#anyway don’t expect to see half these guys ever again

[strawberriesoup]

24 to 25٠࣪⭑

── .✦ A snowstorm forces you to take refuge with Jisung on christmas eve

word count: 6.6k

genre: fluff with a little angst, jisung x female reader, mutual pining, comfort, acquaintances to lovers

warnings: cursing, feelings, reader is down horrendously bad for jisung, kisses, jisung is a sweetheart

a/n: this has been in the works for a while (i’m bad at writing stuff fast) SO IM SUPER HAPPY THAT I WAS ABLE TO GET IT OUT FOR THE HOLIDAY SEASON

any/all feedback is highly appreciated!!

taglist: @jisunggy @holly-here @hannamoon143 @fly-you-dam-fools

if you would like to be added to my general taglist, send me a comment or an ask! <3

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

The holiday season is a time for joy, a time to share laughter and meals, a time to wear fuzzy socks and fall asleep watching bad Christmas movies. Well, that’s what it’s supposed to be anyways. It’s a little hard to get into the Christmas cheer when each snowflake swirling outside your windshield is somehow concerningly larger than the last.

Wind whistles past your car as you squint your eyes, trying — and failing— to get any sort of visibility through the rapidly thickening blanket of snow and darkness. The gas light flashes on with a ping. Damn it. Continuing on whilst the best you can make out of your surroundings is a screen of nothingness and the occasional telephone pole doesn’t seem like the best course of action right now.

Eventually, you manage to pull into a small gas station about five minutes away by reluctantly putting your life into the hands of Google Maps.

Blowing warmth onto your hands, white-knuckled from your death grip on the steering wheel, you yank your phone out of the cupholder. Stranded in some dingy parking lot a good forty-five minutes away from your apartment is definitely where you needed to be on Christmas Eve, thanks so much universe. And your feet are cold.

You had really wanted to surprise them. The last time you’d seen your family was back in March, well over half a year ago. You thought Christmas as the perfect opportunity to visit. Just imagining the look on their faces alone was more than enough to spur your enthusiasm. But, then again, you hear the worries in the back of your mind. You hadn’t visited in so long, rarely even sending a text their way. And coming over with zero warning? They might not be as happy as you hoped.

No, of course they would be happy to see you, right? Right. Either way, there’s no way you’re going anywhere tonight.

Warm air from the AC fans across your face as you slump back in your chair, unfastening the top clasp of your coat that suddenly seems to be suffocating you. What do you even do in this situation? Call someone?

Scrolling through your contacts, your eyes alight on a familiar name.

Han Jisung

You face lights up with hope. Didn’t he say something about living around here? You open his contact, immediately faced with the looming call button in the top right corner of the screen.

Jisung is somewhat of an aquaintance of yours. Calling him a friend might be too bold. Being partners on a group project doesn’t automatically equal friendship, but you two had gotten along quite well. At least, you thought so. Maybe that was wishful thinking coming from your fat crush on him and his gorgeous smile, but still.

What are you doing? You hardly know this guy, and you’re going to call him on Christmas Eve night so he can, what, pick you up? You have to admit, the thought sets off little warning bells in your head. But what other options do you have?

Finger hovering over the button, you hesitate for a moment longer before pressing call.

The line rings once, twice. What if he doesn’t answer? He’s probably busy, it is Christmas eve after all. Did he ever mention leaving town for the holidays?

You’re so busy trying to recall previous conversations with him that you almost don’t notice the line picking up before the third ring. Shit, that was faster than you were expecting. Jisung’s voice greets you through the speaker.

“Heyy, what’s up?”

At the sound of his voice, your heart does a little leap in your chest. You take a deep breath before answering.

“Hi Jisung. I, uh, have a bit of a favor to ask.”

⋆⁺₊❅ ⁺₊❆⋆

You were right about him living close, because less than fifteen minutes later the bright flash of headlights announces Jisung’s arrival. You know that looking nice should be the least of your priorities right now, but that doesn’t stop you from flipping open the sunvisor and briefly inspecting your appearance.

Jisung’s car door thuds shut as you hop out of your own car, met with a brisk rush of air that fills your lungs, chilling you from the inside out. He wasn’t far, but with the heavy snow you can just make out his form from across the lot. You’re quick to hustle towards his dark sillouette, eager to get out of the cold as soon as possible.

Meeting in the middle sooner than you had expected, both you and Jisung halt in tandem, breaths coming in puffs of condensation. The zipper of his puffer jacket is half undone, complimented by a scarf thrown haphazardly around his neck. His hands that are shoved deep in the pockets of his coat give hint to the fact that he’s probably not even wearing gloves.

Neither of you had spoken a word. The silence is painfully awkward, and you can tell he feels it too, if the way he glances down at his feet in favor of meeting your eyes is anything to go by.

“So, do you—”

“Should we—”

Speaking simultaneously, you both cut your sentences short, falling into a silence that’s somehow louder than the last. God, you had expected it to be awkward but not this awkward. Meeting with Jisung outside of a college setting feels so foreign, the only way you’ve interacted with him thus far has been through school. You can feel your ears burn as Jisung clears his throat.

“Sorry, uh, you were saying?” He pulls his hand out of his pocket to gesture at you, confirming that he is indeed not wearing gloves.

The question hangs in the air as Jisung pushes his glasses up with two fingers and looks at you expectantly. His cheeks are tinted with blush from the prickling cold. Lips slightly parted, his breath hisses through his teeth with every inhale, as if trying to supress them from chattering.

“Oh, yeah,” you begin your sentence again, shaking your head to focus. You’re standing in a parking lot in the middle of an actual snowstorm, now is not the time to be fawning over him. “should we, like, head to your car? I’m freezing. I’ll just leave my car here because it’s— yeah.” You twist around to look at your drab little car. It’ll be fine.

He lets out a little puff of laughter, sending a cloud of frost into the air.

“Yeah, good idea. c’mon let’s go.”

⋆⁺₊❅⋆ ⁺₊❆⋆

The car ride to Jisung’s place is less awkward than your experience in the parking lot, but not by much. A comment is occasionally made about the storm, but other than that the ride is filled with silence and the steady swishing of windshield wipers.

Jisung glances at you from the corner of his eye. You’re examining the fluff on your gloves with your head down, not seeming too intrested in conversation.

Or maybe you’re uncomfortable. That would make a lot of sense.

Wincing internally at himself, Jisung draws his attention back to the road and furrows his brow, trying to remember if he’s done something wrong. Although, he supposes that being alone with, well, not a stranger— Jisung would like to think he’s at least a good aquaintance to you— but with someone you don't know too well, is enough to put anyone on edge. He has to remind himself that this was your idea.

When your contact info had popped up on his screen, interrupting his very important business (scrolling), he promptly froze, had an intense mental battle on how he should answer, dropped his phone, picked it back up again, and hit answer, all in the span of about four seconds.

Jisung has to admit he does have a slight thing for you. Well okay, maybe a big thing. Like, he has your class schedule and favorite study spot memorized kind of big. Also you wear your hair up on Tuesdays.

But thats besides the point really.

After what feels like a lifetime of driving and the occasional buzzing of muted christmas music playing through the radio, you two finally arrive at Jisung’s place.

It’s nicer than you had expected. The house is dimly lit, but perfectly tidy. Best of all, it’s warm. Behind you, Jisung’s keys jingle as he hangs them up next to the door.

“Uh, make yourself at home, okay? There’s instant ramen, some milk… actually, that’s about it but hey, at least there’s ramen.” He beckons you in, tugging his scarf off while smiling ruefully at the lack of food options to offer.

“That’s okay, I believe in instant ramen supremacy,” you state confidently, earning a laugh from Jisung as you follow him into the kitchen, resting your weight on the counter.

“A woman after my own heart I see,” He jokes, closing his eyes and placing a hand dramatically over his heart. His knuckles are still flushed pink from the cold.

If only he knew.

You can feel the awkward tension from earlier start to melt away now that you’re here. Thank God, because you were seriously considering going back to your car and just waiting out the night there. You couldn’t do that though. Jisung was so willing to help, coming as soon as you had called. Which is kind of crazy, if you stop to think about it for a second. Going out of your way to drive out in a snowstorm and picking someone up on Christmas Eve would be absolutely out of the question for most people, let alone someone you aren’t even close with.

Jisung is busying himself with running some warm water in the kitchen. He rests one elbow on the counter, testing the water tempature. You find yourself watching his movements, how he runs a hand through his hair, the dark strands dampening with the moisture from his hand, and how his eyebrows pinch in concentration until the tempature is just right. Jisung seems more comfortable and relaxed now that he’s here. He’s not a tall man, by any stretch of the imagination, but his confident demeanor makes his presence seem much larger.

Running his chilled hands underneath the warm faucet to bring the warmth back, Jisung looks to the window. You blink and follow suit. Fortunately, he hadn’t caught you staring.

“Holy shit, we must have made it here just in time,” He laughs incredulously, shutting off the sink and shaking the rest of the dampness from his hands.

The window is completely engulfed in white.

Outside, the wind angrily laments that you’re inside and safe. You can’t imagine being stuck out there in that, alone. Just the thought of it makes your insides churn with a strange mixture of anxiety and relief, and you realize that you haven’t even thanked Jisung yet for saving your sorry ass. You open your mouth, but the words seem to dry up on your tongue.

Jisung tilts his head at you, questioning.

“No for real, I haven’t seen a snow this crazy in a while,” Running your hand along the cool countertop, you fix your eyes on an unlit candle to the left of Jisung’s form. Why can’t you just say thank you? It’s not that hard, yet you find yourself avoiding the two simple words like the plauge.

A beat of silence falls over the two of you, but this time it’s comfortable. There’s no rush or pressure to say anything, just a quiet presence while gazing out at the bright sheet that blankets the night.

⋆⁺₊❅ ⁺₊❆⋆

You have an idea.

Is it a good idea? Probably not, but it’s an idea nonetheless.

While you had been absentmindedly thumbing through your Pinterest homepage in an attempt to pass time, you came across a recipe. And not just any recipe, it’s a sugar cookie recipe in the likeness of a snowman. With a little face on it.

The tantalizing image stirrs your sweet tooth, and you glance over at Jisung on the other side of the couch. He seems to be putting an obviously large amount of distance between the two of you, as the entire middle section of the couch remains empty with you and Jisung perched on either side.

“Hey, so… are you any good at baking?”

Jisung’s head jerks up at your question.

“Uhhh. I plead the fifth.”

You find yourself grinning.

“How about this, do you like baking?”

“Now that. Is a different story.” His knees spread apart as he adjusts his position on the couch, slouching lower and crossing his arms across his chest. He looks at you sideways. “What, did you have something in mind?”

You definitely do have something in mind, and it doesn't have anything to do with baking.

“Hear me out,” you point your phone screen at Jisung, who leans in to squint at it. “we make christmas cookies. In the shape of snowmen.”

“You know what, hell yeah. Nothing better to do,” Jisung stretches his arms towards the ceiling, hands balling up into fists. Your wandering eyes betray you, and you can’t help but notice the little sliver of smooth skin that peeks out from where his shirt slides up as he stretches. He needs to stop being so casually sexy right now or you might go crazy. “Cross your fingers though, ‘cause I dunno if I have any eggs.”

⋆⁺₊❅ ⁺₊❆⋆

Currently standing in a neat line across the countertop are all the gathered ingredients necessary for the cookies. Jisung had miraculously acquired two eggs from the depths of his fridge, which now sit next to the flour, and you had spent a good five minutes opening and closing cabinets in search of all the dry ingredients.

You’ve baked a couple of times before. Granted, the first time the cookies were still soft in the middle and the second time may or may not have involved the fire department, but third time’s the charm right? You’re determined to make and eat these cookies.

Next to you, Jisung is staring at the ingredients, hands on his hips. Seemingly at a loss, he looks over to you for instructions.

“Okay, step one: combine the dry ingredients…”

So far, so good. Jisung was put in charge of the flour mixture, while you had started the task of creaming the butter and sugar together.

When you glance up to check on Jisung after a bit, you find him leveling out a scoop of flour, meticulously brushing any stray lumps of powder off of the top with a butter knife. His eyes squint in concentration until he is satisfied with the measurement, proceeding to dump it into the bowl. A faint cloud of white powder dusts the air.

You watch him with amusement as he scoops another cup out of the flour bag, starting the whole process over again.

He must have felt you staring, because his head darts up, eyes finding yours. You quickly duck your head back towards your work.

You wonder if Jisung is a perfectionist with most things in his life. He’s mentioned before that he writes and produces music, you figure that has a certain degree of perfectionism to it. Then again, during the car ride here your feet were resting on several bags of fast food from various restaurants. Maybe his perfectionism is selective.

The undeveloped batter clings to the mixer as you switch it off and pull it out of the bowl. You swipe a finger over one of the whisks and pop it in your mouth. It might just be sugar and butter, but hey, that shit’s good.

Turning your head to offer Jisung a taste, you let out a gasp of surprise upon realizing that he’s standing right behind you. He leans forward, lowkey trapping you between him and the counter as he crosses an arm around you to scoop up some of the mixture from the edge of the bowl. Your breath catches at his proximity. His warm breath brushes againt your neck, causing a shiver to run up your spine.

He draws away, licking his finger while you remain frozen in place. What happened to him keeping a good distance from you? You don’t think he even realizes what he just did, because he just strolls on back to his little station, quietly humming a tune as he goes.

⋆⁺₊❅ ⁺₊❆⋆

As soon as the oven door slams shut, Jisung is immediately squatted in front of it, dutifully watching the uniform balls of dough through the yellow tint of the oven light.

“You know those will take, like, thirteen minutes to cook, right?” Leaning over the countertop, you raise an eyebrow at his crouched form.

“Thirteen? No way. I’ll basically be dead by then.” Jisung stands up, brushing some of the remaining flour off his pants. That’s when you notice a patch of white just above his left eyebrow. How did that even happen?

You step forward without thinking, reaching up to rub the spot off with your thumb. His skin is ridiculously soft, and you find your treacherous fingers lingering for probably longer than was strictly necessary.

Jisung’s eyes are twice as wide as normal as you pull your hand away. He blinks at you and swallows, causing his throat to bob up and down.

Oh so now he’s flustered. You’re beginning to think your little crush is reciprocated after all.

Momentarily confident, you send him a sweet smile.

“That’s better.”

Jisung doesn't say anything in return, but you don't think you’re imagining the slight red tint to his ears.

Three loud beeps announce that the cookies have completed their oven time and are now ready to be taken out and consumed.

Jisung arms himself with oven mitts and carefully slides the cookie tray out of the oven and onto the potholders that you had placed on the countertop a few minutes prior.

They look good. Like, really good. You can feel your mouth starting to water.

“Holy shit, I think we actually did it! Thank God they didn't catch on fire this time,” you exclaim, poking one experimentally with a finger.

Jisung’s eyebrows fly up and he shoots you a bewildered look.

“I thought you said you could cook??”

“Hey now, I never said that…”

⋆⁺₊❅⋆ ⁺₊❆⋆

Throughout the night, you have become painfully aware of the fact that you are wearing jeans.

Thankfully, since you were heading to your family’s house anyways, you have an entire suitcase packed with the works. Your comfy pajamas from last year are sounding really good right now.

Jisung is propped up on the corner of the couch with a cookie in one hand and his phone in the other. His cheeks are stuffed with probably half of said cookie right now, making him look like some sort of rodent. It’s cute.

You need to ask him where his bathroom is to change, but you find yourself hesitating. Jisung looks up at you with a confused expression and a cookie crumb clinging to his cheek.

Realizing that you’re just looming over the side of his couch ominously, you are quick to blurt out your question.

“Do you know where the bathroom is?”

Goddamnit. Of course he knows where his own fucking bathroom is. What kind of question is that?

Jisung, luckily, seems to have found it amusing, his eyes squinting up as he lets out a hearty laugh. Which almost, almost, makes up for the fact that you just asked the stupidest question in the history of mankind. It doesn’t stop your cheeks from heating up though.

“Yeah, I think it’s down the hallway to the left,”

He’s playing along. You wonder if he has any idea how much better that makes you feel as you break into a wide smile and thank him, scurrying off to go grab your…

Suitcase.

Your suitcase. Where was it? You don’t remember bringing it to Jisung’s place, where could it be? Did you- oh. You remember your dingy little car, sitting out there in the gas station parking lot. Your dingy little car that happened to have your suitcase in it.

Sometimes you surprise yourself, because how can one be this much of a mess? Everything has gone wrong tonight, and now this? You couldn’t even make it to your family’s house to surprise them. The weight of it all is beginning to crush you, forcing tears to well up in your eyes.

Stopping in the hallway around the corner, out of Jisung’s eyeshot, you shove your impending emotions down your throat, the roughness of the wall against your fist keeping you steady. You are not going to cry right now. You’ll find a solution. You just need to calm down first. Closing your eyes, you take in deep breaths, letting each exhale push you farther away from tears.

Once you’re sure you have yourself under control, you consider your options. You could ask Jisung for something to wear, or you could remain uncomfortable in your jeans for the remainder of the night. Now, you wouldn’t be upset about wearing Jisung’s clothes, not even in the slightest. They’d probably smell like him, too. How that man always smells so damn good is beyond you.

He’ll understand if you ask him for his clothes. You know he will. Hopefully, he won’t take it in the wrong way. It’s not like you want to wear his clothes, you just have to because you don’t have any other option.

Yeah no, you really just want to wear his clothes.

Rounding the corner, you expect to see Jisung on the couch only to find that he’s no longer in his spot, or in the living room, for that matter. He’s not in the kitchen either (which still has various baking supplies and smears of flour scattered about. You make a mental note to clean that up later). Huh. Maybe he went to his room. You settle down on the couch to wait for him, busying yourself with counting your knuckles.

Sock-padded footsteps cause your head to perk up in their direction. Jisung emerges from his room, closing the door behind him with his foot. His face lights up when he finds you on the couch.

“I wasn’t sure if you had brought any PJs or not, so, I grabbed some things you can wear,” He says, then seems to check himself and quickly adds, “If you want! You don’t, like, have to or anything, just thought I would offer.” In his arms he carries a pair of sweatpants and a hoodie.

You could kiss him right now.

“Oh my God, Jisung, are you sure?”

“Yeah, of course, it’s no problem at all.” He reassures you.

Jisung had offered the clothes purely out of wanting to make sure you’re comfortable. Sleeping in jeans is pretty awful and he didn’t see you bring a suitcase or anything. Maybe he also wanted to give you his clothes but that’s irrelevant.

He watches as you skip off to the bathroom to change with a newfound pep to your step. Jisung shakes his head, grinning despite himself. You’re just so damn cute.

This storm might just be the best thing that’s happened to Jisung in a while. Getting to spend time with you? And on Christmas Eve no less. If you’d have told him that yesterday, he wouldn't have believed it one bit. It’s like all his prayers have been answered.

He finds himself wondering, what were your plans before you called him for help? Are you upset that you’re here, at his place, instead of wherever you were heading to? Jisung hopes not. As much as he’s happy you’re here to keep him company, he can’t help but worry about how you’re feeling about the situation.

As if on cue, you appear once again at the entrance to the hallway. This time though, you’re all cozyed up in his clothes.

Jisung’s eyes widen as he takes in the sight of you. The sweats nearly swallow your feet whole, and his hoodie— which is oversized in the first place—fits almost comically large on your frame; hanging off of one shoulder.

It’s not the exposed shoulder that gets him necessarily, this isn’t the 19th century, it’s the fact that you’re in his clothes and in his house.

He swallows.

“You look- you, uh, yeah. You look good. Warm?”

Jisung’s reaction tells you all you need to know. You laugh in response.

“Mhm! Add this to the list of things I definitely owe you for,”

“Pshh, nah don’t even worry about it, i’m happy to help,” Jisung figures that if he doesn’t look at you too hard, he’ll be able to keep his brain from short-circuiting. “Do you want to watch a movie or something?” Sparing a careful glance back up at you, he pats the couch to back up his offer.

The couch dips as you plop down next to him, sporting that smile of yours that has him weak. You had looked so distraught just a couple of minutes ago, and just the simple act of him offering his clothes and a movie had brought your spirits right up. Cute.

Jisung rests his chin on his hand and listens as you lay out your christmas movie options, but he’s only half-paying attention. He knows that he’ll enjoy whatever movie you choose, as long as you’re there to watch it with him.

He also knows that he’s probably more than a little bit head over heels for you.

⋆⁺₊❅⋆ ⁺₊❆⋆

The smell of freshly-microwaved popcorn fills the room as you and Jisung take your respective places on the couch, the silent agreement apparently being to keep at least a foot between your bodies at all times

You settle in and get comfortable while the opening credits roll across the screen. Jisung is tossing some popcorn in his mouth, having already eaten nearly half of his bag. You get the feeling that he’s going to be asking to steal some of your popcorn sooner or later.

Even with him being a foot away, you are hyper-aware of his presence. The movie is starting, but you know there’s no way you are going to able to maintain any sort of attention span with Jisung sitting right there.

Still facing towards the screen, you sneak a quick look at him from the corner of your eye, only to find his eyes already trained on you.

The unexpected eye contact makes your heart jump to your throat, and you quickly jerk your gaze back to the television.

Why was he looking at you? Is he still looking? You consider turning again to check, but then decide against it, preferring to live in ignorance for the time being. You’re not sure you can deal with knowing he’s looking at you right now.

Not even ten minutes into the movie, a particularly loud whistle of wind rushes past the windows. The lights flicker once. And then again.

Fuck.

You barely have time to turn and look at a now wide-eyed Jisung before both of you are plunged into absolute darkness.

A small yelp of terror escapes from Jisung, and you feel his weight shift on the couch.

Blinking rapidly as though that would make the lights magically turn back on, you find yourself scooting towards Jisung. A heartbeat of silence passes, with only the sound of your and Jisung’s soft breaths cutting through the darkness.

“The power’s out,” He observes helpfully, voice noticably higher than it’s normal tenor.

“No shit.” You pull out your phone to turn on the flashlight, illuminating your faces. Jisung squeezes his eyes shut at the sudden intrusion of light, peeking one eye open at you after a moment.

The light reveals that he is a lot closer than you had thought. Barely an inch of space was left between your legs, and you swear you can feel warmth radiating off of him. Huh. That little mole on his face is visible from here.

Jisung swallows hard (apparently a habit of his) and quickly combs a hand through his hair, pulling himself up from the couch.

“Hold on, I think I have a candle somewhere,” He still looks a bit frazzled, but heads towards the kitchen nonetheless.

You turn and cross your arms over the back of the couch, illuminating his path.

“You do, it’s on the counter,” You point at it, having noticed it earlier when you’d first arrived. “‘Spiced apple toddy’, huh?”

You grin at the offended look on Jisung’s face as he approaches, candle and lighter in hand.

“Hey! They’re seasonal,” he objects to your teasing, placing the candle on the coffee table.

T he lighter sparks into a flame as Jisung drops back down on the couch and lights the candle, bathing your surroundings in a soft, warm light.

Well. So much for the Christmas movie.

“That sucks, I really wanted to see what was going to happen to Frosty this year,” Jisung mirrors your thoughts with a sigh, crossing one ankle over his leg and shaking his head with a tsk.

You giggle, giving him a light shove on the shoulder. In the back of your mind, you feel like you should be upset about yet another thing going wrong tonight. But how could something be wrong, really, when Jisung is smiling like that. Smiling like that because of you. The thought ignites little butterflies in your stomach.

The power doesn't seem to have any plans to turn on again anytime soon, so you and Jisung break out a deck of cards. Turns out he’s a big trash talker when it comes to competition, which has you laughing your head off at the creative insults he throws at you. Seriously, how does he come up with these?

After losing your third game of speed, you realize that goosebumps have began to form all up and down your arms. Not wanting Jisung to notice, you try to smooth them down as nonchalantly as possible.

Of course, he immediately notices.

“Are you cold?” He furrows his eyebrows in concern, drawing his attention away from his hand of cards to you.

“Nope!” A shiver decides that it’s the right moment to shake your whole body. “Okay maybe a little,” you admit, “but I’m totally fine, it’s not bad at all.”

In all honesty, that was a complete lie. It’s cold as shit. You just hope your smile is enough to distract from your clenched teeth and slightly runny nose.

Jisung raises an eyebrow at you skeptically, obviously not buying it.

“So I guess if I got a blanket, you wouldn't want it, right?”

“Hey, thats not-” you start to protest to him poking fun at you, but your confidence shrivels when Jisung places his cards on the table, batting his eyes at you in mock attention.

It’s flustering, to say the least. He directly offered you the solution to your discomfort, and didn’t really leave you with the choice to say no. Which, you decide, is kinda hot. That seems to describe most of what Jisung does, though.

You drop your hands down on the table in defeat. “Fine. Can I please have a blanket?”

As a response to your request, Jisung simply hoists himself up once more, tapping you twice on the top of the head as he passes.

“Attagirl.”

The sideways grin he flashes you tells you that he knows exactly the effect that that little word had on your insides.

He’s going to be the death of you.

⋆⁺₊❅⋆ ⁺₊❆⋆

You had just barely managed to compose yourself when Jisung returns with not one, not two, but an entire armful of blankets. In favor of just dropping them all on the couch, he decides to launch both himself and the blankets onto the couch simultaniously. His legs fly up behind him as he lands belly-down onto the pile of blankets, face buried in the soft fabric.

Whether he’s trying to draw out a laugh or not, you bark out a laugh that’s probably louder than the situation called for. You slap a hand over your mouth in embarrassment as he lifts himself up to sit on the empty cushion of the couch.

It’s intresting, the way he moves. Every motion so natural, every curve so perfect, it traps your attention to him like a moth to a flame. His muscles are lean, tensing when he pushes himself up. You follow the lightest trace of a vein trailing down from his bicep to his hand, absentmindedly wondering how his hand would feel in yours. Wondering if he would ever so lightly run his fingers over the back of your hand, your collarbone, your jaw…

“So do you want a blanket or what?” Jisung waves his hand, snapping you out of your head. You hope he hadn’t noticed the way you were essentially ogling him just now. He most likely had though, given how annoyingly observant he’s proven to be.

The corners of Jisung’s mouth quirk up, a witheld laugh brimming behind his eyes. Okay scratch that, he definitely noticed.

Too humiliated to say anything, you take a seat next to him and toss a blanket over your head. The outside noises dim significantly from under the shelter of the blanket. The blanket that— unfortunately for you and your creative imagination— smells quite strongly of Jisung. You find yourself having to refrain from burying your face in the cloth. Because that would be weird.

It’s warm at least. Staying here forever sounds like a good plan.

A wave of fresh, cool air washes over you as the edge of the blanket lifts up to reveal Jisung peeking in at you.

“May I join you?”

You nod, hoping the darkness will conceal your flushed face. Jisung scootches to sit next to you and flicks the blanket back over both of your forms. Darkness encases you once more, only this time you aren’t alone.

Jisung’s phone light shines out, lighting up your faces in such a way that makes you think he might break into some cheesy horror story; the kind that you were genuinely terrified of in second grade.

He’s close. Like, really close. You could count his eyelashes if you wanted.

His eyes crinkle slightly as he gives you a little close-mouthed smile. He looks so lovely right now, you can’t help but smile right back at him. Except your smile definitely isn't lovely since you’re cheesing so hard.

When he chuckles, a breath of warm air puffs over your face, making you warmer than you think you’ve ever been.

Despite being a good bodily temprature already, the urge to wrap your arms around Jisung and bask in his physical presence is getting stronger by the second.

“I’m still cold.” The words tumble from your mouth before you can stop them, such a blatant untruth that it makes your heart speed up.

Jisung’s head drops, shoulders bouncing slightly with silent laughter.

As if your ears couldn't get any hotter than they were already.

“Still cold, huh? You know what’s crazy?” He leans in just a touch further as if about to tell you some great secret, his voice quieting almost to a whisper. “Me too.”

Jisung arm wraps around your shoulders, and he turns you sideways, pulling you flush to him. How you seem to fit perfectly in the curve of his side, you’ll never know. Resting your head down on his shoulder and tentatively reaching a hand up to curl on his chest, you let out a breath you didn't even know you were holding. His heartbeat pounds in your ear, slower than your own jumping pulse, but much louder.

Wrapped in Jisung’s arms, you are definitely warmer than before. Which—since you really weren’t cold in the first place— has you sweating, the space under the blanket suddenly feeling small and suffocating.

You toss the top of the blanket off of your heads, inhaling the cold, crisp air now available to your lungs.

You’re not sure what comes over you. maybe it was the way that he tilts his head back to lean on the back of the couch, or maybe it was the little sigh he lets out, his breath just barely visible in the chilled air surrounding you. The hand that’s gently rubbing up and down your upper arm definitely isn't helping either.

You reach up and plant a chaste kiss to his cheek.

Jisung instantly tenses under you, every muscle tightening. You pull back to look at him, finding him frozen, staring straight ahead. a gorgeous pink tint graces his cheeks.

Always so confident until he’s the one being flirted with. Cute.

He’s silent and still for just a hint too long, and you start to get worried. Did you read the energy wrong? Was he just being nice?

You open your mouth to blurt out some sort of apology, but Jisung turns his head to look at you, eyes wide, searching your own. Your mouth snaps shut.

“Can you do that again?” His request is quiet and mumbled, nervousness evident in the way his knee starts to bounce up and down rapidly.

You reach up to grab his chin, his skin soft beneath your fingers. He’s real. He’s here and under your fingertips, gazing at you like you hung the moon.

You lean in, but pause to hover just millimeters away from his lips, your breaths mingling in the space between.

It’s not until Jisung makes a noise in his throat that is somewhere between a huff and a whine that you close the final distance between you two.

A white-hot flame ignites in your stomach when your mouths connect, only blazing brighter when Jisung runs his hand up the length of your back to rest it on the back of your head, holding you softly but firmly to him.

He wants you, everything about you. And you want him too, you always have.

When you part, you let out a breathless giggle. What just happened?

It seems as though Jisung is feeling the same way, a look of disbelief of his face as his eyes flick between your own.

“Thank you.” The two words that you’ve been skirting around all night finally slip past your lips.

“For what, the kiss? Anytime, babe.” He sends you an over-exaggerated wink, which of course doesn’t go unnoticed by you, but it is drowned out by the slightly more pressing fact that he just called you ‘babe’.

Not that you mind. At all, actually.

“First of all, I’m the one who gave you the kiss, thank you very much, and secondly I just- well, it just means, y’know, a lot to me that you picked me up… and stuff…” You wince as your confidence audibly dwindles, looking at the couch beside him, “So yeah, thank you. So much. I don’t know what I would have done without you tonight.”

“Hey, hey,” He brings your chin back up to look at him. “Seriously, it was no trouble at all. To be honest, I was so not looking forward to being alone on Christmas eve.” His gaze lightens, “So really, I should be thanking you because this is probably the best thing that could have happened to me.”

His genuine words paired with that soft look on his face make you realize that you wouldn’t rather be anywhere else or with anyone else tonight.

For the nth time tonight, you smile.

[bumfuzzled-bee]

Lil thing I made to relearn how to draw these guys <3

[tmpestuous]

someone to stay

summary: bucky offers you solace as your mental fatigue rears its head.

pairing: boyfriend!bucky x reader

warnings: angst, reader anxiety/depression, fluff, non-sexual nudity, a comforting buck <3

word count: 2.5k

a/n: this was inspired by my own issues right now because i definitely need it at the moment :’) 

Getting out of bed was always the most difficult part of your day. Even when you were feeling okay, even when nothing was immediately wrong. You would wake up and stare into the void, blankets smothering your body and eyelids still heavy from the bit of sleep you’d managed to get.

There wasn’t anything pressing your anxiety, but having been out of your routine for a few weeks always left you feeling unmotivated. After having been sidelined from missions for a multitude of reasons—injuries, mental stability, and a dwindling success rate—you had nothing to do. None of your side hobbies entertained you long enough to keep you busy, so you fell into the same cycle. You sometimes wished you could sleep all day or even just stay stagnant in bed, but you knew it’d only make the fatigue worse.

Today, however, was not one of those days where you pushed yourself out of bed. Not bothered to check the time, you closed your eyes again. It was raining outside anyways, the perfect weather to stay cuddled in bed for. Soon enough, you found some sleep again, even if you’d regret it later.

Bucky, who was not sidelined from missions, had just come back from one, more than eager to see you. He was back earlier than expected, so he only figured you wouldn’t be in your usual spot waiting for him in the hangar of the compound. It was a bit past noon, so he assumed you were keeping busy elsewhere.

After a quick debrief, he made it to your shared room, only to be led to confusion at the curtains still drawn and all of the lights off. He knew how much you hated sleeping in too late, only ever sleeping past 9 if you were really exhausted and/or hadn’t gotten much sleep at all. Even then, you never let it get past 11 before you were up and out of bed.

Bucky knew you were taking your suspension a bit rougher than expected. He hated seeing you upset and he was even willing to skip out on a few missions to stay with you, but you’d insisted otherwise, saying “the bad guys don’t take breaks.” 

He never liked leaving you. Most of your missions had the two of you together, SHIELD thinking you worked well together even outside of your relationship. Going on missions without you meant he was always stuck with some reckless, inexperienced agent who wasn’t half as skilled as you a lot of the time. It was why he only liked the ones where he was with Sam or Steve, at least not having to stress about saving anyone.

He missed you on every single one. Your quips, how satisfying it was to see you kick people’s asses, and how swiftly you did just about everything. But Bucky also knew you needed a break. Your anxiety was more rampant lately, and it was affecting all of your skills on the field. The decision to bench you didn’t come easy to anyone, but especially not you.

You honestly had little to no idea what had you so anxious to start with, but anything else that triggered your anxiety only amplified it. Bucky was so reluctant to let Steve suspend you, but after you got seriously injured on a mission for lack of attention, he couldn’t argue against it anymore.

“You can’t be serious,” you said to Steve, tears in your eyes. “I’ve been injured so many times, why does that even matter?”

“It’s not just the injury,” Steve countered. “You’ve been off your game. I can’t risk losing one of our best members because you’re distracted.”

“I’m not dis—”

“You being distracted is how you ended up with a broken arm and a head injury,” he cut you off, making you look away from him. “You’re gonna end up dead if you keep on like this. I can’t deal with that loss, and neither can Bucky.”

Snapping your gaze back at Steve, you scoffed.

“So this is about Bucky?”

“This is about you, Y/n,” Steve said, his tone slightly more irritated. “He begged me not to bench you, said you just needed some time but even he knows putting you on the field again is risking your life.”

Wiping your tears away, you said nothing in response. You knew he was right, but the last thing you needed was to give in. It’d make you crumble, it’d make this whole situation real and you knew where you’d end up. 

Your conversation ended when Bucky walked in the room.

It was the right decision after all. However, Bucky’s chest ached knowing how low you were feeling. Knowing that you were doing everything just to get by, yet nothing at all. He hadn’t seen you in a melancholy state for years, but it always scared him. He barely made it out of his own episodes sometimes, panic manifesting through his bones. His worry only worsened at the thought of not being able to pull you from the darkness, the way you’d done so for him many times. 

Seeing you under the sheets, sound asleep past noon didn’t settle Bucky’s own anxiety. He was out on this mission for eight days, but you’d sounded okay when you spoke to him over the phone every night. 

Were you not getting any sleep? Were you falling asleep really late? Or was your current funk really getting to you?

Bucky set his duffel bag on the floor, shutting the door behind him. He decided against opening the curtains until you were awake, sitting on the edge of the bed next to your sleeping body, placing his flesh hand on your cheek gently.

“Sweetheart,” he said, leaning down and kissing your forehead a few times. “Let me see those pretty eyes, doll.”

Furrowing your eyebrows before peeling your eyes open, you were greeted with your favorite super soldier, a smile creeping on your face.

“Hi,” you said groggily, Bucky kissing your forehead again. “You’re back early.”

“Got the job done quickly,” he fed your curiosity. “What are you still doing asleep, doll? Are you okay?”

“What time is it?” You said, still unmotivated to get up from your lying position. 

“Almost 1,” Bucky answered before your eyes widened and you sat up, frantic about how the morning got away from you. “Hey, hey,” Bucky placed his hands on your shoulder, easing the tension a bit. “It’s okay, there’s nothing wrong with oversleeping once in a while.”

You shook your head, avoiding Bucky’s gaze as you rubbed your eyes. “I shouldn’t have slept that long.”

Bucky pressed a kiss to your shoulder, then your cheek, then pulled your hands away from your eyes. The bags under them didn’t go without notice, Bucky getting more worried than earlier. He knew you weren’t sleeping well, and him not being here to soothe you must have made it worse.

“Is everything okay?” He asked again, never getting an answer from you.

You sighed. “I don’t really know, I’m just- I’m always tired and don’t wanna do anything even though I know I shouldn’t just stay in bed. I was gonna wake up early today to see if I could get moving but then I barely slept and thought a few more hours could be useful but now—”

“Shh,” Bucky said, pulling you into his embrace, rubbing your back softly. “There is still a lot of time left in the day, but I don’t mind sleeping this Sunday away with you after the mission I just had.” He kissed the top of your head a few times. “We can shower then eat and then rest. Sounds good?”

You nodded, with a muffled ‘okay’ into his chest before pulling away, Bucky standing and grasping your hand in his to head to the bathroom. 

Bucky turned the shower on, letting it run to get warm before turning back to you. After you helped Bucky take his tac suit off, he helped you shed your pajamas. The both of you took your underwear off, Bucky checking the water before you stepped in. 

You always enjoyed showering with Bucky, most after a mission when you were both tired. Though this was different since you weren’t the one coming home, the sentiment of being tired remained the same.

Bucky could tell you were tense, that something was still bothering you. He never wanted to pry, so he massaged the tension out of your shoulders, getting you to relax your posture a bit. You both worked your way around lathering each other with soap, your eyes doing their usual routine of scanning Bucky’s body for any cuts and bruises. Bucky decided to wash your hair, finding any means of making you feel relaxed. You sighed under his touch, leaning your head forward to rest against his chest as he rinsed your hair.

“Steve mentioned you going back on the field again,” Bucky eased into the conversation. “You feeling up for it?” Much to Bucky’s surprise, you shook your head, prompting him to lift your face in his hands. “What’s wrong, sweetheart? You know you can talk to me.”

Sighing again, you leaned into his touch. “I’m not ready.”

“I thought you wanted to get back,” Bucky furrowed his eyebrows.

“I do,” you nodded. “But I just feel so… out of it. Like my mind is out of fuel and it’s putting my body on pause. I have no energy lately, I don’t really know what’s wrong with me.”

Bucky looked at you, a hint of sorrow in his eyes. He’d been there, where his body was craving one thing but his mind just never allowed him to satisfy any of his desires. Depression didn’t always look the same, but he could tell when it was starting to consume you.

The restless nights, the fatigue, the lack of energy and motivation. It was a stark contrast to your usual, productive self. Sometimes Bucky would have to slow you down for doing too many things at once, so it pained him to see you not want to do anything at all. 

He decided right then and there he’d take a pause from any missions until you were okay. Until he could see the spark in your eye again, the pep in your step. The energy being revitalized.

“It happens, baby,” he reassured. “You’ve helped me through some of my funks, so let me help you out of yours, hm?”

“You don’t have to, Bucky,” you shook your head, but he shushed you, a chaste kiss placed on your lips. “I’m serious, you don’t have to pause your life for me. People still need help and I’ll get out of my fatigue stint eventually, so—”

“You know you’re not gonna convince me otherwise, right?” He shut you up again, offering you a smirk and another peck to the lips. “I would drop everything for you. At any time, on any day, at any given moment. You are my world, doll. If you’re not okay, then my world isn’t okay.”

“But what if they really need you—”

“They won’t,” Bucky grabbed the comb to detangle your hair. “Now come on, let me help you ease your mind, hm?”

Knowing you couldn’t say no to him, you turned so your back was facing him, Bucky smoothly getting any knots out of your hair. 

He knew how much you loved it when he did your hair, knowing the process was super long and you didn’t want to do it half of the time. When he first heard you complain about having to do it, he made you teach him your whole routine for whenever you were feeling unmotivated to. It was one of many things he eagerly learned for you, always wanting to pamper you. 

Feeling a bit overwhelmed over the fact that you had him back, here with you as he did everything in his power to clear your head from the anxious thoughts, you couldn’t help but tear up. 

When he finished detangling your hair, holding it up with a clip, he saw you crying, quickly pulling you in his arms, kissing you everywhere he could. 

“I’m here, sweetheart,” he said, leaning down to kiss your shoulder. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Once he let you return the favor of washing his hair, you made him sit on the built-in bench in the shower so you wouldn’t have to reach up the whole time. 

Bucky loved touching you, but he swore to everything that he loved your touch even more. Your hands were so soft and gentle, with each lather and rinse of his head.

“Your hair’s getting long again,” you said, running your fingers through Bucky’s brown locks, the length now passing his ear. “Are you gonna cut it?”

Bucky shrugged, his hands finding comfort in your waist as you stood in front of him. He placed a kiss on each of your hips then your stomach before looking up at you.

“Maybe, maybe not,” he answered before standing, kissing your lips again. He knew how much you liked his short hair when he first cut it, but deep down you loved his long hair too. You just never forced him to keep one or the other, knowing how many memories his hair held.

Bucky loved how well you knew him, how well you understood him. It was the main reason why he took his time to do the same for you.

Once you were both out of the shower and dressed, Bucky picked up his phone to order some food. You’d told him you were craving Chinese the night before on your phone call while he was away, so he ordered all of your favorites as you finished drying your hair in the bathroom.

After eating dinner, Bucky slid under the covers of your shared bed, extending his metal arm for you to grab as you slid in next to him. Your head found its usual spot on his chest, both of his arms encasing you in the pressure you sought so many times, your left leg over his right one. 

“Thank you,” you said softly as Bucky rubbed your back just the way you liked it. “For never judging me.”

“I would never plan to,” he said, using his right hand to lift your chin up. “We’re human. We have our moments where we need a break, a reset. You taught me that when I needed to hear it. Don’t think that it excludes you, my love.”

Leaning up, you pressed your lips against his in a soft kiss that said more than enough. 

Pulling away, you looked into those blue eyes that meant the world to you.

“What would I do without you?”

“Force yourself to do your hair routine every week,” Bucky joked, making you roll your eyes playfully with a smirk.

You pressed a kiss on his chest before laying your head on it again. “I love you.”

“I love you more, doll,” he said, massaging your scalp to soothe you until you fell asleep.

Bucky could watch you be this peaceful forever, vowing to spend the rest of his days making sure you were okay. He always knew you’d return the favor, enjoying every moment spent with you like this, comforted best in his arms.

[rhysazriel]

Smoke & Light: Part 1 [Plug!Az]

SUMMARY: Your ex-boyfriend gives you his dealers number, but you don’t expect for him to be so fine. And you certainly don’t expect him to be so goddamn flirty. (3.4k)

WARNINGS: descriptions and dealings of recreational drugs (weed), little bit of swearing, slight sexual themes and lots of shameless flirting. THIS IS A MODERN AU!!

A/N: the first part is here and I’m so excited!! Im still unsure how many parts this is going to be, but there’s a lot I want to happen in this series so probably (I’m guessing!!) six or seven, but we’ll see!! Anyway, I hope you enjoy <3

Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist

Your patience was wearing thin. Very fucking thin. Those three grey dots mocked you as they bubbled at the bottom of the screen—disappearing and reappearing again—until they were replaced with another less than satisfying message.

Brandon: are you taking the piss? Why didn’t you just ask when you were here earlier?

You scanned the message over, swallowing back the groan at the idea of another potential argument. You needed to nip his attitude in the bud, you weren’t entertaining his bullshit anymore. Gnawing at the inside of your cheek, your fingers quickly typed a response.

You: I didn’t realise I was out until I got home. Can you get any or not? Just lmk

The dots appeared again after a few moments of silence, and you prepared yourself for the snarky remark he was most likely to give you, and took a deep breath to compose yourself in advance.

Brandon: no. I can’t get you any. Sort it out yourself for once.

There was no way in Hell you were going to let your frustrations show. Despite the pure anger and annoyance that began to bubble even more within you.

Brandon could be a lot of things. A liar. A cheat. And a fucking asshole. In all honestly, the only thing he was truly good for was the occasional above par fuck and the fact that his dealer had the best weed you’d ever smoked.

But when they were the only two good things he had going for him, it was hard to justify the disgusting behaviour he showed throughout almost your entire relationship. You broke up every few weeks as it was, but if you’d known about the cheating before, you would’ve left for good sooner.

Instead, you found out a year and half into the relationship, coming to the deafening conclusion that he had, in fact, never been faithful for a single moment of his adult life.

Fuck him. And fuck his shit sex. The weed, you could get yourself.

You: lmao ok. What’s his number?

A heartbeat after he read the text, he was calling you. And the moment you answered the call, he was his usual, un-charming self.

“What the fuck do you mean what’s his number?”

“Hello to you, too.” You murmured, tucking yourself under the blanket on your couch.

His clipped tone didn’t startle you, didn’t worry you about any form of consequences. He wasn’t scary, even when he tried to be. He was just a douche.

“What do you mean what’s his number?” He repeated himself, that agitation growing thicker and thicker with every word he spoke.

“How else am I supposed to get any?”

“Find your own dealer.”

He was being bitter now, pathetically so. You picked at the aged edges of your book, a novel you’d read five times over but one you couldn’t get enough of. Your love for it could be seen by the fading print of the front cover and the severely broken spine—despite how careful you tried to be with your readings.

“Brandon, I’m not going to find a random dealer. Your Azriel guy has good stuff and I know it’s safe. Besides, me going to the same person as you is not going to affect you in any way.”

He was silent for a moment, mulling over your words. Despite his dreadful personality and lack of love and care and compassion, he knew how little you knew about marijuana. He was the one that taught you to roll, after all.

You’d barely smoked before you met him, and on the rare occasions you did get high, it was usually in the form of gummy edibles your friends had. And you weren’t addicted or reliant on it in any way. You just enjoyed a smoke every now and then if you’d had a long day.

Alcohol had never been your favourite, and you much preferred to feel the chilled buzz from a joint than cradle a hangover for two days after a soirée.

“Fine. I’ll text you his number. Say Marco gave it to you, it’s a code he made up—had cops on him a while ago. He can be a bit of an ass, don’t let him shit talk you. Ask for a 3.5, he usually charges 40 for it. It’ll last you a couple weeks unless you’re planning on smoking heavy.”

It was easy to be pulled back in when he was like that. When he did the bare minimum of offering advice on things he knew you weren’t too sure on. But you were better than that now, smarter. You weren’t going to fall back into your old ways again.

Not with him. Not with anyone.

“I’m not. Thank you.”

The line went dead as soon as the words left your mouth and a few moments later, he texted you Azriel’s number. You would’ve appreciated a reminder of what you were supposed to ask for but at least you got his number. Small wins. You weren’t his responsibility anymore.

It took you a few minutes to figure out what to say, your fingers hovering over the keyboard as you typed and erased, typed and erased. Until you settled on ‘Is this Azriel?’ and finally sent the message.

Ten minutes passed and you didn’t get a response. Your nose was tucked back into your romance novel as you chewed on the drawstring of your hoodie. In all honesty, you could’ve quite easily slipped into a peaceful slumber under the warm golden glow of your lamps.

That was another thing Brandon couldn’t respect. Your No Main Light rule. The vibes were always immaculate with gentle warmth from lamps. The main light was not allowed on under any circumstances. You much preferred the cosy feeling of golden hues that accentuated the deep green leaves of your plants and vines that scattered the walls and crevices of your home.

Your phone chimed from your lap, a small surge of anxiety pulsing in your chest. You unlocked the screen and read over the message.

Azriel: depends who’s asking.

Ah, Brandon did warn you. You considered fucking the whole idea off. Maybe cracking open a bottle of wine and snuggling on the couch with a book or tv show would be better than having to meet this asshole, but the bottle of White Zinfandel wouldn’t give you the mellow buzz you wanted.

Not unless you had at least four glasses which was usually paired with a hangover the next day. Something you did not want to entertain. So, you bit the bullet and typed your reply.

You: y/n, got your number from Marco. You about?

The more you let your mind wander, the more you realised how little you knew. You had no clue how this sort of thing worked. Would he come to you? Your home? Would you meet at a location of his choice? Or would he just stash the weed somewhere for you to collect and you don't cross paths at all?

But the burning fire of the what-if anxiety was quickly trampled and extinguished when another text came through and instead of him deciding for you, you were given choices.

Azriel: sure, I can meet you at old tower in 20 if that’s good for you? If not I can drop to your location.

He didn’t seem as much of an ass now. No, quite the opposite. But you supposed that offer was something he probably gave to all new, female clients. If he truly was an ass or not, you couldn’t fault him for the consideration.

Old Tower was the old old watermill tucked slightly away in the centre of the city. It had been derelict for years, but due to its location—so close to all the necessities and right opposite the police station—no one ever tried to break in or set it alight like the many other derelict listed buildings had been in the past.

Even now, at almost midnight, that part of the city would still be bustling with city-natives and tourists alike. And you appreciated the safe and public meeting spot he suggested.

You: old tower in 20 is fine.

As quickly as you sent the message, you received another reply. A text describing his blue Mustang and his licence plate. You shook the nerves off as soon as they came. Azriel was respectful and well known. He dealt to make his money and that was that.

But the facts didn’t stop you from sharing your location with Brandon just in case, nor did it stop you from double checking you still had your little pepper spray clipped to your keychain.

The walk to the Old Tower wasn’t a bad one. There were many ways you could access it, most of them leading you through the city, but here were a few that hid you behind back roads and alleyways—those were routes you never took. Not on your own and certainly not in the middle of the night.

The air was still a bit sticky from the summer heat, and while the denim shorts you wore kept your body cool, you were grateful you kept on your hoodie—just that extra layer that protected your arms and shoulders from the chill of the breeze that your legs never seemed to experience.

It didn’t take long for you to reach the Old Tower, and it took even less time to spot the electric blue 2022 Ford Mustang. Small tufts of white smoke emitted from the exhaust as it sat in its standstill, headlights facing the opposite direction of what you came in, but you could still hear the engine humming from your short distance away.

You double checked the licence plate to the number Azriel texted you, and slowly made your way closer. While you didn’t know much about drop offs, deals, and weed in general, you did know the unspoken rules of picking up. And if you were picking up from someone in a vehicle, most people got inside for a few minutes before leaving.

Azriel must’ve noticed you from the rear view mirror because just as you approached the back of the car, the passenger door opened wide, inviting you in. You sucked in a breath but accepted the invitation, keeping your eyes forward as you settled into the warmth of the leather seat and closed the door shut.

You finally let your body shift and your eyes met his. And you were fucking done for.

You’d never seen a man so strikingly fucking beautiful before. He was tall, lean and muscular and oozed pure sex and charisma. Tan, golden skin and dark, luscious hair that swept loosely down his forehead and curled gently around the tops of his ears.

His face was chiselled not too sharply, a subtle gentleness to the stark contrast of the cold, brooding aura he carried. And those eyes. Christ, those fucking eyes. Hazel iris’ that dripped with a golden hue of honey.

You swallowed down the dry lump in your throat and willed your lips to part so you could finally speak. “Thank you for meeting me so late.”

And Azriel was absolutely hooked.

When you’d texted barely thirty minutes ago, he did not expect to be meeting with someone so fucking gorgeous. Your soft hair was twisted in a loose braid that hung over your shoulder, wayward strands having fallen from the updo and framing your face mesmerizingly.

Your eyes were the most captivating thing he’d ever seen; rich in colour and wide with slight anxiety, despite the sleepiness he could slightly notice beneath them. Your voice sounded like a fever dream. It wasn’t sickly sweet like most women he knew or dealt to. Perhaps it was just the sleep, but there was a rasp—a very slight ruggedness—in your tone and Azriel was certain he’d never heard something quite so sensual in his life.

He cleared his throat, that all too cheeky grin teetering on the corners of his mouth. “I was already out,” he shrugged, nonchalantly. “How much are you after?”

His voice was a perfect blend of sweet and rough. A deep depth to his tone that skipped hand-in-hand with a sweeter note. God, he was unreal, and the sound of him had you forgetting entirely what exactly Brandon told you to ask for.

You pulled your lips between your teeth and offered a very sheepish—but mostly embarrassed—smile. “Um… I’m sorry,” you found yourself apologising for the second time tonight. “My ex used to do this part, so I have no idea how this works.”

You couldn’t help the flush that rose to your cheeks at your own admission, couldn’t handle being the subject of his firm gaze, and you absolutely could not fucking handle the soft rumble of rich laughter that chuckled through him.

“Do you smoke a lot?” Azriel finally asked, a slightly amused smile on those full lips of his. His pink tongue swiped out to wet them and your heart thundered against your ribcage at the sight.

“Not really,” you cleared your throat. “Just every now and then. Semi-regularly, I guess.” There was no such thing as semi-regularly when it came to drugs and alcohol. To someone’s own self, sure. But not the general mass that consumed whatever it was they did.

Some considered three joints a day ‘semi-regular’, while others considered it as a joint every few days. Azriel had a feeling you were the latter, but he didn’t say anything about his thoughts or what you’d said.

Instead, he hummed and chewed at the inside of his cheek in thought. He wasn’t laughing at you or your lack of knowledge or understanding. Usually, he’d have kicked a new client out of his car by now and told them to figure it out on their own—he was a dealer, not a fucking private tutor—but with you, he didn’t seem to mind explaining or breaking things down so it was easier to understand.

Neither of you quite understood why he was happy to explain, but you didn’t complain. You’d much prefer this than the alternative version of him that you’d been warned about.

“A 3.5 would probably be best for you, then.” He decided.

Yes, a 3.5… that sounded very familiar. You nodded, slowly, considering your next words carefully. You had already disclosed the most embarrassing part of not having a fucking clue how this worked, one more probably wouldn’t hurt, would it?

“This is going to sound absolutely ridiculous,” you chuckled nervously, scratching at the nape of your neck. “But can you break that down in joint terms?”

Azriel laughed again, softer this time, through a breath. It was odd, really. He wasn’t laughing to be cruel or to embarrass you further. It seemed to you that perhaps he found it endearing—your innocence on the matter—and maybe, just maybe, you reminded him of himself when he too at one point, had no idea either.

“It depends on how strong you have them. Do you smoke blunts or just joints?”

Your eyes widened animatedly. “God, no. Just joints. I think a blunt might wipe me out.”

A glint of warmth and light fluttered through his eyes for a split second. “So, a 3.5 would get you like seven joints.”

“Yeah, that would last me like a week, two weeks.” You nodded. “I’ll have a 3.5 then, thank you.”

Azriel hummed in agreement, and it was only when he reached for the centre console and flipped open a compartment that you saw his hands. His golden skin was marred beyond belief, etched in burns and an array of pigmented colours. Your stomach lurched at the sight. Not from fear or pity or disgust, no. Your stomach twisted in agony, your brain couldn’t comprehend a reason for scars like that.

You looked away as quickly as you clocked them, not wanting to stare and not wanting him to notice. You supposed he was used to lingering gazes, but you would not be a name added to that list of people.

Azriel did nothing but make you feel comfortable in the brief few minutes of meeting one another. He was kind enough to not laugh in your face and kick you out of his car after your admittance. You were not about to make him feel uncomfortable either.

He pulled out a small plastic baggie stuffed to the brim with forest green nuggets and handed it to you between two scarred, pinched fingers. You took it gratefully, a full and genuine smile on your lips now as you thanked him, reaching into the back pocket of your denim shorts for the cash.

“Did you want me to roll them for you, too?” Azriel’s teasing voice dripped with sarcasm and your eyes snapped to him with a stern look. “‘Cause that’ll cost you extra.”

“I know how to roll, thank you.” You bit back, and while your voice and tone held all the conviction, the amused glint in your eye and the corners of your mouth told him he hadn’t offended you in the slightest.

“It’s twenty-five.” Azriel chuckled from beside you.

Your brows furrowed as you pulled out two twenty’s, meeting his gaze again. “Isn’t it usually like forty?”

The air now smelt of that tangy, vile scent, something that you don’t think you’d ever get used to. Or enjoy. He shrugged, flipping down the lid of the compartment between you. “You’re a new client.”

You raised a brow now, a taunting smirk creeping at the corner of your mouth. “Do you always undercharge new clients, then?”

Azriel liked you. Very much. You didn’t shy away or hide your personality from him, even after only knowing one another for barely an hour in total. He had a feeling he was barely scraping the surface.

He matched your stare, only he wasn't teasing. “Only the pretty ones.”

There was no hiding the heat that crawled up your neck and sat heavy on your cheeks. It had been a long while since you received a genuine compliment. Let alone one so forward and from someone so unexpected. You averted your gaze from him, looking at the two twenty’s in your hand. Raising them, you pursed your lips.

“I only have two twenty’s on me. So you may as well take the full forty.”

Azriel didn’t listen. Instead, he pinched one note from your hand, his skin brushing yours but you didn’t falter, didn’t shy away. He was warm, and despite the scars and marred skin, his skin was softer than you expected.

You huffed, not ungrateful for the discount but this was his livelihood and taking away from that felt wrong to you.

“Let me know when you’re out.”

You smiled appreciatively and nodded, stuffing the bag and cash into your hoodie pocket and reaching for the door handle. “I will. Nice to meet you, Azriel.”

He watched you climbed out of the car, offering another warm smile as the cooler evening air kissed at his skin. He wanted to ask how you were getting home, if you’d be walking alone or if you needed a ride. But Azriel couldn’t cross those lines, especially not with someone he only just met.

So he bit his tongue and prayed to the Mother above to get you home safely. “You too, Y/N.”

He started up the engine again as soon as the door closed, but he didn’t drive away. He watched you through the rear view mirror until you were out of sight and when he finally looked down, he found his jeans tight around his crotch and a painful erection.

“Fuck.”

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[pitchsidestories]

when grumpy met sunshine II Kika Nazareth x Reader

part 2 I masterlist I word count: 2382

It was the first day of training after the summer vacation marking the start of pre-season. With the new players coming in on the one hand and on the other hand the familiar faces it almost felt like the beginning of a school year. Everyone was buzzing.  

One of the fresh signings approached you quickly once she recognized you, her face lit up with joy and excitement.

“Hi y/n, I love your playing style and can’t wait to play with you!”, Kika Nazareth greeted you. God how you hated that footballer and her stupid smile. Also how dare she is saying that after what happened a year ago.

“Uhu, sure. It seems like you forgot what you did during the Champions League group stage games.”, you answered coldly.

“Huh, what do you mean?”, the Portuguese woman frowned confused.

“Forget it.”, you waved it off and rushed off leaving a very bewildered Kika behind.

“Don’t take it personally she never forgets anything really. Come on you need to meet the rest of your new teammates.”, Mapi padded empathetically the shoulder of the young forward.

“But I don’t get it, Mapi. What did I ever do to her?”, the brunette asked the defender, while her brown eyes followed you across the room. S

he was genuinely excited to play with you, if you hadn’t stopped her so abruptly the Portuguese might have said even more. How Kika loved the way you looked and.. she should stop thinking any further you clearly were mad at her, but why?

“I don’t know.”, the older Spanish woman shrugged equally as clueless.

“Weird.”, the forward mumbled.

“Let’s go the others are so thrilled to see you.”, Mapi tried to cheer her up.

“Hey, everyone.”, Kika begun anew, beaming at the teammates. Hoping, no praying, she wouldn’t cause a reaction like yours earlier. The dark haired forward didn’t want to ruin the first day at the new club anymore.

“Hi, welcome to the club.”, Claudia replied grinning.

“And thanks to special agent Aitana for this transfer who sadly can’t be here right now.”, Mapi continued, trying to soothe the fresh signing. It worked Kika did feel more relaxed in front of them.

“Guys calm down she still hasn’t proven herself in the team.”, you commented rolling your eyes, suddenly appearing next to Ingrid.

“I’m aware of how good this team is. But I’m sure I can help.”, the Portuguese swallowed hard, trying to sound as optimistic as possible.

“We’ll see about that.”, you shot back.

“Don’t worry you’ll.”, she promised. The football player was waiting for a response but once more you vanished without a trace. What a strange behaviour Kika thought to herself.

Thankfully Ellie delivered a much-needed distraction.

 “Kika? Ewa and I wanted to ask you if you’d join us for a coffee sometime soon? As we’re all new to the city.”  

“Yes, sure, I’d love that.”, she nodded happily.

Ellie beamed: “Wonderful.“

“Can’t wait.“, Kika smiled back at the young goalie.

Once again, you rolled your eyes and turned away from them to focus on your warm up.

You were one of the last to leave the pitch two hours later, thinking that you would have the dressing room for yourself. You did not expect Ingrid and Mapi waiting for you there.

“So?“, Ingrid said with her arms crossed in front of her chest.

You didn’t want to talk about your new team member so you decided to play along: “So what?“

With a half smile she finally formulated a question: “Why are you pouting?“

“I’m not pouting. Just annoyed by that smiley…“, you stopped yourself. You couldn’t come up with the right word for her anyway.

Mapi shook her head: “You’re not annoyed.“

At this point, you were starting to get annoyed with these two as well.

“Yes, I am. We didn’t need her in our team.“

“That’s not our decision though.“, Mapi shrugged.

You were about to say something but Ingrid was faster: “Y/n?“

You turned to her: “Yes?“

“Tell us why you’re mad at her.“

You heaved a frustrated sigh. They were worse than your parents.

“Remember when we drew against Benfica in Lisbon?“

Both of them nodded. Of course they would remember last years UWCL games. “Yeah?“

“What happened there? Why can’t you move on from it?“, Mapi asked.

Her girlfriend added: “Come on. It can’t be that bad. You can tell us.“

They looked at you with those soft eyes, all parent-like. Almost like your team psychologist.

The sudden urge to tell them disappeared completely so you just shrugged and grabbed your bag: “Whatever.“

You could feel their eyes on you as you left the dressing room, still in your workout clothes.

Ingrid looked at her incredulously: “Well, that was strange, Mapi.“

“Very.“, she agreed slowly.

As you went back to your own place, Kika and the other new players sipped on their coffees at a tiny little coffee shop.

“No, I’ll win her over with my charm, Ellie.“, Kika announced confidently. Even they had noticed the awkward tension between the two of you.

The English goalkeeper nodded slowly: “Sure you will, Kika.“

“Anyone wants some cake with their coffee?“, Ewa changed the topic. She had been eyeing the tasty looking sweet treats on display right from the start.

The Portuguese striker nodded: “Of course.“

“Can’t say no, they look delicious.“, Ellie laughed.

“We have to celebrate. It’s our first coffee date in our new home.“, Kika laughed.

Ewa stood up and agreed: “We do.“

She quickly returned with three different slices of cake so all of them could try.

“Knowing we play for such a prestigious club now feels great, right?“, she said as she sat the plates down on the table.

“This feels like a dream come true.”, the goalkeeper agreed with a dreamy look in her blue eyes.

It has always been something the blonde fantasized about since she was a little girl, playing for that club and now the fantasy turned into reality which she was forever grateful for.

When Ellie continued, she sounded serious. “Especially after the last year that I had.” The other two women knew about the stroke the English player had suffered.

That was why Kika pulled her into a soft hug whispering into the ear. You deserve to be here so much, Ellie.”

“Thanks. I’m happy that I got to start with you two.”, the goalkeeper smiled at her new teammates.

“Same. I’ve a feeling this will be a fantastic first season for us.”, Ewa replied enthusiastically.

“And we got each other if it’s getting hard.”, the Portuguese striker added.

“Yes, plus I’m sure even grumpy will like you eventually, Kika.”, Ellie remarked.

Immediately the smile vanished from the brunette’s face. “Not so sure about this. Apparently, I must have done something to her during our UWCL match last season.”

“But you don’t remember?”, Ewa questioned curiously. Quickly Kika shook her head.

“No.”

Although she tried her hardest to think what the striker could have done which made you hate her so much. Usually everyone warmed up under Kikas positive radiance, but you were her first exception, following her into her dreams.

In training Kika and you were much to your dismay supposed to be partners.

“Kika, I think Ill swap with Esmee.”, you declared.

“You can’t swap training partners.”, Mapi interjected in a tone which didn’t allow any dissent.

“Fine.”, you groaned. Even though you had played a few years in the first squad of Barca now aged 21 the defender was still like the big sister you never had, and you didn’t want to disappoint her. Even if it meant you needed to work with the person you disliked.

“Looks like you’re stuck with me.”, Kika observed, wearing a huge smile on her lips.

“Yes, with the one who showed me the middle finger last year.”, you muttered under her breath. Unfortunately, it was still loud enough for the striker to understand the words you were saying.

“I never did that!”, she objected loudly.

“Yes, you did.”, you responded.

“No way, I’d never do that.”, Kika insisted.

“And when you said something about the way I played.”, your voice trembled.

“That’s not true.”, the striker denied strongly.

“What’s true?”, you wanted to know.

“Nothing of what you think happened is true!”, she stated passionately.

Hearing her statement made your heart pound hard against your chest. “Are you saying that this is all a huge misunderstanding?”

Obviously!“, Kika said with emphasis and the slightest undertone of anger.

“Oh.“

You didn’t know what else to say. Was she telling the truth? Did it really only look like it at the pitch? Was it a gesture to you or her own teammate?

All the Champions League games seemed to blur together in front of your inner eye. Now you weren’t sure anymore.

“Wait… so you don’t hate me because I’m here and could potentially take your place in the starting squad?“, Kika asked.

You frowned at her: “No, we play two different positions. So why should I be afraid of that?“

“Because I know that you like to push forward too.“, she explained.

You stalled once again. You found it impressive that she had already analyzed your playing style.

You shook your head: “Yes. But I don’t hate your for that. I’m used to tough competition, Barca is my childhood club.“

“Okay… wow.“

“What?“

Kika started laughing: “I really thought you hated me because you had a good reason.“

At first you just glared at her for making fun of you but her laugh was incredibly infectious and you suddenly found yourself laughing with her.

“Stop laughing. This is a good reason!“, you told her as you playfully hit her arm.

“That’s not a good reason.“

“Come on. Focus on your exercise.“, you reminded her, still smiling.

Kika raised her hands defensively and grinned: “Okay, okay. Can’t make you mad at me again.“

“No. Also I have to maintain my grumpy status.“, you replied and tried your best to keep your face serious again.

Kika giggled: “Sorry, of course.“

“Good.“

“Don’t worry. I think I can handle your grumpiness.“

You squinted at her: “Might need some sunglasses to deal with your sunshiny attitude.“

“I know you love it.“, she winked at you. She really dared to wink at you!

You shook your head: “No, you’re still the most annoying person around here.“

“You don’t mean that.“

She was right. You didn’t.

Still, you continued to tease: “Are you sure?“

She flashed you a confident smile: “Yes.“

“Dream on.“

Kika shrugged casually and focused back on your partner exercise: “If you say so, y/n.“

After your talk, you didn’t feel that intense anger towards Kika anymore. Everything was a bit lighter once the misunderstanding was cleared up. It went even so far that you didn’t react with pure disgust when she asked you to room together at your first pre-season match against Hoffenheim.

“Can’t believe we’ve to share a room, Kika.“, you joked as you sat on one of the beds.

Kika threw herself onto the other one: “Quit complaining, you grump.“

You shrugged with amusement: “At least it’s just for one night.“

The Portuguese striker smiled: “You will survive. I’m a quiet sleeper.“

After you both changed into your pyjamas and brushed your teeth you happily let your head fall on to the soft pillow.

“Good night, Kika.”, you mumbled.

“Night y/n.”, the striker hummed.

Yet something was off, the heat in that southern part of Germany still hung in the room, plus Kika hasn’t stopped moving in her bed. 

“Can’t you sleep?”, you asked her with a heavy sigh.

“No, what about you?”, she returned the question, directing her gaze straight at you.

“Me neither.”, you admitted. There was some restlessness and tension between the two of you, it was almost unbearable.

“Do you want to talk?”, Kika offered kindly.

“Sure.”, you agreed softly.

“So, what keeps you up?”, the Portuguese wanted to know.

Even though the moonlight enhanced her features and made you think thoughts again you tried to avoid you started with a less heavy confession.

“The adrenaline of the win. I think I’ll never get tired of that feeling, what about you?”

You waited for her response, did you imagine it or did her cheeks turn red, it was hard to tell in the dark.

“Oh, yeah, I get that. I love it too. But there’s something else that keeps me awake.”, the brunette replied nervously.

“There’s? Are you missing Portugal?”, you listened up.

“A bit yes, but that’s not it. This might be a bad start for the new season, but there’s someone in this team that I think I’ve a crush on.”, Kika confessed.

“You do?”, you answered stunned.

“Yeah.”

For a moment you paused before the realization hit you hard.

“Wait, it’s me, right?”

“It’s yes.”, she confirmed quietly.

“That’s too bad because I.”, you begun.

“Oh, you don’t have to say anything, I get that. I didn’t want to ruin anything.”, the striker interrupted you quickly.

“No stop talking for a moment.”, you begged her, placing a finger of yours onto her lips. God, that woman really loved to talk, even though now the time clearly was for listening as you tried to demonstrate to her.

“I fell too.”, you added in a whisper.

“You did? Am I not way too annoying for you.”, Kika frowned.

“Yes, you’re and yet I’d like to kiss your mouth who loves to annoy me with it’s yapping.”, you grinned.

“You should give it a try maybe.”, she smirked.

“Maybe you can sleep better afterwards.”, you suggested playfully.

“Maybe we both can.”, your teammate wiggled her eyebrows.

“I’m sure of it.” First the kiss was cautiously before it was getting more intensely until you heard the door open loudly.

“Oh my god!”, Mapi yelled.

“Mapi, get out!”, you shrieked.

“I didn’t see anything. Promise!”, the defender gesticulated wildly. With that said she was gone as quick as the older woman came.

“This news will run like a wildfire, right?”, Kika chuckled.

“Yes, by tomorrow morning everyone knows.”, you groaned as she pulled you into a hug.

“I don’t mind that. They can know that grumpy and sunshine always belong together.”, she announced solemnly placing a soft kiss to your forehead.

[limerence-17]

take her home

masterlist

✧ ˚ 　· 　　 .

warnings: 18+ mdni blowjob, fingering, mutual masturbation, drinking (underage presumably), vulgar language, intoxication (reader is, rafe is sober no drunk driving here friends!!), angsty very angsty, reader is drunk and annoying but then again rafe is also annoying in this

synopsis: you're a family friend of the cameron's and sarah's childhood best friend. after one night taking it too hard at rafe's party, sarah's asks rafe to drive you home...

word count: 2.1k

A/N: all characters are 18+ here. also my photos for some reason are uploading weird so sorry for the collage thats not in HD rip. lowercase intended.

✧ ˚ 　· 　　 .

you weren't going to drink, that wasn't even your original plan but between sarah's strange mixed drinks (vodka crans were her usual) and your recent break up with your boyfriend you were a lot more drunk than you'd expected to be.

rafe threw parties every once in a while in the obx and seeing how he was two years older than you, it was fun for sarah and yourself to join them every once in a while.

"there's gonna be at least one hot guy there to get your mind off of lucas," sarah told you as you both were getting ready. lucas was your boyfriend, ex boyfriend now. ever since he cheated on you a week ago with some girl from the cut.

that night, you had a few drinks and ended up swimming in the cameron's pool. once you got out of the pool, you found yourself gravitating to some guy who rafe supposedly knew. he was tall, brown hair, kind eyes. you'd touch his chest every time he said something remotely funny.

you let out a loud belly laugh, playing with your half dried hair from the pool. you were only wearing a pink bikini top with your shorts. now that you thought about it you remembered leaving your bikini bottoms in the upstairs washroom. so technically you were going commando? it didn't matter anyway, you'd find them eventually.

sarah was standing across the pool, closer to the back porch. she could hear a few of rafe's friends speaking about you. but as she listened closely, they were nasty comments.

"yo who knew that friend of the cameron's had tits like that, i'd fucking grab them any day..."

sarah was about to run over and intervene when rafe suddenly stumbled out the back door, laughing with some buddies. he reached for whatever drugs he had in his pocket before sarah went up and smacked his hand. he whipped his head around, eyeing her viciously.

"you have a death wish or something tonight sarah?"

sarah grabbed rafe by his cheeks, smushing them in her hands as she turned his head so that he was now paying attention to you and the boy. she figured he would’ve understood just how serious this was, but clearly rafe was not having it that night.

rafe removed sarah's hand from his cheeks, rather annoyed now.

"so your annoying ass friend is flirting with nate? so what?" rafe said, reaching down into his pocket once again.

"our friend is gonna regret this by morning if we don't stop it at some point. these assholes you know are talking about her behind her back like she's some piece of ass. rafe can you please take her home?" sarah said, pleading with her eyes wide.

rafe glared down at sarah. he rubbed his hands against his eyes, groaning.

"are you fucking kidding me right now? i mean this is my party-"

sarah's eyes widened more and her eyebrows creased. she was making the same puppy eyes she would make when they were kids.

"she's our family friend rafe, and if anything happens to her you know dad will hold you responsible! not just for this shit party, but for her! plus don’t you remember-“

rafe cut her off.

"fine! fine... jesus i'll take her home, but you owe me for this one sarah i swear to god-"

"yeah yeah i know, beers on me for a month…” sarah said mockingly.

✧ ˚ 　· 　　 .

"i'll be back in a sec baby, just gonna go to the washroom," nate said as he walked away from you. you couldn’t help but smile as his hand grazed your back as he stepped away. you took another sip from your drink

seconds later, you felt a cold hard hand grip at your upper arm. you whipped your head to the right, only to see rafe standing beside you, looking more serious than usual.

"no fucking way rafe cameron is here..." you groan out, swinging your hands. rafe rolls his eyes.

"i'm taking you home." rafe commands you swing around once more, this time facing all the party goers.

"rafe cameron everybody!! you yelled, grabbing the attention of everybody outside. “let’s all give me a round of applause for throwing this wild wild party!” the sounds of whoops, and cups being raised into the air followed.

rafe grabbed your arm harder now, sighing from frustration.

"you're drunk. and i'm taking you home…now."

you stumbled backwards over your feet, as he dragged you back through the side backyard door. you were laughing, still a little out of it until you were near the car.

"woah, you're not seriously taking me home right? the night's only started,” you say, snorting a bit as you laughed.

"i'm not doing this for you, i'm doing this cause if i don't i'll get in shit. so just be obedient for once and get in the damn car," rafe said demandingly, opening the passenger door and guiding his hand across your back so that you could sit in the car.

"so pushy dad... you're so totally acting like my dad right now," you said, putting your feet up on the dash and clicking the buttons in the car as he sat in the driver's seat. you playfully keep touching things in the car.

"jesus… don't call me that," rafe said, rubbing his temple as he turned on the ignition.

"fine..." you wave your hands up in the air like you've been caught red handed. you cover your mouth because the second the thought crosses your mind you already want to laugh, but you haven't even said it.

"my bad...daddy..."

rafe freezes, his hands gripping the steering wheel. he’d only just started to back out of the driveway and he flips his head over to face you.

"what? don’t call me that shit-“ he says.

rafe grabs your leg, motioning it downward.

"and get your feet off my dash."

you start pushing at random buttons. of course rafe cameron drives a tesla.

"beep boop, boop..." you say jokingly as you open the window now putting your hand out.

"it's a spaceship in here," you say. you've only gotten about two blocks down. rafe is ignoring your comments, focusing on the road.

"this car is so much better than my exes anyway... i totally hated that guy i mean what was i thinking?"

this has seemed to have gotten rafe's attention as he glances over at you now.

"what do you mean?"

"i meannnnnnn he was a cheater and a liar and totally wasn't even that cute," you say, swinging your hands around.

"i mean wouldn't it make sense to want to sleep with someone who is attractive? lucas was really not even attractive, i mean his nose was like so small, like a little rabbit or something," you groan on. to your surprise, or maybe shock, rafe laughs at this. a genuine laugh.

you could almost sober up from that alone because it's something you haven't really heard since you were kids.

"i think it would make more sense to sleep with someone like you y'know," you say.

oh there you go. you've done it now. no taking that back anymore.

rafe glances over at you quickly, as if he's debating pulling over or something.

"me? what-what are you talking about?"

you shrink slowly into the seat, now embarrassed that you ever said that. you can almost feel yourself head and limbs sinking into the seat.

"are you-you saying you'd wanna sleep with me?"

you glance over, and for some reason your eyes glance over to his pants, and you can't help but notice the bulge that's forming. holy shit did i do that? you think to yourself.

"i mean… i'm not blind rafe, i'm just drunk."

rafe scoffs, switching his glance frequently between you and the road.

"you're serious though, you're not bullshitting me? you like- would actually sleep with me?" rafe says again, as if he can't believe it. he's speeding a little bit more now and you can't help but wonder if it's because you've distracted him.

"i... would yes," you say, nodding slowly, although you're too nervous and humiliated now to make eye contact with him. not too mention, you're still in your bikini top and now widely aware of that.

"jesus i mean... is this your way of asking cause i'm kinda sitting here getting turned on one way or another," rafe scoffs. he's so arrogant, you think to yourself. arrogant, but stupid hot. you glance over, looking back at his pants, he notices your eyes widen at the sight.

"besides, its kinda hot, knowing that sarah or our parents could never find out i mean... it's the secretive part of it that's so... well and your tits too i mean they look fucking magical tonight..." rafe says.

he turns to you, meeting your gaze, looks back at the road and then grabs your hand and gradually brings it to his crotch.

"i mean feel how hard i am, and that is all your doing princess," he says.

you grip at his cock, feeling it harden in his shorts. he's harder than you could have imagined.

"you can take it out if you'd like," he says, reaching for the zipper. the way he's unzipping his shorts while still keeping his eyes on the road is now starting to turn you on. there's heat pooling in your shorts and you're now viciously aware of the fact that you're not wearing any bikini bottoms. if you get any more wet it's game over.

you pull out his cock slowly from his boxers, and your shocked to see the pre cum already soaking out from his tip. he's hard, and you know it's your doing. rafe glances down for a moment, and then you feel his hand against the back of your head.

"you can suck it too," he says grunting.

"but-rafe you're driving what if someone sees-"

"who gives a shit let them see your pretty face sucking me off."

and with that you lick the tip, hearing him let out a slow moan. you just know he's trying not to lay his head backwards in pleasure just based on the noises he's making. you twist your right hand around his cock, moving it up and around and down. your tongue swirls around the tip until you start bobbing your mouth. after about three minutes he pulls you back up. you wipe your mouth and look over at him.

"what? what's wrong?"

"nothing- i was just gonna cum from that is all. plus i wanna feel you anyway-" he says. your eyes widen.

"me?"

"yeah," rafe replies. "unbutton those shorts why don't you so i can feel your pussy."

the way he says that, the rasp in his voice has you already unbuttoning your shorts. you're not sure how he's gonna do this, considering he's driving, until you come up to train tracks and the lights have gone off.

hm nice timing, you think to yourself.

as the train whooses by, you turn over to meet eye contact with rafe and he looks hungry. really... hungry. you both practically smash into each other, your lips colliding with each other. he's biting your bottom lip and sticking his tongue into your mouth and your letting out moans. if this was wrong, how could it feel this good.

"wanna... touch your pussy..." he moans out between kisses and so you pull away.

you pull down your shorts instinctively, forgetting you're not wearing anything underneath. great, i'm half naked in rafe cameron's car ,you think to yourself.

rafe's eyes go wide as he glances over at your body, your agonizingly wet pussy on the car seat.

"fuck me can't believe you've been hiding all that underneath those shorts," rafe grunts as he reaches over to feel you. his middle finger slides up your slit painfully slow. you grab your seatbelt as you lean back.

"holy shit you're so wet, all for me i fucking love that shit," rafe says. he uses his middle finger and ring finger to slowly start tracing circles around your clit, gradually upping the pace. you start grinding against his fingers. this train was taking forever.

"wait...wait...." rafe says pulling away causing you to groan.

"i know baby but... just touch yourself. i wanna see you make yourself cum." he says, now pulling out his dick once again.

you feel a little embarrassed but you're also so turned on so you oblige, slowly tracing circles around your clit. you can't help but watch as his jerks himself off, his eyes hungry staring down at you. it's like he's memorizing your every moment. you stick in one finger, than two, fingering yourself hard now. you rotate between that and rubbing circles against your clit until you feel your build up coming up. it only takes a few moments before you feel your release about to happen.

"fucking cum for me you dirty bitch come on-" rafe says between grunts.

you gasp as your orgasm hits you, and so does his seconds later, cum coming out of his cock. the train has now passed, and you both realize this in a panic.

you pull your shorts up quickly and look around for a tissue. rafe has started to drive away and you wipe at his stomach. he's exhaling deeply now.

"your parents home tonight?" he asks.

you lean back smiling teasingly as you bite your lip.

"no..."

"good cause i'm coming inside."

[nightxcreature]

Do You Wanna Touch Me?

18+ ONLY

Summary: Part Two to Hotblooded, Reader can't help herself. She needs Dean anyway she can get him.

Warnings: Smut, Masturbation, Spice, Dirty Talk

Pairing: Dean Winchester x reader

A/N: wow. I did not expect that last one to get so much love and attention! Thank you all for being so kind! This is only my second ? time writing smut, so I hope it meets your expectations. I may keep this one going for at least one more part if you guys are interested. :) As always, comments, reblogs, and likes are always appreciated!

do not copy and share my work anywhere, you don't have permission.

I had been trying to fall asleep for hours now, and yet here I lay, half naked and clinging to a pillow for dear life. The ingredients in my drink from earlier were still running their course through my system and had left me panting at the mere thought of Dean. I’d rid myself of my T-shirt before Sam had even left my room, heat emanating from my body at a rapid pace. Sam had awkwardly averted his gaze before locking me in and reminding me that I should feel better after I rest. And yet even hours later, I feel like I’ll die if I don’t see Dean soon, speak to him, touch him…

                I groan as I shift to snag my phone from the nightstand, my hips rolling deliciously against the pillow below me. Feral thoughts of the hunter a few doors down rack my brain and I quickly pull up his contact before pressing the call button. His ringtone echoes down the hall from where I assume he is in the library before he answers.

                “Hey, Darlin’,” His voice alone causes my heart to race, a gasp leaving my lips, “Are you okay?”

                I shuffle to straddle the pillow below me as he speaks, the worry for me in his voice sending me into a frenzy, “No. I need you.” I practically cry into the speaker, “Need you so bad.”

                He sighs deeply and I can hear papers shuffling in the background, “You should be asleep, Sweetheart.”

                “Can’t sleep.” I mumble, rolling my hips against the pillow as he speaks, “Can only think about you. I don’t think I’ll think of anything else ever again.”

                “I’m trying to find something to help make it easier for you, I’m sorry.” He whispers, papers shuffling again, “I promise, it’s got to wear off eventually.”

                I let out a frustrated sound, my bottom lip jutting out as I whine, “I’m going to die in here! I’m going to die from needing you so bad and you wont even come in here to help me.”

                “I can’t come help you, Baby. It’s not you that’s asking for this.” He whispers and I can hear the frustration in his voice. One part of me is yelling for me to shut up, to hang up the phone and go to bed, try to somehow go to sleep and forget this ever happened…but the other part of me is ravenous, feral for the man on the other end of the line, and she is not going to lose this battle without a fight.

                “It’s your job to help people, Dean.” I cry out, a low blow I know, but the desperation coursing through my veins won’t let up, “Are you really going to leave me here like this?”

                “Don’t do that.” He growls out, “I told you before that we could talk about this when you’re not drunk off some god-level fuck juice. I want to talk about this. I do want to help you, but I won’t go in that room.”

                His take-no-shit tone goes straight to my core, which I know is the exact opposite of what he’s looking for, but I can’t stop imagining the firm look on his face as he scolds me. My hips roll quicker, a ravenous feeling overtaking my thoughts, “Please keep talking.” I whisper as my eyes close. I hear his breathing hitch, but he doesn’t speak for a moment, and I bite my lip nervously. Did I make him upset? I don’t think I can live with myself if he’s upset with me, “I’m sorry, I didn’t-.”

                “Don’t apologize.” He cuts me off quickly, “What are you doing?”

                Embarrassment should flood my system, but the idea of being caught getting off to his voice just spurs me on. I lift off the pillow to roll my shorts down my legs and then position myself over it again, “What do you think I’m doing?” I whisper seductively into the speaker. Hoping, practically praying, that he knows and he’ll throw whatever righteousness he has left out the window to come help me reach my goal. Sweat pours down my forehead and a heaviness sits in my hips, I rut against the pillow again to try and alleviate the feeling, a small moan leaving my lips as I do.

                The rough sound of his chair sliding across the library floor and his heavy boots thudding as he walks stills me. I sit with bated breath listening to the sound through the phone, waiting to hear him outside my door, “Where are you going?”

                I hear him chuckle quietly before his voice finally graces my ear again, “Where do you think I’m going?” I hear his boots come to a stop, but no sound comes from the hallway in front of my room.

                I groan in frustration, rutting against the pillow isn’t bringing the amount of relief that my body needs and the thought of Dean not being here to help me brings a sinking feeling in my stomach, “Where are you?”

                A door clicks closed on his end before he speaks, “What are you wearing?” He whispers gruffly, sending a shock to my core. I stay quiet for a moment before he whispers a bit softer, “You told me to keep talking. I won’t come in that room with you, but I am going to help you. Now, what are you wearing?”

                Though he can’t see me, I nod quickly and glance down to my torso. Thankful for the black lace panty set cladding my body so I don’t have to lie…I don’t think I could lie to him right now, “My underwear.” I whisper, holding my breath while I wait for him to speak again, “It’s black and lacy and I think you’d really like it.”

                He groans quietly and I can hear him lay down on what I assume is his own bed, “I’d like to see that.”

                “Come here and you can.” My breathing is heavy, anticipation building throughout me as I beg him, “Please.”

                “Please? You gonna beg me, Sweetheart?” He whispers lowly, the teasing tone spurs me on and I roll my hips against the pillow again, moaning louder as I do. I hear him suck in a breath before he continues, “Tell me what you want me to do to you.”

“Touch me. Please, touch me.” I cry out, “I need you all over me.”

                He chuckles darkly, “I can’t right now, can I? But, you can.”

 At his words my hips stutter, I glance down at the pillow as I slide back toward my headboard, “You want me to…”

“Touch yourself, Baby. Where do you want my hands?” His voice is low as he instructs me and I dust the hand not holding my phone across my chest as I listen to his breathing, “Where do you want me to touch you?”

 “Everywhere. My chest, my legs, my….” I gasp as my fingertips rub over my clothed nipples; eyes still closed, I imagine his fingers being the ones ghosting across my frame.

I can practically hear the smile on his face when he speaks again, his voice quiet and heavy, “Yeah, I wanna touch you there, too. I can’t stop thinking about the things I want to do to you.”

“What else do you want to do to me?” I whisper, my hands making their way down my body at a slow pace. I play with the hem of my panties, imagining it’s his thick fingers there teasing me as he speaks slowly into my ear.

“I wanna spend all day between your legs, Baby. Wanna fuck you so good, you forget your name.” He whispers huskily, his breathing is heavier and I almost cum at the thought that he must be touching himself, too. I slide my hand into my panties and moan breathlessly at the feeling of relief that rushes my system. I circle my fingers around my opening, brushing my fingertips over the bud at the apex every so often

                “You drive me crazy,” I groan, throwing my head back against the headboard as I picture his face between my thighs and all the filthy noises he would be making while he eats me, “I need more. You make me so wet.”

                He curses into the speaker and I can hear his breathing quicken, “Take off your clothes.” The harshness in his voice causes my eyes to snap open and rushes me to strip bare faster than I ever have. I remain quiet as I lay alone, listening to his rapid breathing on the other end of the line, “You want me to fuck you, Baby?”

                I nod dumbly before realizing that he still can’t see me and quickly recover, “Yes.”

                “I want you on your hands and knees. Arch your back and touch yourself.” I nod again, rolling quickly to my hands and knees to do as he asks, “I can’t see you, Sweetheart. Are you listening to me?”

                “Yes, Sir.” I mumble as I rush to put the phone on speaker and roll my hips against my fingers, “I’m listening.”

                “Good girl.” He replies, chuckling as I moan at the name, “You like that?”

                “Yes. I love that.” I pant, rubbing faster against the bundle nerves between my thighs. My eyes roll back at the feeling and I try my best to focus on Dean’s voice as he continues to talk me through this.

                “All those little sounds your making are getting me so hard, Darlin’. I can’t stop thinking about how good you must feel, about how good I’d make you feel.” His husky whispers sends my imagination into overdrive as I raise up to sit on my heels. A single finger sinks into me and I moan out at the relief, “I’ve been thinking about being inside you all day. Whatever you want me to do to you, I’d do it. I want to be so deep inside you.”

                My eyes roll at his words, my breathing becoming heavier and I barely hear him when he asks, “You close, Sweetheart? Want me to make you cum?” The teasing lilt in his voice urging my hands to move quicker, my fingers rushing in and out of my opening like lightening. My toes curl and my vision goes blurry as the orgasm crashes into me suddenly. His name leaves my lips like a prayer as I come down and I hear him grunt, whispering my name quietly against the phone speaker.

                My breathing is heavy when I finally speak, “Thank you.”

                He chuckles awkwardly and I can imagine the way a blush covers his cheeks when he replies, “No need to thank me, Darlin’. I think I got just as much out of this as you did.”

                I laugh a little in response, feeling the hint of a blush rising in my own cheeks. The relief I feel is insurmountable and I can feel exhaustion taking over my body in exchange for the rabid horniness from earlier. “Do you think this is over? The potion, I mean.” I ask, waiting for the intense feeling of want to return.

                “Guess we’ll have to wait and see.” He mumbles, “If you need me again though, just call.”

                “Will do.” I reply, “We do have a lot to talk about when I’m feeling better though…”

                He laughs nervously before trying to hide it as a cough before agreeing, “Yeah, uh, we do.”

                “I’ll see you after my nap, Dean.” I answer with a slight smile, “And then we can see just how quickly I forget my name.”

                He snorts and I can hear the smirk in his voice, “Set a timer, Sweetheart, it won’t take long.”

______________________________________________________________

Taglist: @lmhf1 @whimsyfinny @enigmalynne @envysarchive @aylacavebear @suckitands33 @oceean @mxtansy @k-slla

If you want to be added or removed from my taglist, message me! ❤️

[ln4smiamitrophy]

𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐋𝐄𝐅𝐓 𝐀 𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐌𝐀𝐍𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐊 ————— part 2

𐙚 summary; the one where lando norris reunites with his childhood love at the Monaco Grand Prix and is convinced he’s over her. after all, it’s been 7 years. he can’t still love her, right?

ʚɞ pairing; lando norris x influencer!reader

ᡣ𐭩 fc; jadeybird on ig

⭒ type; irl x smau

⟡ a/n; hey guys, firstly i just wanna apologise for not having uploaded in forever. life has been so hectic alongside just not being able to find the motivation to write (i’m not sure how good this is going to be) i don’t know how consistent i will be able to be in uploads but i want to do better for you all because you deserve it. i may remove some of my older stories/smau’s just to give myself a sort of blank slate to work off of but we’ll see. anyway, here’s the long awaited part 2, i hope you enjoy.

comment to be added to the tag list x

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Running into her ex-boyfriend was not on the agenda for Y/n when she accepted Ferrari’s invite to the Monaco Grand Prix. She knew it was a possibility, but she went out of her way to make sure it didn’t happen. And she thought she’d done enough, until she bumped into him after the race.

But she ignored the, quite frankly awkward, interaction and carried on with her day. Partying the night away and waking with the type of hangover that haves you questioning whether you should ever drink again.

“Y/n!” her best friend called out, the sound of her hotel room door slamming shut echoing through the room.

“Be quiet,” Y/n groans out, burying her face in the pillows scattered around her bed.

Her best friend laughs as she jumps onto her bed, shuffling to lay on her side, facing Y/n. “You’ll never guess what I saw this morning.”

Y/n rolls her eyes, expecting something rather insignificant, “What?”

“Lando Norris is in your likes,” the grin never leaving her best friends’ face. She knows of Y/n’s encounter with Lando yesterday and she knows Y/n still cares for the man, though she’s convinced there’s more to it.

Y/n’s eyebrows furrow at her words, forgetting for a moment that she had posted at all last night. But she had, half-asleep when her drunken self decided it would be a good idea.

Relief falls over her when she opens her instagram and sees no embarrassing photos, God knows it wouldn’t have been the first time she’s done that. But sure enough, her best friend was right.

Liked by landonorris.

Yesterday was the first time they’d spoken

“Do I ask him why?” Y/n asks though it’s more rhetorical as before her best friend can answer, she’s opening Lando’s contact and typing. She wasn’t expecting a reply, she was expecting his number to have changed over the 7 years they’ve been no contact. So when his typing bubble appears she’s caught so off guard she almost doesn’t answer.

———————————————————————

———————————————————————

— the next day —

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Why? Why did I agree to this?

Her mind racing as she walks up to the cafe. Luckily the cafe wasn’t far from her hotel, close enough to walk. She could still turn around. Turn around, walk away and never need to see him again. Make up some bullshit excuse as to why she couldn’t go.

But then she looked up and saw him. His frame seated on a secluded table for two outside the cafe, his eyes wandering, clearly searching for her. She couldn’t turn back now; she’d feel too bad.

As she approached she watched how his eyes softened just a little as she walked over. She stood there awkwardly for a moment before he spoke up. “I got you a vanilla latte… I know they’re your favourite. Or they used to be…”

He remembered.

She nodded as she took the seat across from him, a small “thank you” escaping her mouth. Her hands curled around the mug in front of her as they both sat there in silence. “So… how have you been?”

“Oh um… good…” Lando’s initial response was short, timid; as if he was testing the waters. But the longer they sat there, the longer their conversation developed. They passed the weird, awkward phase and they fell into a rhythm. A rhythm similar to seven years ago. Though neither would admit it if asked.

They were there for almost 2 hours when Lando checked the clock and realised he had to leave. Even if deep down leaving was the last thing he wanted to do. “I should… probably go.”

“Oh.” Her voice was calm, though for a split second there was a flicker of disappointment. “Okay. Well… it was nice seeing you again.”

“You too…” Lando stood there awkwardly for a moment, as if debating what to do. Should he say something else? Does he hug her or is that weird? Ultimately, he landed on just giving a soft smile, a nod and turning around and walking away.

She fell back into her chair, a sigh leaving her lips as the Mediterranean sun beat down on her face.

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f1gossip

liked by ln4life, f1girlies and others

f1gossip Lando Norris was spotted earlier today at a cafe in Monaco with a mystery woman!!! According to the fan who sent this in, they were sat together for a while before Lando got up and left, leaving her there. What do you make of this? Who is this mystery girl?

comments…

user1 OMG WHAT

ln4life lando norizz no more!?!

user2 leaving her there alone is crazy

f1girlies guys i think that’s y/n y/l/n. she was at the Monaco GP with ferrari

⤷ user3 OMFG IT IS

user4 is this another girl trying to leech off an f1 driver for fame?? bet she doesn’t even have the first clue about f1

⤷ user5 excuse me!?

⤷ user6 y/n has been an f1 and motorsport in general fan for years

user7 they would be such a power couple

⤷ f1girlies no literally

⤷ user8 praying they’re dating fr 🙏🏼

user9 hey so let’s maybe not comment on Lando’s life and let him do what he wants

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taglist; @danielshoe @amorrziinho @urfavwelshie @xylinasdiary @cleaswn @marknolee @shineforever19 @formulaal @manicpixiemom @lemon-lav

[simpjaes]

req by 👩‍❤️‍💋‍👩 anon: im also back on my enhypen with two girls bullshit and today’s thought, featuring frat jake, is playing something like truth or dare at a party (i know, i know 😭) and he dares you to make out with jay’s girl .. i don’t mean to make him look like a weirdo but i have the feeling he’d like to watch (like… i think he’d be into lesbian porn….) 🤕

wc: 1k

tags: perv frat jake (definitely likes the idea of watching two women, it's fiction so he's allowed to be weird here on simpjaes), cuck-ish jay, drunk truth or dare, detailed descriptions of making out with a hot nameless girl, implied further sexual gameplay.

"Truth or dare?" Jake is practically crawling in his skin at this point, having hyped himself up for the past ten minutes in game waiting for the questions and dares to become just flirty enough that he doesn't look like the weird one.

After all, it's a fucking frat party. No one is playing truth or dare without the idea of someone either getting naked or fucking at some point by the end of it. At least when all sexes are involved anyway.

And he's looking at you when he asks. You smile mischievously, the alcohol in your system buzzing to the point you feel warm, confident, social, and fucking giddy at playing this game with him.

It's the first time you've been personally invited to one of these infamous frat parties too. Always hearing about the crazy nights and insane antics people get up to in this very house. You weren't exactly expecting to be in what you presume to be Jake's room with one of the other frat guys and his girlfriend either.

Still, in your drunken state, you feel flirty and excited to finally be invited. After weeks of small talk with Jake, you were starting to think he was just being nice. Until you were invited anyway. Until you noticed him sharing consistent side-eyes with his frat brother.

"Dare." You announce boldly, tipping back your cup and finishing off the drink before grabbing at Jakes. He happily lends you his cup while simultaneously stealing Jay's instead.

"Dick." Jay scoffs, tapping his girl's leg and pushing her from his lap (previous dare). "Gonna grab a few bottles before the game gets good," Jay continues, looking Jake square in the eye with a smirk. "Any requests?"

You, Jake, and Jay's girlfriend all offer up a "anything strong" before Jay sees himself out. Only for a moment, you suspect.

And when the door is closed and Jake is sitting, staring at two pretty drunk girls, all he can do is beam that charming ass smile at you before chuckling.

Jay would definitely be annoyed that he's not gonna wait for him to get back, but whatever. "Dare, you say?" Jake says in a half-hearted voice of concern. "You sure?"

You nod happily, sipping the last of the stolen drink and looking to your new friend, Jay's girl.

"Make out." Jake drops the words on you like it's nothing at all to be shocked at. And in a way, it's really not.

Again, frat party, drinks, whatever.

"With who?" You ask, silently and excitedly preparing yourself for him to present himself to you by tapping his lap or something much like Jay did previously for his girl.

But, well, you're not Jake's girl. As much as you'd very much like to be the arm candy of the most charming frat boy you've ever met. And he's not presenting himself.

You watch as his eyes shift from you to her. Back and force twice before that charming smile turns into a bottom-lip tugged between his teach.

"With each other. Make out." You look to her with a smile, entirely willing to put on a show considering she's very pretty. If she's down, so are you. And not entirely for the pleasure of Jake, or anyone else for that matter. Her lips are pretty, and her voice is tender. Quite cute when you watch her, drunk out of her mind but still entirely sweet like candy. She lends you a nod, cheeks flushing but licking her lips all the while as if to gloss them up for you. And so, you do, crawling across the floor of Jake's bedroom just to brace your hands on her shoulders and lean in to kiss her square on the lips. Her eyes beam up at you when you pull back with a cheeky smile, only to dip back in once more, twice more, and then you slide your hands to her jaw on either side of her face and really get in there.

Licking into her mouth, feeling her hands grip your waist and wildly run up and down up until she's blatantly grabbing your ass as she kisses you back with those sweet-alcohol tasting kisses.

"Holy shit." Jay's voice echoes through your ringing ears as you kiss his girlfriend, but you don't stop. Especially when she chuckles into the kiss and only pulls you closer, into her lap by the ass as she skews her head to kiss deeper.

"Check that shit out." Jake says, breath caught in his throat because truly, no matter how many times he sees two girls do this kind of thing in front of him, he can't fucking help himself. "Fuck yeah."

It's so hot for him to see two pretty girls, all breathless with their wet lips and pussies sitting so close together. Damn. Who care's if it's Jay's girlfriend? By the looks of it, Jay seems entirely into it too. And for a minute, you almost forgot that this was a dare. So, you pull back with a gentle smile at her. Landing one more kiss to her nose before scooting back and off of her lap. She looks at you through dark eyes after the act. As if the two of you are no longer just acquaintances, and you choose to take note of that for later. Surely you'll be seeing her again. Only after you've sat back and grabbed a new drink did you take note of the two men in the room. Jay appears to be a bit more touchy with his girlfriend now, you watch him pinch and pull at her with a drunken smile and little hidden whispers before you turn your attention to Jake.

God, you've heard of how fun the guy is. But fucking hell he's shameless. You see the bulge in his pants and the way he spreads his legs out wide with that smile on his face. Only briefly do you note the way he lays his hand across his lap, gently rubbing his knuckles along the length of his hidden cock before he speaks with a new voice.

"Come, sit." He croaks, voice deeper and almost velvety as he uses that same hand to tap his lap. "It's your turn babe, make it good." He follows up after you do exactly as he says, right against your ear, breath fanning your neck. And you can feel the way he intentionally twitches under your ass as a form of encouragement. And of course, you do make the next round even better than the last.

[ephemeraltapes]

burning candle - prologue

chapter: 0/?

pairings: reader x stiles, lydia x stiles, ?

word count: 754

synopsis: a glimpse into the year before, when your biggest concern was stiles finding out about your crush on him.

You tap your pencil against your lip while you listen to your English teacher drone on about the book you were supposed to read for class. You sighed, looking at the clock wondering if this will ever be over.

12:30PM. Only half an hour has passed and it made you groan internally. You glance over at Lydia to see if she was thinking the same thing. When you make eye contact with her it seems you’re both thinking the same thing. You crack a smile at her which she mirrors. She looks down at a paper in her notebook, quickly writing something down before passing it to you.

You open the folded paper. “I haven’t heard a single word she’s said this whole time.” You try to hold back a laugh while writing back a reply before passing it to her. She reads your handwriting and tries to hold back her laughter but she can’t. The teacher stops what she’s saying and turns to Lydia. “Is there anything you want to share with us Ms. Martin?” Lydia raises and eyebrow, “Don’t let my giggling stop you from your boring lecture.” The teacher sighs before turning to her desk and handing both you and Lydia a detention slip. You groan and put your head in your hands.

“Alright, let’s continue.”

As the bell rings signaling the end of your class, you feel a tap on your shoulder as you’re putting your books away in your bag. You turn, expecting to see Lydia behind you, only to come face to face with the boy you’ve been crushing on for ages. Stiles Stilinski.

The brown-eyed boy is saying something to you but you’re finding it hard to listen. You watch the way his lashes flutter against his cheek every time he blinks. He’s so handsome. You’re brought out of your trance as you hear him call your name twice in a row. “Are you even listening to me?”

You blink out of your thoughts, “Can you repeat it for me, maybe?” He shakes his head and does so anyways. “Listen to me,” He puts his hands on your shoulders, “you need to help me with the Lydia situation.” Your chest aches hearing those words come out of his mouth. Not this again. “Last idea didn’t go well?” You ask out of politeness, because you already knew the answer.

“Haha. Very funny.” The sarcastic tone is heavy in his words. “I don’t know why your advice doesn’t work. I mean- you guys have best friends for years and you know her better than anyone!” You frown, although it upsets you that his affection is directed towards your best friend you still sympathize with his situation. I mean, who could understand him better than you? You are literally in his exact situation. Although, you think you might somehow be worst off even though Stiles actually knows your name.

“I’m sorry to hear that Stiles. I think she’s really into Jackson right now. Not a day goes by where that man’s name doesn’t come out of her mouth at some point.” You pat his shoulder to comfort him. “There’s no guy out there better than you...” You inhale before continuing, “I don’t know... how she doesn’t see what’s right in front of her.” Your words make him smile, even if it’s just a little bit. “It must be tiring to hear me mope about Lydia all the time. I know I’ve already tired out Scott.” He tries to laugh off his words but you can tell that he’s actually a bit upset from the situation. “It’s normal to want to talk about your crush, especially if you’ve liked them for a long time.”

Stiles laughs at your words. “Then how come you never talk about your crush?” Your eyes widen but you try to shake off his pointed statement. “Well that’s because I obviously don’t have one.” Stiles narrows his eyes at you, you feel yourself start to sweat almost. Why does this feel like it’s going to turn into an interrogation?

“Fine. I’ll let it go.” You let out the breath you didn’t even know you were holding in. You never realized the prospect of Stiles finding out about your one-sided affection for him would have such an effect on you. You felt like you couldn’t breathe. “But you’ll tell me someday, right? Maybe when you finally go on a date with him?” You let out what could be described as the most unconvincing laugh of all time. “Totally.”

[ohsohoney]

When it comes to love you're just as blinded.

Part One

Eminem x Musician

Summary: It starts with a drunk embarrassing video, it spirals into something a whole lot more.

Note: Hey! First time writing for Em so I figured I'd use a side account and see how it went? Honestly this is a whole series in my mind so might add onto this first part soon! An oc character but can be read as a reader insert if you prefer:)

Set in 2014, just after the release of LP 2

Warnings: Lots of swearing, dark humour

Masterlist

I was mortified.

More so than I’d probably ever been, in truth. All because of a stupid video that had been taken a couple of years back when I’d had one drink too many on a holiday I’d always dreamt of.

To be fair though, the majority of the blame lied heavily on my younger sister’s shoulders, who’d found the stupid thing whilst reminiscing through old memories and thought it would be hilarious to post online. Forgetting about the millions of fans who would soon see it– and not just mine, it would seem.

No, because that just wasn’t how the internet worked, was it? And when a newly nominated artist, who had only been in the game for a couple years, was filmed rapping an old noughties classic instead of singing like expected, it was basically bound to go viral. Didn’t help that I was a Londoner through and through and had the accent to prove it, making the whole video that much harder to watch. In truth, I continued to cringe each time I was reminded of it, which was practically anytime I opened up social media or witnessed the guilty expression that continued to mar my sister’s face.

“Stop doing that.” I huffed at her later on when the worst of it still continued to storm on, almost whining actually as I looked away from my phone screen and down at the food I wasn’t really eating, just picking at. I was supposed to be mad, infuriated even, but it was proving to be a fucking chore when she kept on looking at me like that.

“Doing what?” Lottie retorted, not even attempting to wipe the culpable look from off of her face. She was currently residing back at mum’s now, seeing as how she had school and I’d only just landed back home, but I’d give it a day before she was back here again. My flight over had been strenuous, it always was when flying to and from Cali, but still I made time for her– even after the most recent stunt she had gone and pulled.

“Don’t do that either.” 

I’d meant to sound scolding but the soft laugh that escaped me truly was accidental. I couldn’t quite help it, I knew that being mad at her wouldn’t solve anything now and that she hadn’t really meant any harm by posting the video. That was just the type of person she was, she acted before she thought things through and didn’t ever think much for the consequences. Then again, she was still only fourteen and her putting the drunken moment on her Instagram story had just been one of those sibling type moments, the kind where you’d rip the piss out of one another simply because you could.

“I mean it, Lotts.” I sighed around the words, eyes flitting back to the screen and the way she was chewing on her lower lip. “It’s being sorted and, I don't know, I guess it’ll die down sooner or later. Mila reckons so anyway. We’ll give it a day or two, hey?”

A day or two did pass. And no such thing happened.

I’d been cooped up at home ever since I’d touched down at Heathrow, having jumped in the first cab available and fallen asleep the second I’d gotten in through the door. I’d been working out in LA for a couple weeks with a few other writers, just messing about with new sounds and ideas for the next album I eventually wanted to release. So I hadn’t been witness to the media catastrophe Lottie had created until later the next afternoon when Mila, my manager, had all but mowed down my front door, having called my phone three dozen times and gotten a guy she was currently seeing in the city to come buzz my intercom. It had been a wake up call and a half to say the least.

Still, she had assumed it would all die down fairly quickly, went as far to say that it could do wonders for my career– even with me being visibly tipsy– after having had the absolute gall to say that I hadn’t sounded half as bad as I thought I did. I’d cackled hysterically into the phone at that, then had somewhat of a meltdown, in utter disbelief over the apparent reaction she claimed the video had gone and garnered. Because I was absolutely not looking. Knew that if I did there would be too large a chance that I’d check myself into the nearest psychiatric unit. 

But as I said, a couple of days had passed and typically something like this would have eventually blown over when the next big story hit the headlines. White girl can spit a verse, who cared? Only then the VMA’s had happened and shit hit the fucking fan.

I hadn’t attended, shit like that had always irked me. I could perform in front of a crowd of thousands and step off feeling as high as a kite, but stick me on a carpet and force me to interact with cameras, questions, and people? That was where I drew the line.

At the start, I had tried. I’d been new on the scene and people had reasoned that I would just end up being another one hit wonder, so the label had figured it best if I got myself out there, if only to interact with other artists and producers in similar circles.

It had gone down a treat– like a cake being knocked over at the wedding of the year. Maybe even worse. I didn’t like to linger too long on it.

But I’d tried again and again afterwards, although it had only proven to worsen my mood each time and forced me to retreat, avoiding my team and the responsibilities I had lined up for a short while after. It was only following a particularly uncomfortable night that Mila had called it quits and had a contract drawn up stating that I only had to attend a certain amount of events a year. It had been at that moment that I’d realised just how fucked I would have been in this industry without her.

Even so, life still continued on without me and the VMA’s were just another show I would be mostly avoiding, only making a statement at the end of the night online for the nominations I’d been gifted.

It was around midnight when I heard the scream.

Lottie was staying with me, typical for whenever I was back in London for a few weeks at a time, and so I’d felt my heart literally drop to my feet at the very sound of her screech and legged it across the entirety of the house. At first, I’d thought she’d slipped and fallen, maybe cracked her head open on a counter. And then the thought of an intruder had crossed my mind whilst I’d gone skidding over the landing. So anyone could understand why I was so worked up when I finally threw open her bedroom door only to find her simply sat there on her phone, hand covering her mouth.

“What the hell is your problem? It’s just gone twelve, Lottie! I thought something had happened!” I rebuked her, chest heaving as I dropped the heavy bookend I’d managed to pick up somewhere on my way over down onto her desk. “Shit.”

Her eyes were wider than I’d ever seen them though when I finally did get around to catching my breath and chanced another glance back at her.

“I was literally just about to fall asleep.” Which really meant that I’d been getting into bed to scroll through my phone or read a book when I’d heard her shout. “Then you screamed as though Freddy Krueger was stood at your window.”

“Elia.” 

I blinked, Lottie rarely did that, used my entire name and not the usual shortened version or whatever other epithet that came to mind– and truly, there was a large variety, the shit I’d heard this kid come out with was insane. But I shook my head at the thought and quirked a brow at her. “What? Did someone die?”

“No,” She answered me, dropping her hand away from her face even though her jaw was still gaping, “But I just might.”

Rolling my eyes at the theatrics, I exhaled and walked over to slump on the end of her bed, figuring that something had happened between her and one of her friends, or maybe some lad she might’ve been speaking to. “And it deserved a scream like that? Honestly Lotts, just be thankful this place doesn’t have any neighbours listening in through the walls.” I told her, thinking back to my own adolescent years and the woman in the flat beside ours, “We’d have someone knocking at the door in under a half hour.”

It was her turn to roll her eyes then as she scoffed at me– like I was the one being dramatic here– before she then shook her head and shuffled hurriedly over the mattress to sit closer. “No Lia, just listen, look.”

Confused, I sighed and tilted my head when Lottie moved to shove her mobile in my face. I squinted at the sudden contrast, showing off my age and the horrific tragedy that was my eyesight, and tried to make sense of whatever it was that she was so hellbent on showing me. 

From what I could first make out, it was just a Twitter thread, but then Lotts then clicked on the main video at the top. I waited as the clip buffered for a second, then a familiar face panned into focus and I felt my brow furrow. I peered over at Lottie for a split second before her eyes were widening in retort and she gestured her chin back towards the screen.

I narrowed my own eyes in turn, but watched on.

It had to be a coincidence, I reasoned. That of all people it was him that Lottie was currently showing me.

“Well, aren’t we in for a show tonight! Eminem is in the house, people!” An interviewer started, she was a tall, leggy blonde who held a too big microphone too close to her chin. “How are you feeling?”

I shouldn’t have been as surprised as I was to see him on the VMA’s carpet, not after the comeback he’d made late last year with LP 2, but I was, eyes caught on the bleached buzz cut he’d since reverted back to for the album’s release. Fuck, I’d be so pissed if it came out that he was performing tonight and I’d gone ahead and missed it.

Lottie thumped my shoulder, hard, realising fairly quickly that I hadn’t really been listening, and so I scowled in retort but gritted my teeth to keep from thumping her right back. She might’ve been my sister, but I had well over a decade on the kid and was marginally her guardian, just not in writing.

The rapper had seemingly just finished commenting on a question the tall blonde had asked him and so I forced myself to pay closer attention, brain whirling as I wondered what could have possibly been so important that it had Lottie screaming bloody murder in the middle of the night.

“I feel that!” The woman practically beamed at the rapper, head nodding along to whatever he’d just said, “But it’s good to hear that you’re enjoying being back. In truth, I wasn’t sure I’d catch you here tonight, there’s been a lot of buzz surrounding you at the moment and not just because of the album!”

My heart stuttered in my chest. Actually, I was pretty sure it had gone and fallen out of my arse, especially when the interviewer continued to press on the topic and it appeared as though the man in question understood exactly what she was getting at. His stoic facade cracked just a tad and– there! A smirk. An ever so slight crook of his mouth. I shot a startled glance over at Lottie but her gaze was fixated on the screen.

“I mean, have you seen it?” The interviewer prompted whilst he simply stood there, fisted hands clasped before him. No sign of the split second curve he’d just had on his lips. “The whole world’s been wondering about your thoughts on the singer!”

And there it was.

“I can’t,” I started to say, turning away from the phone just as a rush of nausea flooded through me, but Lottie held strong, hand coming up to catch my shoulder so that she could position her phone back in my eyeline. “Lottie–” I tried. Please.

“Just listen.” She persisted, face so serious.

Immediately I wanted to rescind my earlier statement. This was now my most mortifying moment. In fact, I wanted to hide in the nearest cupboard and never come out again. How the fuck was I going to show my face in public, not to mention at the next event, after this?

I swallowed thickly, entirely unprepared to hear a word he had to say about me. I mean, who would be? This man was leagues above a majority of the industry, me included. Never had I ever even thought that he could hear my name in passing, let alone listen to one of my songs playing in some shop he was coincidentally in or a random radio station. But here he now was, rolling his lips as he pondered over a question which concerned that stupid fucking video. 

“I hate you.” I whispered at Lottie, mostly in hopes to cover up whatever he was about to say, but also because I was embarrassed beyond belief. And this was all her fault.

In the time spent since the drunken video had first gone up and now, I had yet to even think about him ever seeing it. Because the idea was that far fetched. But this was me, so of course he had.

“I’ve heard it.” Marshall confirmed, his head dipped in a barely there nod. My throat cinched. I wondered briefly how quickly I’d be able to tie myself a noose.

“And?” The woman prodded and internally I cursed her future bloodline, hoping that she'd somehow spawn the next antichrist or that her grandchild would become a shit-headed politician.

The man in question merely hummed, hollowing out his cheeks. “I was surprised, I have to admit. But she’s good, even when wasted.”

“I wasn’t fucking wasted!” 

I hadn't even realised I’d spoken out loud until Lottie snorted on a chuckle. I turned towards her, brows raised high, “What? I wasn’t. You were there!”

I rolled my eyes when she didn’t deign me with some sort of assent but my head snapped back over to where she still gripped the phone when I heard him speak again, his voice echoing throughout the quiet bedroom.

“Then again, her shit goes hard. So it shouldn’t be too much of a surprise.”

That heart of mine that I kept on talking about? Yeah, I had zero clue as to what the fuck was going on with it now, only that my chest was wound as tight as it possibly could be and my eyes stung as I withheld the urge to even blink.

“You’re a fan?” The woman asked him, appearing genuinely surprised by the notion, even though it sounded more like a declaration rather than the question it was.

Marshall hummed, sparing a brief glance over his shoulder when a group shuffled on past them, disrupting the interview. It didn’t deter the woman though and I couldn’t blame her, no matter how much it pained me.

“So, could this mean we’ll be seeing a new featured artist on whatever you put out next?”

I made some sort of inhuman sound at that, but barely moved a muscle. And then I all but shutdown when the rapper's wide eyes flickered over to peer straight into the camera’s lens, “I mean, if she’s down.”

The next scream that was emitted once again came from Lottie, but I couldn’t think to scold her for it, not when I was hardly even functioning and wanted to implode myself. 

The girl toppled over onto me, shaking my shoulders whilst she squealed unabashedly. “If. She’s. Down!” She repeated, squealing with excitement, “El, this is insane! How are you not screaming too?”

The air I forced from my lungs came out in a breathless chuckle as I clung to the forearm that was still wrapped around my collar. In truth, I didn’t know how the hell I was supposed to react. 

“Figure you’ve screamed enough for the both of us.” I replied faintly, not really thinking but somehow managing to carry on, mostly out of sheer shock. I glanced her way, “I feel a bit sick.”

Lottie just shook me harder and when we eventually went falling down onto the duvet in a mess of limbs I wondered what I was going to do with the knowledge that I’d just been given. God. He knew who I was. The shock of it was almost like reliving my first time on stage all over again.

That night I ended up listening to Lottie rant on and on for a good while after whilst she scrolled through her Twitter feed and the rest of the internet. Mila eventually intervened, calling after having seen it too, and was as smug as ever. “Told you.” She’d said the second I’d hit the answer button and I hadn’t had the heart to play it off or act as though I hadn’t seen it either. 

After the interview eventually finished trending and stopped being posted here, there, and everywhere, I was left with a flow of new followers but also a nightmare of opinions spouting from every corner of the planet on any comment section I had to offer. I forced myself to come off most apps I had downloaded after that and resorted to gaining my daily entertainment, and any real news, from Lottie. Which seemed sad, in retrospect, but honestly? It was more than a little self-serving and I’d even managed to get a shit load of stuff done.

I worked on a couple new songs, sticking to what I did best, but my mind did end up drifting away every so often, back to a conversation I’d had with Mila and Travis at the label a couple days after the media storm had passed. It seemed they all wanted me to try implementing a few new concepts into the music I was currently working on before we started to draw up ideas for the next album. Travis reasoned that even attempting to add a couple freestyles into the motions whilst I went about writing would do me wonders later on. 

I just felt uncomfortable with it all, really. I’d never been a rapper. I mean, I loved it. It was mainly what I’d been brought up on, having grown up in an area where every kid on the estate was either attempting to become the next big thing or just blaring the biggest hits out of their car stereos. But that was just it. I listened and sang along, had even built up an extensive collection which I was immensely proud of, but the label were now aiming for this next album to make it onto a Grammy nominations list. It was all they had been fretting over since I’d somehow managed to chart the last one– although a single number one and an almost throw away making it to number seven didn’t make me all that hopeful. 

Even so, it forced me to wonder how it would all work if I started to switch things up now. I could appreciate all genres but I didn’t wanna become the next hopper just to appease the people yessing me and then fall off.

The entire concept had me confused and so I had taken to keeping my head down for a while longer.

Lottie had headed back to mum’s earlier that morning, seeing as I was due to make an appearance in Paris for Fashion Week, attending the Vogue show alongside Vivienne Westwood. An utter dream, yes, but also still an incredibly daunting reality. Even so, it was something I couldn’t quite worm my way out of even if I had wanted to– see, with that contract there still came clauses.

I’d been prepping for my upcoming early morning flight most of the day, showering later on than anticipated just so that I could pack my case and eat before I eventually climbed into bed. Hoping to somehow get a couple hours kip.

I’d thrown on a robe and kept the speakers blaring once I’d eventually jumped out from under the spray, wet hair curling at the ends as I worked on throwing something quick together in my kitchen.

It wasn't long before I went and took the bowl I’d just made out into the living room with me, simply so that I could curl up on the settee and wrap up the few emails I’d been working on earlier. I was just nodding along and humming to the next song that played through the overhead speakers when my phone started to buzz against my ankle, shooting a funny feeling up through the bone. I was quick to pick it up, wrinkling my nose at the feel and not paying much mind to the caller, figuring it had to be either Mila or Lottie.

“Hello?”

There was a short pause as I shifted the phone against my ear before a voice eventually sounded, “This Elia?”

Frowning, I casted a quick glance at the phone’s screen to find a number with an unfamiliar area code staring back at me. I let my gaze stray on over towards a clock I had hanging on the far wall only to find that it had just gone eight. 

I fumbled for a moment, “Um. It is, can I ask who’s calling?”

A low cough rumbled through the line before the same voice spoke again, I shuffled to set my laptop off to the side on the sofa, brow furrowed. “It’s Em– Marshall.”

Suddenly my head felt so very empty and my mouth was working around words that couldn't seem to find their way out. Em. The Em?? Fucking, Em?

I’d obviously been quiet a beat too long, drowning in the sudden panic that had shrouded me, because he spoke up again, “That Nas playin’?”

I shot a startled glance over my shoulder to where the fancy sound system was installed, the biggest reason I’d gone and purchased the home, in truth, and was immediately reminded of the music I had piercing through the air. Clumsily, I rolled off of the corner of the settee so that I could stumble over to turn the thing off, doing exactly that before I was forced to blink at the sudden silence that greeted me.

I winced and was quick to turn the music back on, keeping it low. All the while I still held my phone close to my chest.

“Uh, yeah. Hi!” I blundered helplessly after a moment, carding a hand through my damp hair as I stared at the empty wall before me stupidly. I wasn’t sure what to say, let alone do. I could sort of wrap my head around the interview, his brief mention of me. But a fucking phone call? It was on another level.

He chuckled though, enough so that I felt myself flush bashfully at my obvious awkwardness and forced my body to move back towards the sofa, if only so that I didn’t have to stand on shaky legs anymore. 

“Hi.” He mimicked, voice low albeit a tad amused.

I smiled. Unable to do anything but, in all honesty, as I lowered myself down onto the cushions, vaguely aware that I should probably be saying something else now that he’d gone and replied, but was simply more than a little caught off guard by everything. 

“Sorry, I– Well, I didn’t expect your call. Or anyones really.” I murmured, trying my best to shake off the nerves that were apparently wreaking havoc on my brain to mouth filter. “I just jumped out of the shower, had yet to turn off the stereo. Sorry.” How many times had I just apologised? I wanted to scream.

“You’re good.” He assured me, voice unlike what I probably would have expected and so I blinked once more at the sound of it, reminded that it was actually him I was talking to. But all that was fluttering through my head was ‘what the fuck are you doing calling me?’ “Nice choice, I gotta say. This an alright time for you to talk? I don’t wanna disturb you much.”

My eyes widened at both the compliment in song choice and well, him. Then withheld another sudden urge to scream, the hand not holding my phone clenching into a tight fist against my chest. “No, no, of course not. I mean, you’re fine! Not disturbing me at all.”

His next reply sounded more than just a little mirthful, “Sure ‘bout that?”

I willed myself to relax and took an inconspicuous breath as I pulled my legs back up under me. “I’m sure.” I told him, laughing lightly at myself for being so socially inept– or maybe it was just this entire scenario I’d been shoved into. “How’d you even get my number anyway?” 

I hadn’t meant for it to sound so forceful or abrupt, but it had been yet another question my sluggish brain hadn’t been able to find an answer to. 

“Mila?” He answered me, and I blinked stupidly at the name. “We had a mutual contact, figured I’d chance askin’ her instead of gettin’ lost in your DM’s. That cool? She said she’d let you know.”

The conniving cow, I thought to myself, though I wouldn’t have put it past her to have reasoned with herself that I would’ve probably freaked out if she had told me beforehand, before then having proceeded to just let my phone ring out whilst I stared pitifully at it. She knew me all too well. 

“She did not.” I replied through a baited breath, “But no, yeah. You’re alright, just caught me off guard is all. You’re probably the last person I expected to call, if I’m being honest here..”

When I heard him laugh once more I grinned, all too pleased with myself. It was a low gruff sound, not deep enough to be sarcastic or ingenuine, but rather warm. It surprised me.

“Oh yeah? Even after everything that’s gone down lately?”

My eyes slipped closed at the instantaneous reminder and I winced. The video. Honestly, in the whirlwind that wasn’t just my life at the moment, but this phone call too, I could have almost forgotten about it.

“I still can’t believe you saw that.”

Marshall let go of another amused huff that I figured to be a chuckle, breathing in deep enough that he forced me to wait on his next words. “I don’t lie. I meant what I said. But tell me, how many drinks d’you have in you?”

I curled my tongue against the back of my teeth in hopes to keep from grinning too hard, feeling a slight sting at the tip. “I was tipsy.” I argued pointlessly, knowing it would be a tireless venture, “I’d only had a couple.”

He hummed, seemingly not convinced.

“It was years ago, too!” I felt the need to tack on, the rosy hue the alcohol had given my cheeks sprung to mind and made me wonder. My face wrinkled as I dragged a helpless hand across it. “Who even sent it to you?”

“A couple people, actually.” Marshall ended up revealing and his words sounded playful enough that I could almost picture the curl of his mouth. “My daughter was one.”

Without thinking my hand flew up towards my mouth and I shook my head as I let it rest against my palm. “You’re not being serious.”

“Dre too.”

I let go of a hissed curse and crumpled a little bit in my seat before laughing stupidly at myself. If I couldn’t talk myself out of this then I supposed I would just have to get over it. I hoped thinking sensibly would allow me to actually follow through on that sentiment, but I very much doubted it.

Marshall laughed again, slow and easy almost as though he’d shared it with me a hundred times before. “I wasn’t kiddin’ neither. ’s why I called.”

Pulling my head from out of my hands, I wet my lower lip, mind promptly flashing back to the clip Lottie had shown me. “What’s that meant to mean?” I asked him, treading cautiously. 

“Listen.” He began, pausing only briefly to inhale before he then added, “I’m workin’ on another album–”

“No.” I interrupted, eyes suddenly wide and alert, “Already?”

A tittered snort followed the disruption but my mind was already reeling. 

“You’re not fucking with me?”

In all honesty I had prepared myself to wait a couple more years for another drop, hoping for him to feature or for someone to send for him if only so that he’d make a track in reply. I’d been obsessed with his recent work, even going as far as to add it onto the tour bus playlist late last year. It had actually been played so much the roadies and the band had threatened to rip the system out. But a new album? Fuck. I hadn’t expected it.

“Who else knows?”

There was a slight click on the other side of the line. Or scuffle. “As of right now? Like six people.”

I swallowed down the understanding that then hit me, but my stomach lurched at the very thought of it. “And I’m one?” I chuckled, holding back the hysterical laughter I felt bubble as my hand fell over my heart, “Wow, I feel honoured, Mathers.” It was teasing, the rib I meant, though my eyes still widened when I realised what I’d gone and said, not wanting him to take it the wrong way. 

I needn’t have worried. 

“As you fuckin’ should be.”

I gave a real laugh at that, almost a full-belly type shit. But could you really blame me? 

I was still smiling as I went to retort, humming with it, “God, you really just went and sprung that shit on me.”

“Hold you to keepin’ it on the low for now.” Marshall said, reminding me how paranoid the press and Hollywood had made him out to be in the past. I wondered how much truth there was in the sentiment. I mean, the man was almost a recluse– not that I could blame him, I was pulled from the same sort of cloth there– but to put a secret like that in my hands? It had to take some amount of faith.

I nodded seriously, even though he couldn’t see the gesture. Seemed he could hear the sincerity in my answer though, “‘Course.” I told him and then chewed on my lower lip for a second before a soft snicker escaped me. “That the only reason you called though? I mean, as honoured as I am to be one of the infamous six, I’m surprised you just phoned to let me in on the know. Have I just been roped into some sort of celeb elitist group? Weird initiation.”

His huffed laugh was breathy and made my mouth twitch that little bit more. 

“Nah. You always this weird though?” Marshall wondered and I bared my teeth in a light grimace, figuring I’d gone too far with that one. Or maybe.. I'd just hit the mark? I snorted lightly at the thought.

“It was an honest question! I’ve heard horror stories.” And wasn’t that the truth, events and parties weren’t all about the awards and just getting trollied. Some of those fuckers were as strange as people could come.

The man clucked his tongue, although I could hear the slight smile in his sarky response. “Uhuh. Sorry to disappoint but nah, initiation starts in the belly of LA. Gotta dissect a virgin and drink Ciroc out of their intestines. Funnel that shit down.”

The snort I gave in turn was ugly and loud enough that it forced a hand to fly up and cover my mouth, but it didn’t appear to bother the rapper none, who chuckled before clearing his throat.

“Change this shit to Facetime.” He said not a second after, swiftly cutting short my absurd amusement. “Then we can talk about the album.”

I fumbled for a moment. “I look a mess.”

“Good thing this ain’t a fuckin’ fashion show then.” He only pressed, “You think I give a shit what you look like right now?”

That struck an odd chord in me for some reason, but I didn’t want to linger much on the feeling. “No. But I do, dickhead. It’s half eight at night, I have sudocrem on my face and I look like a dog off of Lady and the Tramp.”

I was so flustered by the very thought of acquiescing to the man’s demand that I didn’t even think much of the name I’d gone and called him. 

“Again, do I give a shit? And what did you just call me?”

I paused, reeling back to whatever it was I’d just spouted at him. Upon rehashing my words I felt my tongue press between my lips to keep from laughing loudly, if Mila or Lottie had been there I’d already be strung up by a pair of metaphorical balls. 

“You heard me fine.” I brushed it off, if he wanted to call me out of the blue and act all chummy then chummy was what he’d get.

Besides it wasn’t like I’d meant the term maliciously, I used that type of endearment with everybody. Something my manager had tried and failed to force out of me time and time again.

“But back to this whole ‘seeing my mug thing’. Not happening, mate. Why couldn’t you have called like, six hours ago? I looked like an actual person then.”

“Dickhead.” He muttered beneath his breath, barely even loud enough for me to have heard him and I could only guess that he was shaking his head with it, hopefully somewhat amused. “You ain’t an actual person then?” He said in reply, forgoing the name calling for now, “Figures, you give off lizard vibes.”

“Fuck you!” My laugh was sudden, jaw having dropped a tad at the quip. “Lizard vibes, the fuck are you then? And yes, an actual person! You can’t just call people, drop a bomb, and then demand things!”

“Shit typically works.” He quipped all too quickly that it had me shaking my head around another quiet smile of my own. “Just entertain me though, for a moment.”

My head fell back against the arm of the sofa, eyes casted towards the high ceiling which loomed above. I couldn’t quite believe I was actually considering it.

He didn’t even have to goad me before I relented. I huffed, blowing a strand of hair from out of my face as I sat back up, “Fine. Just gimme a sec.” 

He hummed.

Elbowing my way off the settee I skidded over to the closest mirror, dragged a hand through my mostly dried hair and made sure that I didn’t have racoon eyes from any lingering mascara I’d had on before my shower. The patches of sudocrem would have to stay though, I deemed, seeing as he already knew about those. 

I gave up on the preening and sighed as I fell back onto the sofa, thankful for the dim lights the living room offered in that moment. It was just as I was switching the call though that a thought hit me, making me question if the reason he’d asked me to start the Facetime was due to him wanting to give me the option to turn it down or simply because he had no idea how to do it himself. “Still there, old man?”

A scoff echoed into the room before my phone screen stuttered and I was left staring at the sharp lines of his face. It wasn’t like I hadn’t actually believed it was him I was talking to, but seeing the man was another thing altogether. He was a real person and that idea alone had me reeling. 

I wrinkled my nose almost shyly around a smile when that sharp gaze of his slid away from something behind the camera to meet mine. He tilted his head to look me over, the hood of his jumper moving with the motion. 

“I was right about the lizard thing.” Was the only greeting he offered me, jutting his chin out as he feigned all seriousness. 

My mouth dropped open upon hearing him and my tongue quickly flicked out towards a canine to keep from biting back at him. There was humour written in the gesture though, even as I moved to narrow my eyes. “He’s got jokes! Reused ones, I might add, but jokes nonetheless.” I snarked, lifting my eyebrows at him in exaggeration, “Hilarious.”

His mouth curled very, very briefly, but I was quick to work out that it was all in the eyes with him. They held a certain amount of mirth as they flickered over my face. I wondered what he saw. 

“Suits you though. Even with all the…” He waved a hand over his own face, probably referencing the white dots I had littered in a few places.

With a shake of my head I raised a hand to my chest, feigning a fond appreciation for the sardonic comment. “Is that the famous charm the world’s heard so much about then? Really know how to make a girl feel special, Mathers.”

His eyes slitted but still shone with a slight glaze, he hummed deeply in retort. “Best believe it. Why d’you think I’ve gotten divorced twice?”

A low whistle escaped me before I then laughed, eyes squinting with the strength of it. “Figured you might just have a kink for courtrooms.” 

His tongue swept into his cheek at my boldness, fighting back a real smile as he glanced away and then back again. “I’m down bad for a good Judge. Spank me vibes, you know?”

I chuckled outwardly at that, amused by his quick witted replies. But that in itself didn’t surprise me, it was well known just how hilarious the man could be, his stoic demeanour only prodding that revelation further. 

That sternness his face seemed to consistently hold softened though in that next moment and I watched on as he shuffled a little closer to the camera, sat somewhere indoors with enough natural light that he could have only been in his kitchen. It hit me then how wild this whole thing suddenly was. “What’s with the last name anyway?”

I blinked, caught off guard by his ask. “Um,” I fumbled, a slight wrinkle forming between my brow, “What do you mean, me calling you Mathers?”

He hummed and I had to think about it for a second. Ultimately I ended up gifting him a shrug, “Don’t know. Just feels strange to call you Eminem or whatever.” I laughed lightly at myself, hand falling to my knee to toy with a loose thread on the hem of my robe. “What do people usually call you?”

It was his turn to shrug then, his being a singular and fluid motion whereas mine had been more thoughtless. He was watching again though, the wide eyes I was so used to seeing in old interviews where he was always playing a part were now gentler, narrowed sure, but softer and slightly wrinkled at the very edges.

I tugged on the frayed thread, wrapping it around my finger enough to whiten the skin before I had to let it go again. “Is Em okay? Or just Marshall maybe?” I queried, watching him too.

“Whatever you want.” He murmured and it was then that I noticed he’d propped his phone up somewhere in front of him because a pair of hands came to rest at the bottom of the screen just as he pressed further into the counter he was sat at.

I wrung my lips to one side, teeth biting into the inside of my cheek enough to keep from smiling much more than I already was. “Most people call me El or Lia. Elia just started to feel unnatural away from, you know, everyone else.”

It was the worlds now, as well as one of few reasons I had for the stigma I felt around my own name. 

The man jerked his head in a short nod in response whilst his fingers intertwined against a marble countertop. “So we should just slide that into the writin’ credits then? Or you finally gone take me up on that offer of a feature?”

You know that odd feeling you get when you’re on the tube or a plane and so suddenly your ears just pop and there's this ringing sound that floods the single sense? It just happens, out of nowhere, and you blink. So all you can immediately focus on is the sound. The odd feeling of it driving waves deeper and deeper into your skull. And the only way you can recover is by holding your own breath?

That was what that question felt like to me. 

“What?”

His eyes were alight, akin to a low flame of flickering amusement and perhaps hope. “You deaf now too? Know you heard me.”

Of course I fucking heard him but that didn’t mean I understood. “This is for real?”

Finally, he let go of a dulcet chuckle, almost a ringing sound in and of itself. “You gone make me repeat it? You in, or not?”

“How is that even a question?” I breathed back to him, my hand shaking against the hem of my robe. “Yes! God, if I ever say to no to an ask like that you better fucking shoot me. What the fuck, Marshall?”

That chuckle again.

It was unlike anything else, the only sound I could hear around the blood rushing between my ears. Stupidly, I pinched my thigh and released a stuttered breath when the twist of skin radiated a short snap of pain up my leg.

“That the go ahead then?”

I must’ve looked so incredibly starstruck but I couldn’t even bring myself to care, this was unreal. I nodded, almost frantically at him. “Of course that’s the fucking go ahead! Are you sure about this? I mean, I don’t know how much help I’ll be. I mostly write radio shit.”

“Your earlier stuff ain’t.” Em shot back, the quip startling me enough to snap my jaw shut because not a lot of people ever dug that deep. But he continued on before I could think to hone in on the slip, “‘sides, your lyrics are what I fuck with. That shit makes you think, has you lingerin’. Playing with words is the aim, I want people thinkin’, leachin’ onto each syllable and every phrase. You do that.”

The air in my lungs lurched.

I could only offer him one reply, “When do we start?”

[buzzcutlip]

hiiii! can I get a request for lip with a shy!reader where they like know each other from school but it’s like later seasons lip like working at the shop or the construction job and she starts to develop a crush on him but he doesn’t think he’s good enough for her so he distances himself and dates other girls and she has to watch from the sidelines until a guy asks her out so she goes for it and lip gets jealous and realizes his feelings. i’m in an angsty pining jealousy mood but with a happy ending still if that makes sense! but honestly feel free to run with it if it’s something you’re interested in writing bc I love your writing! 💗💗

Hi anon! I love this prompt, thank you very much for sending it my way! <3

This is a very first time I'm writing something with our dear boy Lip Gallagher, and I hope I'm not messing it all up.

Lip Gallagher/Fem!Reader Mature 1561 words

You admired Lip Gallagher. He was smart, intelligent, witty, and—alive. Despite the , he made it to college. You didn’t know the details but heard people talking about those nasty Gallaghers. You saw him take his little brother, Liam, to classes, to your study group. The little boy living temporarily in a dormitory made you sick with worry, but it was obvious that Lip took great care of him. You mostly felt for Lip—that he, as young as he was, had to take on his parents' responsibilities. And still, he did so great at school and had two jobs on top of it. He went home for weekends to help around the house. But that life sucked him back in, never giving him a solid chance, as much as Lip fought for it. He left the school, left the crime scene behind, and left an empty space in your chest. You never told him how you felt. Never wanted to, anyway.

Occasionally, you still meet each other at parties he gets invited to—or invites himself to—and you chat easily, sharing a drink or two. You’re happy to see him, to hear about his crazy jobs. Sometimes he brings a girl along and you smile politely at her, shake her hand. The whole school knew about Amanda and Mrs. Robinson. Besides wanting to protect yourself, you don’t believe Lip could ever want more than friendship from you, which makes interacting with him easier. ‘Cause you’re not trying for anything with him. He’s just a good bad boy. Who cares if you’ve had a crush on him since day one?

So what you expect from Lip when you introduce him to your date, Jacob, at one of these lame parties is that he shakes his hand and says hi politely. Which doesn’t happen; he just grumbles something and leaves for the kitchen. You roll your eyes and tell Jacob not to mind. Inside, you’re a bit embarrassed and disappointed. Why? You’re not sure. Maybe because Jacob’s a bit boring and you still keep seeing him. Letting him kiss you and put his fingers in your pussy and never do anything back. Because he doesn’t attract you. “But he’s nice,” your friends say. You say, for Christ’s sake! He is nice but oh so boring. You don’t feel anything, but you don’t want to be alone anymore. And most importantly, you don’t want to think about Lip when you masturbate, when Jacob fingers you, when boys half-heartedly fucked you in the past.

But as much as you want to forget Lip, you see him again. It’s a bar this time. Filled to the brim with a Friday crowd.

“Hey,” someone says behind you, laying a hand on your shoulder, and you know it’s him before you turn around. You smile at him, sucking on a colorful paper straw.

“You still drink that? Rum and Coke?”

“Yeah,” you laugh shortly, looking at the dark brown drink in your hands. “Spiced rum!” you clarify.

Lip leans closer to you, the sudden proximity doing things to you, as always, and you have to bite your bottom lip.

“Is your boyfriend here?” he asks casually, but you noticed him scanning the crowd just a few seconds ago.

“Yeah… Jacob’s here—but he’s not my boyfriend. We’ve been just—seeing each other for a bit.” You don’t want to talk about Jacob with Lip and it’s clear in the way you talk. You’re more focused on your elbows touching on the bartop.

Lip just laughs shortly, doesn’t say anything. It irks you. You frown. “What?”

“Nothing,” Lip shrugs, drumming his fingers on the wooden desk stained with beer and sweet, sticky liquor. He’s lost some of the baby fat in his face. You notice the sharpness of his cheekbones. He tilts his face downward as he blinks at you.

“You never had a boyfriend at school.” He probably wants to say "When I was at school" but that doesn’t interest you that much now.

“So what?” You grow even more irritated by his questions. Why does he care? You never discussed boyfriends, or his girlfriends, for that matter.

You turn your head away, grimacing, but Lip, on the other side, seems entertained. Intrigued.

“Nothing,” he says, smirking stupidly, and doesn’t stop looking at you. “You’re pretty when you pout.”

Your whole face flushes in an instant. Lip never talked like this to you. Never flirted. Of course, at the beginning, you had been disappointed, but you quickly decided that mutual respect for friendship is much better. Safer.

Unsure of what you’re going to say, you tilt your face back to him, but when you look at Lip, he’s not smirking anymore. He reaches for you, hand catching your burning face, his thumb sweeping over your cheek.

It takes you a moment to bat his hand away. “What’re you doing?” you ask, horrified. And shocked. Flustered with your shyness.

Lip shakes his head. “I don’t know,” he mumbles while you’re looking around, all wild, to check for Jacob.

This time it’s Lip who frowns. “You said he was not your boyfriend.”

“Are you, like, jealous or something?” you say only to say SOMETHING, head shaking in disbelief. The silence that follows almost shocks you. You never thought about what you would do if Lip felt the same about you. Never dared to think about that scenario.

Scared to find out what you’ll find out, you peer at him. His face is serious, jaw tense.

“Oh my god, you—you’re jealous,” you whisper, hand going to your mouth to cover it. Your expression must be hilarious—eyes wide, mouth open in disbelief. Lip starts fidgeting with the paper coaster on the bar, eyes flicking all over the room.

Angry tears begin to cloud your vision. “You have no right to be jealous now,” you seethe. “Have you only noticed me now? When I’m seeing someone?” The hurt is unmistakable in your voice. You ball your hands into fists, blinking against the tears welling in your eyes. When Lip doesn’t say anything, you turn on your heel. If you don’t get some fresh air now, you’re going to suffocate.

Once outside, you find a quieter spot away from the smoking people, propping against a wooden table. When you look up you wish you could see stars in the night sky. But the light pollution’s making it impossible. Sighing, you wrap your arms around yourself to protect yourself from the chill. You’re glad that Jacob knows people here too, otherwise you would probably feel bad for leaving him.

Before you get a chance to really sort your feelings, you see Lip approaching you in your peripheral vision.

You sigh, defeated, making a point of not looking at him as he stops a mere foot from you. You’re terrible at confrontations.

“You mad?” Lip asks, and you can feel him studying your face. There’s a cigarette burning between his fingers.

You shake your head. No.

Next, Lip shrugs off his hoodie, cigarette held between his pouting lips, and drapes the garment, warmed by his own body heat, over your shoulders. “Here.”

Suddenly, you’re enveloped in Lip Gallagher. In the smell of tobacco, laundry detergent, and boy. You close your eyes tight against the feeling that’s surfacing from within you. It’s spreading like wildfire, and when Lip steps in front of you, reaching to move the zipper up, up, up, the heat reaches your face, pinks up your cheeks.

Lip leans into you, putting both your bodies into contact, thighs to chests. He slides one of his hands into the pocket of his hoodie, right where your hand’s hiding too, and twines your fingers together. Then he rubs his cheek against your own, as you meet in the middle, and your heart stops. You didn’t know Lip would be like this. That brash, cocky Lip Gallagher with a womanizer reputation treating you with such tenderness.

But you don’t want to end up as a notch on his bedpost.

“I don’t think I’m your type,” you say simply, looking at the ground, hoping that’s enough for him to let it go. To let you go. Even though deep down, it’s the last thing you wish for. You don’t want Lip to let you go. You want him to do the exact opposite.

Lip scoffs, closer to your ear than you expected, making you jump. “And what’s my type?”

“I mean—” you swallow hard, finding the courage to say the next words, as nonchalantly as possible, “I’m from a functional family. I don’t use drugs, I don’t deal drugs. I’m pretty sure I don’t have any personality disorders,” you list.

“Wow, so you’ve done research on me, huh?” Lip asks drily but he doesn’t move, stays close to you.

You decide to come out with the truth. “You know, I had a crush on you at school, and I think I was not as subtle as I thought I was. I mean, most of my friends knew about it.”

Licking his lips, he says,“I always thought you were cute. I was just—”

You're not letting him off that easy. “Busy fucking through the entire school?”

“I didn’t think it was a good idea to make a move.”

“Why do you think it’s a good idea now?”

“Because I can’t stay away from you anymore.”

[paigebooeckers1]

Maybe, Maybe Not

Paige x fem oc (Amiyah Dalton)

Hey guys! This is the first part to my first fic that I’m actually publishing which is kinda crazy for how long I’ve been reading on here and ao3, or writing and discarding. Idek if anyone will see this, but if you are reading welcome and I hope you enjoy! Depending on how this goes I may or may not write more parts, but yeah this is part one! 🫶🏽

Part 1

“Amiyah! Have you seen that black body suit of mine, like with the open back? I can’t find it anywhere.” My roommate yells at me from our shared bathroom.

“Oh no, definitely not,” I say sheepishly, knowing damn well it’s laying on my bed ready to be worn out tonight.

We’re getting ready to go out, one of us against their will and it certainty isn’t my insufferable best friend, who I just so happen to love enough to agree to go with.

It’s not even that I don’t love the party scene- quite the opposite actually, especially with Jade. But after finding out my ex transferred to UConn this year for football after I pretty much ran away from him, I’ve been trying to avoid the bars or parties like the plague. The thought of seeing him again— drunkenly trying to sneak his hands around my waist and convince me to give him another chance as he has about a dozen times before— it makes me nauseous.

However, I’ve also decided seeing him is inevitable and I’m done hiding from his sorry ass, hence why I’m contently getting ready in my pink Victoria Secret robe, humming along to Playing Games by Summer Walker as I finish up my makeup. I think I enjoy getting ready more than actually leaving the dorm.

Jade suddenly storms into my room, breaking me from my thoughts and making me mess up my brown lip liner in the process. Though I can’t even stifle my laugh as we both stare at the body suit in all its glory, paired with my favorite pair of low rise baggy jeans and my black Jordan 4s as it lays on my bed, waiting to be put on.

“I fuckin knew it, asshole,” not a hint of annoyance in her voice as she says it. “You’re lucky it looks better on you anyways.”

“I love you, too!” I say smiling to myself as she goes back to her spot in the bathroom sink, trying to perfect her lash clusters. I observe myself in my vanity mirror as I put on my last layer of lip gloss, making sure my makeup and curls look better than ever. Although there’s no real occasion, it almost feels like one, like I need to prove myself tonight, and I hate myself for it. I don’t need to prove myself to anyone, especially not Jordan. Even thinking of his name puts me in a bad mood.

I push the thought down, though, knowing it’ll only boost the anxiety I already feel before going pretty much anywhere when I don’t know what to expect. Tonight is about me and my best friend looking good and hopefully getting drunk.

I skip a few songs on my R&B playlist before getting up to get changed, knowing having my outfit on will automatically boost my confidence. Jade is already in the kitchen pouring us pregame shots, so I decide to pick up my pace. She’s clad in a pair of black, baggy cargos and a burgundy cropped tube-top, her belly ring glistening and boho braids reaching just above her ass.

She saunters into my room with the shots in hand, singing along to Practice by Drake that’s blaring from my speaker as she downs the vodka and has her arm raised to give me mine. One thing about Jade is she knows how to get you hyped for a night out. “I don’t know about you, but I’m excited as hell for tonight.” she always says. Jade’s the kind of friend that can mold into any situation you need her for, and I love her for it.

“Me too, honestly,” though I only half mean it. “And we look good. I swear if you bring someone home tonight though, I’ll kill you. That’s the last thing I needa hear.”

“You should know I just go where the wind takes me by now, Amiyah.” she says dismissively. She will most definitely be bringing someone home tonight. “What about you miss ‘I’m too good for everyone?’”

I laugh at this. I don’t have that mentality at all, but I certainly have slowed down when it comes to hook ups and one night stands since my freshman year at UConn. I’m a junior now, but I find it a waste of time. You get wasted, go home with someone, wake up the next morning feeling like shit (physically and mentally), and leave as fast as possible. Having said that, I find it hard to commit to relationships just as much.

“Nope, I just wanna drink tonight, Jade.

You already know.”

“Man you gotta live a little more, and how you gon claim you’re bi but never want to get with anyone, you literally like both!” Jade says jokingly. I can’t help but laugh at the irony of that—it’s very true.

“You should really focus more on yourself, god knows you need to.” I’m of course joking. She flips me off with her acrylic nail before heading to the kitchen to pour us each one more pregame shot.

I throw a few rings on my manicured hands to compliment the tattoos on my fingers, and spray my favorite perfume before leaving my room, making sure to grab my ID and lipgloss filled purse. Jade is already taking her final shot and I join her, the liquor burning my throat while also easing my mind. I take one final look at myself in the large mirror by our door, admiring the way my (Jades) body suit hugs my waist perfectly, the way my jeans hang low and flattering on my hips, my gold jewelry complimenting my brown skin. I feel good.

“You probably shouldn’t look so good if you want to avoid Jordan, Ami.” Jade says with a joking tone, but there’s also meaning behind it. She knows how bad our relationship was, and I think all 5’5 of her would be willing to beat his ass for me.

“Nah, I don’t need to worry about him, he should be scared of seeing me.” And I mean every word, whether I believe it myself or not. I scrunch my curls in the mirror before we head out the door. I feel good. Tonight is going to be good.

Hopefully.

-

Ted’s is packed. I’m not sure exactly what else I was expecting for a Friday night, but it never ceases to amaze me how many college students can fit into such a tiny bar. I instinctively grab Jades elbow as she guides us through the crowded bar so we can order our drinks. Surprisingly, there’s two stools open at the bar, which we rush to. I sit down with a huff and scope out who’s at Ted’s tonight as I order our drinks; a dirty shirley for me and rum and coke for Jade.

“Here you go ladies, they’re on the house,” the bartender says with a wink as he slides us our drinks. I shoot him a toothy grin and thank you. Although flattered, I have to fight back an eye roll. Too many men have egos bigger than themselves, probably thinks he’ll be taking one of us home tonight. I take a sip of the drink, the grenadine hitting my taste buds and it makes me wonder how people could order any other drink. I turn on the barstool to say exactly that to Jade, but she’s already off to the side of the bar talking to a guy she’s been talking to on the football team, Nick or something. Typical.

A wave of self-consciousness hits me sitting at the bar alone, so I go on my phone to distract myself, sipping on my drink and mindlessly scrolling through instagram. That is until I hear that familiar yet dreaded voice calling my name, almost taunting me. I should’ve known. I should’ve told Jade to stay with me.

Fuck.

“Ayy Amiyah. I called your name bout’ 10 times. You too good to talk to me now or sum, baby?” His voice is slurred with alcohol and dripping with cockiness. It makes me sick.

“Don’t fucking call me that, Jordan.” I don’t even look at him as I say with it as much force as possible, though I feel small as he puts a hand on the small of my back, towering over me with a smirk that says ‘I know you still want me.’ It’s gross. I quickly stand up in attempt to leave his presence and find Jade, but he’s faster than I am, like he knew what was going to happen before he even approached me.

His right hand grabs my wrist, the other snaking around my waist. He pulls me into him in attempt to keep me close, so close I can smell the alcohol on his breath as it fans my face. I turn my head away and immediately try to squirm out of his grasp, my free hand trying to push him off of me. Not only to get away from him, but I also can’t let him see any weakness that is forcing itself to break through me.

“Get the fuck off me bro.” I say, finally breaking free from his grasp, feeling the need to disinfect my entire body. I’m floored as Jordan has the audacity to reach for me again. “I don’t know know why you always playing hard to get Ami, just let me take you ho-“

“Yoo, everything good here?” A tall, blonde figure inserts herself between us, one hand holding her drink, the other on his shoulder pushing him back with enough force to cut him off. That’s hot as fuck I think to myself, but my face stays in the same scowl directed toward him. I have to stifle a laugh as he quickly cowers under her, as she probably has a good inch or two on him.

“Oh yeah, man, just tryna talk to my girl here,” he says with a smirk. I swear I see red as the words leave his mouth. We’re done. I left. And he thinks he has the right to call me his girl? Insane.

“Your girl? Well it don’t look like she really wanna talk to you, not gonna lie.” She says it so sternly, I almost feel intimidated and she isn’t even talking to me. As much as I appreciate this girls gesture, I quite literally can’t hold back from telling him off myself.

“‘Your girl’ is actually crazy. I am not your girl, and I am not about to have this conversation with you here. Get the fuck out my face.” I get up in his face, ready to bitch slap the smug look he somehow still has on his face right off.

“Yeah you should probably get the fuck out the bar, actually,” the girl says firmly. I can’t even see her face, but clearly the look on it says more than words because at that, he looks at me, then at the blonde, then to me again. Although it looks like he wants to argue, we all know it won’t get him anywhere, especially in a crowded bar.

He mutters a string of curse words I couldn’t care less about under his breath as he walks toward the exit and I immediately relax, letting out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding. Not only is he gone, but hopefully he’ll get the hint and leave me alone. For good. I’m not sure if he thought coming to UConn would win me back, but he’s dead wrong. I’m done falling for his lies, the way he tries to sweet talk me back into his life. It might’ve worked in the past, but not anymore.

I’m broken from my thoughts as the blonde clears her throat behind me, and I suddenly feeling bad for forgetting she was even there, as I still have my back to her as I stare at the exit door. I quickly turn around to thank her for cutting him off, and that’s when I realize I’m face to face with Paige Bueckers.

Paige Bueckers; basketball phenom, campus celebrity, not to mention major whore. It’s annoyingly hard to deny how attractive she is, though— she’s wearing a simple back t-shirt that shows off her biceps, grey sweats hung low on her hips, enough to see the Nike boxers peeking under them. A silver chain decorates her neck and her blonde hair is slicked back into a bun. Her jaw is sharp, her nose perfectly sloped, big blue eyes staring right down into my brown ones, her plump bottom lip jutted out and tied up in a small smile— fuck what was I saying? Oh yeah..her roster is disturbingly long and I personally do not want to be another tally on that list. So, I keep my cool.

“Oh, thanks for that. You didn’t need to, I could’ve handled him,” I say with ease, adjusting the straps of my body suit. I smirk up at her, not missing the way her eyes follow my actions, almost hungrily.

There’s a beat of silence as she’s looking down at me, until she licks her lips. “Oh, yeah don’t worry bout’ it.” She pauses again. “Sooo...is he your boyfriend? Annoying ex?” she says with that infamous smirk. There it is. The cockiness, the charm that pulls every girl she glances at in.

“Ex. More than annoying, though. I’d probably go with crazy, obsessive, dickhead.” I laugh, though it holds little humour.

She laughs, too. “Yeah, I got my fair share of those.” Yeah I don’t doubt it, I think to myself. Her eyes rake over my body and she licks her lips again. It’s taking everything in me not to look at them.

“So what’s your name, ma?” The nickname rolls off her tongue like she’s said it hundreds of times before, though it does have more than an effect on me than it should.

“Amiyah.” Despite the feeling in my stomach, my tone remains casual, sultry, even. I can see I’m having some kind of effect on her, which boosts my confidence slightly. “And you are…”

“I’m Paige,” Her cocky expression falters slightly, yet she still holds hold her hand out, smiling. I let out a real laugh, but accept the handshake regardless. As if I don’t already know exactly who she is, and as if she doesn’t know I do. “I know your name, basketball star. You gon’ give me your autograph or what?” She’s still holding my manicured hand, thumb brushing over one of the tattoos on my fingers before dropping it. Fuck.

“Amiyah…” she drags out the last syllable before continuing. “Pretty name, pretty face, and a sense of humor? I feel like I needa buy you a drink.” She flashes me a genuine smile. I think about it for a moment, I really do. But I also remember my goal for tonight, and I’m not about to change my mind for Paige Bueckers. Though it’s very hard to do so as her blue eyes bore into my brown ones, making my 5’4 feel much shorter.

“I’m flattered, but no thank you. I gotta find my friend she’s probably looking for me. Plus, I already got one, see?” I grab my dirty shirley, only remembering it’s sitting beside me on the bar when I reach for my purse to leave and collect Jade.

“Dirty shirley, you got taste, huh?” She says as she stirs her own. Her voice is casual, yet laced with something I can’t put a finger on.

“Yeah, can’t go wrong, right?” I don’t even wait for her response. “Well thanks again for helping me, I appreciate it.” I give her a quick smile.

“Yeah, yeah no problem.” She says casually, rubbing the back of her neck. I can read her expression, though, and it’s telling me that she’s thrown off. That her streak of buying a pretty girl a drink and taking her home to do god knows what else is broken. I almost feel proud.

“See you around, Paige.” I don’t wait for a response before leaving her at the bar, forgetting my drink in the process but I can’t find it in me to care. I need to get out of her presence before I actually fold. I easily find Jade, looking not very happy, and not very sober.

“Let’s leave, I’m sick of tonight.” Her voice is slurred, and I can’t help but laugh. I’ve dealt with one too many emotional, drunken Jade moments that I’m sure it’s about Nick. I don’t even argue her, wanting nothing more than to take my makeup and jeans off and go to bed at this point.

As we’re walking out, I quickly glance back at the bar at see Paige still there. She’s sitting now, sipping on her own dirty shirley with a tight-lipped smile. Her teammates, Jana, Ice, and Kk, are laughing at her, like they’re teasing her. I can’t help but wonder if it’s about the interaction she just had with me. Were they watching her, waiting to see if she’d score a catch? I laugh to myself, glad I was able to give them a different ending to a show they probably see way too often. I’m sure she’ll find someone else in no time.

Luckily the walk back to our apartment is short. Jade is mumbling in annoyance, half to me, half to herself, something about leaving so soon and cutting it off with her boy-toy who she’ll most likely be back to soon enough. I tune her out; for some reason I can’t stop thinking about Paige. How she looked at me, like I was the only girl in that bar. I force the thoughts away though, knowing exactly how the night would’ve ended if it had gone another way. I’d be one more tally on her list of girls to say she’s got with to only forget about two days later.

I hate being vulnerable, so I avoid it at all costs. Maybe that’s why I avoid intimacy, whether it’s for one night or one year. Maybe that’s why I have raging trust issues. Who knows, I don’t want to find out and I don’t need to either. Not now, at least.

“Next time, you’re coming with me again whether you like it or not, and you’re having fun!” Jade says to me, trying to serious, but I only laugh at the slur of her words, as she had much more to drink than me tonight. I decide to hold off on telling her about my events tonight until the morning. “Ion wanna hear nooo excuses missy!”

“Yeah yeah Jade, go to bed babe.” I say as we finally reach our apartment, slipping inside and locking the door. I retreat to the comfort of my bed where I’m left alone with my thoughts. Maybe I want to go next time, maybe I want to see what happens.

Maybe.

-

“Amiyah, you’ve got to be joking…you’re joking right?” Jade’s deadpanning me, her voice sounding genuinely angry. I feel like I’m coming out to my mother again. We’re sitting on my bed, the morning sun peeking through my half shut curtains, iced coffees we picked up from the campus cafe in our hands.

“What? I don’t see what’s wrong here.”

“You telling me Paige Bueckers eye fucked you, shook your hand, offered to bye you a drink…and you said… no?” She’s laughing, almost to herself. “You’re unbelievable. This is what I’m talking about. That woman is every girls dream, and you shut her down like some random guy. You’re even too good for Paige Bueckers. I can’t-” I cut her off before she can continue her rant, much too passionate about this whole situation for a girl who’s supposedly straight.

“Personally I think you’re being very dramatic. She just wanted to hit and dip, that’s what she does and everyone knows it.” I sip my coffee, simply wanting to be done with this conversation.

“Oh okay, so if, like, Drew Starkey was at that bar, asked to buy you a drink and take you home, would you say no?” I let out a loud laugh, partly because of how passionate she is being about this, partly because she compared Paige Bueckers to Drew Starkey. Did I say Paige wasn’t absolutely gorgeous? No. I just don’t need to be another trophy on her case.

“I’m not answering that, Jade. This is about my dignity, not my attraction. I’m done with this conversation and I think you should be too.” I shake my head lightheartedly as I get up and head to the bathroom, taking my curly hair out of its bun and shaking it out. “If anything, let’s talk about your horrible taste in men. Nick? Really? First of all ew, second of all he seems like a dick.”

“Shut up Ami, he’s not that bad. And he’s funny! Don’t worry, he knows where home is.” We both laugh at that, because somehow Jade always does lure them back in somehow. She fails to mention my pretty bad track record of relationships. Jordan, on and off since senior year of high school turned crazy ex.

Olivia, my best friend, sophomore to senior year of high school.(do not recommend best friend to girlfriend pipeline)

And then there’s my very concerning list of hookups, which Paige did not need to be apart of to make for another traumatic story. Nope. Don’t even like the thought of how her hands would feel around waist, how her lips would feel…Not at all.

And that’s final.

-

Paige’s POV

“Girl boo, do not even lie right now, lying is a major sin. Do you want to go hell? I did NOT think so!” Kk is practically screaming at me. It’s been two days since the bar, and she’s felt the need to tell pretty much everyone in her path, including all of our teammates, about my interaction with Amiyah. Hell, I think she even told CD. So what? She said no to me buying her a drink. That happens. It’s not a big deal.

“I swear I had to walk over to you after she left, pick your jaw up off the floor and put it back in your mouth, Paige.” Ice chimes in now. Okay maybe it is a big deal. Maybe my ego is a little bruised. I couldn’t help but falter when she declined my offer, especially after saving her from that douche who was basically assaulting her in the middle of the bar.

“Alright, alright chill. Y’all are reaching now. It’s literally just a drink.”

“Okay. Then if it’s just a drink, why were you sulking for the rest of the night, and this morning? You literally are right now!” Jana says, and I’m suddenly aware of my hunched posture and furrowed eyebrows. I don’t even answer her question. Not only do I really think it’s not worth talking about, but I also don’t have an answer. Sure, I could blame it on the fact that I don’t think I’ve ever been rejected like that, so casually like she had anything better to do. But even then, usually I’d go find another girl to talk to, to take home, to fill some kind of void I constantly felt. But I didn’t even want to.

There’s something about Amiyah. The way her big brown eyes stared up at me like she was trying to figure me out, but saw right through me at the same time. Her plump lips, the dimple she had on her left cheek when she smirked at me. The small freckles that lined her nose paired with a gold septum, the curve and sway of her hips when she walked away. Or maybe it’s the confidence she had, the drawl in her voice, way she didn’t seem fazed by anything— me, her ex, the whole situation. She just wanted to find her friend. It made me want to get to know her more. It drew me in.

So now I’m here, getting it rubbed in by my friends as we sit in the living room of me, Jana and Allies apartment.

“I’m bouta kick all of you out, for real.” I say, not even really joking. It’s late and I have class in the morning, though I can’t even remember what it is. I think I’ve been maybe 3 times this year. (super senior things, chill)

“We heading out anyways, academic weapon things. Oh, and go take a shower, your attitude stinks!” Kk and Ice filter out of the dorm, leaving just Allie, Jana and I, their calmer presence lowering my blood pressure. It’s silent for a moment, as Jana’s already in bed and Allie is making some snack.

“Do you really like her or something? What’s really got you so bothered, P?” Allie quietly asks me from the kitchen as I’m getting up to head to my room. She seems genuinely concerned and it confuses me. Am I really being that weird? I guess I am, I don’t think I’ve stopped replaying the interaction with Amiyah in my head since it happened. I think three separate girls texted me today asking if I wanted to hangout, and I haven’t even bothered to open any of them.

“Nah it’s chill I’m like, over it. Thanks though, Allie.” I’m almost trying to convince myself. She nods in response and I shut my door, plopping onto my bed. My hands run down my face in frustration before opening my phone to mindlessly scroll on instagram, still thinking about the interaction. Was I weird with her? Should I have butted into her and that guys argument? Did I ask stupid questions? That one I can answer; asking for her name.

Amiyah Dalton. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t know who she was before I came up to her. I’ve seen her around campus, though she’s very hard to miss. It’s like she’s constantly glowing, her smile lighting up any room she walks into. At the same time, she also has this mysterious energy, like no one actually ever knows what’s going on in her head. Maybe I see through her because I’m the same way, but that doesn’t matter. I’ve heard murmurs about her through mutual friends, girls and guys saying they’ve hooked up with her and hardly ever heard from her again.

Maybe I’m this bothered because I thought I could be different, like I could take her home and prove that I am. But I didn’t even get to do that after she basically brushed me to the side. I feel like I need to prove myself to her. Yeah, that’s all. I just need one night, one taste of her and I’ll be fine.

I’m broken out of my trance when her instagram comes up on my feed as “suggested for you.” Real funny. My fingers seem to have a mind of their own as they click on her profile. I spend more time than I’d like to admit on there, intently looking at each post, wanting nothing more than to like, comment and favorite every one. My thumb even hovers over the follow button for about 5 minutes before I decide against it. She probably already thinks I’m weird, I shouldn’t…but what if I shoot my shot and she notices me? Nah she’d proba- Am I really think this hard about a fucking instagram page? Maybe. Am I going to bag this woman? Yes.

Well, maybe.

[ilovefictionalcuntymen]

Calcharo sfw and nsfw head cannons because I’m fucking down bad for this man pt. 2

[AFAB Reader]

Go here for pt. 1

Sfw

• for your first date he spent days to plan it. He never did any of that stuff, so he had no clue on what to do, but he wanted it to be perfect. He asked a few of his close ghost hounds for relationship advice and on what type of stuff women like. So in the end he settled for a cozy picknick near the coast, along with sandwiches he made himself (he wouldn’t even believe himself if he ever told his past self that) and a bouquet of flowers he brought for you.

• When you’re on your period and act more grumpy, he gets all confused like a lost puppy. Sometimes you just snap at him for something that’s not a big deal because the whole day just pissed you off. Whenever that happens, he just stares at you stoically, wondering why you were so upset. Then he remembers what time of the month it is (cute boy nows all of your schedule from memory) and figures you’re just a bit sensitive. He tries to not annoy you, but doesn’t exactly talk about it except for maybe asking if you need anything. Showing too much affection is kind of awkward for him, so he just tries to make you the least amount of trouble to make you feel better.

• He secretly does things behind your back to help you out. For example repairing things you mentioned, but never telling you that he did. Like when you were bummed about your broken camera and the next day it sat all fixed on your desk. He‘s not exactly hiding it, he knows that you know it’s him who does all that, but he just doesn’t want to make a big deal out of it. He only wants to make you happy in his free time, it’s not something he expects praise for. But you still thank him and pepper him with kisses anyway.

• Is usually the nonchalant and easy going type, but still has his possessive moments. Calcharo doesn’t mind what clothes you’re wearing and doesn’t get all insecure when a guy looks at you. But sometimes when you’re in presence of some other men, he lazily puts his arm on your hip or he pulls you in and lets you rest against his chest while you sit at a bonfire with your teammates. He just likes the feeling of knowing you’re his.

• Gets rarely flustered. He’s like a stone brick sometimes. He also blurts out the most out of pocket stuff that would usually have others think twice before saying it. But ever since he met you, he catches himself blush way more often than usual. It’s not often, but a lot more than it used to be (which means never)

• Because he’s so hardened up from all the fighting and travelling around, Calcharo tends to appear detached and insensitive. Sometimes you get upset over something that’s completely reasonable, but he can’t understand you because for him it’s not a big deal. It definitely does lead to moments were he hurts you without meaning to and him being stubborn in some aspects, because he never sees any issues in the things you’re upset about. But when he sees that it seriously upsets you, he’ll try to avoid it from happening again.

• Take bubble baths with him. Seriously. He might seem like this stoic guy that wouldn’t enjoy childish things, but he can relax from time to time. And what’s more relaxing than taking a bath? With bubbles. Don’t forget the bubbles. It’s fun throwing them at him. He’ll just huff while he leans back and watch your childish antics with the bubbles. And of course there’ll be lots of cuddling and lots of kisses.

Nsfw

• He loves placing kisses all over your body during intimacy. Whenever you’re done with your session, you‘ll have love bites on your collarbone, chest, thighs, calves, shoulder blades, back, neck and anything there is. One of his favourite things to do is kiss his way down from your lips to your core, leaving behind a trail of hickeys all the while looking up to you with those mesmerising eyes. He really doesn’t know how much power simple eye contact has over you, especially when he looks at you with those half lidded eyes full of want and love.

• he‘ll often hold your hand while he eats you out, interlacing your fingers and rubbing his thumb over the back of your hand.

• Doesn’t masturbate. He just doesn’t have the time or the need to indulge in such things. Whenever you’re away, he doesn’t get that needy because he just busies himself with work.

• When you go down on him, he tries to remain composed. Even with his low sexual drive, he still is a man and seeing you struggling with fitting his length in your mouth really has him holding back a lot. His breath will turn ragged and he has to keep his hands by his side, because if he ware to put them on your head he would probably grab you by your hair and push you all the way down and continuously bop your head in a way he is afraid might hurt you. So like the nice guy he is, he just keeps his hands at his sides, forced to be merely a spectator.

• Sit on this mfs face. He won’t mind one bit. Please sit on him with your whole weight. He’ll notice if you don’t and will feel offended by it. He would ask you nicely to just do as he says but you’re to afraid of suffocating him. He’ll give you a hard look before pulling you down, forcing you to sit with all your weight and showing you he could handle it.

• When you sit on his face, his nose big nose will keep bumping against your clit

• When you’re in cowgirl position, more times than not it just results in him effortlessly lifting you up and down, making you bounce in his cock without you even having to put in any work

• He used to be pretty awkward when it came to aftercare. He wanted to have you be comfortable, but he didn’t want to cross any boundaries either. He was just very new to this whole relationship thing, but as time passed he got more confident and became an aftercare god. He notices everything about you and remembers the littlest things. At the end of the night you’re always comfortably tugged into bed, all clean with all your necessities taken care of.

• Enjoys cockwarming a lot. He doesn’t feel the need to get freaky all the time, sometimes he just enjoys having you on his lap, his cock snuggled inside your warm walls. He’ll caress you while he does so, his hands striving over your waist and hips, all the way down to your thighs while he focuses on some paperwork because this guy can’t catch a break for some reason.

———————————————————————

Love ya’ll stay safe <3

Me when Calcharo:

[atleastpleasetelephone]

Little Darling

Chapter 4 - The mirror is a trap that fails

It's 1997, and Elvis is still alive and well. He quit music in 1972 after a successful world tour, and now he runs Presley Studios - teaching people karate across America. His daughter and grandchildren are regular visitors at Graceland, and when he’s in Memphis he likes to do a little teaching. His life is quieter now, though. Most of the Mafia have gone - going to live their own lives - and after his divorce from his second wife, Elvis is sworn off women for good. Will a Welsh girl with a wicked sense of humour be the one to make him break his promise to himself not to fall in love again?

Need to catch up? Go here.

Pairing: Old Man!Elvis x OC - Tegan, a Welsh girl he meets at karate class.

Word Count: 5.3K

TWs: Angst, praise kink, possessive kink, little bit of sub/dom talk, pussy inspection, oral, teasing. Things are heating up!

Tegan is barely awake and dressed when there’s a knock at her door. She’s not expecting anyone, but sometimes the mailman asks her to take things for one of the other apartments. She’s shocked when she opens the door and finds Elvis standing there, in a shirt and pants and gold sunglasses. 

“Um… hi.”

She feels horribly underdressed and underprepared for this, standing in her doorway in jeans and an oversized Led Zeppelin t-shirt, her hair tied up in a messy bun. 

“Hi honey. Can I come in?”

She nods, moving from the doorway and apologising about the mess. He smiles. 

“Don’t worry honey, it’s fine.”

“You want something to drink?”

“Ahh, no… that’s okay. Jus’ um… c’mere. We need ta talk.”

He sits down on the couch and pats the seat beside him. Tegan doesn’t think that the words ‘we need to talk’ have ever led to anything good, and immediately wants to run away. But she can’t really just leave her own apartment, so she sits down. Her heart hammers in her chest. He looks so beautiful, and he’s so close. The fact that she can see every pore on his face makes her think he can probably see all her dry skin, since she’s pretty sure she didn’t moisturise this morning. She runs her hand over her forehead worriedly and fiddles with her hair, thinking that almost certainly needs a wash by now as well. She hasn’t even had a coffee yet and she feels half-asleep and a little hungover. He takes his sunglasses off and looks at her sadly, for a moment. 

“Look honey… I’ve been leadin’ ya on. I shouldn’t have done it an’ I feel bad. I came here ta tell ya I think we should jus’ be friends.”

“Oh,” is about all she can manage in reply. 

“I um… yer a real pretty girl, y’know that, and I like ya and everything, I jus’ don’t think… we jus’ wouldn’t work out, is all.”

Tegan sighs and looks down. “It’s fine. I don’t know why I thought you’d be interested in me anyway.”

Elvis makes a sort of strangled noise in his throat, then tries to cough to clear it. He hates this. When he was younger he never broke it off with a girl, it was always the girl breaking up with him. He loved too easily and he found it almost impossible to break that bond too, so he’d just leave it to drag on and on until eventually whoever it was got fed up with him. 

“Ah…I…d-don’t say that, honey. Y-you’re real pretty, beautiful, and you’re funny and you… you’d be a real catch for any guy.”

Tegan looks up and looks him right in the eye. “But not you?”

He reaches over and strokes her cheek. “I’m jus’... I’m messed up, honey. I-I-I don’t think I could be with a-anyone.”

She leans into his touch like a cat, so he keeps stroking her cheek with his thumb. He’s not sure he should be touching her at all but he can’t help it.

“What messed you up?” She asks. 

His eyes flick around nervously, as if he’s trying to look for some way to escape. “Stella. My ex. She… uh… it was a mess. An’ everyone knew about it.”

Tegan turns her head to kiss the hand that’s still caressing her face. “I’m not Stella,” she whispers. 

They stare at one another, both breathing heavily, and then she presses another kiss to his palm. Cradling his arm in both of her hands, she kisses his wrist, then up his forearm under his shirt until she reaches the inside of his elbow. 

“Can’t we try?”

He looks deeply into her eyes, half wanting to run and half wanting to kiss her. 

“Please?”

The half that wants to kiss her wins, and he pulls her to him, crashing their lips together. She kisses him deeply, one hand on the back of his neck as she uses the other to try to pull him on top of her. He moves awkwardly to kneel on either side of her hips, trying to avoid sitting on her lap. She tugs at his shirt a little to try and get him closer. 

He grumbles against her lips. “I’m gonna crush ya honey.”

“Please,” she mumbles, hands running up and down his back now. 

He relents and puts a little more of his weight on her, letting his torso press against hers. She moans into his mouth, feeling wonderfully trapped beneath him now, like she couldn’t escape if she wanted to. He trails kisses from her mouth, along her jaw and down to just beneath her ear. 

“Ya like this? Bein’ underneath me?” He asks. 

“Mmmm.”

Elvis stops holding himself up and sits in her lap, enjoying her reaction as her hands caress him and rake through his hair. Lisa wasn’t entirely right when she’d said he hadn’t been with any women since his divorce, but any women he hooked up with always got on his lap and looked worried any time it seemed like he might try and get on top of them. They made him feel big, even though he knew he wasn’t in comparison to a lot of men these days. He’s so occupied enjoying the feeling of being on top of a girl who doesn’t just put up with it but actively likes it, that he’s completely forgotten that the point of his visit was to tell her that they should just be friends. 

Tegan moves her head to the side, trying to capture his mouth in another kiss, but he sees it coming and pulls back instead, putting a hand on either side of her face and looking at her. 

She frowns a little and tries to move again, almost pouting. 

“Ya like kissin’ me, Tegan bach?”

She nods, stunned by the fact that he’s remembered the Welsh she taught him. 

“Tell me ya like it.”

“I like it,” she replies, hoarsely, her heart beating out of her chest.

“Good girl.” He watches for her reaction to the praise and sees it immediately as she blushes a little and looks away from him. He smiles and rewards her with another kiss and she responds with urgency, her fingers gripping his shirt. She can’t help but feel like whilst they’re kissing she’s got him completely, and any time he pulls away he might leave again. 

They make out on the couch until their lips are sore, reminding Elvis of the way he used to kiss girls when he was a teenager. Tegan rubs her tender lips a little with one hand, then they both giggle, foreheads resting together. 

“Okay, so you were saying, you just want to be friends,” she teases. 

Elvis closes his eyes and clicks his tongue. “Okay, ya got me. I did a real bad job of breakin’ this off with ya.”

“Yeah, pretty terrible, if that was your aim.”

He hums and moves his head so he can play with her hair. 

“Oh God, don’t do that. My hair is disgusting. Next time you want to break things off with me can you let me know in advance so I can at least wash?”

He chuckles. “Yer still lookin’ good, honey. But if y’wanna take yer clothes off an’ get in the shower don’t let me stand in yer way.”

She rolls her eyes. “If you think I’m gonna give it away like that you’ve got another thing coming.”

His eyes widen in surprise. “Whaddya mean?”

“You want any more than kisses then you’re going to have to start treating me a bit better.” Tegan has no idea where this is coming from but the look on Elvis’ face makes her think he’s kind of enjoying it. 

“Oh. And whaddya want, exactly?”

She giggles. “I dunno. How do you usually woo ladies?”

“Like this - woo! woo!” He exclaims, and they both collapse into fits of giggles. 

“Woo woo? Like a train?”

His shoulders are shaking as he leans his forehead back against hers again. “Sure. Like a train.”

Pressing his nose against hers, he tries to be serious.

“I can’t remember the last time I wooed a lady, honey. But for you, I’ll try.”

***

Elvis does try. Tegan sends him back to Graceland so she can get some caffeine and food inside her, and try to recover from her hangover and the shock of him appearing at her door. She’s scared that she’s potentially sending him right back out of her life again, but she has to start somewhere with trusting him. He calls later that day and tells her he’ll send a car to pick her up at 7, and to wear something pretty. He won’t be drawn any further on what something pretty means, so she just has to hope for the best. She calls Maria for a quick chat about it all but the phone rings out. She’s probably out for the day with her family. Tegan wonders if that’s for the best right now.

She eventually goes for a red floral dress with buttons down the front, and a thin, gauzy blouse that she wears open. It’s still pretty warm outside but it seems odd to turn up for dinner without sleeves. Whilst she was looking through her jewellery earlier she’d seen a necklace she felt like she ought to show Elvis, so she slips it into her handbag. She buckles up her sandals and waits on the couch for the beep of the car horn. 

Elvis wasn’t lying when he said he’d send a car, and it wasn’t just any old car, it was a Cadillac limousine. Tegan can’t get over how fancy it is inside. Once again, he’s entrusted Sonny to drive, and he starts talking almost as soon as she gets in. He’s fascinated by what his boss sees in this woman. He thinks she’s kind of average-looking, although the tattoos were certainly eye-catching when he’d seen them in the pool. And she seemed so quiet - hardly anyone at the party that he’d asked could even remember speaking to her. 

“Hey, Tegan, is it? Uh, I’m Sonny. I’m kinda E’s bodyguard, not that he needs so much of that these days.”

“Hi Sonny. This is a fancy car.” She looks around at all of the various gadgets and the gold inlay everywhere. 

“Well, you’re not from Memphis, are you?”

Tegan snorts. It was cute when Elvis did it, but being told she’s not American has got old over the years. “No, Miss Marple, I’m not. I’m British.”

“What did you just call me?”

“Miss Marple. Little old lady. Solves crimes.”

Sonny frowns. “Huh. You’re a funny one.”

She fiddles with one of the buttons on her skirt. “Am I? D’you mean I’m not his usual type?”

Sonny looks at her in the rear view mirror. “Not really. But he hasn’t really dated in a long time so maybe he’s trying something new.”

She fiddles a bit more, then looks up. “What is his usual type?”

“You mean you’ve never seen Stella? Or Cilla?”

Tegan is too young to really remember Cilla, and she can’t for the life of her think what Stella looked like. “Probably. But I can’t remember.”

Sonny raises both eyebrows. “Young, petite, long dark brown hair, heavy eye make-up. Demure, speak when they’re spoken to.”

“I’m not that demure, you’ve got me there.”

He snorts at the dryness of her response. “You’ve got a lot of tattoos. Didn’t think he’d like that. Never seen someone who wasn’t a sailor or a hooker with that many tattoos.”

Tegan starts to wonder why exactly she’s under the microscope in this conversation, and whether Elvis couldn’t have sent her a more demure driver. 

“You’ll be telling me next I’m too fat for him.”

Sonny looks up at the mirror again and catches her eye. She’s a little flushed and he suddenly feels bad. 

“Darlin’ you have a lovely figure,” he finds himself saying, then tries to backtrack. “I mean, don’t tell Elvis I said that… or my wife… I don’t mean anything by it…”

Tegan smiles, warmly. Maybe Sonny isn’t so bad after all. “Thanks for the compliment. Don’t worry, I won’t tell.”

Sonny smiles back. He still thinks she’s a funny one, but they pass the rest of the journey with more relaxed chit chat, and Tegan feels better when he pulls into the drive. Like at least one of Elvis’ friends doesn’t hate her.

***

Elvis fiddles with the collar of his shirt in the mirror. She should be here any time now. He’s still not sure what he’s doing exactly, why he’s pursuing her when he said he wouldn’t. It’s like every time he sees her his heart gains control over his head and he ends up doing things he thinks he shouldn’t. He hears the front door closing and Sonny yelling “EP!” up the stairs, and gives himself a final once over. He can’t remember the last time he wore a suit, but that’s what he’s doing this evening, digging out one of his old belts to set the outfit off. He’s even put on a little matching jewellery. He hopes Tegan likes it.

“EP!” Sonny shouts again, impatiently. 

“Okay!” He calls back. 

He takes the opportunity to look through the pane of glass above the door of his bedroom, which lets him see in the mirror opposite who is downstairs. Of course he knows who is downstairs, but he wants a glimpse of her outfit. Very cute, he thinks. 

Sonny rolls his eyes at the staircase. “I swear to God that man takes more time getting ready than any woman I’ve ever met.”

Tegan giggles. “It’s okay. You can go, you don’t have to wait with me.”

Sonny nods. “Sure. Tell him he can get me on the phone if he needs me, I’m going back to the house.”

Tegan nods and smiles and is a little relieved when Sonny leaves her on her own at the bottom of the stairs. It’s strangely quiet in the house, a stark contrast from the last time she was there, but it gives her a chance to really take it in. The living room has one statement wall painted lilac, and the rest are white. The sofas are long and patterned white and gold, and the accents in the room are painted gold too. There are family photos all around the place, including one of him, Priscilla and Lisa when Lisa was still little. Sonny was right, she looks nothing like Cilla, but it’s hard to know if that’s a good thing or not. They divorced, after all. There are animal rugs on the floor and there’s a long glass coffee table in the middle of the room. The whole room is very intensely Elvis but also very contemporary. She wonders if he chose the decor or had someone do it for him. 

“Tegan bach.”

She spins around to see him standing behind her, decked out in what looks like a very expensive suit. The bling on his fingers and around his neck is almost dazzling, and so are his eyes. 

“Cariad,” she replies, without thinking. 

He frowns a little, pulling her towards him and putting his arms around her. “What’s that?”

She puts her hands on his chest and looks up into his face. “It’s just a pet name. Cariad. It means love. Caraid aur; precious love. Aur is gold, like all these,” she picks up one of his gold necklaces and rubs it between her fingers. 

He grins. “Ya callin’ me precious?”

She smirks a little. “Ti’n iawn, ‘raur?” 

“What?!”

“You okay, precious?”

He giggles, kissing her gently. “I like it.” Blushing a little, he looks down at her through his lashes. “Will ya call me that? Precious?”

“If you want, ‘raur,” she replies, smiling and gently bumping her nose against his. 

“It sounds like a tiger. Rawwwrrr.”

They both giggle again, lost in their own little world for a moment. Then Elvis’ stomach rumbles and he remembers he invited her for dinner. 

“C’mon Tegan bach, dinner time.”

He leads her into the dining room and sits her next to him at the table, before ringing the bell behind him. The cook appears a few moments later with two plates piled high with food. 

“I thought I’d let ya try some of the best Southern cuisine in Memphis. An’ then you can cook f’me, if ya still want ta.”

She digs in to the food happily, fried chicken, fries, greens and beans. They talk a little about Memphis and her job and karate and his. And then when they’re both absolutely stuffed he leads her through to the TV room, fixing her a gin and tonic and sitting close to her on one of the pale pink sofas. She takes a sip of her drink and then remembers the necklace she’d brought with her. 

“Oh, I have to show you something! Hang on.”

She rummages about in her handbag and he looks at her curiously, wondering what on earth she could have to show him. She finally finds it and holds it up for him to see. 

“Got it for Christmas donkey’s years ago.”

It’s an EP necklace, gold-plated with crystals in the letters. He squints at it for a moment and then holds his hand out. She puts it down carefully on his palm and he rummages around in a drawer of one of the cabinets next to the sofa, bringing out a pair of reading glasses and pushing them onto his face. Looking down again, he breaks into a grin. 

“Ya still like it?”

She nods. “Yeah, it’s pretty.”

“I’ll get ya a proper one made. Real diamonds, not this cheap shit.”

“Oh, Elvis, you don’t have to do that. This is fine. Here.” She takes it back off him and puts it on. 

He leans on the back of the sofa with his elbow, looking at her with the necklace on over the top of his glasses.

“I’ll get ya a proper one. But this’ll do fer now.” He smirks. “At least people will know who’s y’are…” he slides a finger under the chain, running it along her skin and looking at her face for her reaction. 

She blushes and looks at him a little shyly. 

“They’ll know ya belong ta me,” he continues, holding the EP between his finger and thumb, his eyes flicking up to her face again. “Hm?”

“Yes,” she whispers back. She can feel herself getting wet at his words and it’s almost a little embarrassing. She’s sure she was a feminist when she walked through the door, but hearing him talk so possessively is making her dizzy. 

“Good.”

He drops the necklace and leans back, looking at her flushed face and the way her skirt has ridden up her thigh a little, exposing one of her tattoos. 

“This is pretty,” his hand rests on her thigh, then slowly moves up, pushing the fabric of her dress up as it goes. A pin-up style mermaid wrapped in a squid starts to appear under his hand. Once he’s pushed it up all the way to the crease of her thigh he lightly brushes his fingers over the outside of her panties and then moves his hand away completely. 

“Thanks,” she just about manages, hearing her heartbeat in her ears. 

One of his fingers starts to trace the outline of the picture. “She looks happy caught up in this squid here.”

Her face is burning hot and her throat feels dry. “I guess she is.”

“Hmmm. I wonder why that is.”

She bites her lip. “Maybe she likes the feeling of being trapped.”

His fingers stop drawing the outline of the tattoo and he lays his palm flat against her leg, dragging it up firmly from her knee to her hip. 

“Oh, is that so? Like a fly trapped in a spider’s web?”

She nods. “Something like that, yeah.”

“Ah.”

His hand grips the top of her thigh, thumb brushing against her panties again. 

“How much does she like it?” He asks as his other hand trails down from her shoulder to her breast, knocking the strap of her dress off her shoulder. His thumb dips into the top of her dress and her bra, stroking the skin there. 

She can see her chest heaving and tries to swallow to wet her throat a little before she replies. She wishes he would kiss her and stop just looking at her like this. 

“A lot,” she whispers, still sounding a little hoarse. 

He grins, licking his lips as he carries on staring at her over the glasses. Then he shifts the hand on her thigh to press it against the outside of her panties. She whimpers softly. 

“Feels like she likes it a lot.” 

His fingers rub her repeatedly through her panties and she squirms a little. 

“Shall we look an’ see how much she likes it? Y’want me ta?”

His hands move to either side of the top of her panties, hooking two fingers into the elastic waistband. She can’t lie and say she doesn’t want him to take them off, but her heart is beating out of her chest. She can’t remember the last time anyone saw her down there. 

“Yes,” she whispers again. “But… E-Elvis…?”

“Yes honey.”

“Can I have a kiss?”

His whole demeanour softens a little and he smiles warmly. “Of course ya can honey.”

His hands let go of her panties and both go to her face, holding it as he kisses her thoroughly. His glasses bump her cheek a little and he moves to take them off but she grabs hold of one of his forearms and shakes her head. He smirks a little. 

“Oh, ya like ‘em?”

“They make you look like a sexy teacher.”

He giggles, almost looking a little embarrassed himself. “Is that so?”

She nods. “Keep them on, please.”

“Anythin’ fer my little girl.”

He presses another quick kiss to her lips and then hooks his fingers back through her panties again, waiting for her to nod her consent before he pulls them down and off. He pushes her skirt up properly and she starts to giggle. 

“What?” He asks, looking up at her over his glasses in an almost exaggeratedly teacherish way. 

“I… I don’t know…” she puts her hand over her mouth, still giggling. “I think I’m just nervous. It’s been a while.”

“Nothin’ ta be nervous about honey. I’m gonna take my time an’ try ta make ya feel good, an’ if ya want me to stop any time ya jus’ say, hm?”

She nods, still half-laughing but relieved that his tone is more gentle and less overwhelmingly sexy now. 

“I’m gonna take a look at this pretty pussy now,” he coos. Somehow her nervousness is making him more confident and he feels like if she likes him wearing the reading glasses she might like this too. He’s always had a kind of sixth sense when it comes to knowing what a woman might like and he hopes it hasn’t worn off from not using it for so long.

Tegan bites her lip, feeling like she’s under a microscope again but in the best possible way. She watches him as he moves closer to her, looking between her legs and then flicking his eyes up at her face. 

“Very pretty.”

“You think so? I wondered if I should’ve shaved… I mean I hate waxing but…” she’s babbling now and she knows it. 

Elvis grins, licking his lips deliberately. “Honey, most of the pussy I’ve seen was before shaving was a thing. An’ that’s the way I like it.” He sees her smile in response and then continues, “why don’tcha lie down so I can look atcha properly?”

She sits up to take her sandals off and then lies back on the sofa with her legs bent at the knee. Feeling a little bit like she’s about to be examined by a particularly attractive doctor. Pushing her knees back so her feet come up, he takes the opportunity to gently kiss her toes before leaning down close to her pussy. He very gently parts her lips with his thumbs, then licks a stripe up her, swirling his tongue around her clit for a moment before pulling back and looking at her face. 

Her eyes are closed, but when she doesn’t feel his tongue again they spring open. 

“Ya taste good, Tegan bach,” he tells her, softly. 

She squirms a little and puts a hand over her eyes. He smirks, crawling over her body and pulling the hand away, kissing her deeply, his tongue pushing into her mouth. 

“See?” 

“Elvis!” She squeaks. 

“Thought ya had a pet name f’me…” he mumbles, almost bashful. 

“You only get that if you don’t tease me so much!”

“Ya don’t like bein’ teased? I think ya do…”

He moves back down to between her legs and pushes her legs apart, starting to lick her with unexpected fervour. She moans a little, arching her back as he eats her like his last meal, looking up at her the whole time through his glasses. Just as her breathing starts to speed up he pulls off her and sits back on his heels, holding one of her calves in each hand. 

“Oh!” She exclaims. 

He giggles. “Think ya like a little teasin’, hm?” 

Letting go of her legs, he runs a finger from her little hole up to her clit and back down again, spreading her juices around. 

“E-Elvis…” she begins.

“Mmmm, no. Want ya t’call me by that special name…”

He presses a kiss to her thigh, just above her knee, and then continues towards her pussy, kisses turning to nips and finally a hard bite right at the top of her leg.

“Ow!”

He grins, wickedly, and then kisses his way around her pussy, making her wriggle and huff impatiently, trying to get him where she wants him. He kisses her clit and then takes it between his teeth, tugging lightly. 

“Ahhh! Elvis!”

“Uh-uh.” 

Moving his head away again, this time he slaps her clit with his hand very lightly, looking immediately for her reaction. She squeaks and squirms and giggles and blushes all at once. 

“Please!”

“Someone’s gettin’ frustrated…” he teases, as he alternates between licking and slapping. 

She throws her head back, letting out a frustrated moan and screwing her eyes shut. She can’t remember a man ever making her react like this, she feels like she’s losing her head. 

“‘Raur!”

“Awww, now that’s all I wanted, sweetie. Now ya can cum.”

His head buries itself between her legs again and she finds herself gripping it with her hands, fingers deep in his hair. She has no idea what the fuck he’s doing with his tongue but whatever it is, it’s driving her crazy. She can feel her orgasm building and she tries to relax and not strain to reach it for once. He briefly comes up for air and then pushes her legs even further apart, pressing down on them until her knees almost reach the sofa cushions and diving back into her pussy like a man possessed. 

“Fuck. Don’t stop.” She moans out, even closer now. 

She feels his tongue speed up, flicking back and forth over her clit, faster and faster until finally she’s there, groaning out her climax as she throws her arms above her head. He lets his tongue relax and slowly runs it over her a few more times, before sitting up and leaning heavily against the back of the sofa, his head lolling on his shoulders. 

He lets out a low whistle and shakes his head a little. 

“Mmmm, you okay?” She asks, squinting up at him, too blissed out to move.

He pulls his glasses down to the end of his nose and looks at her over them, pursing his lips a little. 

“Ya wore this old man out, Tegan bach.”

She giggles and then slowly sits up, stroking his face with her hand. 

“Sorry ‘raur.”

He pushes his glasses back onto his face and grins. “Haven’t eaten pussy that good in a long time.”

She blushes and puts her head on his shoulder, cuddling into him. One of his arms wraps around her and his other hand splays over her thigh, possessively. He kisses the top of her head. 

“Don’t think I’ve ever been eaten that well,” she mumbles into his shirt. 

“Hm? No. That’s a damn crime,” he tells her, kissing her hair again. 

“Can I do something for you?” She asks, hand starting to trail down from his chest towards the waistband of his pants. 

He catches it midway down and puts it back on his chest, his big hand enveloping her small one. “That’s okay, honey.”

Her eyebrows knit together in confusion but she doesn’t say anything. If he doesn’t want her to touch him then there’s not a lot she can do about it. 

They spend a few hours in the TV room, chatting and drinking and even watching a little TV. Tegan is amazed by how tactile Elvis is and how tactile he somehow makes her too. She finds herself happily sitting in his lap, combing her fingers through his hair as if they’ve known one another forever. He runs his fingers over her tattoos and asks her questions about them, always interested in why she got that particular thing, rather than the usual annoying demands about whether or not they hurt. She doesn’t know how long she’s been sitting there, but she does notice when she drops off, waking up with a start in his arms. 

“Oh shit.”

Elvis chuckles. “Hi there, sleeping beauty.”

“What time is it?”

“1am.”

She yawns, then puts her hand over her mouth. “Hmmm. I should go.” 

“I’ll get Sonny to drive ya home.”

“Does Sonny not want to be asleep? I can take a cab.”

Elvis shakes his head. “Not from this house ya can’t. Don’t worry about Sonny. He’s awake as late as me.”

Tegan considers continuing to argue the toss and then decides against it, allowing herself to be picked up and carried to the front door once Elvis has successfully located Sonny and persuaded him to come and take her home. Elvis sets her down and then hands her her panties back, which makes her laugh. She stuffs them in her bag and then puts her arms around his neck. 

“Am I going to see you again before class?”

“Class is Tuesday. Yer quite needy, aintcha?” He’s teasing but she frowns and pouts. 

“I mean, come on. You literally left the state the last time we fooled around. I’m kinda expecting you to leave the country this time.”

He smirks. “I won’t go anywhere. But I’m not used ta this. Let’s just see each other at class on Tuesday, hm?”

Tegan tries to hide her disappointment but she’s sure she’s failing. “Yeah, okay,” she replies, doing her best impression of a smile. 

He rubs his hands up and down her sides, looking down at her steadily. “Maybe if ya still want ta, ya can cook fer me next weekend?”

She smiles properly now, nodding enthusiastically. “I’d love to.”

“Alright then. See ya at class.”

He gives her a kiss goodbye just as Sonny turns up at the front door. The other man waits patiently for them to untangle themselves, smiling a little at the sight of his boss seeming so loved up for once. His wife had complained about him going to Graceland to do another job for Elvis so late at night, but he doesn’t mind. He actually quite enjoyed talking to Tegan on the way there, and he’s interested to see what he can get out of her on the way back. He likes to see his boss happy again, and he’s eager to do whatever he can to keep it that way. 

***

Part 5

Taglist:

@vintagepresley @arg-xoxo @from-memphis-with-love @msamarican @blursedblegh @returntopresley @eapep @everythingelvispresley @i-r-i-n-a-a @sissylittlefeather @arrolyn1114 @jhoneybees @cattcb @polksaladava @lookingforrainbows @jkdaddy01 @ccab @epthedream69 @lustnhim @elvisslut @pomtherine @that-hotdog @ladelinee @angschrof @fairybloodsucker @deltafalax @makethemorning @elviswhore69 @ilovequeen978 @wildhorseinkansas @pocketfulofpresley @dkayfixates @iloveelvisss

[writeawaythepain]

That Funny Feeling

Jimmy Solidarity x (gn!reader)

…Hey! I’m not dead! And I finally have the urge to write again! Hope you enjoy my spiral into a new fandom!

tw: self-deprecating thoughts, angst (don’t worry there’s a fluff at the end)

Word count: 1.7k

Prompts:

“You are worthy of love and friends and respect.”

"why do you care!" "because i’m in love with you!"

Summary:

You walk in on Jimmy having beef with a fence post, and though you're not really surprised, you wonder if he’s dealing with more pain than just that of his injured foot. Includes you giving the poor guy a much needed hug, and a slip-up that lets him in on how much you really care about him.

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You don’t think you’ve ever really seen Jimmy upset…not really. He never minded being the butt of any joke, laughing along at any jab or insult. He didn’t mind if people made fun of him as long as it made someone laugh at the end. He was selfless like that. You were always a little bit jealous of his resilience, and maybe that’s why you always thought of him as almost…invincible.

So, when one day you came to check up on how the Sheriff’s new building was going, you were surprised to see that barely any progress had been done. It actually…seemed like he’d torn parts of it down. You approached slowly, taking in the half done walls and foundation, a door frame without a door, and started to look for him. 

Before you can even call out to him, though, you see the back of a familiar blonde cowboy. A cowboy who was seemingly talking to himself. “No- come on Jim! You know you can do better at this- you just gotta… just gotta…” He stops, clenching his fists and yelling out in frustration. “It’s not that hard!” He emphasizes the last word by kicking a rickety fence post, but it must have been sturdier than he expected because he instantly flinched back, grabbing his foot and crying out in pain.

The whole sight was almost cartoonish, with him wearing his cowboy hat and boots, so you couldn’t help but snicker even as you reached out your hand in concern. “Oh my god Jimmy, are you ok?” You can’t stop the smile that spreads on your face, but it wavers slightly as you approach him and notice…are those tears in his eyes? He quickly wipes his face, replacing his frustrated look with an excited smile. 

“Oh hi! I didn’t even see you there! Me and this fence post are having beef, actually- See, it won’t do what I tell it to, and make my stuff look good so I was reminding ‘em who's in charge round here!” He laughs a little as he says it, his smile so bright you're inclined to believe him…it wasn’t quite reaching his eyes though, and you still wonder if the kick hurt him more than he was letting on.

“Yea, you really showed him!” You try to mirror his energy, shaking off some of your worries as he replies in his usual chipper tone.

“Yea I did!” He laughs but then slightly turns away from you. “Listen uh…you know I always love having you around. You’re welcome anytime! But uh…I really have a- a thing I gotta do and…” Your smile drops as you see him wince a little as he puts his weight on the foot he ‘beat up’ the fence post with.

“Hey Jimmy, is your foot ok?” You walk up to him, concerned. “Maybe you should sit down-“

“Nah I’m fine…probably anyway.” He laughs like it’s a joke, but when you look at him you're not smiling.

“You're limping. You might not have broken anything but- here, sit down.” You gently put your hand on his shoulder.

“It’s really nothing, I’m just being an idiot...” He moves away from your touch, shaking it off and puffing up his chest a little. He tries to shoot you a smile again, but it did little to aid your concerns.

“Just, let me take a look at it? Maybe I can help-“ You start, a little frustrated at his stubbornness.

“But I don’t need help! I can take care of it myself! I just- I just stubbed my toe. I’ll be fine!” You sigh, giving him a weird look, but deciding not to push it.

“…why were you beefing with the fence post anyway…did it kill your grandma?” You joke, hoping to fix the awkward air that had somehow come between the two of you. It’s weird, you’d never felt awkward talking with him before.

Instead of responding, Jimmy just turned towards his half finished building. And stood there. After a while he finally spoke. “Listen I’m, kinda busy right now. Maybe you can come back another time?” …Alright that’s it-

“Ok Jimmy, what is up with you? I came here to see your build, which looks less finished than when I saw it days ago may I add, and instead I see you kicking a fence post, getting defensive when I try to help, and now you don’t even laugh at my Trolls joke? …ok maybe it's an old meme but still-“ You chuckle, still kind of hoping he’d just turn around and start acting normal again. You’ve never seen him act like this before.

All he did was stand there…and as the silence grew longer you couldn’t help but start to get worried. “Gosh…I really am useless.” He finally says.

You almost roll your eyes, “Your not useless Jim-“ 

“Yes- yes I am!” He says it so firmly you freeze. You’ve never heard him raise his voice like that before. 

“I can’t build, I can’t fight, I can’t even be the guy who smiles all the time! I’m- I’m basically worthl-“ He stops himself. “…and I don’t know why I’m telling you this- I’m sorry.“ You're so surprised by his words you don’t even know what to say. “I didn’t mean to yell. It’s just-“ He takes his hat off of his head and grips it in his hands. “It’s so stupid- I’m so stupid. It shouldn’t be this hard for me to just-“ His grip on the hat tightens.

“…Jimmy, you are not worthless. You don’t have to smile all the time to be the brightest ray of sunshine I know. You could probably make me see the silver lining of getting stabbed for god's sake-“ You almost laugh at your own words, hoping it would get through to him. “You are worthy of love and friends and respect. And I’m sorry I don’t tell you that enough.” You walk up to him and put a hand on his shoulder. He slowly spins around, but doesn’t meet your eyes.

“I’m just being a baby-”

“No, no you're not. It’s ok to- to feel bad sometimes.” You interrupt gently before he can insult himself again.

“Why- why do you even care?” His voice wavers, and now you can see the tears streaming out of his eyes. 

“Because I love you…you idiot.” Jimmy freezes, and even you are a little surprised at your own words, but it’s true. “People care about you- I care about you! I don't care that you can’t build giant castles or fight dragons, or that you get mad or sad sometimes-“ Your rambling a bit, trying to recover from the bombshell you just dropped. Jimmy was just staring at you, eyes wide. 

“…you…love me? Like…love, love me?!” He says slowly, not really paying attention to anything else you said after.

“I- this is probably not the best time to just- but, yea. I really do.” You can’t help but look down as you admit it, and when you look back up at him he’s crying all over again. “I’m sorry I didn’t mean to-“

He steps forward and wraps you in a hug, sobbing into your shoulder. You hug him back, rubbing his back and giving him some words of encouragement. Slowly his sobs get quieter, and eventually he pulls away from the hug.

“Um…” He sniffs. “I know I probably look like a mess right now-“

“Just a little.” You tease gently, wiping a stray tear off of his face.

“Right- but um…I love you too. Just so you know.” He avoids your eyes as he says it, then looks directly into them, gauging your reaction, as if to ensure this wasn’t all a joke.

“Like…?” You start.

“Yea…like that.” He gently bumps his forehead against yours, his regular confident smile returning to his face. “I cannot believe you fell for my Sheriff rizz.” You laugh, shaking your head.

“Don’t- don’t say rizz-” You try to suppress a giggle, pretending to be upset. “Great, now you ruined the moment.”

His bravado instantly drops, “Wait. No wait I didn’t mean to-” You shut him up by yanking his neckerchief and planting a kiss on his cheek. “To…to…” His face slowly reddens as his brain catches up to his speeding heart.

“Fixed it.” You say simply, chuckling softly as your Sheriff still reboots. “I think I’m the one with the rizz~” You laugh.

“Yea, no I see how that ruins the moment.” You laugh even harder at his reaction, and he can’t help but join in. After a few moments, you end up gazing into his bright hazel eyes.

“You know you can always talk to me when you're feeling upset.” You say seriously, taking one of his hands with both of your own. “Don’t just…no one should be alone when they're feeling like that.”

“...I know…You're right, as always.” He smiles appreciatively, grabbing one of your hands with his free one. You both stand there, swaying your interlocked hands gently back and forth, just enjoying the other's company.

“You know, when you're feeling up to it, why don’t I help you finish this…” You look over the half finished building, realizing you had no idea what it was actually supposed to be.

“Barn. It’s – ” he sighs, as if even bringing it up makes him feel tired all over again, “ – ‘supposed to be a barn.” 

“Barn! Right, and we could even ask Joel to help.” His eyes widen.

“No! You can’t tell him- Oh my god I’d never hear the end of it!” You laugh at the urgency in his voice.

“Ok! Ok. It’ll just be me. I’ll help you…” You let go of his hands and instead interlock your fingers behind his neck. “It’ll be our little secret.” He gazes into your eyes with a look only comparable to a lovesick puppy.

“Gosh I really wanna kiss you right now-” He lets out with a whisper, and then it’s your turn to get a little flustered.

“Well…then kiss me cowboy.” You lean in and he meets you halfway, and the kiss is just as sweet as the blonde Sheriff you share it with.

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