking his sunglasses on top of the messy pile of his clothes. His eyes shone with knowing amusement as he looked over his shoulder at Steve. “My eyes are up here,” he commented, and in mortification, Steve hurriedly dragged his gaze away from Tony’s ass.

“Sorry, sorry, I didn’t--” but Tony had already turned back around, stepping off the outcrop and then splashing into the water, being submerged immediately. He came up a second later with a gasp, slicking his curls out of his face with one hand while the other clamped around the outcrop. He swam closer to Steve, who was still stood at the sidelines, a little bamboozled by the recent events.

“You joining me?” Tony asked, his arms folding on the rocks as he cocked his head at Steve. “I might need-- ah, come se dice.... a water-guard?”

“Lifeguard,” Steve said with a small grin, remembering the conversation he’d had earlier about his part-time job as a pool lifeguard when he’d been a kid in order to afford his first ever car. “And you seem to be doing okay right now.”

Tony hummed, and then very dramatically began to flail around, head dipping under the water. “Oh no!” He declared, “my legs have suddenly stopped working! If only I had someone trained to handle a situation like this to come in and save me!” He sunk below the water again, and Steve rolled his eyes and just tried not to laugh as his hands went to his shirt.

If Tony didn’t seem to think this was strange, then neither did Steve.

Once he was down to his boxer briefs, he slid in a little more calmly than Tony had done, bracing himself against the rocks and looking at the other man. Water clung to his skin, making crystal trails, pooling at the dip in his collar-bones. His hair was slicked back, but a piece had fallen into his eyes, and he tucked it behind his ear as he tread the water a few feet away.

He was right though. It really was lovely and cool.

Steve smiled, sinking under the surface for a moment in order to wet his hair. He could just about touch the surface, but Tony was considerably smaller than him, so he would have to stick to treading the water. Steve came back up with a gasp and then found himself laughing. “This is not how I imagined my day to go,” he admitted, watching Tony’s face soften.

Then, slowly, he swam forward, cutting through the water and then settling a hand on Steve’s shoulder softly. It slipped across the damp skin, and Tony watched his own fingers as they trailed across Steve’s pale shoulders. “Me neither,” Tony admitted softly, glancing up at Steve through his thick lashes, “but I’m not going to complain. I met a very hot man and got him out of his clothes in under two hours.”

That made Steve laugh. Never in a million years would he have done this back in America. Not like he even could, really. The Hudson hardly counted as a romantic spot for a swim with the person you’d only met once. But everyone said Europeans were very free-spirited. And from what Steve could see, and, uh, feel, that certainly seemed the case. Tony swam a little closer, his other hand finding Steve’s neck, winding around the side of it delicately and pulling himself in until they were chest to chest. Steve curled his own hand around the other man’s waist, taking a small breath. He wasn’t sure he’d ever been quite as affected by someone as he was with Tony. Not in his whole life.

“I want to kiss you,” Tony said, his words lilted with the accent, his skin glittering in the sunlight, and it was so damn strange for Steve to think of the fact that Tony had almost grown up in New York as the heir to a huge business like he’d spoken of earlier, all slick and hard-lined and American. This just seemed like it was where Tony belonged, far more than that life ever would be.

Steve smiled, their noses touching. His hand rose from the water, the sound tinkling melodically, and he gently took Tony’s chin in his hand, tilting it up a little more. “I want to kiss you too,” he admitted, “I want to do a lot of things, actually.”

“Hmm?” Tony’s voice was low, warm, suggestive. “You said you have no plans. I don’t either.” He dipped forward, giving Steve the barest brush of lips before pulling away a fraction again.”You can do whatever you want, tesoro.”

Wow. Those words went straight down south, and Steve swallowed, before dipping down and closing the gap between them hastily. The water swirled around them, Tony draping himself onto Steve as they embraced, and vaguely he realised that this wasn’t a private cove and anyone could walk by if they wanted, but it was still difficult to keep his actions even remotely clean when he had a pretty much naked and willing and wet Tony in his arms, sucking on his bottom lip while his hands worked over Steve’s arms. He tasted like coffee and smelled like apples, and his mouth was a devil, licking into him, nipping and sucking and making little noises when Steve touched him in the right places. It was slow, easy, relaxed. The sun shone through the clear blue sky, lighting up Tony’s face as he leaned back against the rock and shut his eyes happily. Steve wanted to work him over. Wanted to find out what his favourite colour was and how he looked spread out on a bed. Just seeing him like this was driving Steve a little mad. God only knew what would happen when they got home.

He was going to have to do a lot of apologising to Bucky and Nat tonight, because he didn’t think they were going to be seeing anything of him for the rest of the day.

Or the vacation.

ao3 / donate to my kofi

#itsallavengers writes #im sorry uve had a rough week i love u and i hope! this helped a lil #thotty italian tony helps everyone man #stevetony #Anonymous

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crlmson-cloud · 4 years ago

Text

SUSUMU NAKAMURA - THE KNIFE OF NEW YORK

‘It seems I no longer define who I am...

I was not meant to be him.’

> BASICS「基本」 → Susumu Nakamura [進・中村] → 31 → Shy and lonely → Homosexual → Manga Artist, but will become a music artist in the Marvel AU → Speaks Spanish, English, Mandarin Chinese, Japanese, Italian and German → Nationality: Japanese/Irish → 5'9 before serum, 6'1 after > FACECLAIMS 「視覚」 [ PRE-SERUM MARKIPLIER [ POST SERUM ] CHRIS EVANS

Videos taken of Susumu Nakamura at a manga convention, five weeks before he went missing.

Experimental Copy of the Documents handed over by Susumu Nakamura, adapted by Angelo Sebastiani into a short story to tell of what happened.

There were many emotions that Susumu was feeling within this moment. With his true self, he's finally managed to publish another manga, and Beijing was the first city that he was going to meet people at, finally. A chance to be with the fans, and a holiday from being a manga artist and book writer. And his husband needed a break from the modelling opportunities that he was getting. The name of the husband, you may ask? Nathaniel Huang.

A man of around the same age and popularity as the man that he's married. The love that he's had for years with him. Nathaniel, whenever Susumu felt that he was with him. He felt complete, well and truly, he felt complete. Susumu even based some parts of the manga around his husband because of the fact that Nathaniel inspired him so much with his manga. Susumu has done most of the manga however, being the one that's come up with the original ideas for the stories that are embedded within the nine hundred page behemoth of a book. But also within the intricate details of what happens throughout the story. Boarding the plane to Beijing from Tokyo. Susumu expresses his own fears of finding a hotel. Since everywhere may have been booked beforehand. The man looks down slightly and his husband reassures him that they'll find somewhere to stay for the night, even though the meet and greet was cheap and admittedly, a lot of people went through with wanting to meet them.

* * * Five hours later, they manage to get to a hotel in Beijing as quickly as possible, before having to go into town square the following morning. Nathaniel looks longingly at a Captain America badge that someone was selling up at a market counter. Grabbing it, he decides to pay for it, as a present for his husband. Susumu thanked him quickly for the present and immediately wore it with happiness. Ever since the hero had gone missing, the popularity of his merchandise had been boosted in China. Meiguo Duizhang was becoming a staple of Chinese merchandise and strangely enough it had not been censored whatsoever when he went missing. Well, if he went missing, that is. The details were hazy upon the case of him. No one knew, and China, they were trying to find a new one in order to go through with trying to recreate him over and over. Even though the avengers originally promised that there would be another one if he was to ever step down. 'Wasn't your idol always Captain America when you grew up?' Nathaniel joked. 'Well, only when I found out the comics were being sold in Ireland.' Susumu responded, laughing slightly at what his husband had to say. 'But, yeah, I absolutely loved him.' 'Seems like the whole of China is going crazy over him.' 'Well isn't that obvious?' asks he. The Irish accent almost erupting from his voice as he asked. 'Hey-- calm down.' 'I am calm. What do you think we should do now?' 'Get something to eat, get some rest?' 'Sounds like a plan.' 'Quick question, babe?' 'Yuh-huh?' 'I'm just wondering, I have a meeting tomorrow morning, so are you good with just holding the panel on your own.' 'Yeah sure, I'm fine with that.' 'Alright, thank you.' Nathaniel says, hugging him tightly. A laugh erupting from his lungs slightly as he cuddles him. 'Stop crushing me with your hugs!' Later on within the night, they both had a romantic dinner and eventually, they both went to bed, cuddling together and eventually going to sleep. Susumu struggling more to go to sleep than Nathaniel. They decided to watch a film together, Susumu huddled up into Nathaniel's shirt. They kissed for a while, and they finally laid down. Holy hell he was excited. So excited for what tomorrow had to bring, so excited for whom he'd meet tomorrow. He eventually went to sleep with these thoughts within his head. * * * A few hours later, Susumu couldn't feel his husband by his side. He woke up, and only saw a bunch of black figures and Nathaniel in the background, instructing them all in Mandarin as to what to do with him. 'No! Get off me! I said get the fuck off me!' He shouts, they tried to bring him in but he continued to try to fight them off, that was until he felt a needle in the nape of his neck and was laid to rest once again through sedatives. What happened next, it's a much more darker story. He remembers these men trying to put him in a chamber, spraying him down with a lot of disinfectant before they started on him. Giving him his own clothes and then another injection to the back. China was obsessed with becoming the next power and this was one of the first ways of doing it. Susumu screams out as he feels himself getting pricked with needle. He felt himself grow larger with every injection that they made, and then they finally moved onto another part of him. 'Make him look like his crush, why don't you?' Nathaniel seemingly mocks him from the speakers. Susumu was shaking at this point, he still had a tan skin tone. His face was still all the same, still flawed. Still imperfect. He curled up into a ball and eventually was put to sleep yet again by sedatives. Although, the sedative didn't exactly work as intended. He felt everything, every single cut and prod that they pulled on him when they wanted to render him immaculate. How they changed his jawline, how they changed his skin tone. Everything. They changed everything about him. Up to the point where he was no longer recognisable as his normal self. 'Perfect...' Nathaniel says to himself as he looks down upon his quivering boyfriend in the corner of the room. Susumu didn't want to be perfect, he just wanted to be himself. 'What did you do to me?' He asks, looking up at his boyfriend. His voice croaking through. He had to stop himself from crying. 'I just wanted you to be more happy than you were before.' Nathaniel states to him. Shouting was then heard: 'No-- no why isn't the power fitting in with him?! You're saying it's his gene pool? What the fuck-- I've been trying my best to coax him into this for so long.' He shouts, lying to the people he's faithful to in the process. 'Only for it to fuck up because of his heritage?! I thought, I thought he could have fitted the genes. Give it to me! Give the fucking serum to me!' He hoped to wake up and see whether this was all a bad dream that he was having in his head. * * * Susumu eventually woke up in the hotel bedroom. He smiles softly as he begins to slowly think that it's nothing but a simple nightmare that he had. He gets out of bed. 'Nathaniel! Nathaniel, did you go for your meeting?' His voice hasn't changed in the slightest, it must have been a bad dream. he smiles even more widely. Relieved. 'Fuck he left, didn't even get to say good morning to him...' He then thinks to himself. Looking down at a table he notices a note completely in Japanese. 'Susumu, I've had a lot of fun with you over the past few years, but I've finally decided that we'd best go our separate ways. I hope you the best in the world and honestly, I really do hope that you feel happy. The reasons why I wanted to leave I'll disclose right here in this note. I no longer felt that spark that we once had back when we first met, I no longer felt that love for you that we once had. We both have such large differences, creatively and mentally that it's almost boggling as to how we got together. I'll admit, I'm so surprised that we lasted this long. I'm so sorry, Susumu. I loved you. I really did, but now I just can't keep that façade up for much longer. I'm so sorry. I hope you find happiness. Love Nathaniel xx' The man looks down at the note for a few minutes. Sitting back on the bed as he reads it, over, and over, and over again. He can't believe what he's seeing. He just wants to rip up the note. The feeling of being broken up with after a four year relationship made him feel sick to the stomach, he went into the bathroom, quickly, to get himself ready for his first meeting. He'll still be there. That's when he looked in the mirror. 'No . . . no . . . ' He lets out as he looks at himself. An arising fear beginning to grow and flourish within his body. He looked exactly like what Nathaniel wanted him to look like within the dream. Captain America. He has the brown, almost blonde hair, the chiselled jawline, the beautiful adonis like body that he had. He has everything about him. The only thing that Nathaniel didn't change about him was the beard. He kept that. The only thing that he kept about Susumu. When Susumu's fear starts to grow, he notices a shadow appear on the wall and break the mirror in front of him. He freezes for a moment. He was going to punch the mirror but that would be damage to property and he couldn't do that. 'Fuck--' He lets out as pieces of the mirror were all over the sink. He clenches his hand in anxiety as he wishes to fix the mirror again. Almost as if he could reset time, the mirror returned to its original state. No longer broken. Susumu looks down, noticing that there's still a piece of glass upon the tile floor. He picks it up and looks at the mirror. The mirror in reality was still broken. Thinking that he could get away with this, he changes his appearance to fit that with reality, although when he went out, a lot of people gave him strange looks, and some even called him by the name that he no longer wishes to be associated with. Meiguo duizhang. He went through with the meeting and a lot of people pointed out that he looked different to the profile photo that he shared of himself. Fuck this isn't working. The thought went through his head and thankfully, no footage of the meet and greet was ever posted on social media or was ever on the news. Susumu had to give back all the money that he gained, he hoped to give it to a charity that was about the poverty line. Helping those who were homeless. But now, there's no money. Susumu feels that he has no identity, nothing, he's left with nothing. His husband fucked up his whole life. He got on the plane back to America and quickly set course for New York, on a panic flight. Not even knowing where he was going. He managed to get through to the airport through a loophole in the system. His fingerprint was still the same, and the Chinese airport checked everything. While it took a day or two, he had a new passport and he could get in. * * * Eventually, he managed to get back there and he walked through the alleyways in order to feel as if he was slightly safer, that's when he stumbled across a woman with a knife, threatening to stab and kill him if he didn't give her his money. The woman was caucasian, a ripe age and unfortunately had stumbled down into the black market and got herself into debt. She started driving the knife closer to his stomach. 'Give me the fucking wallet!' She screams out. A circle of darkness forms behind her and pulls her back onto the wall. Trapping her there. Susumu then quickly makes his escape and manages to get to his house, letting the woman go before doing so. He eventually stays in the house and he begins to break down completely. Curled up in a corner, taking deep breaths to avert the point of sensory overload. He continues to do this for around thirty minutes. Going into his room, he ends up making a mirage for someone else unintentionally. He looked out the window and created another vision of a car, completely totalled in front of a driver. The driver who witnessed it got out of his vehicle and went towards the wreck, only for the wreck to then disappear. Causing him to panic and run back to his car immediately. That's when he realises, that he can bend reality to his own will.

#captainamerica #oc #marvel oc #backstory

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planetjisungie · 4 years ago

Text

NCT Dream reaction to S/O using British Slang

an; i could help myself im soRRY also im southern so some may not exist in the north? idk man im just vibing in London. side note, gifs have nothing to do w it i just like them 🥺 also i really wanted to put arkid in there but im not northern so i dont rly know how u guys use it

RENJUN

"fucking hell mate dont be such a wanker!" you groaned, banging your head against the car window. immediately following, you raised your fist in outright rage and aggressively moved your arm up and down. renjun, sat next to you gaped at the thick accent spewing the vulgarities. he was slightly surprised at the angry sounding outburst, even more so at the gesture you made afterwards.

"what did you say?" he leaned forwards, turning to you so you can translate it back into korean. at this, you fluster up slightly and swallow. how the fuck do you translate that?

"its— dont worry i dont think i can translate it" this would probably make renjun confused because what kind of thing would have had to have said for him not to understand?

"what does it mean then?"

"its just an insult"

LMAO after that day idk why but i can just see renjun bullying the poor dreamies with all these words that they don’t understand

JENO

"alright then you prick, just shove past me then. absolute bellend." you would sarcastically say after someone shoved between you and jeno, not even caring to apologise after knocking your phone out your hand.

jeno would get the insinuation of the insult, just from the pure malice and sarcasm that dripped off your words. he would also make one of his confused jeno sounds, helping you up as you picked your phone from the ground and made sure it wasnt broken. "huh? prick? bellend?" and then he would repeat the words, obviously not knowing what they mean.

"i— jeno, dont repeat anything i say from now on, okay?" you would look at him amused, from the cute korean accent as he tried to pronounce words that would just sound so very wrong when not said with a british/irish accent.

i feel like jeno would later on ask you what they mean with the intention to add them to a wordbank he uses to understand your small phrases, then probably get very confused when you explain the literal meaning of bellend. after that i dont see him using the words unless he makes it a habit of muttering them under his breath so its not embarrassing if he says it wrong yet he gets the satisfaction of cursing at someone with a word they dont know.

HAECHAN

"finally! scran!" you dashed towards your boyfriend that you would be eternally grateful for for bringing you snacks.

i feel like hyuck would be more confused than the profanities, because there really is no way to tell what scran meant with no underlying emotion. "scran? whats a scran?" he would probably think it was just a random word like yay until you would only just realise he didnt have a clue what you just said.

"scran means food babe"

for hyuck i doubt he would use the word scran again unless he was on a show and he suddenly remembers the word and just claps and points at the food like "ayyeee scrann"

JAEMIN

"this cake is pengers mate" you declare your love for the delicious spongey dessert while you eat it. jaemin just looked at you curiously while you ate. at first you would be self conscious from how hes literally just watching you eat, until you notice hes whipped out the english book where he writes all his new english words and was looking at you expectantly.

"so i know mate means friend in a casual way, what does pengers mean?"

then i feel like hed love the way you said it, then ask you to teach him more words like that. this would be when he finds the miraculous invention of ‘leng’ which baffles him because why the fuck would you need to use a word which means penger than peng? but then he would start using these words a lot, which would probably be cringey if it wasnt jaemin because im convinced he can do anything and it not be super cringey.

CHENLE

"y/n babe, have you seen jisung?"

"yes love, up the apples and pears"

😭man would be like?? excuse me??

"up the... up the apples and pears? are you feeling okay?" because he is actually pretty good at english he would obviously know what apples and pears are, the edible, tangible objects which grow on trees under the category of ‘fruit’. and jisung is too big to be inside a fruit.

"yeah, up the apples chenle, that is what i said" probably wouldnt hit you that he doesnt know what the fuck the apples and pears are considering all youve known is people knowing immediately what it means. "y/n...baby... what are the apples and pears? did jeno and jaemin feed you sugar cubes again?" he would halt his hunt for jisung and come sit next to you as you very slowly come to the realisation that he really doesnt know what the apples and pears are.

"oh shit! chenle im so sorry, the apples and pears is cockney rhyming slang for the stairs. jisung has gone upstairs"

after this i very much doubt chenle would use it, he would probably be reminded of it every time he saw stairs, an apple or a pear but i feel like cockney has to be said by the people who grew up saying it otherwise it doesnt sound right

JISUNG

"jisung sweets, you look knackered" your eyes scanned the tired boy who just walked into your room like a zombie and flopped onto the bed. he had just come back from dance practice, except the others came back 2 hours ago because jisung wanted to stay longer and perfect the routine.

i doubt the word would even register in jisungs mind until a few days later when he sees the word in an instagram comment. "y/n? what does n-n oh my god nevermind, what does this word mean" he would also probably give up on trying to pronounce it because literally fuck you english and your weird phonetics. so you would look over his shoulder to read the very familiar word with a hum.

"knackered? it means really tired or exhausted"

i dont think he would be using it ever again until he hears you say it a few more times incase he says it wrong. big babie can understand english but we know he worries about his speaking so would just listen to you say it before he even attempts to use it.

#nct #nct dream #jeno #lee jeno #jisung #jisung park #chenle #renjun #nct reactions #nct dream reactions #british slang #bri ish #jaemin #na jaemin #huang renjun #nct fluff

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writingpuddle · 6 years ago

Note

The foxes and Andrew reacting to Neil with a British accent?

Hey anon im p sure you sent me this like a million years agobut I found it again when going thru my asks yesterday so here goes myattempt at a bulletpoint fic:

Neil grew up in the states, sohis default accent is American, but he is ridiculouslygood at imitating. Like give him a ten second audio clip and he canextrapolate basically an entire dialect from it

The Foxes discover this aroundHalloween when watching a spooky movie and Neil goes into a perfect deadpanmockery of the Dracula character’s terrible Transylvanian accent

It becomes a thing

The Foxes will give him an accentand just set him loose

Neil is kind of surprised bytheir enthusiasm but also secretly very pleased to have found a way to amusehis Foxes

He likes making them happy so henever denies them

Except Kevin, but that is mostlybecause the team gets more amusement from watching Kevin get frustrated and trynot to show how annoyed he is over Neil being such a petty little asshole

Also they discover that if Neilputs on an Irish accent when Kevin isn’t paying attention he will absolutelyJUMP

Give him an order in an Irishaccent and he just instantly starts to follow through before he wakes up,blinking in disorientation as he realizes what he was doing

It’s funny at first, then theyrealize it’s because he associates the accent with his mother, and then itskind of sad, and then Kevin starts telling more stories about his mum and someof the few good memories he has of her, and then it gets funny again because Foxesare Foxes and they do love a good roast

Kevin complains outwardly but itsactually kind of cathartic to talk about his mother

He tells Andrew this inconfidence and Andrew just glares at him like no shit dude, you need fuckingtherapy

Anyways

That summer is going to be thesummer of the girls graduation

So they’re all determined to dosomething big to celebrate

And they get it in their heads todo a Eurotrip

Neil isn’t really payingattention at first because he’s more concerned about whether Andrew will bewilling to do a transatlantic flight

(Andrew is obviously going tocome. Flights suck, but there is no way he can cope with his whole family beingthat far away. He does not feel the need to explain this. It should beobvious.)

That’s when the Foxes pause, alldevious.

They’ve been plotting

“So, Neil,” Allison says. “At what point are you going to introduce usto your British uncle?”

Neil does not see where this isgoing

In fact he is largely baffled bythe suggestion.

“You realize my uncle is agangster, right? Like, literally a crime boss. Possibly the most dangerousperson in Britain.”

“Mm-hmmmmm.”

Neil is ???

“But he saved you Neil,” Nicky says emphatically. “We need to thank him.”

“Uh, kind of by accident, butyeah, technically.”

“You should call him. Just toask. You know, at least give the guy some warning that you’ll be in the area.”

Neil is still kinda confused butokay, fine.

Now here’s the thing

The Foxes have heard any numberof accents from Neil by this point

Including a magnificent Godfatherimitation

And probably half a dozendifferent British ones

But those were always for the laughs

He always picked a terribleaccent or would mock the living hell out of a posh one

Neil isn’t used to being thefunny one so he’s trying his best okay

And it’s fun and all but Neil can’tbe seductive to save his life

Even if you made him speak theFrench, the language of love itself,he’d just sound like he’s talking about the next game because he has zeroflirtability

Face it his and Andrew’sflirting sounds kind of like death threats to outsiders

They deserve each other

SO the Foxes convince Neil tocall up his uncle and they huddle around the phone

Only to be utterly disappointed

Neil talks with Stuart for all ofa minute and a half, just normal voice

He hangs up and tells them thatStuart will meet them in London in May and that they’re going to get him inshit with the FBI for this

The Foxes retreat, mutteringmutinously

Andrew is well aware of what’sgoing on, but it’s halfway amusing so he doesn’t say anything

As the months pass the Foxesbecome increasingly desperate in their attempts to make Neil say something sexy

They make him quote movies, TVshows, read out flirty text messages

One memorable time they even gethim to read out a page from Fifty Shades of Grey in a stuck-up British accent

They almost die laughing

It’s like a fucking superpower

Neil can say absolutely anythingand make it come across totally non-sexual

The Foxes have pretty much givenup by the time the summer trip comes around

Neil spends the plane ridepretending not to fuss over Andrew so by the time he arrives he’s totallyexhausted

And here is what he didn’texpect:

He is totally used to listeningto the local accents and then blending in naturally

It’s very disorienting beingamong the Foxes and their various Americanism, but hearing British accents allaround him

And his instincts are snarled upin knots

Plus he’s fucking tired

So he keeps slipping

First it happens when they passthrough customs, just a little lilt to his voice to put the officer at ease

But then it keeps happening

Stuart sends a couple cars topick them up and take them to this massive place he owns right in centralLondon

Being a crimeboss comes withcertain perks okay

Neil slips up again when he’stalking to the driver, his accent washing back and forth

Everyone else isn’t really payingattention because as excited as they are about Neil’s accent they’re in London and they’re all exhausted and fora lot of them it’s the first time they’ve been outside of the States, ever

Andrew notices

But he doesn’t say anything

They get to the apartment andfind a note there from Stuart saying he’ll pick them up tomorrow for a tour

Everyone splits off into theirrooms to sleep

Neil falls into bed exhausted, but sleep doesn’t come

And Andrew knows this but is tooexhausted himself from the stress of flying to deal with it right away

So he just wraps an arm aroundNeil’s stomach and holds him there as he drifts off

And it’s not enough for Neil toreally relax but it’s enough to make him feel grounded

The next morning Stuart shows upand everyone blinks at him bleary eyed and suspicious

But he’s charming and most ofthem find it kinda disarming

Which is how the Foxes end up takingwhat is probably the most expensive tour they’ve ever had (Allison excepted),lead entirely by a crime boss

Neil is lagging behind a bit buteveryone is so caught up in it that they don’t really notice

Except Andrew

That boy is always attuned to Neil

So he drops back with him andthey have a brief intense staring contest which ends in Neil looking away

They’re standing in Trafalgarsquare watching some street performers so no one is listening

Neil is obviously chewing onsomething and Andrew waits him out

He would wait forever

Finally, Neil just says, “I’vebeen here before.”

Which isn’t much but Andrew’smemory has never failed him before

I couldn’t live there again. I couldn’t retrace my steps to any ofthose places

Andrew knows what its like to feelsick at things that other people would love

So he nods and stands next toNeil the whole day

Not quite touching but closeenough that they can feel each others gravity

At the end of the day Stuart andNeil have a very cordial goodbye and then Stuart leaves them back at theapartment

Everyone is gushing about how charismatiche is and Neil doesn’t bother to correct them

His uncle has always been a bitof a snake-charmer but at least he knows he’ll never hurt his Foxes

They’ve still got a few days inLondon and Stuart’s secured them tickets to an underground dungeon tour thingthat usually has months worth of waiting list

Neil’s a little leery of goinginto a dark underground space, but with his Foxes there he’s sure he’ll beFine™

The team breaks out drinks aftersupper but Neil doesn’t have the energy

(Honestly according to thistimeline they’ve been in London for twenty-four hours they should be jet-laggedto hell and back, but w/e)

So he retires to their room andAndrew follows him like he always will

He sits next to Neil on the bedand waits

God there’s so much fuckingpointed silence between these two dear lord guys learn to communicate

Eventually Neil sighs. “I thoughtit would be okay. With all of them here.”

Andrew mulls that over

He doesn’t know how to admit thatit bothers him too. Seeing Neil reverting back to old habits, trying to blendin like its second nature

But he knows Neil is here to stayso he just slips a hand around the back of Neil’s neck and tugs him in untiltheir foreheads touch, breathing in the same air

Gradually the tension eases outof Neil

“We can go home,” Andrew says

“No,” Neil says. “I want to stay.I want to learn how to…do all of this, as Neil.”

Andrew squeezes the back of hisneck one more time. “Okay.”

It’s a silent promise, one he’sbeen keeping for over a year now: that any time Neil drifts too far, Andrewwill keep him anchored.

Neil knows it and he can’t helpbut smile a little, watching Andrew’s hazel eyes disappear into the shadowbetween their faces.

“Yes or no?” he asks

Andrew draws back a little

“You’ve been dissociating allday.”

“I’m here now.”

Andrew scowls and let’s go ofhim, standing up to go dig out his pajamas from his luggage

Neil flops down on the bed andadmires the view while Andrew changes

(That’s a nice thing. Andrewbeing comfortable enough to change in front of him. Sure, he’s always partiallychanged out in the locker room, but in private it’s different. It’s more. And Andrew is willing to give thatto Neil.)

(It’s very nice.)

“Staring,” Andrew grunts

“Can you blame me?”

“Yes.”

Neil sits up again and tugs onthe front of Andrew’s shirt until he gives in and steps up close, betweenNeil’s legs

His hands go to Neil’s sideswithout conscious decision

“Nicky wants the genuine Europeexperience,” Neil murmurs, toying with Andrew’s hem. He still hasn’t been givenpermission to touch, so he doesn’t. “We’re going to be staying in hostels.Might be the last time we have a room to ourselves.”

Andrew bites down on a thousandimpulses, reflexes to shut Neil down, cuthim out

Instead he just kisses Neil, goodand slow, a reassurance that they’re there,they’re real, and that this isn’t going away

“Andrew—”

“Yes,” he says, and pushes Neilback onto the bed.

You know what happens next

They love each other deeply andprofoundly and all that but they also like each other’s butts ya know

So afterwards they get cleaned upand curl back up in bed to sleep

Andrew climbs over Neil andnearly knees him in the balls and Neil’s laughing a little and Andrew scowls inannoyance as Neil scoots closer

And with the most obnoxious chav accent that’s ever been heard says, “Any chance a bloke could get a bit of a snog before bed?”

It is quite possibly the worstthing Neil has ever said and Andrew does not hesitate in slapping a pillow overhis face to try and smother him

Neil is laughing his ass off andit devolves into some pretty stupid wrestling before Andrew gets Neil pinneddown, straddling his hips

“Bloody wanker,” Neil says, unable to contain his grin

“Shut the fuck up,” Andrew says,and kisses him so that he does.

#i dont think this is what you asked for but its what my brain spat out lol #anon #writing prompt #have i been sitting on this for months?#probably #aftg #andrew minyard #neil josten #andreil #accents #fic #my writing #Chav!Neil #the foxes go on vacation

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wolfpawn · 5 years ago

Text

I Hate You, I Love You, Chapter 96

Chapter Summary - Danielle and Tom go for lunch with Kenneth Branagh.

Previous Chapter

Rating - Mature (some chapters contain smut)

Triggers - references to Tom Hiddleston’s work with the #MeToo Movement. That chapter will be tagged accordingly.

authors Note - I have been working on this for the last 3 years, it is currently 180+ chapters long. This will be updated daily, so long as I can get time to do so, obviously.

tags: @sweetkingdomstarlight-blog @jessibelle-nerdy-mum @nonsensicalobsessions @damalseer @hiddlesbitch1 @winterisakiller @fairlightswiftly @salempoe @wolfsmom1

If you wish to be tagged, please let me know.

“Ready?”

“Tom, I am having kittens, of course, I am not ready,” Danielle informed him as she walked up the steps of the central London hotel.

“Why do you say such peculiar phrases?” Tom laughed.

“It was either say that or go for a non-PG comment.” She stated.

“Fair enough, it does not make it any less odd of a statement.” He pulled her to him. “Kenneth is a lovely man, honestly, just be yourself, don’t fret and it will be fine.”

“He is the one that got you the Thor gig, isn’t he?”

“Yes, I was fortunate to get Wallander with him, then he directed Thor, he told me the job and I applied, as Thor, but as soon as he saw it was me, he gave me Loki’s script, and the rest, as they say, is history.” He grinned. “Wouldn’t it be odd if he is the one that gets you the ability to do as you wanted and work for yourself?”

“We’d owe him a lot.”

“Everything.”

“Not everything, I mean, if you did not put your heart and soul into Loki, then it would not have mattered, as it stands, your performance has made him the undeniable King of Marvel villains. You did that, but yes, without Branagh saying to take the script, it would all not matter.” She pointed out. Inhaling deeply, she stopped outside the restaurant. “Jesus, this is hard.”

Tom watched as she readied herself, breathing deeply to try and prevent her nerves showing. “Elle,” She looked at him. “You are incredibly dedicated and you have had nothing but amazing things said about you by your previous employers, you will do wonderfully at this.” He smiled encouragingly.

“I know, but this is big. I mean Game of Thrones is big, obviously, but a war movie, Tom, you did War Horse, think of that with more weapons, it’s going to be a logistical and hazard shit-storm, if I get it right, I am leapfrogging steps again, if I get it wrong, it is actually dangerous.” She paced slightly. “What is wrong with me, I was never this anxious before.”

“I don’t know, but you have no reason to worry, just breathe.” She did as he instructed. “Ready?” She nodded slightly. Taking her hand in his, Tom walked into the restaurant. The Maître d’ smiling politely at them as they did. “Branagh table.”

“Of course, Mr Hiddleston, this way.” The man brought two menus and a wine list and escorted the pair to a small alcove in the very corner of the restaurant, slightly hidden from the rest of the patrons.

There in the corner was Branagh, a thick file in front of him, as well as a tablet, looking over something. As though sensing someone was approaching, he looked up from his work. It took only a moment for him to recognise who it was and he rose to his feet. “Tom.” He walked around the table and embraced the younger man fondly. “How are you?”

“Great, it’s great to see you, you look well, what’s new with you?”

“Well, getting this off the ground.” He pointed to the file in front of him before looked to Danielle, “I can assume you are Ms Hughes?�� he reached out to shake her hand, his face one of politeness and friendliness.

“Yes, thank you for considering me, Mr Branagh.” She took his hand and shook.

“You’re Irish?” He seemed somewhat surprised.

Remembering that she had read somewhere that his family came from the North during the Troubles, Danielle was worried for a moment that her Southern accent and nationality would be an issue. “Yes, Galway.”

“Lovely spot, went there on holidays a few times, especially Connemara, never could understand a word they said, most of it was in Irish, I loved it, never got to learn it though.”

“I grew up there, it’s taught from preschool when it’s all you hear six hours a day, it becomes second nature, I still do sums in Irish in my head.” She admitted, relieved that he seemed to be unbothered by her nationality.

“Fair dues, well, let’s order something to eat and talk business then, alright? Order whatever you want, the studio is paying.” He winked.

“Dangerous words.” Tom joked as he and Danielle sat down and looked at the menu. As soon as he read the first main course, he knew what Danielle would have, he smiled when he glanced to the side to see her focus on that order and none other.

“Stop, we could get you the side of a cow and you’ll still be as lithe as you are.” Kenneth dismissed. “There’s nothing on you. We were in Sweden, filming Wallander, and he put away a 14-ounce steak, honestly.” Branagh explained to Danielle.

“I remember, when I first came over, he was at his mam's, and I had cooked a lasagne, I cook big meals and freeze them, handier, and he polished off half a family-sized dish of it, then an hour later, I swear to God, comes in and grouses to his mum that he was hungry,” Danielle added.

Branagh nodded. “I’d well believe it. So, you know each a while then?” He looked between the pair interestedly.

“Six years.” Tom answered, “we finally only got our acts together back in October.”

“Well, better late than never,” Kenneth beamed.

The waitress arrived and both men paused for a moment, silently expecting Danielle to go first. She had read before that politely yet firmly assuming control was a coveted trait in set personnel of higher roles, so smiling courteously, she looked to the waitress. “May I have a goat’s cheese to start and then the duck, all the trimmings please and I am fine with just water, thank you.” The waitress took her menu, then looked to the men.

Tom grinned, knowing Danielle would never decline duck. He ordered his own food as well as a sparkling water before Branagh ordered his own.

“Good to see someone in film not afraid to actually eat,” Branagh commented. Danielle said nothing back, “I don’t mean that in an offensive manner.”

“I assumed not,” Danielle smiled. “My mother would go insane if she thought I had started starving myself.”

“All Irish mothers are prone to that.” Branagh agreed. “So,” he turned on the screen of the tablet. “The general premise, as you can imagine, is fairly simple, planes, tanks, guns and ships, ground soldiers and civilians; what I wanted to do, and that is why I was hoping for Lucas, but am very relieved he sent you to me since he is otherwise disposed of, is I want to perform a series of shot that incorporates the city bombings also. So…”

“St Pauls with the incendiaries, Balham station, the parts of London that nearly were burnt away, general destruction, and if I am not mistaken, you even mentioned Belfast and Dublin.”

“Yes,” Branagh beamed, elated that she seemed to get his idea. “You did your homework.”

“Didn’t need to, my father was an avid history lover and I spent most days he had a few hours off watching documentaries, willingly or otherwise.” She admitted. “I have to confess I still watch them now.”

“Brilliant, then you know the scale we are talking about.”

Tom knew a lot about film, RADA taught him more than just acting, it taught him a plethora of behind the camera work also, directing, producing, camera work, and such things, but what Danielle was talking about, the detail and her terminology made him realise he knew nothing of her job. He remembered the times stunt coordinators were working with him in different shows and movies, they were meticulous yet focused on the task, in truth, he rarely heard of safety officers before, they were simply just there. Danielle’s pace of talk and her focus on what Branagh had said he wanted showed she was incredibly capable and astute to the details of her job.

By the time the food came, Branagh had declared that he would have the studio send out her contract and that she need not worry about flights and accommodation, she was sorted where needed. “I am delighted that Lucas told me about you, you have no idea the sheer level of naysayers there are that will not even consider such ideas.”

“Probably frightened of the paperwork,” Danielle commented. She had noted such working with others, the loathed the paperwork, she thrived on it, used to having to go into detail with being a paramedic.

“I think so.”

“Excuse me a moment please.” Danielle rose from her chair and walked to the bathroom. She had not wanted to go, but she could tell that Tom was somewhat lost in the conversation that was taking place and she wanted to let him speak with his friend, so she went away for a moment to allow it to happen. Standing in front of the mirror in the women’s bathroom, she checked her hair and makeup. She had not done much, just put her hair back in a clip and made sure her face was somewhat tidy. She smiled at the outfit she had chosen, neat and yet not making her seem like she was in her fifties, Tom had looked at her with a surprised, yet approving smile when she came down after her shower before they left. Satisfied that she had left it long enough, she turned to return to the men.

"I don’t think I have heard of you being serious with someone since Thor,” Kenneth noted after Danielle left the room.

“I have not been,” Tom admitted.

“I take it she is someone very special then.”

Tom couldn’t help but smile. “She is.”

“How do you feel about her leaving for work?”

“What can I say, I was gone for three weeks not too long ago, I am leaving again in April and will be doing other work this year. It would be a tad rich of me to be against her leaving for work. Besides, you have not seen how hard she works, Danielle is dedicated to her work and loves it, I could never even consider asking her to stop and she would be the same. We have to juggle it, the same as everyone else in the business.”

“It’s not easy, but it can work; as long as you don’t do what I did and mess up,” Branagh warned. “I screwed up before.”

“Most everyone has,” Tom pointed out. “I spent so long pretending I didn’t love Elle, that I almost lost the chance to ever have her.”

“Well, it worked out in the end.” Branagh smiled. “Lucas Waters is a very hard man to get approval from, why do you think your girl has him ringing me demanding I take her?”

“Elle apparently made him feel foolish, she tore his work apart.”

“I am aware of that, but this is a closed shop Tom, our side of things has limited breakouts but behind the scenes, you have to all but sell your soul to breakthrough, what is it she has that made a man who has crushed many a dream and studio’s hearts ringing me and tell me no one else is worth my while?” Branagh looked to Tom for the answer. “What about her makes you want to be around her?”

“She is incredibly strong-willed, not in a stubborn manner, though she can be when needed, but when others would have shied away, she kept going. She is intelligent, as you have seen, she is an avid reader, so her knowledge about what you need for this movie, that is all her, no brown-nosing, she genuinely reads that much.”

“Shakespeare?” Branagh asked with a smile.

“Yeats, Shakespeare, Wilde, all of them and more, she will check the documentary channels long before she ever looks at anything else on TV other than sport. She has self- motivation, she does triathlons as well as work. When she injured her wrist at Christmas, she did not let that hamper her, she went straight to studying for this, in under two months, she went through a six-month course.” Branagh nodded. “She is an incredible person, she does not alter herself for others, the woman you have been sitting across from for the past hour is the same woman that will sit on the couch beside me later with our dog watching TV talking happily about the show she recorded last night at some obscure hour of the night.” Tom smiled as he recalled the excited squeak Danielle had made when something she wanted to watch was on late last night. “She is not afraid to be herself and sometimes that means not agreeing with you, she will fight for what she believes in, even if it means risking things she loves because it is right.”

Branagh noticed Tom swallow at that. “What did she do?”

“Made me see sense, but to do that, she had to risk everything, but she did it, hurting herself to do so.”

“It was worth it though.”

“I think so.” Tom smiled. “You won’t be disappointed, you’ll see that this Lucas guy saw, what other people she has worked with have seen. She is amiable, hardworking and will not disappoint, I promise.”

“Any woman that has you speaking about ‘our’ dog must be something serious and special.”

“Are you happy with what she is talking about?”

“I trust Lucas, I have worked with him for years when he said this is the person, I trusted his instincts, having met her, I can see she is incredibly able. Her line of work is male-dominated and she is better than most every one of them.” Tom smiled proudly. “So, how is Loki these days, I read he is coming out again this year?” Branagh asked, a smug smile on his face.

Tom parked the car in the driveway, they had said hardly anything since they had left the restaurant, but the mood was pleasant. He took the keys out of the ignition and looked at Danielle, who was staring straight ahead. “Are you alright?”

“Yes,” she nodded, not looking at him. “Just daunted.”

“What do you mean?”

“Everything he wants, rubble, flooded tube stations, the weapons,” She started laughing slightly. “I am going to go grey.”

“You will not, you heard him, you will have your own team.”

“I cannot believe I am heading a team,” she shook her head in disbelief before the smile fell from her face. “What if they don’t respect what I say because I am a woman?”

Tom’s brows knitted together. “You know that’s not going to happen; if it does, there are protocols to go through.”

“I know,” she leant in against him “I am just wondering how I will make their murders seem like an accident.”

Immediately Tom started laughing. “Yes, that can be bothersome.” He kissed her temple. “Come on, Mac is not best pleased.”

Looking at the window, the pair laughed at the indignant look on Mac’s face inside the sitting room, looking out at them. “No, he does not, he probably wants to go to the bathroom.” Danielle got out of the car and went into the house, Mac dancing around her feet, leading her to the back door, where he stared between it and his owner, trying to explain to her his issue. “Alright buddy, here you go.” She opened the door and Mac ran out immediately. Shaking her head as she closed it again, she walked to the hallway just as Tom closed the front door. “The poor guy was bursting.” Tom rushed forward, putting his arms around Danielle’s waist before kissing her almost ferociously. “What has gotten into you?” She smiled against his lips.

“You are incredible.” Tom pulled her right in against him. “So fucking incredible.” His voice almost three octaves lower as he kissed her again.

“Did me talking shop turn you on?” Danielle seemed to realise what it was that had Tom so frisky.

“Mmhmm….” His hands made their way towards her ass, hoisting her up as he pressed them into the hallway wall. “You know I have a thing for your incredible brains.”

Part of Danielle was about to make a quip about Swift, but she decided it was not worth it and thought of something far more pleasurable instead. “Bedroom?”

“We haven’t christened the hall.” Tom reminded her.

#I Hate You I Love You #chapter 96 #Tom hiddleston fic #tom hiddleston #wolfpawn

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swifteforeverandalways · 4 years ago

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Partners in Crime Chapter Six

Notes: This is a bit of a filler chapter, though features some Flynndoza bonding, Austin Dos Veces sibling adorable-ness, and Jake being attracted to Austin T.

Tag Squad: @riottstheory @thirst-n-bullshit

Austin T was trying unsuccessfully to sleep when there was a knock at his door.

“Bro, you awake?” Austin F whispered, her southern accent the only thing Austin T could hear in the dark.

“I’m up, sis,” Austin T whispered back. The door was pushed open and Austin F stepped into the room.

“Can I stay here tonight?” She asked, “I don’t…I can’t sleep and…” Austin T just pushed them blankets back and scooted to the side of the bed. Austin F padded into the room and climbed into the bed next to Austin T. Austin T opened his arms.

“C’mere,” he murmured to his foster sister. Austin F scooted next to him and laid her head against his chest. Austin T wrapped his arms around her, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.

“Sleep, I’ll keep you safe,” he murmured.

“Thought that was what the bodyguards were for,” Austin F murmured sleepily, her eyes drifting shut.

“They are, but I’m still your brother. I’ll always keep you safe,” Austin T vowed.

“I love you,” Austin F yawned.

“I love you too,” Austin T murmured and the two drifted off to sleep.

A couple of hours later, Raul got up and went to check on the two Austins. Every couple of hours, he and Jake had agreed to get up and check on the two in order to make sure the two were sleeping and safe. Raul went to Austin F’s room first, his heart nearly stopping when he saw the bed empty. Silently reaching for his gun, Raul pushed the door open and glanced around. The window was still shut, the bed nearly made.

Frowning to himself, Raul pulled his gun out and checked the closets. Both were still practically empty, worrying Raul even more. Walking silently to the other room, Raul peered in. Letting out a breath of relief, Raul lowered his gun and holstered it. He couldn’t help but smile.

The two Austins are sleeping in the bed together, both looking peaceful. They were on their backs, Austin F’s head resting on Austin T’s chest with his arms around her. Raul backed away, stepping out and heading back to his room.

“Everything okay?” Jake asked, peering out from his room.

“Sí, los dos están en su habitación. Durmiendo tranquilamente No te preocupes. (Yes, they are both in his room. Sleeping peacefully. Don’t worry),” Raul told his friend. Jake nodded and headed back to his room. Raul turned and also went back to his room, going back to sleep.

When morning came, Austin F woke to find herself held in Austin T’s grasp. Smiling to herself, she gently picked his arm up and extracted herself from the grasp, getting out of the bed. Heading to the kitchen, Austin F found the kitchen to already be occupied.

Raul stood in the kitchen, his back to Austin as he worked over the stove. He was shirtless, his bare back showing to Austin F. She stood there for a few moments, watching the fluid movements. Though she hadn’t exactly noticed the day previously, Raul was an attractive man.

The bodyguard was tall and well built with dark hair and tan skin. When he spoke, his voice was soft but had an accent to it. There was just something about him, something about the confident way he held himself, that Austin F really liked.

“Did you sleep well?” Raul spoke, not turning his head.

“Yeah, you?” Austin F said, a blush covering her cheeks. Raul turned, smiling at her.

“I did, Jake and I alternated between checking on you and the other Austin every couple of hours,” Raul said. Austin F turned even redder at that, if it was even possible.

“I uh…I hope it didn’t worry you, me not being in my room,” she stammered. Raul chuckled softly.

“You didn’t, don’t worry. I saw you were in his room, I wasn’t worried. Though…what exactly is the nature of your relationship?” He asked.

“We’re siblings pretty much,” Austin F said, “We were in the same foster family when I was seven and he was four and even since then, we’ve been practically inseparable.”

“Just siblings?” Raul asked, raising an eyebrow. Austin F chuckled, nodding.

“Yeah, just siblings. It was shortly after he came into the foster family that we started sharing beds. I know that sounds weird, but it’s not meant to be weird. That family wasn’t super nice and so whenever he got scared, he’d come into my room. When Austin got older, though, he got bigger than me and so it started going the other way, me coming into his room,” she said. Raul nodded, his expression thoughtful.

“So you two have always been close,” he said. Austin F nodded, “Yeah, we have. I love him like a brother.” Raul smiled and crossed over to the coffee maker.

“Would you like some coffee?” He asked. Austin F nodded, “Sure.”

“Any cream or sugar?” Raul asked, pouring a cup of coffee.

“Um…do you have the International Delights Irish Creme flavored creamer?” Austin F asked. Raul asked over to the fridge and opened it, pulling out the green colored container.

“Si,” he said with a grin. Austin F smiled back as he set the creamer on the table.

“Sugar? I mean, do you want any?” Raul asked.

“A bit, like two and a half teaspoons,” Austin F said. Raul nodded and picked up the sugar bowl, spooning in about two and a half teaspoons into the mug before setting it on the table.

“Thank you,” Austin F said quietly, pouring her creamer in until it was the proper color she wanted. Once her coffee was the proper shade, Austin F wrapped her hands around the mug and took a long drink from it, sighing happily. Raul smiled, turning back to the stove.

“What’re you making?” Austin F asked curiously. Raul looked over his shoulder at her, smiling again.

“Huevos a la Mexicana, Mexican-style eggs,” Raul said, “They are scrambled eggs with onion, tomatoes, and chilli peppers.”

“Sounds really good,” Austin F said with a smile as Raul continued to stir. A few moments later, Jake entered the kitchen. Jake was dressed in a pair of dark slacks and a white button up, the sleeves rolled up past his forearms like the day previously.

“Huevos a la Mexicana?” he asked, pulling back a chair and sitting in it. Raul nodded at his friend, “Si.”

“Good, they’re so good with breakfast,” Jake said, looking at Austin F.

“What’re you guys talking about?” the sleepy voice of Austin T said as he walked into the room. The male Austin wore a pair of gym shorts, his chest bare. Jake opened his mouth to speak, but couldn’t say anything. His pants had suddenly become uncomfortably tight, as Austin T was a very attractive young man with his smooth muscles.

“Breakfast, Raul made it,” Austin F said to her brother, who nodded and plopped into the seat next to her. Clearing his throat, Jake spoke the first thing that came to his mind as Raul set plates in front of them all.

“So do you two have any funny stories with sharing a first name?” He asked. The two Austins looked at each other, grinning.

“So there are about a three year age difference between the two of us,” Austin T began.

“But when we were both in middle school, we had a class together. I can’t even remember what a class it was, neither of us actually finished school,” Austin F continued.

“So whenever we had a substitute teacher, they usually did attendance using only first names.”

“The two of us would always say the ‘here’ at the same time, confusing the teacher until they used last names.”

Raul and Jake stared at the two, shaking their heads in amusement. The two Austins grinned at each other as the four continued their breakfast.

#Partners in crime #my writing #austin dos veces

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porkchop-ao3 · 5 years ago

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A Thrill I’ve Never Known (Chapter 43)

A Week Apart

Reader has to live with with Arthur’s absence, how’s she taking it? This chapter and the next few will focus on her relationship with other gang members. We chat with Molly in this one, I have never really written for her before so I hope I did okay. A little warning for a short scene of a suffering animal in this one!

(All chapters tagged with #ATINK and also posted on Ao3, username PorkChop)

A week passed quickly in Lakay. The first week in a new camp always did, everyone was so busy getting settled, setting up our temporary home, making sure everything had made the journey unscathed and in working order. What saddened me was the fact that we didn't even bother with any of the homey touches we had in other camps. Photos stayed tucked away, tables weren't put out so everyone ate on their laps or at whatever surface they could find within the numerous shacks, Arthur's bed… Arthur's bed stayed on the wagon. Miss Grimshaw said there wasn't room for it, and Arthur would have to sleep on the floor with the rest of us once he returned. But even so, it was a further reminder that he wasn't there.

A whole week without Arthur. It felt unbelievably wrong and as a rule, I tried not to think about it. When I did think about it, my mind turned down a dark and scary path, filling me with intrusive and ugly ideas of what had happened to him, so I distracted myself. In the daytime I helped cook, and when we were really desperate, I took on guard duty. It's funny, you kill two men and suddenly you're worthy of protecting the whole gang. I had little choice, without Dutch, Hosea, Arthur, John, Bill, Micah and Javier around, we needed everyone to up their responsibilities. I didn't like guard duty, but I made sure to do a thorough job and I took it very seriously. Luckily, nobody had set foot close to camp while I was on; I dreaded the day I had to use my gun again.

But I would, if it meant keeping those I cared about safe.

In the evenings I drew a lot, sitting in one of the shacks towards the back of camp, where the wall was painted with a lovely, gestural image of figures dancing around a fire. The expressive strokes reminded me of Charles Châtenay's work, and brought pleasant memories of Arthur and I's day spent together in Saint Denis.

I was sitting on the ground in the middle of the room, my legs dangling down through the hatch that opened up to the space below the building, my sketchbook on my lap. I was working on a sketch, my only reference the crisp image in my memory of Arthur standing among trees, wrapped in a frame and hanging on a wall in Saint Denis' gallery. He'd looked so handsome in that photograph, part of me wanted to go back to the gallery, seek out that photographer and purchase a print for myself. I wasn't sure when I was going to see Arthur again and I longed to have something far better than my drawings to keep his image fresh in my mind.

The door behind me opened, and I twisted to look. Every time someone entered a room my heart would skip with hope, longing for it to be him. When a flash of vibrant red hair appeared in the doorway, I was surprised.

"Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't realise anyone was in here," Molly said, backing out.

"You can come in. Plenty of room in here for both of us," I smiled before she closed the door, and she hesitated for a moment before finally slipping inside and shutting the door behind her. "How're you doing?" I asked.

She ambled inside, eyes drawn to the painting on the wall. She approached it, her hands and fingers wrestling themselves. "I'm alright. Things are too cramped over there," she gestured briefly to the other shack where most people congregated. I nodded in understanding, it was why I avoided it until bedtime. "Can barely hear myself think. Mr. Pearson and Mrs. Adler are bickering again."

"Really? I guess the close quarters are getting to people already," I sighed sadly, looking back down at my drawing and shading the folds in Arthur's jacket.

"And Karen's drunk again," she added, her tone quite harsh. I didn't know what to say to that. Karen certainly had been hitting the bottle a lot lately. "What're you drawing?" Molly asked, and my face quickly heated up.

"Oh, it's…" I trailed off, deciding to simply show her.

Molly came and sat down beside me, taking the sketchbook from me. I saw her painted lips curve just a little.

"This is good, you know," she told me.

"Thank you."

"D'ya miss him?" She asked, not looking up at me. In the resulting silence, she nodded, "course you do."

"And how are you holding up?" I gently inquired.

"You're the first person to ask me that," she breathed a dry laugh, handing my sketchbook over. "I suppose you and I, we're in a similar situation."

"I suppose," I nodded after a moment to consider.

"Well, I don't know how I'm doing. I thought I'd be in bits but in reality I don't feel much at all," she admitted, stating it matter-of-factly with very little fanfare. "I miss him, sure. But to be honest, I was missing him long before that bank job."

I met her eyes, and she must've seen something in mine because she chuckled.

"Don't look so surprised. I know the whole camp has heard us arguing. I know they all talk about us– me, thinking I'm some kind of moron," she said, words coming fast, I got lost in the rhythm of her Irish accent. I had never heard Molly talk so much and I realised I could listen to her for hours, no matter what she said, with that voice.

"I don't think you're a moron," I told her, shrugging. "I think you love someone who has far too much on his plate to give you the right amount of attention."

"Dutch never used to be this way, ignoring me for days on end, barely looking at me, let alone touching me," she told me softly, and I closed my sketchbook, putting it aside and giving her my undivided attention. "In the beginning, he was lovely. He was perfect. Otherwise I never would've agreed to join his gang, no offense to anyone, but I'm hardly the kinda girl who's built for living in the middle of a swamp without access to regular baths."

"No offense, but it's evident," I smiled in good humour, looking at the clothes she was wearing. Far, far richer than anyone else's. She laughed quietly then leaned her head against her hand.

"You know, I came to America because I was bored. Thought I'd find something new and exciting, and I did. But the novelty wore off eventually, and now I can't help but…" she paused for a while, her tongue wriggling along her bottom lip as she considered her words, "I sorta miss home."

"You ever thought about going back?"

"In the last few weeks? All the time," she nodded. That surprised me, and my brows raised. "It's been a real shoddy couple'a months for me," she added.

"I'm sorry," I told her quietly.

"I even looked into how I would go about travelling back home. There is a boat from Saint Denis, I could go back to Ireland from there," she told me, leaning to peer down the hole in the floor briefly. "It's a long trip. Bloody awful. I gave up on the idea initially, but now this has happened."

"You don't want to wait for Dutch to get back?"

"I might be waiting a long time," she said bluntly, darkly. My heart hurt. "But even if he made it back, I can't see him runnin' into my arms and everything being hunky dory."

"You've gotta do what's best for you. What you think will make you happy," I told her.

"Yeah, well, truthfully I don't think I can take any more heartbreak," she said, toying with the golden pendant hanging around her neck.

I watched her quietly, waiting for her to go on. She released a tight yet shaky sigh.

"The thing is, if he never came back– well then, that's one thing I'd have to deal with. But if he came back and everything was just the same as it has been, and he walks through that door and doesn't even look me in the eye, well… I think that might be worse," she explained, head nodding slowly, agreeing with herself.

"What if he does come back and run straight to you?" I challenged her, and she laughed.

"Do you see that happening?"

"I don't know," I shrugged, "I'm asking you."

"Well, I don't think it would. But if it did," she began, sighing and gnawing on her bottom lip for a moment, "it'd only be a matter of time before he got bored of me again."

That hurt. It hurt her to say it, I could see it on her face, but it also hurt to listen to.

"You wanna hear what I think? Feel free to tell me to shut up," I offered, and she looked at me, her brows arched a little in interest.

"I'm all ears," she said.

"Molly, I've barely spoken to you. Barely know you," I prefaced, leaning back on my palms, "but you're telling me you're having all these doubts, you're considering leaving the country, you felt as though you missed him while he was still around. It sounds to me like… like you know already if you and him are meant to be, and you've just gotta admit it to yourself."

Molly didn't even flinch at my words, didn't seem surprised at all. I thought back to the time she'd come up in conversation with Arthur, and he'd told me Dutch had a way of treating his women that wasn't always fair. He was quick to replace. I could've tagged onto the end that I thought she should ditch him and run, find someone who would give her the time of day. But I didn't.

"Alright," she nodded, her gaze dropping to my lap distractedly. "You know, I've always been a little bit envious of you."

"Me?" I quirked a brow.

"Because of Arthur," she told me, and I felt a surprising flair of possessiveness pass over me before I battered it down and listened to what she had to say about him, "the way that man looks at you," she shook her head, lips curling into a smile that flashed her top teeth. "I've watched you pair together, and he's lovely to you. He always listens to you, looks at you when you're speaking. There's plenty of other things, but that alone. Do you know how lucky you are?"

"Yes, I do," I nodded. She met my eyes at that.

"When a man shows you he loves you in the little things…" she began, letting the sentence taper off. She sighed. "You're just lucky. What I wouldn't give to have that with Dutch. Or with anyone."

"You deserve it, Molly. I think everyone does."

"I think so too. And hey, do you want to hear what I think? About you and Arthur?" She asked.

"Okay," I said hesitantly.

"If he ever makes it back here, you grab him with both bloody hands and get the hell away from here," she said with a straight face. I was silent for a moment, then shook my head, frowning.

"Ain't as simple as that."

"That makes it sound like you've tried."

"Not quite," I breathed, smiling in mild amusement. I chose not to tell her about our plans of running after the bank job. A plan I had no idea about the status of, whether it still had any chance of happening.

"You don't think he'd leave if you asked him to?" She queried.

"No, I think he would," I said honestly. If I really asked him to, pleaded with him… Arthur would. Deep down I knew that, so concerned with doing right by me he was. "But for me to ask that of him, just like that–" I clicked my fingers and shook my head– "I couldn't. This is his family."

It was part of the reason I felt so strange about our plan in the first place. At least it was his idea, at least it came with the condition that he'd see to it that those he cared about were provided for and able to live peacefully. Still, it was all too ideal.

"I'd call you a fool, but I understand," Molly said quietly. "Either way, if he comes back, don't ever let him go. When you find love, and I can see just by lookin' at you that you do love him, you gotta do your damnedest not to let this cruel world take it away from you."

I looked her in the eyes, her very pretty green eyes, and nodded.

"I don't think I've ever wanted anything more than I want him to come back home," I said quietly. I had to not think too hard about the words I was hearing and speaking, otherwise I would get too emotional. I'd been trying so hard all week to keep my emotions under control, and the bulk of my tactic was just not talking about it. But it felt good to let a small token of my feelings out.

Unexpectedly, Molly wrapped her arms around me. I stiffened in her embrace, eyes going wide, but after a moment I softened and returned the hug. It went on for longer than expected, and the way she clung to me told me that she needed it more than I did, so I didn't try to pull away until she did.

"Do me a favour and don't tell anyone I've been thinking about going back to Ireland. They already think I'm awful, I don't need to hear 'em all whispering about that too," she said stiffly after backing off.

"I won't," I smiled at her, one she returned. "And you're not awful. I'm glad we spoke… I'm sorry I've never made the effort before."

"It's alright. It's a two way street, I'm half to blame," she shrugged in a very dainty way and clasped her hands together in her lap, looking down the hatch in the floor again a little sheepishly.

The door opened for a second time, and the two of us looked up. Charles stood in the doorway, glanced between the two of us, silently assessing the mood. That was a requirement these days. You never knew if you were going to walk in on someone crying or arguing or having a private, heartfelt conversation.

"My secret spot ain't so secret now," I said playfully.

"I'm sorry for intruding," Charles said, and I shook my head.

"You're okay. They ain't started killing each other in there yet, have they?" I asked.

"Just got off guard duty. Swapped with Lenny, then walked immediately away from that place," Charles entered the room, shutting the door. I did a double take when I saw him properly. I was still getting used to his new hairstyle, shaved at the sides and braided down the middle, hanging way down his back.

"I haven't heard any yelling, can't be that bad, surely?"

"It's worse. Nobody's speaking," he said, dragging a chair over from the corner and sitting himself down nearby. "And that's coming from me. I like the quiet, but not when it comes with a side of glares and awkwardness."

"I'm hoping it's just because of the move, and because everyone is stressed out right now. This really ain't an ideal time for fallings out," I murmured, scratching an insect bite on my arm irritably.

"You're right," Charles nodded, "how're you two doing?"

"Sick an' tired of this dump, but other than that," Molly replied drily.

"Well, hopefully it won't be for too long," Charles assured her, then looked at me, his eyes attentive and sincere, waiting for my response.

"I'm fine," I nodded.

"I was thinking you and I could go hunting tomorrow. We're running low on food," he suggested. "That's if you're feeling up to it."

"Of course I'm up to it," I nodded, "actually that sounds real good, getting out of here for a while."

"Alright, we can head up north. Bring back a couple of deer. Maybe people won't be so angry with their bellies full."

Charles and I headed out first thing in the morning, riding our horses up through Bluewater Marsh and out onto dryer grounds, heading towards Van Horn. We had ridden up mostly in silence, neither of us feeling the need to speak; Charles was quiet, always was, I tended to be about as vocal as whoever I was with, so I didn't say much either. I left it to him to decide how much he wanted to speak, and he seemed content with the occasional remark about how far we had to go, or a warning about a change in the terrain.

We didn't have to stray too far to get to where we could find deer tracks. That was the useful thing about deer, they seemed to live damn near everywhere. Charles spotted them, slowing down. We followed them a short way on horseback, closing some of the distance until we decided we'd be better off on foot to avoid scaring them off. We took our bows and quivers, hitching the horses up on a solid tree; one that didn't look as brittle and dead as some of the others in the area.

We followed the deer tracks, light on our feet, quiet. I hadn't been hunting in a couple of weeks and I realised how much I missed it once I was back in the mindset. That silent, focused, peacefulness that came over me once the game was in range, when all I had to focus on was the tracks in the mud and the sounds around me, always waiting for a target. Being with Charles also helped, he was quiet, yes, but also a calming presence. I'd always thought that of him.

"If we come across a group of them, we can time our arrows right and down a pair right away, get this thing done," he said to me, his voice a low hum under his breath, but strong, never having to fight with the noises around him to be heard. I nodded my head.

We crouched, the tracks looking fresher, with some scattered droppings for us to avoid stepping in. We came up upon the peak of an incline, allowing us to see the lower ground ahead. There were the deer, a group of them, a mix of does and bucks. Charles' eyes slipped to mine briefly, then the two of us readied an arrow, lifted our bows.

"I'm going for the far left," he whispered, and I nodded. I went for the buck on the far right to completely avoid going for the same one. "Do you want to count?" He asked, and I nodded again.

I drew the arrow back, taking aim, seeing Charles do the same in my peripheral vision.

"On three. One… two…" I took a steadying breath between each count, emptying my lungs a final time before– "three."

Two arrows pierced through the air, sailing almost perfectly in sync, hitting our targets almost simultaneously. Charles' went through the head, killing it cleanly. Mine went through the neck, not quite killing it; the poor thing wailed, dropping to the floor, struggling. A piece of ice cold guilt shattered inside my heart, sending painful shards to every limb.

"Shit," I hissed, standing upright as the other deer scattered, drawing another arrow, shaking as I fired it, missing completely. The poor animal sounded as though it was crying, agonised mewls, it's legs kicking harshly. I took another arrow out, ready to fire it, but I felt my eyes growing wet and I could barely see! I cursed under my breath again, blinking away my tears and trying to calm my breaths, otherwise I'd never hit it–

The cries of the animal stopped suddenly, and I looked at Charles as he lowered his bow, slinging it over his shoulder as he stared at the deer, making certain it was out of its misery.

I stared at him with parted lips then slumped to the ground, sitting down on my backside and dropping my head into my hands. I felt his hand on my shoulder, giving it a gentle pat.

"It's okay," he told me, and I shook my head, "it happens."

"Thanks for doing that," I sighed.

"Are you okay?" He asked me.

"Yeah, I'm fine," I told him, lifting my head and pushing myself up to my feet, sniffing and blinking my eyes dry. I made for the deer.

"So you keep saying," Charles noted, following me down the gentle hill, "it's okay if you're not."

"I have to be fine, I'd be useless if I wasn't," I exhaled a hollow laugh.

"You've never been useless," he assured me. We reached the deer and he tossed his over his shoulder with ease. I did the same, with a lot less ease and plenty of struggle, but I managed to get the thing balanced on my shoulder, despite being far smaller than Charles.

"You've been real quiet this week. Not that you don't have good reason to be, I just hope you're not too in your head with everything that's been going on," he said as we walked back to the horses.

"I'm extremely in my head with it," I admitted, feeling him staring at me, "but I don't quite think I'm ready to speak about it."

"That's okay. Just know that nobody expects you to keep things bottled up. You can speak to any of us," he told me, and I felt a lump form in my throat. Damn it Charles, being so nice.

"Thank you. The same is offered to you, of course. Anyone asked how you're doing?"

"Here and there," he nodded, "haven't really spoken much about it."

We reached the horses and hoisted the deer onto their backs, securing them with rope. I took a second to catch my breath, then looked at him over the top of Rayna's back.

"Must be a lot. People have started looking to you and Sadie for leadership, that's not something you originally signed up for, I'm sure."

"She's a lot better at it than I am," he said, a flash of teeth appeared with his smile.

"You're doing alright, if you ask me."

"Sure," he laughed. The two of us mounted up. "This is all just crazy. Things are kind of a blur right now."

"Right," I agreed, nodding.

"But with any luck, the others will get back to us. Then we'll be able to make some decisions. It's difficult right now, we're sitting ducks where we are, but we aren't really in a position to go anywhere. If the others come back, we need to be here, ready for them," he sighed. We started riding, slowly, in the opposite of a hurry to get back to Lakay.

"Do you think they're coming back?" I asked him.

"I don't know," he told me truthfully, his tone low and drained, "I damn well hope so."

"I want to be optimistic, but I also don't want to build my hopes up," I admitted, and he hummed in acknowledgement.

"I know. Part of me wants to tell you to expect the worst, then you can only be pleasantly surprised. I don't think that's a very nice piece of advice, though," he said, and I laughed despite the topic.

"It's sound advice, but yeah, upsetting," I smirked at him.

"If it's any consolation, if Arthur can come back, he will. If I know him, he won't stop at much to get back here. He worries about this gang, cares a lot," he said, and I nodded slowly, picturing his face the way it crumpled into barely hidden hurt every time something bad happened. Like Sean dying, or Jack going missing, or me getting attacked by an O'Driscoll.

"Yeah, you're right."

"And now it isn't just the gang he's thinking about," he looked at me, "Arthur really… I can tell you mean a lot to him."

"Yeah?" I met his eyes and he nodded.

"When I split off from the group after that bank job, he seemed torn. I think he wanted to come with me, but if the law got wind of the fact that it was him running… he's got a way higher price on his head than me. He wouldn't have made it back through the city the way I came. He knew that."

"God," I closed my eyes, "it must've been awful for you. Charles, you're real brave."

"Someone had to come and tell you guys," he said quietly, staring ahead, "and let's face it, I got out of there. I'm the lucky one."

"Don't be so humble. What you did took guts, and you did it for us. Thank you, Charles," I told him, still looking at him, noting a distant sadness in his eyes.

"I just… I hope they're okay. Arthur, especially. He puts up plenty of fronts but he's a good man."

"You're worried about him," I said, my heart aching. Of course, I'd been swept up in my own concern, I was too distracted to think about how he might feel. He and Arthur were friends.

"Who isn't?" He murmured, "he's a good friend. If he never made it back, I'd miss him," he nodded.

"Yeah, me too," I sighed, stating the painfully obvious. "What about Dutch?"

"Dutch. He helped me, took me in, fed me, gave me something I guess I could call a purpose. He saw my potential, my worth; but he saw my worth as a criminal. That's what he does," he said with a long exhale, "if he never came back, I'd miss his leadership, I think. But only for a while. Someone else would step up, just like Sadie has."

"Is Dutch your friend?"

"No, I don't think he is," he looked over at me, a serious expression wearing a crease between his brows, "it's not a personal thing, or that I don't like him. I just feel there has always been a wall between us. Between him and most people, I guess. Like he's our boss, the authority figure that… well, that Dutch claims to despise."

I looked down, frowning slightly as I considered his words. I'd never thought of it like that, but I felt as though he had a point. In the beginning I'd felt an urge to please Dutch, preening whenever someone told me I had, feeling dread when I feared I hadn't. He was like a boss, in that sense. Of course, those feelings blew away as soon as I'd started losing respect for some of the decisions he'd been making, and when he'd started treating Arthur and I's relationship with contempt. Now I didn't particularly care what he thought of me.

"I get it," I nodded. "He is like a boss. I catch him treating Arthur like he's gotta be working twenty-four-seven."

"Yeah? That doesn't surprise me."

"Mm. Has him thinking he needs to set the example. I bet it puts pressure on him."

"That man never took a break before you came along. Would be like pulling teeth just getting him to sit down by the fire in the evening. It's done him some good, having you, it's given him a reason to slack off every now and then," he smiled at me.

"I think that's why Dutch doesn't like me," I snorted. "He burst into Arthur's room one morning without knocking," I began unthinkingly, then felt a pang of embarrassment as I realised where it was going.

Charles was looking at me expectantly.

"Well, he got angry with Arthur about the fact he wasn't doing anything productive."

"Right," Charles said, a smirk on his face from badly concealed amusement. I shook my head and smiled. He was plenty capable of coming to his own conclusion no matter how I phrased it.

"Little things like that. Making a big deal over Saint Denis. It just seems like he doesn't want Arthur doing anything for himself, like he's worried it'll let down the gang," I added.

"You really see it like that?" He asked.

I shrugged. "I don't know how else to see it."

"I can't pretend I don't see your point," he was hesitant to say, "maybe he thinks Arthur will decide he cares more about making a life with you than he does following Dutch. Maybe he's worried he'll leave."

I kept my mouth shut, directing my eyes straight ahead.

"Which, for the record," Charles continued quietly, "I don't think would be a bad thing."

"Really?" I swivelled to look at him.

"Well, yeah, this life isn't exactly sustainable. We can't keep robbing banks and trains and stagecoaches for a living; the world's changing. If Arthur finds his place in the world by your side, he'd be a fool to deny himself that over something that stopped working a long time ago."

I pressed my lips together, aching to tell him about our plan, but too nervous to do so. Instead, I deflected the attention to him. "Where do you think your place in the world is, Charles?"

"I don't know. Never have known. I floated around on my own for a long time before I met Dutch. I joined 'cause I thought this might be it. Turns out, it probably isn't."

"I think you'll find it eventually. You have a place, just like anybody else."

He made a humming sound, neither agreeing or disagreeing, merely acknowledging. "So, your place; you think it's next to Arthur?" He asked.

I thought for a moment. "I would like it to be."

He looked at me, nodded and passed a small, easy smile my way.

#rdr2 #red dead redemption 2 #arthur morgan #arthur morgan x reader #fanfiction #arthur morgan x female reader #atink #reader insert #rdr2 fanfic

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lemonandhugs · 3 years ago

Text

Stars Align: Chapter 4

Cait took a deep breath, ran her fingers through her hair, and slowly walked towards him. At this moment, Sam slipped his phone into his back pocket, picked up the two coffees, turned around and froze. Cait was standing 3 feet away, arms crossed across her chest, headed titled and a smirk on her lips. Sam’s eyes were wide with surprise and confusion for a minute, then an embarrassed smile graced his lips. He looked down at his feet and awkwardly shuffled.

“Well…I guess I’m busted,” Sam said shyly, not able to look at her eyes.

Cait giggled, “Yes you are! You beat me to it, too!”

Sam looked up then and tilted his head in question. “You planned on doing this too?”

“Yes, actually. You’re too quick, I suppose,” Cait teased.

“Oh, I’m sorry. I…” Sam bit his lip.

“Don’t be,” Cait took a step closer to him. “I was just going to get you one to repay the favour, and also as a thank you for…lots of things.”

Sam smiled crookedly. “You’re welcome…coffee?” Sam held hers out to her.

Cait grinned and took it, carefully taking a sip.

“Let’s see if I can get through this one without spilling it,” Cait smirked.

This made Sam laugh, and he put his hand lightly on her back to direct her to walk back the other way.

“That’s two coffees I owe you, now,” Cait teased, taking another sip, and peering over to him.

“You don’t owe me anything, Caitriona Balfe,” Sam replied with a small smile.

“Sam Heughan,” Cait said with a smirk.

Sam looked at her then with a bright smile.

Cait looked back at him and giggled, “I just find it amusing that you say my full name.”

“I just like saying it,” Sam smirked, taking a sip of his coffee.

Cait smiled to herself, shaking her head slightly with closed eyes and looked across the road, spotting a nice, white restaurant, open. “Do you want to go over there?”

“Yeah, that looks good,” Sam nodded, then placed his hand on Cait’s back again, as they prepared to cross the road.

The feeling of his hand on her back, even through the massive coat, was like electricity. It made the tiny hairs on the back of her neck stand. She tried not to squirm or quiver at his touch.

They found a booth inside the cosy restaurant and sat down.

“Let me know what you would like, and I’ll go order,” Sam invited, as he examined his menu.

Cait slightly lowered her menu so she could look at him.

“You’re not buying me breakfast, Sam. You’ve done enough,” Cait asserted.

She wasn’t agitated, but her words were assertive enough that Sam knew he shouldn’t insist on this one.

“Since you didn’t allow me to buy you a coffee, I think I’ll be the one to order,” Cait asserted, raising her eyebrows, and placing her menu down.

“No no. Two coffees and two meals…there’s a big difference there, I…” Sam insisted.

“Sam, you haven’t just bought me two coffees. You’ve done a lot more in the very short amount of time I’ve known you, and I’m thankful for it,” Cait interjected with a soft voice.

“But you don’t owe me anything,” Sam shook his head and shrugged.

“I know. Consider this a thank you. Are you going to tell me what you’re having?” Cait probed, with raised eyebrows.

Sam hung his head, looking at his menu, knowing he had been defeated. With a soft smile, he murmured, “the poached eggs, bacon, avocado and mushroom on sourdough, please.”

Cait nodded once, gave a cheeky smirk, slid out of the booth, and walked over to the counter.

Sam watched her leave, resting his chin on one of his hands, two of his fingers resting on his cheek, and sighed.

‘She knows what she wants…very insistent…won’t back down. I think that’s sexy…ugh!’

Sam clenched his teeth and rubbed his forehead, closing his eyes briefly.

As he saw Cait approach the booth with a table number, it snapped him out of his frustrations and he quickly put his arms underneath the table, and acknowledged her with a crooked, slightly awkward grin. Cait reciprocated as she slid back into the booth. She nervously played with her fingers while absently looking at the salt and peppers shakers, then looked at her hand, then the sleeve of a certain someone’s jacket she was STILL wearing.

“Oh!” Cait suddenly exclaimed, and made a silly raspberry noise with her mouth, out of embarrassment.

Sam’s eyebrow twitched upward in question, and he cocked his head to one side.

Cait shrugged out of Sam’s big coat that she pretty much was starting to take ownership of. Once her arms were free, Cait displayed herself in a tight, black knitted jumper, with quite a deep V-neck cut. The jumper revealed a good amount of Cait’s cleavage and prominent collarbones. Sam’s eyes widened uncontrollably, then he quickly looked away, clearing his throat too harshly that it made him cough.

‘OH, COME ON! FUCK! Alright, don’t look. Stop coughing. Keep your eyes on her eyes…I’m going to see this woman naked at some point…fuck, I’m going to make a complete dick of myself! Alright, stop. You’re going to have to get used to this. Keep it together…why does she have to be so attractive! That body! I haven’t even seen the rest yet and I’m about ready to explode! Fuck! What is wrong with me! This has never happened before…I’ve seen naked women plenty of times…so why am I so fucking nervous…alright, shut up. KEEP.YOUR.HEAD.ON.STRAIGHT. PROFESSIONALISM. FOR FUCK’S SAKE.’

“Are…are you alright, Sam?” Cait asked with concern in her tone, as she filled up a glass with water and pushed it towards him.

Sam covered his mouth and cleared his throat a few more times. He squeezed his eyes shut and nodded, grabbing the glass and gulping down the cold water. Sam breathed heavily afterwards and giggled nervously.

“Sorry, I think I uh…inhaled some saliva, that’s all…” Sam bit his top lip and fiddled with the small, empty glass, not meeting her glance.

Cait exhaled through her nose and smiled. Then she stood up slightly so she could grab the coat from underneath her. She folded it in half and carefully handed it back to him over the table.

“Sorry, I forgot I was still wearing it. You didn’t ask for it back!” Cait teased and giggled softly.

“Oh, that’s alright, you needed it more than I did. Are you sure you don’t want to keep it on? That uh…it may not be uh…warm enough,” Sam struggled, slightly blushing, with every effort to not look anywhere but her eyes.

“It’s supposed to be a warm day today, I should be fine…” Cait shrugged, crossing her left arm over her chest, holding onto her right arm.

This created more cleavage, and Sam’s eyes flickered down and back up within half a second. He started clearing his throat again, harshly grabbed the glass bottle of water and poured himself another glass.

Cait eyed him suspiciously. ‘He’s acting rather strange…twitchy and…nervous? Can’t sit still and he looks a bit flushed…and coughing…he must have allergies or something. It is England’s Spring, after all…’

Sam still wouldn’t meet her gaze, as he purposely examined everything in the restaurant he could.

“Sam?” Cait asked, with her elbows now resting on the table.

Dreading that he would now have to look at her, both hands clenched; one into a fist on his lap, and one holding the glass tightly.

“Hmm?” Sam responded, finally looking at her, determined to focus on every feature of her face and nowhere else.

“Tell me about your family? You didn’t really mention them, at the airport,” Cait requested, now resting both hands underneath her chin.

‘Thank God, a distraction!’ Sam thought to himself and cleared his throat once more.

He gave Cait a genuine smile and began to tell her all about his family. Five minutes into the conversation, their breakfast arrived. Sam continued to tell Cait about his Scottish ancestors as best he could, but the way Cait licked her lips while eating was getting very distracting. He turned his attention to his food and continued to speak. Meanwhile, Cait begun to squirm a little and become flustered.

‘The way he…uses his teeth to take his food off the fork…why is that making me feel…slightly hot…he does have nice teeth…and the way those blue eyes are twinkling with him being so happy talking about his Scottish heritage…NO, STOP IT! FOCUS.’

Cait took a quiet but deep breath and composed herself, making sure she didn’t watch as Sam took each bite off his fork. Instead, she conveniently took a sip of her coffee each time he put his fork to his mouth. Luckily, he didn’t notice.

“Now, your turn, Caitriona Balfe. Tell me about your family,” Sam smirked, pushing his plate away from him, sitting back and crossing his arms over his chest.

This brought Cait out of her daydream and she reciprocated the smirk, a little too flirtatiously. They sat together for a couple of hours more, chatting back and forth about each other’s families, not keeping track of time; feeling like it had flown past. By this point, it was 8:30am and bright and sunny outside. Their hair-destroying appointment was at 12pm, which meant they had quite a bit of time to kill.

“Thank you for breakfast,” Sam teased with a wink, as they walked out of the restaurant.

This made Cait giggle softly, “no worries, Sam Heughan.”

Sam smiled brightly at hearing her say his full name. ‘God, it sounds good when she says my name…in that Irish accent…fuck!’

“So, uh…we have loads of time before our appointment…did you want to go for that walk in Hyde Park now?” Sam asked, nervously.

Cait’s eyes lit up at the idea, and she beamed up at him, “yeah, let’s do that.”

Her obvious excitement made Sam smile sweetly at her.

‘That smile!’ Sam struggled.

“Alright, I’m going to run up to my room and drop this coat. Are you sure you don’t want to wear it? It might get cold later,” Sam insisted.

Cait laughed softly and shook her head, “no, I’m sure I’ll be fine. Thank you, Sam.”

‘If that smell of yours stays on me another second, I’m certain my legs will give out!’ She thought to herself, biting her lip and looking at the ground.

“If you’re sure,” Sam nodded and, yet again, placed his hand gently on Cait’s back, as they crossed the road.

Cait still felt the electricity and tingle of his touch, but it was more than that now. He kept doing it, as if it was a habit; something he did without thinking. She looked down and smiled to herself.

‘It’s like he’s protective of me or something…or…I hope it’s not because I have a tendency to be clumsy and either knock or get knocked into strangers…stop overthinking everything! He’s a gentleman, that’s why he’s doing it!’

Sam left his hand on her back until they reached the entrance of their hotel. He gently patted her back once and said, “Did you want to wait here or?”

“Yeah, you go, I’ll wait. We can walk to the park from here, it’s not far,” Cait suggested.

“Alright, I��ll be right back,” Sam replied, as he jumped up the three stairs to the entrance, at once.

Cait watched him as he quickly walked inside, until she could no longer see him through the sea of people. While she could see him, her eyes rebelliously glanced down at his very sculpted, tight arse and her heartbeat sped up. Cait bit her lip, then shut her eyes and turned around to face the road. She let out the breath she felt like she’d been holding and opened her eyes back up.

Sam entered the lift and pressed the button. He peered down at his coat that was slung over his arm and saw a long dark hair hanging off the collar. He carefully pulled the long hair off the collar and rubbed it between his thumb and forefinger. A small smile touched his lips. He then brought the coat up to his face and inhaled. Sure enough, her scent was strong and sweet on the collar of his coat. It smelt exactly like her hair, which he was able to smell on the staircase of the plane. A sweet smell of vanilla and coconut. His ears started to feel hot, and his heart started to pick up the pace. He stepped out of the lift, shook his head, and attempted to get it together. He hung the coat over the chair and quickly made his way back downstairs.

Cait looked up towards the sun that was now streaming down, kissing her skin. She closed her eyes, enjoying the warmth and the slight glow behind her eyelids. A gust of wind suddenly picked up, disturbing Cait’s comfort and blowing her hair sharply, so it wrapped around her face. She dug around in her bag for a hair elastic. When she finally found one, she held it in her mouth, while she used both hands to form a ponytail, then twisted the elastic around her hair. She then put her sunglasses on and looked towards the entrance of the hotel. Sam stepped out at that moment, giving Cait a crooked smile. Cait reciprocated with a small grin.

‘Fuck she looks good with her hair like that…ah, fuck…’ Sam struggled.

Sam looked both ways down the street. “This way?” Sam asked, pointing to the left.

“This way,” Cait responded, tilting her head to the right.

“Ah,” Sam nodded. “It’s a nice day for it,” Sam commented, peering up at the bright blue, clear sky.

“Yeah, it’s lovely,” Cait replied, also looking up.

‘VERY lovely’, Sam thought, sneakily peering down at her.

Cait noticed and looked back at him, and Sam quickly looked away.

‘Shit…do I have something on my face…!’ Cait panicked.

Cait lightly touched the side of her face, mouth, and nose and looked at her hand briefly.

‘Hmm…’ she thought, suspiciously.

The two walked in silence, both admiring the sights they were passing. Occasionally, one would comment on something, and they would share a laugh or have a short conversation. Before long, they reached the entrance of the park, and Cait exhaled with a bright smile. Sam looked down at her, admiring her reaction.

“Let’s go, Caitriona Balfe,” Sam grinned, and lightly touched her back.

They slowly walked on a cream-coloured light gravel path that was framed, on both sides, with the most amazing bright colours of green, orange, pink and blue. Trees of all different types and sizes, surrounded by flowerbeds, and the fresh smell of pure nature. Cait looked in every direction in wonder and bliss, taking photos of everything that made her say “wow”.

Sam watched her and couldn’t help but smile. ‘She’s so happy. She must be an outdoorsy person too…she’s adorable.’

Cait peered back at him, with a cheesy grin on her face. “Sorry, it’s so hard to get lost in this place! So beautiful! Far more beautiful than I imagined!”

Sam giggled, “No, you enjoy. It’s very peaceful too.”

Cait nodded, not being able to wipe the smile off her face and continued looking in every direction.

They came to thick hedge that formed a wide tunnel. It stood slightly taller than Sam.

“Ooh,” Cait said with a curious excitement.

She ran her hand over the side of the hedge tunnel before entering. Sam followed behind and picked up the pace so he could walk beside her. Cait slowed her pace, revelling in the darkness that the hedge provided. Sam took full advantage of the darkness and looked at Cait as much as he could. The way she liked to run her fingers over the leaves, the way she kept sliding her sunglasses on top of her head as they slipped back down her forehead, the way she bit her lip and smiled at the same time. Sam felt like he was slowly being hypnotised by the complete beauty of her happiness and had the sudden urge to reach out and touch her. It didn’t matter if it was her shoulder, back, or the top of her head, he just wanted to feel her at the tip of his fingers. As difficult as it was, he fought against these urges. He would never let himself do such an inappropriate thing. He respected her, and he was going to prove that to her; prove that she could trust him.

The tunnel eventually ended and opened onto wide lawns that looked like they went on forever, tall trees in the background. That was on the left side of the gravel path. What the right side held made Cait gasp with absolute delight. The gravel path led down a small hill to a shiny, black gate that housed a sparkling lake, that curved around, as the path was followed. Cait quickly walked to the gate and gazed down at the deep blue, quivering water. She could see fish twirling around below her. A cool, light breeze tussled her hair to one side, and she let her head fall in the direction the breeze pushed. Sam caught her scent coming off her, from the breeze and had to breathe a little deeper before standing beside her. Sam shyly glanced at her, and she looked back at Sam and smiled with contentment, before continuing to follow the path. Sam walked beside her, in a comfortable silence. He knew there wasn’t any need for conversation right now. She was happy with quietly admiring her surroundings. He was going to leave the next conversation up to her.

The path led to a wooden bridge that arched up and over the lake. Cait put her sunglasses back on, as she caught the full glare of the sun bouncing off the lake, the higher she climbed the bridge. Once they had reached the top of the bridge, Cait stopped and rested her elbows on the railing, staring out into the distance, in pure satisfaction.

“This place makes me happy,” Cait uttered, not taking her eyes off the water.

Sam smiled, “it’s been a good day, so far. So…uh… I’ve heard you run a charity for children?” Sam inquired, wanting to learn more about her.

“Yes! World Child Cancer. I raise money and awareness for cancer treatment and research, especially for children in developing countries,” Cait explained, enthusiastically.

“Wow, that’s amazing. So, you travel to these countries?” Sam asked with curiosity.

Sam and Cait spent the next half an hour discussing their philanthropy on top of that bridge; Sam’s charity for testicular cancer, and his Peakers program, and more about Cait’s World Child Cancer charity.

The mention of Scotland, by Sam, made it more real for Cait that in just two days they would both be in Scotland, beginning this journey together, undertaking all of its overwhelming elements that Cait was not used to; not having had an acting job of this degree, both role and length.

Sam noticed the drop in Cait’s expression, and retraced what he had just said, in his mind, making sure he didn’t say the wrong thing.

Cait suddenly turned towards him. “Sam…this journey for us starts so soon…you and I have both read the book and have seen what’s in the script…there’s going to be some…challenging material to work with. I think more so for me because I’m not as experienced with acting, and now I’ve got a lead part in a series. I’m just starting to feel overwhelmed and…I think you’re really the only one who’s going to know what that feels like. We will be doing almost every difficult scene together. We hardly know each other, but…there’s going to need to be trust between us. We’re going to need to…have each other’s backs throughout this,” Cait expressed nervously, repeatedly looking away.

Sam listened to her very carefully, keeping steady eye contact. “I 100% agree with you. I think what we are going to go through will be physically and emotionally draining, even awkward, in some parts. We must make sure we have good communication during, and make things work between us in a way where we’ll both feel comfortable. It’s true, we hardly know each other, and we are going to have to act out some pretty intimate, intimidating material, but I just want you to know that I will not disrespect you in any way. While we’re doing a scene, if you say “stop”, then that’s exactly what I’ll do. Any time you feel uncomfortable with anything, you can tell me. If you’d prefer something else, just let me know. You know…the director may tell me to do something, but I’m always going to ask your permission before I do it. I’ll do whatever I can to form that trust between us, because you’re right, that’s going to be the most important aspect of our working relationship. I’ll have your back, whenever you need me too,” Sam responded with seriousness.

This was the first time Cait had seen Sam’s serious side, and his words made her feel so at ease. She could tell that he meant them, just by the look in his eyes. Her gut instinct was to trust what he had to say.

Cait exhaled slowly, and her face lit up, feeling the weight of that looming conversation being taken off her shoulders, finally.

‘Wow…he’s so respectful! Really professional. So kind and…calming…I’m actually starting to feel…excited about this journey!’ Cait thought to herself, as she looked up at his kind face.

“I really appreciate that, Sam. That’s made me feel a lot less anxious about it. Thank you,” Cait looked down at the water and smiled, shyly.

The serious look in Sam’s face melted away and he gave Cait a smile that reached his eyes.

“I’m glad I was able to put you at ease, a bit. I promise, no more bear hugs! Unless you tell me too…” Sam giggled.

Cait giggled back and put her hand out for a handshake, “deal.”

Sam looked at her hand and swallowed hard. He gently took her hand in his and held it. It was exactly like when they had first laid eyes on each other at the chemistry test and shook hands the first time; the first time they had touched. That tingling sort of electricity, when warm met cold, skin to skin. The sort of electricity that makes tiny hairs stand up, and goose bumps to form instantaneously. That was happening all over again. Sam gently shook her hand, not breaking his gaze from her sparkling blue-grey eyes. “Deal,” he responded quietly, a smile tugging at one side of his mouth.

Cait suddenly breathed in, sharply, through her nostrils, gently let ago, looked down, cleared her throat and licked her lips, sucking them into her mouth.

“I’m happy we’ve been able to spend this time together to get to know each other, before it all begins,” Sam smiled sweetly.

“Yes, I feel like it’s going to make things easier,” Cait agreed.

“Would you uh…like to take a photo? Since we have such a nice backdrop? Plus, it would be nice to have a memory we can look back on, pre-perm,” Sam teased, fidgeting nervously.

Cait giggled softly, “yeah, a photo for when it all started.”

Sam smiled, relieved, and took out his phone. He moved back, away from the railing, so he was standing next to Cait, the way she was already facing when she turned towards him. He moved in close, holding his phone up with his right hand, but respectfully keeping his left arm by his side. Then he felt Cait move even closer, so her face was just resting on his, and softly rest her right hand in the middle of Sam’s back.

‘Okay, wasn’t expecting that, but this is good!’ He smirked to himself.

His heart skipped with excitement, and he got up the courage to move his left arm up and around her, so he was holding the back of her shoulder gently.

‘Okay, so he’s comfortable with this. He’s so gentle. I love that he didn’t initially put his arm around me. He was respectful about it. That’s adorable…oh no…’

They both made a cheesy smile and Sam took the photo, and they looked at it afterwards.

“Aw, send me that?” Cait asked, smiling shyly.

Sam laughed, “of course, Caitriona Balfe.”

The two continued to stroll through the park for another hour, switching the conversation to their characters and what each other thought about the different situations in the book, and how they would go about acting it out.

They eventually reached the other end of the park and found the exit. They continued their conversation on the short walk back to the hotel and noticed the driver waiting outside.

“I’m just going to the toilet okay, I’ll be right back,” Sam said quickly, brushing her back before he pounced up the stairs.

Cait didn’t have time to respond. So, she opened the door and greeted the driver. She slid into her seat, crossed her legs and browsed on her phone.

Sam was back within five minutes. He opened the door, nearest the hotel, not knowing Cait was in that seat; due to the car having tinted windows. When he opened the door, the first thing he saw was her long legs crossed, in skin-tight jeans and ankle boots. It both startled and aroused him all in one hit. He’d seen her in that for hours, but that position hit differently. She peered up at him, and he attempted to speak. His voice came out croaky, so he sharply cleared it.

“S–Sorry, wrong side,” he smiled awkwardly, shut the door and ran around to the other side, breathing heavily and feeling himself starting to sweat a little. He slid into his seat and the car smelt of her. That sweet smell he had smelt just two minutes beforehand. He swallowed hard and did everything he could to not look at her legs. He focused on his seatbelt.

“…ready for new hair?” Sam found the courage to ask.

Cait breathed in and exhaled, puffing out her cheeks, and shook her head.

“I’m a little scared, I can’t imagine what I’ll look like with tight curls,” Cait smirked with wide eyes.

Sam exhaled out of his nose and nodded. “Don’t worry, you’ll look just fine. Me on the other hand…” he rubbed his forehead with his thumb and forefinger, then rubbed his eyes.

Cait laughed at his reaction.

‘That adorable laugh’, Sam thought to himself as he smiled at her.

“Nah…has to be done. The things we do for our job…” Sam pursed his lips and shrugged.

Caitriona nodded, “yep.”

Sam’s scent was wafting stronger and stronger throughout the car, and it made Cait fidget in her seat. She swallowed hard and took a deep breath, not daring to look at him. She uncrossed her legs, just to switch. Cait had her legs slightly spread apart for a minute, to stretch them, before crossing the other leg over. It was something that did NOT go unnoticed by Sam. He noticed out of the corner of his eye and quickly glanced over to her, then looked away. He too squirmed in his seat and stared out the window, starting to bite at his nails.

“Are you hot?” Sam asked suddenly, which took Cait by surprise and she took the question the complete wrong way.

“What? No!” Cait blurted out in a huff.

Sam was a little shocked and didn’t know what to do or say. He just looked at her with a confused expression, furrowing his eyebrows slightly.

“Oh! Sorry, you meant…umm…yes I am feeling a bit umm…hot…I mean…it’s…it’s hot in here,” Cait stuttered, completely mortified. She cleared her throat and stared back out the window, half covering her face with her hand, squeezing her eyes shut.

‘You are a complete fucking idiot, Caitriona. A COMPLETE fucking idiot.’

A smirk twitched at Sam’s lips. “Hey buddy! Can we have the air conditioner on, please?”

“Yes, sir,” the driver replied politely, and turned on the air conditioner.

The cool blast of air was a relief to both Sam and Cait. Sam looked over at Cait, as she was still staring out the window.

‘I wonder what that was all about…she seemed to have gotten…offended...by the question I asked…did she take it the wrong way…why would I mean it in any other way…quite mysterious…nothing wrong with a little mystery.’

The car arrived at the salon and Cait quickly opened the door and practically bolted to the entrance. Sam quickly followed her, still confused.

Caitriona got to the desk, tucked her hair behind her ear and forced a smile for the lady waiting.

“Hello. We both have an appointment to get perms. It was booked by Ron Moore, for Sam and Caitriona,” Cait explained.

Sam stood quietly next to her. Cait still couldn’t look at him, not even peripherally. She was still mortified.

‘He knows exactly how you feel now. Idiot!’ Cait thought, wanting to kick her own arse.

“Ah…yes! Here you are. Come this way,” the stylist said, directing them over to two chairs, one on one side of the salon, and the other on the other side.

Cait let out a sigh of relief and sat down on one of the chairs. Sam did the same, still confused. He scratched his temple and tried to look at her through his mirror. Cait had her head down, looking at her phone. Just then, her phone vibrated. A text from Sam appeared in the notification box on the top of her phone screen. She hesitantly pressed it.

- Is everything okay?

- Yes…why?

- Oh, you’ve just gone quiet, that’s all. I was afraid I said something to upset you…

Cait read that message over and over, and wiggled her thumbs, not knowing how to reply.

‘Hmm…maybe he didn’t pick up on anything after all…men can be clueless…luckily.’

Cait breathed a sigh of relief and thought of what to reply with.

- You haven’t done anything wrong, Sam. I’m sorry. Everything is okay! :)

- Okay, good :D Would you like to grab some lunch after this? That is, if we’re not too embarrassed to go outside! :P

Cait quietly laughed at this, with a beaming smile. She swung around in her chair to look at him. Sam saw her in the mirror and did the same. Cait bit her bottom lip while smiling, shyly and nodded her head. Sam reciprocated with a sweet smile, then the two stylists came over with all of their equipment, ready to start.

Sam’s hair was finished after one hour. He came over, pulled up a chair and sat next to Cait.

“All I can say is…oh god,” Sam complained, with a pained look on his face.

Caitriona looked at him and burst into giggles. Sam smirked. Cait reached out and touched a soft lock of his now curly hair. She gently pulled on it and watched as it sprung back. She continued to laugh softly, and Sam playfully rolled his eyes.

“I’m sorry, it’s not that bad. The curls are looser than I thought they would be. Once you’re in costume and everything, it’ll look so much better,” Cait gave Sam an apologetic smile.

“Mm…am I able to pull it back?” Sam asked the stylist who did his hair, with pleading eyes.

“Unfortunately, not. Please try not to wet it or tie it up for at least 48 hours. Let the perm sit and settle. Then you’re able to wash it and tie it up if you wish,” the stylist explained.

Sam pursed his lips, sighed, and nodded. “You’re the boss,” he stated to the stylist, who grinned at him and whipped around, walking over to Cait’s stylist.

By 2:30 pm, Cait’s perm was finally finished. The stylist tamed the super tight curls, making them softer and looser, so Cait could see the difference.

“See, you look nice!” Sam smiled at Cait, in the mirror.

‘Beautiful. She looks beautiful.’

“You do, I think it suits you!” the stylist grinned, as she ran her fingers through Cait’s shoulder-length curls.

“Thank you, you did a good job. I still think I don’t suit curls though,” Cait gave an embarrassed smile and shrugged, turning her head side to side, looking at her hair.

“You look great, doesn’t she?!” the stylist exclaimed, looking at Sam in the mirror.

“You really do,” Sam smiled cheekily at Cait through the mirror.

Cait looked down, embarrassed, as she started to blush. ‘Fuck.’ She thought to herself.

Back in the car, and all through lunch at a different little restaurant, there was a whole different vibe between them. They saw each other as their characters, for the first time, and it was hitting them; the journey that they were about to jump into, together. It was becoming real, and all they could do was imagine acting out scenes together, now that they could both put a face to a name, Claire and Jamie.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/33179176/chapters/82373821#workskin

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