#grant gustin one shot

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The Flash Suit went though quite a few changes over the years but which suit did you like best?

[nouearth]

love in the making.

grant gustin x male reader.

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘. the talk of the town is the production of a new picture starring hollywood's elite star, grant gustin and his co-star, you! as the chemistry between you and grant escalates, so do the tabloids, and the executives aren't happy. what will happen to your relationship with grant when the studio takes matters into their own hands?

𝐒𝐌𝐔𝐓. one-shot [ 13.6k ].

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒. male reader 〳 mid 1950s!au 〳 coworkers!au 〳 movie star!grant 〳 up and coming actor!reader 〳 smoking 〳 yearning 〳 slow-burn(?) 〳 gossip columns 〳 soap opera type of drama 〳 sexual content: top!grant, bottom!reader, anal penetration, breeding, kissing, spitting, blowjob (r!giving), praising, body worship, snowballing.

The leathery smell of cigar permeated the room. Grant added to the thickness in the air with several puffs, then suddenly modulated his breath when he realized it was his turn to run through his lines.

“Pardon me, Katharine. Your voice was so mesmerizing, I nearly fell to a slumber. Where were you when my mother ran out of bedtime stories to tell?” Grant cleared his throat, fulfilled by the laughter scattering from one person to the next while Katharine Scott, the leading lady of the picture, turned scarlet.

He began reading his dialogue.

It was half of the truth. Grant just didn’t bother mentioning that you’d been on his mind since the minute you walked in and introduced yourself -- that would’ve garnered a peculiar reaction. Aside from the screenplay, Grant’s eyes often meandered to you when they needed a break. The words on the script were beginning to scramble like alphabet blocks.

Before the tables were pushed together for the read-through, he noticed how your feet were crossed at the ankles, toes tapping to a rhythm he never noticed. In moments where the writer consulted with the director about the wooden dialogue, Grant could hear your muted taps speed up. Were you nervous? You had to be; you only had your foot in the industry for barely more than a year -- which was apparent.

You still had that humility in your smile.

Maybe it was frustration? Grant chewed on a pen he was holding as he attempted to decipher those pursed lips of yours. It was the color of flesh -- as it should be -- but why did he find them so… entrancing? It wasn’t just the color that got to him, but also the texture. They looked soft, really soft, as you ran through your lines with Katharine. Soft like your voice when you said your name for the first time. Soft like the grip of your handshake, which Grant knew you were well-aware of because you suddenly tensed your fingers at his fingers, nails into his palm, to compensate for your lack of callous. Soft like the ham and cheese bagel he had this morning, you would bite your own lip from how indistinguishable the bread roll and your mouth were from one other.

He chewed harder at the thought. Why does Grant want to see that happen?

“Grant? It’s your line.”

When Grant’s vision focused harder on your lips, he realized your mouth was aiming directly at him. Separating and closing, all for him. He immediately perked up.

“What—oh. Right. Where were we…” Grant felt warmth creeping up his neck, rubbing at it to ward off the heat. He only made it worse as it climbed to his chin and mouth, the taste of heat almost perceptible when he fought it off with a lick of his lips. “Gross, what the hell is—“

Metallic, acidic, and bitter on his tongue -- it was a taste that made him fully alert to the blue stain on his script. Then quickly after, the peculiar heat dripping off the corner of his mouth.

“Grant, you have—“ He watched you conceal a gasp when he turned to you, but your eyes -- everyone’s eyes -- made it perfectly clear that he needed to break this habit of chewing pens.

“Ladies and gentlemen, if you will excuse me…”

He should’ve listened to his mother when he was little.

“Just my luck…”

Grant was bent over the sink, scrubbing away at his face with a soapy hand. He was dressed down to his undershirt, figuring he’d address the stain on his dress shirt later in the evening.

It was almost like there was an invisible force field around his chin because the ink stain was refusing to wash out. Grant was certainly in a better position than before, but he could still make out that splotch of grey-blue, muted from his unrelenting efforts to look somewhat presentable again.

“Grant, you all right? I’m coming in,” He recognized your voice immediately and perked up at the prospect of seeing you again, even if he really ought to know better than to be happy to see someone in this predicament.

Especially a handsome one.

“I think it’s coming off, you think? Could be my flesh that I’m tearing away at, but if it works…”

It was natural to glance at someone when they enter the bathroom. Humans are naturally inquisitive people. Innovation and evolution weren’t the result of keeping to oneself. What wasn’t natural was staring, particularly when it came to a man’s face, which seemed to have been exasperated from adrenaline.

You were panting and heaving as you made your way to counter. Grant took notice of your necktie, swinging from side to side with every step you took. You must’ve forgotten a tie clip. If not, then it must’ve fallen sometime between the moment he left the room and you entering the bathroom.

He had to admit, you looked—

“Keep at it and you’ll find the city of Atlantis,” you stifled a chuckle when Grant washed off the soap suds again, only to reveal what many would presume to be a rather strange five o’clock shadow.

Well, half of one.

“Speaking of finds,” he grabbed a handful of paper towels to dry his face, then nodded towards the paper bag that you had set on the counter. “What’s the loot?” Grant asked, partly because he wanted to distract you from watching him any longer and because he was simply curious.

Once again, inquisitive people drove evolution. In this context, Grant would like to get to know you more -- for the sake of the motion picture, of course.

“Went to the general store and thought you might need these,” you began unpacking the bag one by one.

A package of bar soap, a tin of cold cream, and a modest bag of assorted fruit chews. “Soap? We have soap right here.” Grant recognized the logo on the bag, there was a candy store west of the studio lot. He wondered where you went first. Did you get hungry during your brisk shopping trip, or was the general goods store on the way and you needed to kill time?

“Yes, well, that’s hand soap. You need Ivory soap, which is hydrating and better for your face. Hand soap will dry you out.”

He also wondered why you were helping him out. Not that people don’t go out of their way to help a celebrity of his status, but often, he could tell when someone was contriving flattery.

“What about the tin?” Grant asked. With one hand, he picked up the tin and analyzed the engraved packaging against the light.

You began rummaging through your bag of fruit chews. “Cold cream. It’s what my mother uses to remove her makeup. Use that before you wash your face. It should help melt the stain,” Pink wrapper, it was a strawberry chew. Grant deduced that it also must have been your favorite flavor since you searched high and low for it, flicking past the greens, blues, oranges, and yellows.

Replaying it back in his mind made him chuckle. He had been inside the candy store before, usually spending a few cents on chocolates for his dates. Still, the store was a marquee for locals who wanted to self-serve their candy bags and that hadn’t gone unnoticed. A buffet of confectionery to put it persuasively, which made Grant laugh again at the thought of you picking out the strawberry chews.

You could’ve avoided the trouble by not packing the other flavors at all.

“It’s for women… ‘She’s engaged, she’s lovely, she uses cold cream,’” The irony of the tagline shared a brief fit of laughter between you and Grant.

It felt good to hear you laugh, even if it was quite apparent that you were restraining yourself to lower the chances of choking on a fruit chew. Death was inevitable as much as it was arbitrary, and Grant was not letting a handsome man like yourself be the first case of ‘death by candy, and a badly timed joke.’

Besides the point, you were benign. Your knowledge in women’s beauty products caused a case of interest, and that made Grant want to excavate your formality even more.

“You look like you belong in the Looney Tunes, Gustin. That should be the least of your worries,” he watched you primp yourself in front of the mirror, minor adjustments to your hair where the gel had fallen loose. “Anyway, I’ll get us some lunch. They said we’ll resume in a bit. You like salami? I know a place that makes a great Italian sandwich. Good fries too.”

With autumn approaching, the weather was only getting windier. By dint of the way a strand of hair fell delicately over your forehead like the stem of a cherry, Grant figured he should make amends with the upcoming season if it meant he would be seeing more of you fixing your tousled hair.

“Actually—wait for me, yeah? I prefer dining in for lunch, can’t stand soggy fries,” Grant opened the tin of cold cream and was instantly hit with a whiff of nostalgia -- something of gardenia and vanilla all at once. He must have smelled this at his mother’s vanity at some point in his life.

“Well, you must hurry because I had nothing but double the allotment of caffeine. I feel like Lucy in that one run where all she had for dinner were mints,” you were referencing an episode of I Love Lucy, adjusting your tie in between glances.

He slathered on the white paste and rubbed at the stain on his chin. Grant wouldn’t have guessed this was part of a woman’s nightly routine. If he ignored the floral notes, the product resembled shaving cream for the most part.

“‘There’s nothing quite like a good after-dinner mint,’” Grant quoted a line from the same episode you had mentioned. In retrospect, he was glad he shelled out a couple hundred bucks for the hottest commodity of the decade. He had never seen someone’s eyes light up the way yours did.

If the building was set on fire and everyone had to be evacuated, Grant wouldn’t have known by virtue of your radiant smile -- it was disorienting. Whether or not he would’ve made it out in time… the matter of the fact was that his fate was entirely dependent on you, and Grant was surprisingly at ease with that proposition.

You cleared your throat when it registered that the stare shared between the two of you had stopped you in your tracks, Grant in his. The silence was almost tangible. Grant wasn’t sure how long he’d been staring at your eyes, then your nose, and then your lips again. That information served no purpose, only to embarrass him with the strong chance that it might’ve been too long.

Much too long for him, he began noticing your delightful cologne and not the smell of floral and vanilla. If he took a step closer, maybe he could—

“You can wash it off now. I’m curious to see if it works.”

For now, Grant was content on watching you at arm’s length, eating your favorite piece of candy and laughing as you tidied yourself.

It seemed like he was only beginning to scratch the surface.

It had only been a little more than a week of principal photography, but Grant was quick to inform himself of the director’s social cues. Sucking in his bottom lip meant that something regarding the scene was off -- whether it be the lighting, the wrinkle in a shirt, the fumble of dialogue, or the stiff movement of the actors. He was a meticulous man, stopping a take when Grant’s hair wasn’t as slicked back as he had envisioned. Imposing at times, but the general kindness kept the set rather freeing.

Today, Grant received a firm nod behind the camera.

“You got a light?” Grant asked with a cigarette between his lips, patting his pockets only to leave with empty hands. He pulled a chair next to where you had been studiously scribbling notes on your script. He couldn’t have read it if he tried -- and he had tried once -- chicken scratch hadn’t left your fine motor skills anytime soon.

“Uh-huh. Every apartment has one if you find the right landlord,” you said dryly, flashing a cheeky grin and continuing to annotate the script in your hand.

“Cute,” he snickered while you fished a lighter out of your pant pocket. It wasn’t your scheduled smoke break yet, it was often reserved right before lunch. You figured that you mind as well get one out of the way since the clock was nearing lunch time anyhow.

Lighting up your cigarette, you drew in a breath of tobacco and felt it cloud over your brain after, tempering the stress signals with warmth. “Here,” your thumb remained on the flint wheel while your free hand hovered over the flame to block the desk fan. The wick of fire bridged the distance between you and Grant as you both leant forward to ignite his cigarette.

His hand rested on yours, gently bringing the lighter closer to the end of his cigarette stick, and stabilized itself until the tobacco was lit.

It shouldn’t have felt intimate. It was probably from the smoke, wasn’t it? The type of buzz that made Grant hallucinate all and everything around him -- black crows if he was in a troubled sate. In this case, it was the tremble of your hand when Grant held it, unsteady like the lighter’s flame before you had capped it. It was the look you gave him, aggravated if it was from most men, but almost imploring on your end. It was the silence that bestowed between the two of you, the type where Grant knew you could tell he was staring at you now, because you began scribbling arbitrary patterns on the margins of your script.

He should probably tell you that the scribbles were merging with your annotations, but Grant had to be careful. Otherwise, he was going to open his mouth and give you an earful of lunacy, starting with “Your hands are cold” and ending with “Can I hold them for longer?”

“So, what’s for lunch today?” You asked, stretching your arms overhead. Grant watched your fingers closely as they fanned out and held nothing but air.

“I could go for a hamburger. You?”

“Something light for me… think I’m coming down with a bug. My stomach suddenly hurts.”

Grant regretted letting go now.

“We missed you at shooting today. And yesterday. And the day before that. Mainly Wilder though—he likes how you can get scenes done in one take.”

You were caught off-guard hearing Grant’s voice through the handset. Even if he was calling from the other side of town, there was something about his presence that made you sit up and spruce up your surroundings, not forgetting your own appearance, of course.

“Well, that’s comforting. I’m sorry—how exactly did you get my telephone, Grant? Where are you calling from?” It must have been the hoarse sound of your voice that made Grant laugh into the handset. You could see it now, his smile.

“Don’t worry about that—and from my hotel. What you should be worrying about is your health. Why are you still up?” Grant started out lighthearted at first, but then muttered, like the weight of his concern strung his voice along.

Really, you ought to sleep. The positive of being sick meant that you could leisure all day and not feel guilty about watching television, even if you had outdone your daily average by a margin. The negative? Your senses were heightened by tenfold, which was ironic because your sinuses were blocked. That didn’t matter whatsoever. What did matter was that you kept waking multiple times throughout the night because your bed was either too warm, too cold, too soft, or too hard.

Now, sleep was as elusive as seeing Grant. It had only been a couple of days, yet you began to feel off -- which could be another symptom of the flu in hindsight.

“It’s wash day. I’m soaking my clothes as we speak,” you flicked off the television to hear Grant better. The rain was pouring down hard on your window.

“You do your own laundry?” Grant asked. He sounded genuinely astonished.

Picturing his expression alongside, you couldn’t contain your laughter any longer. “I am an adult, Grant.” Your toes said otherwise as they wiggled in your socks in complete bliss.

Hearing Grant’s voice was a much-needed energy boost -- way more effective than the oranges you had been eating, but not on par with the programs you had been watching. He’ll get there soon.

“I usually have my housekeeper do it for me,” he confessed.

It was no surprise. You read all about it in the papers before, how the wealthy hires a live-in help, or a nanny if the household contained a family with more than enough kids. They were all cut from the same cloth either way.

“And have you noticed any silk ties going missing?” You asked in jest.

“Now that you mentioned it—“ Before Grant could finish, you laughed, picturing his expression screw into realization that he hadn’t worn his red necktie in a bit.

Objectively, it made sense. The last thing you would want to do is clean the bathroom after coming home from work. It was a luxury you would like to have the option to afford one day, but for now, having a housekeeper was merely that—an option.

You had a much more ambitious goal in mind, and that was making an impact on Hollywood. “Case adjourned.”

Grant’s laugh suggested defeat, and you were all too familiar of the long silence that would come after. If he was here face-to-face, you both would sit in the sound of white noise, or the beating rain in this case, and simply stare at each other.

You weren’t sure when or how it came to fruition, and in the end that didn’t matter—because it was nice.

It was nice to be free from all things interfering with Grant.

“What was for dinner?” He asked, instantly reminding you of the emptiness in your stomach.

“I overslept—well, as overslept as one could be when all they have on their agenda for the day is to die in bed while watching re-runs.”

“Dying to one of Lucille Ball’s shenanigans doesn’t sound too bad. If you time it right, the audience can laugh when you exhale your very last breath,” you laughed at Grant’s morbid mind. “I’ll come over then.”

“You don’t know where I live, Grant. And no, I might pass the bug to you. You’re the production’s biggest asset. We can’t afford any more delays if you fall sick too.”

“I do, actually. The apartment with the orange accents. It’s all everyone talks about because it’s so bright. And I’ll be fine, (M/N). I shot quite a bit of my scenes already. I know you’re a rising star, but the whole world doesn’t stop for you, sweetheart.”

Hearing Grant call you ‘sweetheart’, even if it was said in jest, had you thinking of several different situations in which he would say it again -- preferably in earnest.

“It should. All the take-out places in my neighborhood closed early. What I would do if I had the world in my palm…” From the couch, you looked solemnly out your window, watching blocks of buildings sleep in the shadow of the moon. Your stomach growled as the rain poured harder.

“Even as a dictator, you wouldn’t be able to stop me from coming over. I’ll be there in a split.”

“But it’s raining—“

The line ended with a buzz.

“You know, you don’t have to keep checking up on me, or even bring me food for the matter. I stocked up on some ‘TV Dinner,’” you took a whiff at the steaming bowl of lobster bisque, putting your sinuses to the test. Still nothing. Giving up, you took a sip.

“No wonder you’ve been complaining about your throat! At least buy the meatloaf one,” Grant poured you a cup of orange juice before putting the jug back, rummaging through your freezer after. “And since we’re on the subject… I’ll try one of these bad boys out.”

It was strange seeing someone in your kitchen, let alone your apartment. As unfamiliar was it was, you couldn’t lie and say that you hated it. It was easier to talk to Grant, on the couch and eating a meal together, than it was with a bunch of people interrupting their conversation for either one of them, sometimes both, to do another take.

“Have you ever been offered the chance of being a mystery guest?” After finishing dinner, you curled up on one end of the sofa while Grant sat on the other, arms sprawled over the back and feet cushioned separately by a foot stool.

You and Grant were watching a late night re-run of ‘What’s My Line?’ Four panelists had to question contestants to determine their line of work with only yes-no questions. Toward the last round of every episode, there would be a celebrity mystery guest in which the panelists sought to determine the identity of while blindfolded. For tonight’s episode, the panelists were still stumped on the first contestant’s ‘occupation’—which hardly seemed fair because it was then revealed that she was a victim of a knife-throwing accident.

They let anyone participate these days.

“I have. I wanted to partake in it, but the studio rejected the idea.”

“Why’s that?” You asked, aghast.

Frankly, if you were in Grant’s shoes, you wouldn’t have take ‘no’ for an answer. Anyone who was anyone guested on that show. And if you were Grant’s manager, somehow scarcely able to believe you would even have the energy to be in meetings all day, you would have made his dreams come true. All of them, no matter how absurd they could be.

“They thought I’d be confused at the questions given to me,” Grant sounded aggrieved. You looked over. In the guise of his smile, you could tell those words still affected him. “I think I’m capable. I just lose my train of thought in front of a crowd sometimes.”

Which made the passing thought of being Grant’s manager only a fantasy as the guilt suddenly festered -- you believed those horde of headlines insulting his intellect once. Luckily, it had since dissipated once befriending him.

“Well, when the day comes, I don’t want you to tell me,” you confessed. “Leave the surprise to the broadcast.”

Though, it wasn’t like you thought lowly of him or made any disparaging remarks on his character because of those articles. Rather, you simply pitied. You weren’t going to tell him that, however. He doesn’t need to know how deep your affection for his films and personages go. That he gave you the kick you needed to pursue this strange, yet fulling path -- you could taste the accolades right around the corner, even if you were still living in a dingy apartment.

The awful truth was that Grant also didn’t need to know that you had fallen harder for him -- the real him -- than any other roles he had played. Maybe it was his gorgeous looks that projectors couldn’t do justice. Or the clumsy nature that strangely fit his otherworldly persona -- something had to humble him. Or how he was doing this, bringing you soup every day and making himself comfortable in your own home, like it was his as well.

Or how he was looking at you right now, curled up on the other end of the sofa, his foot accidentally brushing over yours in midst of finding a comfortable spot.

You stretched your legs out when you suddenly felt tense in the body, turning away from the television set to face your body to the ceiling, your chin to your chest to keep your eyes on Grant, who began mirroring your position. It was like you two discovered telepathy for the first time; your leg occupying the gap between his thighs, Grant between yours. He turned the TV off like you had been wanting, filling the living space with complete darkness, and blindly skimmed his sock over your own.

Feeling his sock rub against your ankle stirred something inside of you, and it wasn’t reassuring that this urge only bloomed when Grant did it again. Once at your ankle, two at your calf. Whether this was his idea of a sick joke, you didn’t want that to be answered. Your senses were already heightened from the flu, the stillness in the room deafening, but the intertwined pairs of feet -- the sound of cotton caressing cotton -- alerting. Enticing.

It was an urge that seemed confined to Grant, you realized that when your body responded out of instinct and nudged his ankle and calf in retaliation. Not to get him to stop, but to silently convince him to resist -- because you were frightened you couldn’t any longer.

After a few more cycles of this—whatever activity you two were engaging in—Grant straightened his legs by your hips, seemingly complacent in this exchange by the sound of his chuckle.

“I’ll leave by dawn.”

“Good night, Grant.”

For the past couple of days, you had gotten into the habit of looking forward to Grant’s daily delivery of soups from a restaurant not too far from where he lived—three meals for breakfast, lunch, and dinner respectively. You had to admit, as delicious as they were, you were beginning to exhaust your taste buds of anything broth related. Substance was much needed, especially for a bite of the sandwiches that Grant had graciously introduced you to a couple weeks back.

However, you were feeling better, and that was the most important part—actually, scratch that.

The most important part was who was helping you recover from this aggravating bug. Sipping on the last spoonful of tomato soup, in hopes that your next meal would involve using your teeth, you were itching to resume filming.

At least you thought you did before you flipped through the daily paper. It was a still shot of Grant—blurry, walking down a sidewalk, hand in one pocket while the other was carrying a bag. That was normal, you had seen many of those in your lifetime.

What wasn’t normal was that you recognized the restaurant logo on the bag, the row of evergreens surrounding the perimeter, the distinct branding of the entrance of the building he was near.

Even if the photograph was in black and white, you could tell the handles and windows were painted with a shade darker than white. It made for a rather intriguing backdrop if you could choose to ignore the tightening feeling in your chest.

You started to panic as it became more apparent.

Orange.

“Shit.”

You braced yourself and read the headline.

HOLLYWOOD PLAYBOY STRIKES AGAIN: GRANT GUSTIN SPOTTED AT NEW ALLEGED LOVER’S RESIDENCE!

At first Grant thought he must have misunderstood. When he picked up today’s daily, he was half-expecting a gossip column regarding another one of his romantic adventures with a former co-star, the other half wishing the paper had focused on someone else for a change.

Last month’s column produced a rather in-depth, and slightly creepy, overview of his dinner with Miss Patton. He knew he had good reason to feel peculiar about the waiter serving them. If it hadn’t been for Miss Patton’s desperate plea to get a meal in her stomach as soon as possible, Grant would’ve demanded a switcheroo, effective immediately. The lanky, young man lingered far too long and asked too many questions for his liking, his presence alone made Grant’s Negroni Spritz go flat.

Did Grant’s reputation need to take another hit after finally recovering from those multitudes of fender benders a year and a half ago? Probably not -- Grant didn’t need to endure another hour-long chastising session about how his actions could damage the movie studio. It was all bluff anyway. Grant and the studio head both knew that scandals ushered in huge numbers, record-breaking attendances when it came to his most recent pictures.

Either way, had he known his private conversation with Miss Patton would become… well, not so private, Grant would’ve committed arson to the studio the night of. At least the executives could file an insurance claim based on the physical damage. Grant doubted there would be much validity to the claim if the reason provided was his inability to hold his tongue.

Luckily, Grant had since stopped pursuing after risks. It was what made a dent to his once speck-less Mercedes-Benz in the first place.

Dear God… my sweet Iris, what have I done to you?!

What he wasn’t expecting was—

“‘The Gustin Effect! Hollywood Heartthrob Grant Gustin Helps Local Restaurant Sell Out… Soups?,’” Grant repeated to himself. He was sweating as his eyes went over the large serif font for the nth time like skates on ice. He had to give it to The Daily Spring -- it wasn’t exactly an intriguing headline, but it made his heart race knowing the context. Regardless, it wasn’t exactly how he wanted to start off his day.

He suddenly felt compelled to pour another packet of sugar into his coffee.

“Keep reading, it’s a rather heart-warming article,” Grant’s manager said through the handset with a peculiar enthusiasm, as if the man wasn’t scolding him a few days ago for wandering about without telling him first. “Looks like we’re back on track, don’t you think?”

“As my manager, you’re supposed to be—I don’t know—warding off any worries that I might have. Not unsettle me any more than I already am…” Grant frowned, tucking the handset between his shoulder and ear before briefing into the rest of the gossip piece.

“What are you talking about? This is great news!”

“‘Local restaurant ‘The Cloud Room’ saw an unexpected surge in business after a photograph was published in the newspaper, showing movie star Grant Gustin holding a bag of the restaurant’s soups while en route to a secret rendezvous.

The image caught the attention of the public, leading to a wave of curious customers eager to try the same dish, dubbing the star’s powerful influence as ‘The Gustin Effect.’

With lines stretching down the block for the past three days, the possibility of the effect faltering anytime soon seems slim to none. The owners are considering expanding their hours to accommodate the growing number of customers drawn by the star's casual endorsement.’”

There were several more paragraphs, but Grant couldn’t be bothered to read any more of it. A sudden migraine had been festering the moment he laid eyes on the headline.

“Christ, Kid. You’re on a roll these days. I’d have to use both of my hands to count the number of articles written about you this past week. It’s impressive. If we play it right, then the upcoming picture could be your biggest hit yet. I know you’ve been clamoring for this moment, Kid.”

“Listen, I think I should—“ he groaned, rubbing at his temples.

“Oh, Grant. It’s just your typical fling, wasn’t it? Usually you sweeten a lady up with chocolates, but I guess… soup has its merit too. Nothing to worry about.”

Throbbing -- Grant’s head was throbbing now. He didn’t have the freedom to be indifferent to other people’s opinions. In fact, his career relied on it—on the public, on his manager, on his manager’s manager.

“No, the thing is—“

Now his hands were clamming up. He could feel the handset in his palm slipping, but he tightened his hold—because that was what people in his line of work did, right? If he was on the game show you and Grant were watching the other day, one of the questions would have been:

“Do you portray yourself as who you really are in your line of work?” “Are you free to express yourself however you wished in your occupation?” “Would people like the real person behind this persona of yours? Your parents, perhaps? Grandparents?” “Would you risk the comfort of your career for love?”

“I’ll run it by with the studio. Thank God for your little lady’s soup obsession because they were on my neck for letting you off my leash.”

Maybe his manager was correct in inducing this fear of the press, of anything that provided a space for a cluster of inquisitive people who sought for a piece of his life to sell.

Grant braced himself and exhaled, “It’s not a lady.”

Because Grant would answer all those questions with a resounding ‘No.’

“What, your brother in town? Do you even have a brother? Oh, it must’ve been your father then! Well, that will certainly fare better with the heads—”

All except one.

“It was (M/N).”

All the things Grant wasn’t saying sat heavy in his mouth. He wasn’t used to holding his tongue like this. Under normal circumstances, Grant would ramble non-stop about his favorite pastimes, like going up to Colorado to challenge the steepest ski run, or modestly luxuriating near the poolside at his mansion. It always got the conversation to a flying start with you.

Now, all of his efforts of building some kind of relationship with you seemed to be in vain.

Since Grant had revealed to his manager about his frequent visits to your apartment, there had been a constant stream of articles, propagated by the studio, about his love life, about his philanthropic efforts, about his wishes to build a family with a loving wife and four kids; all in the effort to bury his truth had it ever leak.

They brought his past flings back to the spotlight, even if he hadn’t communicated with these women in months. They brazenly brought you into the picture, gossip columnists regurgitating all types of bogus stories such as: your ego-trip when you demanded filming to stop because of your illness, your tantrum on set when Grant forgot his lines, your need to berate your assistant when she was as little of a second too late in fetching your coffee.

‘Inside sources,’ they’d call it—when really, these were excerpts manufactured from the publicity agent’s fictitious and unpublished novel, later trashed somewhere in the building to start a new one -- to find a new story for so-called ‘journalists’ would hound you with.

Articles about the alleged feud between you and Grant had only gotten more vicious and scathing on your end, and all Grant could do was watch in agony as the studio lot became a media circus, increasing day by day, week by week, with more photographers and reporters desperate to encounter these alleged incivilities. As a newcomer in the industry, it certainly raised your profile, but it was also to the detriment of your reputation -- a fact that everyone was content with considering the amount of coverage the film was receiving.

He had held onto your presence as a small comfort throughout the past bleak month, but even that necessity was taken away from him. More executives began coming onto set under the guise of quality assurance as shooting headed for its last week. Their intention became very much apparent whenever Grant would be inconvenienced with another obligation of shooting for more publicity stills.

Upon realizing you had done all your promotional material in solitude, there was nothing Grant had wanted more than to join you by your side. More so, when in a cursory attempt to blend in with your surroundings, you helped yourself to the catering service and tried to become interested in the employees. Grant knew you didn’t have enough energy in you to exchange more than a “How are you?” and some complimentary words about the food.

You didn’t stay much longer for the wrap party.

Nor were you even welcomed.

He was rarely in a situation where he could physically harm someone, but seeing the headlines the past month, how ostracized you had become during the last few weeks of filming, maybe the circumstances of his life would issue a free pass to do such heinous crimes out of the goodness of their heart -- especially since it pertained to you.

“You shouldn’t be here, Grant. Christ—someone could see you! How did you get here without someone following you?”

Before Grant was being sharply pulled into your apartment, he was contemplating on whether he should greet you with a reasonable “I’m sorry I couldn’t protect you,” a pleading “It’s all my fault, please forgive me,” or a simple “Hi.”

The door clicked shut, and Grant mentally slapped himself out of his thoughts. Instead, it was none of that.

“Everyone got wasted by nine,” Grant revealed lightly; there was some apprehension that any louder, he would break you based on your meek appearance. “Your eyes are red.”

You made a dismissive noise, brushing Grant off as you passed him on your way to the bedroom. “It’s only been a month and you’re already forgetting the color of my eyes, Grant? I’ve been telling you to go to the doctor.

Grant followed. By simply watching your back, Grant noticed your walk had changed. “Stop. Stop that.” You walked too fast for your own good at times, missing shops because you had tunnel-visioned toward the front, but Grant easily caught up to grab your arm and stop you in your tracks.

Or maybe he was just getting accustomed to your pace before shit hit the fan.

“Stop what?” You turned, facing him as you leaned against your bedroom door with crossed arms. At your lower eyelids, Grant caught sight of tears forming along the waterline. He shouldn’t think that crying looked lovely on you, so he kept that thought to himself.

But it really did put him in a trance for a moment. During that moment of attraction, it couldn’t be helped that the open collar of your shirt also led various prospects nearly consume him and all of his being, making him take a step closer. His fingers brushed by the tip of yours, the wattage of the slightest physical touch making you flex your fingers like you were upholstered by secrets.

A month shouldn’t have felt that long, but this was the moment when it all came into fruition -- that Grant hadn’t properly spoken or seen you in a month. He remembered how he felt when you looked at him for the first time, something like a sensation coming painfully back to a numb limb. As torturous as it was, it made Grant feel alive.

“Stop pretending like you’re okay,” Grant swallowed hard, finding himself in a dilemma between wiping your tears for you or giving you the space you clearly needed, even if Grant had involuntarily done enough of that.

You scoffed, using the back of your sleeve to wipe your eyes. “I’m not pretending. I don’t even have stray cats in my balcony like I used to anymore to be okay for.”

“Stray cats would’ve brought you much more comfort than I ever could, I have to admit that,” Grant said, your face assuming an expression that led Grant to plausibly assume you would have disagreed. That, or he was simply toying with his delusions, knowing he couldn’t fathom the tangible truth of the damage his relationship with you had undergone.

He meant it when he didn’t want anything more than to join you by your side. Grant followed you to the sofa and sat next to you, knees and thighs touching. Hands—pairs of hand wishing they could hold you in between the passing silence.

“Why didn’t you call?” Grant didn’t think you mean for the reasonable question to sound as despondent as it did. He also didn’t think he has a lapse of control left, because you looked so fragile and nebulous—that despite his best efforts, Grant eventually slipped a hand into your palm because he was afraid acknowledging your existence would make you disappear.

He held you tighter.

“My hotel was under supervision… it’s not an excuse, I know. I should’ve tried to find a loophole. I couldn’t even write to you without the possibility of being caught. And when I was, they released more of those horrid articles about you. They were breathing down my neck, (M/N). I swear. I didn’t know what to do other than to… be complicit. I’m sorry. Truly. I’m a coward.”

“You’re not,” you sighed with eyes fixated on Grant’s hand in yours. “You have a lot more to lose than I do. I get it.”

He caressed his thumb over your palm, sparking some kind of will to exist by which he had the gentle squeeze of your hand to judge by. “Doesn’t mean it’s right, though. I don’t know, it all happened so fast. If I would’ve shut my damn mouth, none of this would have happened. I just—panicked. For God’s sake, it’s not like we’re…”

Lovers. Grant doesn’t think it was his imagination that something in you seemed to have unwound after the implication. If Grant hadn’t mentioned that he wasn’t great at comforting people, which he was confident that he had never told you, it counted for something when he was struck by the relief in your shoulders and hand, your palm seemingly sinking—but you didn’t have to fret, because Grant was there to catch you.

He was more capable at this than he had thought.

You chuckled over Grant’s reservation to even say the unspoken word, so you left him be. “My manager told me to lay low for the time-being and wait for the storm to pass. It’s nice to know I’m not fired or anything, they know it’s all deceptive.”

There was something so comforting in the ability to be physically touching you, in knowing that from here on out, Grant could simply take you by the hand, shut the door between the two of you and the rest of the world, and share your thoughts.

Maybe if all went swell, hand-holding wouldn’t be confined to a sad set of affairs. In Grant’s ideal world, holding your hand would also be the preface of something more, a bridge that allows him to cross his way over to you and explore all facets negative and positive, intimately so.

“We’re all pawns to the studio anyway. Vehicles that put in an extra floor to the building. Bad publicity is good publicity. It’s free marketing for the film. Scandals make stars, and you’re halfway there.”

Grant was sure of it. He had seen many other actors and actresses recover their careers with far worse rumors. The main priority was money, and as long as it didn’t stop the audience from filling up the theaters, there was no reason to drop a talent.

You brought your legs onto the sofa and crossed your legs facing Grant. “Is that supposed to be comfort me, Mister Fender Bender?”

“That was only three times—and, mind you, no one got hurt.” Grant followed suit. His bent knees pressed against yours. He had your hands opened in his palms as if telling fortune was second nature to him, tracing the lines embedded in your palm with an inquisitive index. “How am I supposed to comfort you, then? Tell me.”

Your hands weren’t much smaller than Grant’s, the fact had been known since the very moment you two had exchanged handshakes for the first time. Still, those beautiful appendages visited his dreams often. It hadn’t meant anything to Grant until one night, he was dreaming about the day he had his hand over yours as you lit his cigarette. The second night, he dreamed of you testing his temperature via the back of your hand to Grant’s forehead. The third night… well, Grant was ashamed to admit that his attraction had breached far into indecent territories by which helped him solve a night of endless tossing and turning in a matter of minutes.

Then multiple nights, because Grant since wholeheartedly accepted that this infatuation for your hands had actually preceded his deep affection for you.

Unless someone brought good reason that Grant should stop playing with your hands and obsessing over them, it wasn’t in his agenda to ever let go.

“You’ve done enough. I guess… I’m a little upset that I splurged on a new suit for nothing. I was going to wear it to the wrap party,” you huffed, idly playing a game of ‘Try To Catch Grant’s Finger.’ No prize money would be offered, just bragging rights—which did have some merit.

So far, you were losing.

Grant smirked as he managed to wriggle a finger out of your grip. Five points for him, two points for you. “Who said there can’t be one with just us two?”

“Cheater! And that’s called a date, Grant.”

“I would’ve stayed then.” Suddenly, the solution to end your pitiful evening slotted in place.

He sprung up from the sofa with a hop, smiling graciously at you. “Come on. On your feet. We’re bringing it to a place I know.”

For Grant to call his residence something as pedestrian and humdrum like ‘a place,’ as if all the great virtues and grandeur of the mansion had been entirely diminished because the construction of expanding his already-massive pool had been halted for whatever reason—you questioned, and was rather frightened to know, about what his idea of a party was. It soon became a momentary thought when Grant began giving you a brief tour around his mansion—and the amenities that came with it.

With its manicured gardens, gold-plated fixtures, towering columns that couldn’t have prepared you for the imposing entryway, Grant’s stately mansion exuded an aura of refinement and exclusivity, and you were in awe by the sense of splendor. You felt out of your element. It was extremely telling as you walked over the imported marble floors like they were made of crystals. Delicately caressed ornate sculptures stoned near every corridor because it would have been irresponsible for you to only observe the complex lines that made their forms so irresistible. It was the epitome of a lifestyle that you would never be able to afford, yet you weren’t jealous at all.

It was a spectacle for sure, but you couldn’t have possibly felt comfortable living with such large quantities of upkeep. Grant mentioned that his bedroom was his favorite, and that was what you could get behind. It wasn’t opulent like the rest of the resident was. It felt lived in, homely, comfortable, even though you were hyper-aware of the fact that his balcony practically contained another living space.

“Get changed in the bathroom. I’ll wait here,” Grant said, sitting on the end of his bed. You had never seen a king-size bed before, but the magazines weren’t lying when one of the print advertisements likened their mattress of that size to a cumulonimbus cloud.

The color of your bespoke formal wear spoke softly; champagne at the blazer and cedar at your slacks. The fabric so light, they almost seemed without substance. The great craftsmanship nearly made you empty a week’s worth of cigarettes in a day, but the tailoring of your suit, alongside the cut and detail, quickly separated you from the past appearance of a boy who had yet outgrown his father’s hand-me-downs to a well-dressed and confident man who paid his bills on time. Once you slicked your hair back for the final touch, you walked out of Grant’s bathroom to reveal yourself.

“I forgot my tie on your bed.”

Grant had opened his mouth to take another gulp of whiskey, but when he turned to look at you, his tongue was seemingly paralyzed in the back of his throat, suddenly coughing up the previous sip he had taken.

You laughed while you made your way to his full length mirror stationed by his closet. He was quick to follow behind, subsiding his raw throat with the last ounce of liquor and grabbing your tie on the way over.

“You look nice. Though, I didn’t take you to be someone who was keen on light colors. You always wore navy,” Grant said, turning you to face him by a gentle hold on your shoulders.

You tipped your head when Grant began to slip the necktie beneath your shirt collar. “Most of my clothes are from my father’s. I will say—as much as it made a dent in my wallet, it was nice buying something for myself for once.”

You tried not to be too obvious about looking at all facets of Grant; the careful attention of his gaze; the veins in his hands as he looped the cloth. In this moment, you came to realize that you wanted Grant in all the ways you were used to ignoring. This was different in the past, different from those peculiar exchanges between the two of you where playing footsie and skimming hands were simply done in the guise of naivety.

He caressed the green cloth in his hand while his gaze focused on yours, utterly complacent about how he compelled you to part your lips with a single look.“Well, you made a great choice. You look terrific. Handsome.” All so alluring, when he stalled further, slowly passing the fibers of silk between inquisitive fingertips. With one firm tug, Grant knotted the tie at your throat, pulling you closer to him in the process. “Beautiful.”

This was different because you knew Grant felt the same way.

“Beautiful?” You repeated for clarification. The word that came out of his mouth littered you goosebumps over your skin. Nobody had ever called you beautiful, you were sure you were the first man in history to be called as such.

You refused to believe this was a serious statement, but then Grant repeated cooly, “Beautiful,” and before you could counter, he pulled on your tie again, nearly closing the small distance between the two of you, and settled his lips on yours.

You collapsed into the kiss, like it was taking all the effort not to kiss Grant, and you were finally giving up. Grant knew that you wanted this, that by any sensible measure desperate for the taste of liquor to come from his mouth and pass into yours with the swap of his tongue. He knew it the way he knew that the Western End had the best suits in the city and that you needed a reservation for almost every restaurant in the district—it was a fact that he didn’t have to think about, and which everybody else knows, too.

You didn’t mean to make that noise come out of your mouth, but after suffering a lapse in Grant’s presence, his lips on yours felt like a whiskey sour on a hard day. It was much needed gift with the past few months you had been having. The softness and care in Grant’s lips made your breath shudder, one would think you had been laved by the cold sea, whereas you were actually melting, in Grant’s arms, gripping his lapel for balance.

“I missed you,” Grant said softly. He circled his arms over your hips, his hands sliding beneath your blazer because he needed to feel every muscle in your body tensing, to pull you impossibly closer to memorize how you fit in his arms.

You supposed you had to credit the liquor for his brazenness.

“I missed you too,” you collapsed into his arms, trusting the warmth of his embrace.

He kissed you in between breaths. “I missed you so much, I couldn’t function properly knowing you were hurting. Guilt was hollowing me from within,” Harder on your mouth, apparently coming to the conclusion that you relished in the roughness of his embrace, in the bruising link between your mouth and his, from the way you gasped and pulled more of him into you. “I shouldn’t have left you alone.” Palm deep against his nape, you pushed his head toward the slant of your jaw because you needed to recover your breath. Quickly, before you would risk the chance of collapsing on behalf of lost time, dispelling your last remaining breath inside Grant’s mouth out of desperation to overcompensate.

“I told you it was fine, Grant—“ You groaned when he began nibbling at the underside of your jaw. By virtue of his unstoppable desire, Grant propelled forward, holding you tight, and you stumbled back into the corner until your back collided with the wall, the impact drawing out a pleasurable hiss from your throat.

“It’s not. It’s absolutely not. You nearly drove me into talking to a shrink about you.” You nearly stopped Grant to have a proper conversation, without all these interruptions. Between his kisses and the gripping, you were an incoherent mess if the tightness in your slacks had something to go by, but you instead followed along, entranced by how Grant could look so stunning when all he was doing was undressing you.

He started with the tie. “But then, that would’ve made matters entirely worse upon the realization that… I was so in love with you,” he whispered over your bare throat after sliding the cloth off. Next, was your shirt. “And that it can’t be fixed. I can’t be fixed. I can’t fix myself now knowing that you feel the same way. You do, don’t you?” Then, your undershirt.

You swallowed hard. “I do. I entirely do, am so much in love with you. Grant—” You struggled to get the words out without giving into Grant’s delirious kisses on your bare body. Maybe if you had stumbled, it would’ve delayed his ravenous appetite for your body a second or so longer—but even then, you weren’t sure if you were capable of witnessing and being at the hands of a man who was so clearly starving.

“Oh, Grant—that’s very…” Good. Erotic. Attractive. At least one of those words you were meant to say, but it would’ve been a relic of a bygone touch. Being mouthed at your perky nubs was as indescribable a feeling could get, but then when Grant began licking over your body, slowly sinking onto his knees as he worked his way down your torso, sucking spots and licking marks you hadn’t had the faintest idea about—you were reduced to the role of a whimpering bystander by which ultimately stripped your brain beyond words.

Grant undressed the lower half of you—all but your brown socks—and you had long accepted the fact that it was inevitable in showing Grant how much you enjoyed giving him free rein to your body. Your erection was strong, a reveal of flesh that made him suck in his lips to keep himself from ravishing you already.

“You’re leaking,” you wanted to hide and crawl in a ditch somewhere. It was embarrassing as Grant marveled over the thick trail of pre-cum that tagged over his fingertip when he curiously dipped a finger over your glans.

“Well, don’t comment on it…”It was like he read your mind, because Grant placed a warm palm on your stomach to prevent you from enacting on your wishes, ultimately trapping you in place by the gentle strokes over your cock. “Fuck…” you watched with bleary eyes, all sorts of feelings stockpiling to feed your endorphins

In turn, you felt your skin blossom with heat, patches on your neck and chest burning, because Grant refused to take his eyes off of you. He stroked your cock ardently while assuming an expression of treacly sentiment, like he couldn’t believe his dreams had become a reality. Watching you writhe over the wall, leak over his twisting fist, bite your moans into your hand; these were the exact amenities you would’ve have wanted had you sought for a mansion of your own. Not the towering stairwells, or the ornate carved fountain, or even a separate room for the live-in housekeeper.

Just Grant, his presence, and his magical touch. That was all you needed.

“Wait, wait. Grant, stop—“ You begged a second too late. Your balls tightened when Grant’s hand was only more relentless upon your desperate pleas. His hand massaged your thighs, lips mouthed at the underside of your sack. The prospect of you returning the favor for Grant—or better, with your mouth, hoarding what had yet to be revealed deep down your throat—made you shudder with a release. “Fuck—”

“It’s okay. I’ve been meaning to taste you…” Upon the violent tremble of your thighs, Grant scooted closer, deftly angling and pumping your cock over his open mouth, and let you shoot. You blinked past tears as you felt yourself spill thick shots in Grant’s mouth, over his tongue as he cradled your seeds like they were precious metals, and at the last second, over his face because you stumbled out of his grasp and caught yourself on the wall, heaving.

It had taken a moment for you to catch your breath, shutting your eyes as the tremor in your body would jolt from out of the blue. It was all too much, the sweet relief courteous by the man you loved. You were embarrassed by how quickly Grant had unraveled you, but that was certainly a testament to your attraction to him, or to his skills.

When you opened your eyes, Grant pulled you by the hips for another kiss. A strong embrace to control the tides in your body. Then, a wet and sloppy kiss to clarify that Grant wasn’t done yet, as he breached your mouth with his tongue and surprised you by passing cum into your mouth. It was an ongoing battle, the thick substance swapping from tongue to another, the bitter notes subsiding as more saliva snowballed into the mixture. Between the lewd exchange, Grant began undressing himself out of anticipation of what would come next.

“Swallow,” Grant broke the kiss with a whisper, resting his forehead on yours to feast his eyes on the very prospect of you fulfilling his demand. It was an immense pull of attraction, the slow cascade of his hand over your spine following along with it, that made you gulp the thick content in your mouth. He seemed satisfied when your throat bobbed, smiling. “Good?”

“I imagine yours would taste better,” you rested a hand over your his head, coming his hair back with your fingers until they reached the back of his neck, offering you leverage for another kiss—sweet and clean on Grant’s lips.

“I wouldn’t mind if you tried me out,” Grant was already down to his briefs, his eyes subtly pleading for the sake of his thickened bulge. Prior to noticing, you had been roaming your hand over his lean body. His bare chest, the well-defined muscles breaking you of your fantasies—because it was better than you could have imagined. Grant looked about two seconds away from forcing you on your knees himself, but lucky for him, you were just as eager.

Sinking onto your knees, you carefully pulled down his briefs. Slowly at first, to compose yourself, but then to test your patience, because the length of Grant’s shaft seemed never-ending. When you fully stripped him of his briefs, you had to take a scoot back in fear that his impressive cock would hit you in the face.

Grant was massive, the weight of his length making it stoop forward and dangle with every step he took. There was one protruding vein that nearly made you drop everything and sucked him off right then and there, until he was fully hard in your mouth and you could feel more veins throbbing—but again, you needed to show him some type of restraint, even though at this point, you doubted that he cared.

“So, the rumors are true, then?” Instantly, you were taken back to a gossip column regarding Grant’s size. Whoever tipped those writers off should win a Pulitzer Prize.

Grant shrugged, apparently nonchalant at the fact that he could practically cover the length of your face with such ease. “Had no idea where that came from, honestly…” Holding his thighs, you briefly trialed the theory out under the guise of kissing the underside of his thick shaft. Between licking the flesh, kissing his balls, and fondling his cock, you were also completely immersed in the smell of his cock. He smelled like pure arousal, a peculiar saltiness in your nostrils as you breathed him in, from unkempt pubic hairs to the leaking tip. Nonetheless, it was gratifying as your cock responded in several twitches.

“I don’t think I can fit you in my mouth,” you said, aware that you were grinning like a fool.

“It’s the effort that matters,” he chuckled, his hand smoothening over your head to rest on your nape, pushing your mouth closer to his hardening cock. With one hand braced on his thigh and the other wrapped around the base of his cock, you felt Grant tense when you cradled the tip into your mouth with your tongue, sucking. “Your mouth is so warm, (M/N)…”

He was as salty as he smelled. The pre-cum coated your tongue nicely, resembling the taste of your cum prior, but somehow ten times more potent, as if you were drinking sex directly from concentrate. What was even nicer was how heavy your mouth felt when you took more of Grant in. It was like the weight of him had its own gravitational pull, separating your mouth wider to accommodate the massive girth like sucking a cock this big came second-hand nature to you. You reckoned that you should become quickly accustomed to it though, because you couldn’t fathom the idea of leaving Grant disappointed.

You and Grant were like this for a couple of minutes; Grant pushing out drips of spit with his mouth to add onto the wetness and you doing the same thing, pushing your saliva out and spreading the thick layer over his shaft with your hand to help ease the slide into your mouth. You could barely fit more than a few inches, your cheeks hallowing for as long as they could before the strain of the stretch had gotten to the nerves.

“Oh, fuck…” Grant moaned, having had enough of your sloppy strokes by robbing you of your recovery once more and greedily pushing his cock back into your warm mouth.

God, the way it looked… a reddened, fat swollen cock straining in the grip of your fist, a drop of pre-cum glistening heavy on the tip, a thick layer of saliva over the thicker size of his staff… the fact that you could see your own fingers struggling to wrap around his cock as you sucked him off—it all felt so very surreal, and so very real.

“You’re so big, Grant. Fuck…” You lifted your gaze and stared into Grant’s nebulous eyes. Somehow, it made the act ten times more obscene upon realizing that you were practically servicing him, on your knees, worshiping all facets of his body. His calves were toned against your lips, thighs sturdier as Grant made an effort to stabilize his stance following your teasing mouth working up his legs with ticklish kisses, then back to the head of his cock, where you began nibbling at the swollen head.

“Christ, (M/N)…”

He was always very expressive, but in the moment, he seemed at a loss for words. Dumbfounded, as you began using two hands to stroke what you couldn’t fit inside of your mouth. Swiveling and twirling his wet cock with your fists, all while you sucked and licked on his swollen tip, feeding into the rush that made his cock throb so hard in your mouth and hands, into the delightful sounds that revived your sensitive cock back with life.

Grant bit the inside of his cheek to keep himself from making any sound. What came out were staggered breaths, clear evidence of his indulgence while his hips were moving without his volition. Your plump lips stretched wide around his pistoning cock, sucking and slobbering over the hot ample flesh, eyes wide and disbelieving, as if you couldn’t believe you could fit this much of Grant inside of your mouth.

It was endgame the moment Grant hissed and sunk in his stomach, flexing his abdomen under way—everything was building to the perfect eruption. You had your mouth opened, stroking him over your face to catch him with your tongue as he had done with you. Grant was close—so close that his face could make you spill for the second time of the night on the strength of his twisted expressions.

Your delusions consequently settled you in for a rude awakening when Grant suddenly pulled you up on your feet and kissed you hard, yet almost apologetically on the mouth. You whined against his lips, ultimately kissing him back because you couldn’t get a word in from how relentless he was being by which you couldn’t blame—the agony of being nearly relieved would’ve wrecked havoc on your mental state.

“I need to be inside of you first, please—“ Grant begged hot on your neck. He backed you into his bed until your backside collided with the mattress upon the push of his hand. Then your chest, when Grant took free liberty of your body and bent you over.

The first thing on your mind was that, “God, this mattress was lovely,” but the second you felt something wet spread over your hole, all the compliments you had reserved dissipated and expelled through a shuddering breath. You were blinded by the soft bedding, burying your moans into the sheets, but you could conjure up the holiest image of Grant spreading your asscheeks open and exploring you with eager licks.

“You’re so good at this,“ you sighed, curling your toes into your socks.

“You bring out the best in me, you know…” Grant muttered, squeezing your ass cheeks as a sign of affection when you looked over your shoulder and smiled at him. His mouth was much too busy to verbalize his feelings.

You wondered if Grant was aware of how obscene he had sounded—these wet, slurpy sounds that his mouth made while tasting your insides. His hot breath was beckoning, pushing your hips out by inclination for Grant to give you more. More, more, more. It seemed like he listened to your body because you stiffened immediately, barely suppressing a surprised gasp, when his slicked finger entered you.

You felt like you were in a free fall. Finally. This was exactly what you needed. Your mind went utterly blank, unable to comprehend the single digit curling inside of you. It was thought-annihilating, the way Grant had curled his fingers inside of you—two now, after deciding for himself that you had been clamoring for a bigger fill, that you needed to feel a stretch.

“Please, Grant—that’s enough, please. Need you,” you whimpered, self-conscious at the sound of his wet fingers slipping in and out of you. He liked playing with your body, screwing his fingers deep inside of you, only to yank them out because it made you yelp.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he brought the rest of your body onto the bed, bringing immediate relief to your legs. “One more.”

It made your tight hole beckon for more with a pucker.

With such control, forcefulness, and precision, your mouth fell open in a silent moan and your eyes went wide at the push of Grant’s third finger. You could barely keep your hips still, even with Grant’s efforts to hold you down with a palm on your lower back. It was all too much, your whole world seemed to have narrowed down to your sensitive hole; the sound of his hard fingers pumping in and out of you; the slick sounds obscene and alerting in your ear; the sweet stretch that made the discomfort all the worthwhile—because Grant was just as anguished as you were. You could hear him stroking his slicked cock, the anticipation of the inevitable building as you felt yourself loosened on account of his efforts.

You knew you were well-primed because your body still craved more.

“No more… need you,” you bit out, breathing unsteadily when Grant pulled his fingers out and flipped you onto your back. Your eyes naturally fell to Grant’s cock, and it looked as mouthwatering as it did a few moments ago. Your hole clenched at the likely chance that you’d be feeling the ramifications of taking such a well-endowed man well into the next day, and the day after that. “Please,” you begged once more, reaching low to prevail him with lazy to his erection.

“Other than getting over that nasty cold, I’ve never seen you so desperate for something,” Grant was kneeling on the bed, adjusting your position so your legs were wrapped around his hips, his cock teasing your entrance with careful ruts. You felt the head press ever so gently when he leaned forward and captured your lips for a soft kiss. “I find it really, really, really charming.”

“Mm…” Your fingers, tentative and slow, cupped the edge of Grant’s jaw. This was just the beginning, you realized. A new chapter for you and Grant where the idea of dropping hints of attraction was no longer needed because everything came unraveling, faster than you had anticipated, but nonetheless, it was exciting.

Grant put a free hand on the back of your neck, threading his fingers through your hair, and you wrapped your arms around his neck, securing his place on top of you. When Grant broke the kiss to look into your eyes, it made all the difference between lust and love as he slowly pressed his cock into your hole, unlatching some kind of internal safety mechanism within you until it had clasped over the plump head after getting cold feet.

“Slowly,” you groaned, sweating bullets beneath the shower of his kisses. You built up a strong resistance to Grant’s hips, reluctant, and to put it quite plainly, frightened to take him in stride. But it was Grant’s silent promise to take care of you that took the edge off your apprehension bit-by-bit.

Grant followed a pattern. He pushed deeper, paused, then found a place on your body to distract you from the discomforting stretch, reeled back a bit, then thrusted deeper than before, gradually opening you up. Adding on the pleasing strokes to your hard cock, you felt your muscles relax, the sweat bullets cooling your body.

“More…” you mumbled on his lips, and at times you regretted asking for it, because Grant made your stomach turn. His cock was so deep inside of you, too deep when the stretch nearly became unbearable, yet your cock pulsed and your hole clenched for the exact opposite.

You noticed he liked talking you through it especially, whispering bone-chilling compliments like, “You’re taking my cock so well,” “Look at you, you’re so beautiful…” and your favorite, “You’re driving me crazy. Do you have any idea how hard I’m restraining myself?”

Grant was listening to your body. He knew what it meant when you were clenching so tight around him, panting for him with that wide-eyed look of yours, supplying his broad back with unrelenting scratches. It meant that you weren’t full enough—it meant that you covertly indulged in the stretch he was providing you with.

It was the best and worst feeling in the world, because you knew with suddenly clarity that you wouldn’t be able to live without this. You would crave this feeling always, especially when Grant fully breached your hole with a thrust that filled you to the brim.

You were full. So fucking full.

“Oh, God—“ The cock in you was thick and throbbing, easily brushing your prostate without so much of a motion. You nearly passed out from how intense the sensation was, having your inner walls be massaged from within as Grant finally started moving.

“You took all of my cock, fuck—I knew you could. I know you so well,” Grant grunted against your mouth, pistoning in and out of you with hard thrusts. Your arms had dropped to Grant’s sides, fingers digging into Grant’s toned buttocks, trying to pull him deeper inside of you.

Instead, he reeled himself back.

Your legs dangled in the air as Grant pushed your knees to your chest, leveraging the back of your thighs hard to properly pile-drive his cock into your hole. Your feet sweltered in the confines of your socks, but you didn’t mind because you were getting accustomed to the humidity in the air.

Grant didn’t hesitate anymore. There was wild fury in his face, the imposing strength and passion managing to be its only rival as they equally sought for one purpose and one purpose only, which was to fuck you into oblivion. Grant looked dangerous, delirious, and you feared him as much as you wanted him. In your folded position, you spread your buttocks apart for Grant to see how well he was fucking you. How deep he was stroking your insides with his thick cock, making you gape when he completely pulled out, then making your body shiver—when he screwed himself in with one hard thrust, overfilling your guts.

“You put a smell on me, didn’t you?” His voice sounded spiteful, but what he does to you was pure love. He growled into one of your calves between pants, smooching and grazing his teeth at the toned muscle.

The bed creaked with every thrust of his, loud and heavy enough that you wouldn’t be surprised that the corridors of his mansion were echoing from it.

“F-fuck—if only. You would’ve d-done this sooner,” Tiny tremors and tingles exploded as Grant pummeled deep into your body and brushed over your prostate. You were stroking yourself to the sound of his ravenous moans, to the sound of his heavy balls slapping over your taint, to the sound of his sweaty thighs coming into contact with yours, warning you of a sensation of pin-needles sticking into the area by virtue of the thunderous claps.

Grant couldn’t have looked more beautiful than this. The gel in his hair loosened, letting delicate strands of brown locks to fall over his forehead. Every so often, he would push his fringe back with a careless swoop, and you whimpered at how effortlessly handsome he was at everything.

It lit you up inside, your body bursting with raw energy with the brutal impaling that Grant was feeding you. Your cock throbbed in your fist, and your hole squeezed at the unveiling of untamed passion. Grant must have seen the desire written on your face, because he was triumphant in the smile he had given you, leaning down to wake you from your state of stupor by means of a sloppy kiss.

“G-Grant, I-I’m so, I can’t—“ Grant took over your mind and body. He was everywhere, inside and around you. It was like you existed only for him, and his massive cock. His tongue pushed your lips apart and began cradling the flesh that had held your garbled moans from being remotely coherent.

“I can’t hear you,” Then, he fucked you like he wanted to gut you. Grant reached deep, hammering into your prostate every time his hips collided against yours. “Tell me, what do you want? I’ll give it to you. You know I will.”

Your eyes rolled until Grant could only see the whites of them. Your toes curled into your cotton of your socks at the contrasting affection in his voice. Your hands sprawled and crumpled a spot in the bed sheets, pulling and tugging hard enough for one corner of the satin bedding to untuck.

“Come. I need to come—“ you gasped out, struggling to breathe. Your world had shrunk to one sensation, the spot inside of you that had been gifted the ruthless beating of Grant’s cock. It was like he was chastising you for causing such feelings to stir inside of him. If that was the case, you needed to memorize the recipe, and quickly, because you were desperate to reduce the chances of ever being stripped of this sensation to a selfish zero.

“I’ll help you come,” he seized your body once again, hooked your legs over his shoulders, and pushed his total body weight on top of you. He blatantly disregarded the fact that your limbs had never been stretched this far before, but it was all worthwhile when Grant satisfied your longing by wrapping his warm hand over your cock and pumped. “I’ll make you come.”

“S-shit, Grant!” Each thrust harder than the last, his cockhead repeatedly hitting that golden spot, and your cock ached with desire in the lovely pulling of Grant’s hand. Your entire body seized, writhing as the familiar feeling in your stomach kept building and building without the intention to ever stop. It embarrassingly only took a few more strokes before you would spill thick all over his fist. All over your body, cumshots joining your sweat in layering your moist skin, when Grant kept stroking with the intent to empty your balls until they had tightened into your body.

Only then did Grant slow his thrusts and pull himself out. Did he change his mind about coming inside of you. Over your body? Face? You couldn’t tell what he was planning as you just began recovering from the daze your orgasm had put you into.

“You’re going to like this,” Grant grunted, pecking you on the lips before reaching down to angle himself back at your entrance.

Your gaze was casted with a mixture of utter bliss and wonder, chuckling. “What are you—fuck…“

Your hole felt warm and wet all over again when Grant pushed himself back inside of you with ease. Furthermore, it was a peculiar feeling, like there was an extra weight to his cock, the sound of the sticky substance—

You gasped, suddenly alert and clenching as you felt something viscous leak out of you.

Grant was fucking you with your own cum.

You couldn’t have been more turned on. Grant rolled his hips just right, slow and firm, coating your raw hole over and over with your seed, building back his stamina in the process. His cock pulsated in you. It was apparent that it was feeding into Grant’s satisfaction considering his gaze had been fixated on the translucent sheen of your cum passing back and forth on the girth of his cock and your internal walls.

“So beautiful…” Grant moaned out, clearly overwhelmed with the state of his arousal.

With every thrust, you swallowed him whole, the long glide of his thick, cum-covered shaft, the kiss to your prostate; you gyrated your hips to prolong his orgasm and allow him to recover his strength as Grant freed his hands from your body and tucked them behind his head, giving you free rein on his cock.

You rolled your hips, using your core to swing your ass forward and back on his throbbing cock, drawing out deep and guttural moans from the connection.

“Darling, (M/N), fuck—“ Hissing, he suddenly seized your waist and gripped hard, impaling you onto his cock with a rough pull, and you watched his stomach tighten, wrapping your legs back around his waist in preparation of his orgasm.

You watched in awe as you lost yourself in Grant’s fill. He came hard, gritting his teeth and digging his fingers into your thighs. It was a marvelous ache, both at your flesh and your hole, and you could feel his cock pumping multiple heavy loads deep inside of you and flooding your guts as reparation for your pain.

Even though Grant’s legs gave out, making him topple over your sweaty body, the strain in his thighs didn’t falter the desperate need to sow your insides with his warm seed. It was as if he was marking his territory, moving his hips slow and relaxed because he knew you were bound to him the moment he kissed you. Milking his cock inside of you was just a simple reminder, and you hugged his hard, spilling cock with gratitude.

His lips were slow and gentle, a contradictory to the merciless invasion of your guts. Nonetheless, you rocked on his shaft, blissfully spreading his love from deep within, and savored his shuddering breath.

“You’re heavy,” you groaned out, rubbing your hands from his shoulders to his sweaty back. Despite your complaint, you didn’t make much of an effort—if any at all—to push him away. It was peaceful like this, feeling his heart beat come to a somewhat normal pace while you two were stickily intertwined at the hip. “Some kind of confession…”

The sound of Grant’s muffled laughter into your neck made you smile. It was light and feathery, like the way you had always felt when you were with him.

“First kiss and sex, all on the same night. Who’s doing it like us?”

“No one. Absolutely no one.”

nouearth. please do not repost, plagiarize, or translate my works. if you like this story, please reblog and leave a like!

[pepperonidk]

vii. where else can i go || all i could do

"Don't we get to be happy?" "Then he smiles and where else can I go?"

Pairing: Lee Jihoon x f!Reader Summary: Don't you get to be happy at some point down the line? Warnings: angst, reader wears heels, jihyo mention bc that's my wife fr Word Count: 2.7k

A/N: oh boy. this was a doozy. there are like 3 versions of this song i listened to on repeat. Jonathan Bailey from Bridgerton, Jeremy Jordan, and Grant Gustin from Glee and the Flash. I cry every single time. the gaslight toxic boyfriend anthem. sorry jihoon.

join the taglist! previous chapter || back to library || next chapter

The party was in full swing with people dancing to the jazz band that was playing on stage and the who’s whos of the music industry all mingling in small groups. And you were at the bar, nursing your second glass of expensive champagne, people watching.

“So what’s it like?” a voice coming up beside you drew your attention away from where you were watching Jihoon entertaining a group of whoevers across the room. He glanced and caught your eye with a smile before you turned away.

That was really the most you’d seen of him all day. Jihoon had just come home from his tour a few weeks ago and was already hitting the ground running. Phone calls were few and far in between during the last leg of the tour. And when he was finally home... Well, you’d wake up and softly slip away from a sleeping Jihoon as you got ready for your day at the lab, and by the time Jihoon was home from countless hours at the studio, you were well into a deep slumber. Sometimes you’d wake up in the middle of the night to an empty bed to see a text saying Jihoon was still at his studio.

This was the most you’d seen him in a while, actually.

“Sorry, what’s what like?” you questioned. The person beside you was Jihyo, another artist signed to Jihoon’s agency. You had spoken a handful of times but mostly in passing “hello”s and “nice to see you again”s. She was one of the names you had heard more frequently in Jihoon’s tour stories since Jihoon helped her produce her debut album even while he was overseas. In fact, you were 60% sure this party was for her.

She called her hand for the bartender to top up her glass of champagne before answering your question. “What’s it like to be the wife of this generation’s Beethoven,” she smiled kindly. You chuckled at her question before tilting your half empty champagne flute to hers in a toast.

“It’s great,” you returned her smile before turning and catching Jihoon’s eye once more. He was speaking to a few big shots of the agency, board members and whatnot. He winked at you slyly and you felt yourself blush.

“Oh come on,” another voice chimed. Seungkwan, another singer you’d become somewhat familiar with from Jihoon’s stories. “Give us something juicy,” he pleaded. He had helped Jihoon with some backing vocals on some of his songs and was an insanely talented singer. He was one of Jihoon’s reasons for signing on to this particular agency.

You let out a sigh as you turned back to them. “There’s not really anything juicy about it,” you answered. “He’s just... Jihoon.”

“And what’s Jihoon like?” Seungkwan asked.

You raised an eyebrow at him. “You see him almost more than I do with the time he spends at the studio,” you began. “I’m sure you know what he’s like.”

“Yeah, well,” Jihyo replied. “We know the workaholic superstar side of him, so we really don’t know him that well.”

You hummed thoughtfully. At work, at these extravagant parties, on stage, he was charming in a way only a picture perfect idol could be. He laughed at all the right times, shook hands with all the important people, but it was all still a performance. It was nice to relish in the idea that you were by his side before all of this, when he was still a senior in college whose veins were pumping nothing but Coke Zero and instant noodles.

“Well at home, it’s just normal,” you finally answered, smiling to yourself. “We could be watching a movie and eating pizza and then suddenly he’ll think of something and it’s like he zones out for a bit until he jumps up to grab his journal.”

It was easy to visualize the scene as it happened frequently. He’d grab his journal and his lucky pen that he’s chewed on way too much and scribble furiously the same way you’ve always known. And then suddenly, he’d stop and look up and hum to himself until a small smile forms and his eyes light up and you know he’s found what he was looking for.

“It’s like music coming to life,” you mused. “And I’m a part of that.”

Jihyo chuckled politely, taking a sip of her champagne. “Doesn’t that get annoying?” she asked. “Jihoon constantly getting up in the middle of stuff to write? I’d be so annoyed if I had to pause my movie so he could write a song about Coke Zero.”

You rolled your eyes at her joke. “Yeah, yeah,” you answered. “He’ll scribble in his terrible handwriting, and log miles walking around the apartment while humming mumbled words, and he’s an insane genius... but then he smiles and how can I complain? I’m a part of that.”

“Well what about you then?” Seungkwan asked. “Maybe you’re not writing the next hit of the century, but knowing Jihoon... well you must be pretty amazing if he married you.”

He must have meant it as a compliment, but his words still found a way to bite at your heart. You looked over to Jihoon once again, but a couple of well dressed ladies stood in front of him and blocked your line of sight. However you didn’t miss the way one of them laid a hand on his arm.

“I’m uh,” you began. “I’m a lab assistant,” you confessed, unsure of why you hesitated in your reply.

“Oh so you’re like one of those scientists who are curing cancer or whatever?” Jihyo questioned with a smile.

“I remember having to take a biology class when I was in college for a bit,” Seungkwan added on. “Have you published anything?”

You felt your cheeks heat up. “Uh, not really,” you answered. “I mostly just file reports and do calculations... it’s usually the head researchers who do the publishing. And we’re not studying cancer, we’re looking at how various binaural beats and their beta and gamma arms affect damaged language serving areas of the brain.”

You wanted to shy away, noting the way Jihyo and Seungkwan’s smiles faltered just for a bit to reveal their boredom before their celebrity training kicked in and they continued to smile through the now awkward tone of the conversation.

“But it’s fine, really,” you stammered out. Why you felt the need to defend yourself to people you didn’t know so badly, you had no clue. “I’ve also been applying to grad schools and studying for entrance exams so...” you nodded before turning to take a sip of your drink.

“Well that’s pretty cool,” Seungkwan said a little bit too quickly.

“Yeah,” Jihyo nodded her head in agreement. “I hope it works out for you.”

“Me too,” you raised your glass slightly in a salute as you turned away, giving them the opportunity to walk away from the conversation. You let out a sigh and swirled the remaining bit of your drink around the bottom of the glass.

Although they didn’t mean to, they did raise some valid points. For most of your relationship with Jihoon, he’s been on a rocket headed for the top while you followed in his stride. Were you ever by his side? Or have you always just been riding his coattails? You had told him when he proposed that you were on your way, assured him that you’d be beside him one day. But what if your dreams were changing? Would Jihoon still be waiting for you when you decide you’re fine with a smaller life without all of the glitz and glamor? Would he let his dreams change with yours and settle for that life with you?

Would he stop running his race to sit with you and watch the clouds go by? Would it be enough?

As if sensing your distress, you felt Jihoon’s gentle touch on your shoulder and you turned to see him smiling gently at you. Against your judgment, your heart did a small flip. That damn smile, you thought to yourself. He smiles and where else can you go?

“Hey,” he called out to you before pressing a kiss to your temple. “Are you ready to go home?”

“Yeah,” you replied, hoping Jihoon didn’t notice the nervous lilt in your voice. You’d honestly been ready to go home hours ago, when you felt blisters forming where your shoes chafed against the skin. But Jihoon was still busy making conversation with all the right people, making small talk with other artists, and of course having his ass kissed by the many clout chasing nobodies in the room. It was pretty standard for every party Jihoon brought you to. Sure, it was part of his job, but it’s not like you were dragging him into a lab to calculate titrations with you.

The car ride home was mostly silent. Jihoon hummed along to whatever songs came on the radio while you turned your attention outside to the city lights that blurred by as he sped through the empty roads of 4 am.

Too fast, you had thought to yourself. It’s all too fast.

It wasn’t until you were home and sat on your bed that you finally spoke, relieved to be able to

drop the mask and just talk about what was on your mind.

“Jihoon,” you called. He popped his head out of the bathroom door in the middle of brushing his teeth to show he heard you. You looked down into your lap before continuing. “I don’t want to go to these parties anymore.” You heard him finish up in the bathroom before he came back into the room with you.

“Angel...” he called out. “What are you talking about?” He sat beside you on the bed and reached for one of your hands to hold in his.

“I just,” you began, stuttering. “I just don’t want to anymore.” The sentence came out much more biting than you intended but you tried to not look surprised at the defensiveness of your words.

“And I’m asking why not,” Jihoon snapped back. Your eyes shot up to him in surprise at his tone and he let out a sigh. “Why don’t you want to go to these parties anymore?” He asked again with more restraint.

Ever since Jihoon started working at the agency, he had been wound up more than you had seen him. You’d heard stories of him snapping at interns, feeling impatient with everyone else who was struggling to catch up with the genius’s mind. When did you become one of those people?

You chewed your lip, unsure of what to say. “I hate these parties,” you began, much firmer now. “Nobody ever talks to me and when they do, it’s because they think I’m someone important whose ass needs to be kissed, and when they realize I’m not, they walk away. I always have to wear uncomfortable outfits, the food sucks, and for a record label, they hire some really shitty DJ’s too.”

You stood from the bed and walked around to the other side of the room and began pacing back and forth, the nervous energy taking over your body as your hands fidgeted by your sides. You kept your eyes on the carpet, afraid that looking at Jihoon would ruin the momentum you’d generated. “I hate wearing heels,” you continued. “And all anyone ever wants to talk about is who the most famous person in the room is, and we could just be using that time to watch a movie or finally just spend time together after months of missed facetime calls, and I really just hate your parties.”

The room was silent for a beat before Jihoon spoke with a quiet and cold tone. “Are you done?” was all he asked.

“Yeah,��� you answered firmly. Jihoon stood up to face you and you couldn’t read the expression on his face.

“Good,” Jihoon replied. He was quiet, but his words were calculated. “These parties are important to me and you know that–”

“Please,” You scoffed. You were angry now, mostly at the fact that it had taken you this long to speak your mind. “Important for what, Jihoon? For you to butter yourself up with the same people over and over again? For adoring women to fawn over you? I haven’t seen you in months, but they see you every day, so how is that even fair?”

“Stop,” he interrupted you, loudly and sternly. “Just stop, for a goddamn second and just listen.”

In the last few years, you and Jihoon had had your fair share of fights. They were usually resolved pretty quickly and usually ended with a sleepless night in bed together, but lately, things have felt different. This was different. Jihoon had never raised his voice at you, not like this.

You stopped and listened.

“Yes,” he sighed, running his hands through his hair. “It is important for me to kiss their asses and to play along with the adoring crowd, and you know exactly why I need to do it. So fine, if you hate seeing people cheer me on then you don’t have to come. But be fucking serious with yourself first.”

“Excuse me?” you asked, taken aback by the way he cursed. Although he was more than an arm’s length away from you, you took a step back defensively. “This isn’t the life we promised each other, Jihoon.”

“What? A life where I’m living my dreams? Where I have you?” Jihoon scoffed and ran a hand through his hair. “Tell me then what life I’m supposed to have.”

“A life where we have each other,” you exclaim, frustrated. “A life where we have each other and it’s enough for you, Jihoon. Is that too much to ask for?”

He buried his face in his hands before standing to cautiously take a step towards you. “Please,” he sighed. “I’m sorry, I just...” he took a few more steps before reaching out for your hand. “What’s this really about, angel?”

Tears were now brimming your eyes as he continued to speak. “Is it really about the party, about me? Is it that you’re disappointed that another school rejected you? That you’re stuck in another dead end? Did you think this would all be easier than it turned out to be?”

You shook your head at him and pulled your hand out of his, walking back to the bed. You hated that you were fighting like this, and you hated that somewhere inside of you, you felt the self-doubt that you had pushed so far down coming back up.

It was hard not to be frustrated and disappointed with yourself when you were surrounded by everyone else’s success. You had worked as hard as he did and yet, life did not hand you the same rewards. And although lately you were beginning to finally feel like you were happy where you were, Jihoon was quick to remind you that you were far more than a few steps behind him. If your life now was enough for you, why wasn’t it for him? Was it enough for you or had you really given up?

The tears were spilling now, and you lay down, turning to the other side so Jihoon couldn’t see them.

“If I didn’t believe in you,” Jihoon began. You could hear that he had knelt down on the floor beside your side of the bed. “We wouldn’t have gotten this far. If I didn’t believe in you, if I didn’t think you could do anything you wanted, if I was certain that you’d come through... well the fact of the matter is that I wouldn’t be standing here now.”

You choked back a sob, aware that Jihoon definitely knew you were crying.

Jihoon’s hands found their way onto your side as he moved to sit beside you on the bed. You weren’t fully sure how you were feeling any more, but you shifted to move away from Jihoon ever so slightly and you heard him take a deep sigh as he retracted his hand from your side.

“Don’t we get to be happy?” he questioned, his voice beginning to raise again in frustration. Usually Jihoon’s sweet words would easily coax you back to his side. But tonight, they felt more like daggers than honey. “Like at any point down the line, don’t I get to be happy without you pushing me away? Why can’t you just be happy for me? Why do I have to feel like I’m committing a crime for doing something I’ve always dreamed of?”

He let out a sigh before continuing. “I will not fail so you can be comfortable,” he said with that calculated tone once again, an attempt to hide his frustration. His words betrayed his attempt. “I will not lose because you can’t win.”

He was quiet for a second and you wondered if he was finally finished. You were tired.

“If you just hold on, you’ll be fine,” he said, returning to a softer tone that didn’t match the heaviness of his words. “But don’t make me wait till you are to be happy with you.”

His words cut into you, but you couldn’t find it in you to look him in the eyes as he twisted the knife. He may have missed the point, but his pointed words found their way into your heart anyway.

He stood up and grabbed a pillow from beside you. The next time he spoke, he was further away. “If I didn’t believe in you,” he said quietly but loud enough for you to hear. “I wouldn’t have loved you at all.”

The door clicked shut behind him.

Taglist:@yksthings @alonelystarfish @coveyland @xuimhao @sana-is-ms-rmty @gummymintae @maverey @jespescially

[siremasterlawrence]

The Handler’s Red Carpet Express Part 7 & 8

Casting for a new buddy cop Apple Plus TV show called Ghost Spy’s sitting in the major casting room at television studio want I am expecting is so much better Chris Pine and Chris Messina in the waiting the room.I flip on the camera setting up the room all is perfectly set up as I call Chris into the room for the time being as he enters my cock is coming to life springing forward under the desk.

Quite a unique looking face he has I must admit to myself but still fucking handsome and he is about to me be mine I state all to myself very hyper excited at his newest role in cinema.The lights flicker on lowly as he sits down the door slamming closed he slates for the camera then we begin to read lines as the circular light system around the camera turns on burning brightly it edges deep into his mind.

Everything comes to a slow stuttering crawl as he stumbles over his words his eyes grow heavy, his mind is in a deep sea of hazy fog and I watch him falling ever deeper into my power.He has no idea what is happening nor cane he even attempt to resist if he wanted to simply because I will him to be at my mercy for life and he is fully committed to serve me for life.

Pine has no more ideas left in the pretty boi face of his except to stare mindlessly with a stupefied look on his the spit trickling down his chin soon he is all that ever existed in his mind.I am the center of his life now as he builds so many monuments of me in his head one at a time he falls for me a expression of love over comes him and he soon is everything I ever want.

Getting up I push my chair back to rise to my feet as I stood up staring him down in a hot, heavy and lustful display of pleasure launched me over the table on to his lap and we make out. His hands rove throughout my body touching every part of his body in a scandalous wave of energy overcomes us both in a shill of power his lips touch my skin all hot and bothered.

“Mr. Messina please come in.” I say exiting the room as he smirks walking in.

“Please sit.” I instruct not even looking at him.

“Please focus on the camera.” I state

“May I start?”

“Yes commence”

“Oh wait! Must the lights be so strong”

“I can’t think”

“I am confused “

“Why am I here?”

“Hahaha”

“What’s so funny?”

“You are hilarious “

“Wait what?”

“Continue to take a gander “

“You will admit it”

“You own me”

“Mmmm”

“You love the sound of my voice “

“You are rock hard”

“Mmmmnnnn”

“Fuck…you own me”

Grant Gustin is up for a second pilot go a up and coming new show I have commissioned for Amazon where he would play a hot shot attorney having a torrid affair with a young male assistant attorney. The studio is awash in a bright gold lights of the entire room showcasing everything as he walks in with such power, confident and presence to control the situation he is so instantly struck.

The moment he saw it his world spun intoa fit of crazy babble in a world wind of air to his lungs he takes a deep breath inhalinga sweet intoxicating taste like he has never smelt before. His body is hot falling backwards onto his back his mind melts away at everything he has ever felt loosing himself in a pure unsafe feeling of love and desire for me and only me.

“Grant please slate”

“I am Grant Gustin”

“Good boi”

“Please read this “

“I am here to submit and obey “

“I submit “

“I succumb to your will”

“I am at your mercy “

“Do as you wish and please “

“Ravish me in your will”

“That’s it truly feel it”

“You are intoxicated with love”

“I am obsessed “

“Intoxicated “

“Oh God! You make rock hard”

“How do you feel about me?l

“I love you “

“Absolutely correct “

“What do you expect Charlie Hunnam? Come in now.” I say swinging the door open in excitement because I know he is loves it madly in love with me soon enough he will follow me like Grant. “Please slate for me Charlie.” I command him as he sits down he stares down with a smile he sits up flipping his hair up with a cute wink and he says his name in a sexy, heavy and gruff.

“My name is Charlie Hunnam”

“Good boi”

“I ain’t a boi ”

“Yes you are”

“I don’t have to stand for this”

“Sit down”

“Baby”

“Cut it out “

“I love you “

“Get off me”

“Stare in to the light “

“Give in”

“I can’t stop “

“Why can’t I think?”

“I can’t move”

“Spread your legs”

“Take off your pants”

“Rise up “

“Remove your clothes”

Chris Wood and Jessie Metcalf waltz into the auditorium for the audition but soon the power of the lights, the heat of night and so much more consume them they are lost to my power as well.

The end

[thestarspangledcaptain]

Who/What I Will Write For!

Warning: Mini Essay Ahead

Please Note: If you are requesting, I would prefer if you gave me the desired pronouns for the reader/character!

What I Can / Would Be Comfortable Writing & Or What Topics I Will Cover:

AUs

Expansion of plot lines

Writing for established couples

Reader inserts

Y/N

OC

Any type of romance trope

Platonic relationships

Sibling relationships

Parent relationships (including certain characters as your parent)

Magical beings

Powers

One shots and multi part imagines

LGBTQIA + characters and readers

LGBTQIA + romance

Plot line changes, time changes

Non canonical couples

Canonical couples

Non canon friendships and canon friendships

Small age gaps (when writing for older characters I will made ages fitting with the character) ex: Tony stark. WARNING: If the age gap makes the characters have a legal adult and minor relationship (w the exception of a senior and junior in high school type of thing)

Certain characters (non lgbtq) in lgbtq relationships. For example Natasha Romanoff is a lesbian relationship.

Writings inspired by a song. (I have written work planned out already)

Any shapes and sizes

Angst

Fluff

More steamy scenes (prob up to third base

More serious topics I will cover:

Mental Illness (Anxiety, Depression, Bipolar, Schizophrenia)

Disabilities (From physical to internal)

Health Issues

Eating Disorders

Self harm

Suicidal thoughts / attempts

Dysmorphia and insecurities

Abusive relationships

Bullying

Surgeries

Fainting

Vomiting (due to ED or illness)

Death

(Car)Accidents

Hospitalization

Sexual assault and rape SURVIVORS and sometimes I may write about a character’s recovery and process of coping with something that traumatic

Therapy

Homophobia

Complicated relationships

Adoption

I will NOT Write anything (no hate to those who enjoy reading some of these things, I just personally would not enjoy writing it or be fully comfortable writing it):

Yandere

Furry related things

Omegaverse

I will absolutely NOT change the sexuality of a character if it is specifically stated (ex. Phastos from Eternals, Blaine Anderson, Kurt Hummel, Sebastian Smythe, Santana Lopez, America Chavez)

I will NOT write an age gap more than an absolute max of ten years

I will NOT romanticize things in the serious topics I will write for section. They are serious topics and things such as eating disorders are serious, they should not be romanticized. I write things with heavier topics to help people.

Absolutely NO rape scenes

Inappropriate relationships (college student and professor is an absolute no)

smut

I likely won’t redeem people if they’ve done something incredibly evil

Ok here we go! I apologize for the lack of alphabetical order

Avengers/Marvel:

I will for almost any character (mainly excluding some villains)

Any Peter Parker (just request which one you prefer)

X men

Disney:

The princes

Princesses

Big hero six (I will write for hiro exclusively platonically)

Glee:

From Og Cast up to season 4, including Sebastian smythe and warblers

No Sylvester, or schue romance

Harry Potter:

Golden trio

Weasleys

Draco

Cedric

Cho

Luna

Krum

Fleur

Oliver

Seamus

Neville

Young Marauders

Top Gun (+ TG Maverick):

Maverick

Iceman

Goose

Charlotte “Charlie” Blackwood

Rooster

Hangman (I adore Jake seresin)

Bob

Phoenix

Coyote

Payback

Fanboy

Non Romantic character relationships I will write for in the Top Gun world:

Cyclone

Maverick

Penny

Admiral Cain

Admiral Warlock

Descendants:

Mal

Evie

Carlos

Jay

Doug

Ben

Jane

Lonnie

Audrey

Uma

Harry

Gil

Percy Jackson TO:

Percy

Annabeth

Grover

Luke

Clarisse

Nico

Tyson

Characters of the following actors (so if the listed actor portrayed a character I will write):

Grant Gustin

Chris Evans

Chris Pratt

Chris Hemsworth

Darren Criss

Dove Cameron

Scarlett Johansson

Emma Wattson

Jennifer Lawrence

Emma Stone

Margot Robbie

Glenn Powell

Sydney Sweeney

Andrew Garfield

I will update this list as I get reminded of more people. :) Have a great day, you are loved

[annepi-blog]

tag someone who you want to get to know better

thanks for the tag @special-bc-ur-part-of-it

favorite color: This question is tough because I love many colors. If I had to choose I would say a golden yellow, followed by a rather dark green.

last song: Spotify says it was Runnin' Home to You (Guitar Version) by Grant Gustin from the Flash musical episode.

last movie: At the theater the Barbie movie. At home, it was Red, White and Royal Blue.

currently watching: I just watched the second season of Heartstopper last week.

other stuff I watched this year: This year I went to the cinema to see The Whale, The Little Mermaid, Asteroid City, Barbie and for the second time Everything Everywhere All at Once. Otherwise, I'm currently watching the new season of Grey's Anatomy with my best friend and with all my roommates finished watching New Girl and Mandalorian together and have now started Modern Family. Plus, of course, Glee every now and then.

shows I dropped this year/didn't finish: I didn't really stop anything. The closest I would say is that I don't know when I'll get around to watching Witcher S3 because I also watch it with friends and we have to find time together.

currently reading: Unfortunately, I'm not reading a book right now but just a lot of scientific articles for work. I try to keep up with many WIP Klaine fanfictions because they always bring me joy <3

currently listening to: I don't listen to any particular album at the moment, I tend to turn on my playlist with songs from musicals and movies the most.

currently working on: At work, I am currently preparing the exam for this semester for my students and just started to organize the practical course for the next semester. In my spare time, I'm currently writing a Klaine one-shot based on a German song.

current obsession: Mhmm, maybe the teachers in Heartstopper. They appear for maybe 10 minutes in the whole series, but I love Mr. Farouk and Mr. Ajayi. Otherwise, I was on vacation in Iceland last week and learned about cave bacteria while visiting a lava tunnel. Apparently, they are being analyzed by NASA right now, and I researched about it quite obsessively after the visit :D

Tagging (no pressure ofc): I can never remember who has been tagged. I tag @daisyishedwig @shame-is-a-wasted-emotion @kirakiwiwrites @mynonah and anyone else who wants to do this

[maxwell-beaumont-appreciation]

Maxwell Beaumont Appreciation Week 2023

MBAW Master List

Thanks so much to everyone that participated in this! We were absolutely thrilled with the response! Here is the compiled list of all submissions from the event!

Please remember to tag us in Max content all year long-yours or others-so that we can reblog it for others to find.

Head Canons:

Appreciation and HC's from @angelasscribbles

Max Appreciation from @twinkleallnight

New Stories:

Max Bleaches his Hair by @harleybeaumont

Max's Room by @angelasscribbles

A Leviathan Surprise by @karahalloway

Marabelle by @tessa-liam

The Best Ramsford Has To Offer by @queenmiarys

What Happens in New York: by @angelasscribbles

Praise The Lord by @dcbbw

Maxwell's Jolly Holiday by @harleybeaumont

Throwback Stories:

Crossed by @queenmiarys

Bare a Laxwell story by @dcbbw

List of Max stories by @harleybeaumont

List of Max stories by @angelasscribbles

List of Bad Romance Max chapters/one shots by @angelasscribbles

Confessional 1: Survivor Cordonia by @bebepac

Once Upon a Time by @twinkleallnight

Came for the Prince, Fell for the Lord by @squid-princess-teach-swallow

The Royal Tea Party: Max as a father. by @harleybeaumont

Dads on the Edge: Max as a father (along with the rest of the BR gang) by @angelasscribbles

We are including Mirage by @thefullbeaumonty We're not sure if she's still around by this gem deserved inclusion.

Pairings:

Max Pairings @angelasscribbles

Maxwell Beaumont Pairings and Moodboards @harleybeaumont

Visuals:

Maxwell, Julianna and son Julian @queenmiarys

Maxwell and Julianna Wedding Reception @queenmiarys

Maxwell Beaumont by @duchess-of-lythikos

Maxwell and Riley by @duchess-of-lythikos

Small Doses by @duchess-of-lythikos

Some Maxwell wallpaper we threw in for good measure

Max in his birthday suit (haha, not that one, an actual suit!) by @ladylamrian

Snippets but with Max gifs at the end

Valentine's date @squid-princess-teach-swallow

Fanart by @twinkleallnight from The Other Friend by @alj4890

Spread Joy Quote by @storyofmychoices

Moodboard/Questionnaire by @karahalloway

Maxwell Visuals: Moodboards by @angelasscribbles

Face Claims by @alj4890

Visuals Face Claims by @harleybeaumont

Thirsty Pics by @harleybeaumont

Grant Gustin by @squid-princess-teach-swallow

Face Claims by @bebepac, @tessa-liam and @queenmiarys

Hippo by @twinkleallnight

[matthew-petracca]

Welcome to New York {MATTHEW PETRACCA} !! They are a {34} year old {CIS MALE} who uses {HE/HIM} pronouns. They’re a/an {PEDIATRIC SURGEON} who has been in town for {ONE YEAR}, who lives in {BROOKLYN}. When looking at {MATT} you automatically think of {DOUBLE SHOTS OF ESPRESSO, ORGANIZED CHAOS, CLARK KENT GLASSES} but that probably makes sense since they also remind you of {GRANT GUSTIN}. You can always hear {YOU’RE ON YOUR OWN KID} by {TAYLOR SWIFT} coming from their place. Who knows what kind of trouble they’re going to get themselves into.

tw: divorce, cancer

Matt grew up in Florida with his younger sister. His mom was a dental hygienist and his father worked a standard office job. He has a pretty standard childhood. He was close with his sister, who he was always over protective of. His mom was a dental hygienist and his father worked a boring office job and they fought constantly, but didn’t get a divorce until their kids were grown and out of college.

Matt was a smart kid, too smart for his own good. From a young age, he was bored and started acting out in class just to entertain himself. He was constantly getting in trouble in elementary school for trying to crack jokes and disrupting the class. He was labeled a problem child until the third grade when a teacher even considered that he wasn’t a dumb kid, he was just bored and couldn’t sit still. He ended up getting tested and being diagnosed with ADHD. After that, he was still the class clown, but at least he was able to sit still.

He excelled in high school, when he was finally able to take classes that challenged him enough to keep his brain occupied. And it was in his sophomore year honors english class that he met his first girlfriend. Despite Matt being the class clown that was friends with everyone, he was still awkward as hell when it came to girls. He asked her to go to the homecoming game with him, which was awkward and uncomfortable, considering neither of them knew anything about football, nor did they care about it. Thankfully, neither of them knew how to admit they didn’t want a second date, so they went on another one. This time it was to a bookstore, a place they were both comfortable in. What was only supposed to be an hour, turned into hours of them browsing the aisles of the bookstore, laughing and talking.

When it was time to go to college, Matt got into the University of Pennsylvania, with the plan to go premed. His girlfriend went to school in New York, and despite the fact that most high school couples didn’t make it past Thanksgiving break, the pair managed to make it work. It wasn’t uncommon for them to find the cheapest bus they could and see each other every few weekends, even if they spent the majority of the weekend studying together.

In college, Matt was a social butterfly, joining clubs and going out on weekends. He made friends everywhere he went, something that is still true today.

After graduating with honors, Matt took a year off to apply to medical school, and to focus on getting married to his high school sweetheart. They had a small wedding, promising each other they would have a bigger wedding to renew their vows once they both finished their schooling and had some money. Unfortunately their marriage didn’t last. Matt went to medical school in Massachusetts, and his wife wanted to stay in New York for grad school. They weren’t in a place where they could put their relationship first, unfortunately. And despite how much they loved each other, it wasn’t enough and they filed for divorce before their first anniversary.

Heartbroken from his divorce, he made his way through his first year of medical school. He was experiencing health issues, but he assumed it was stress from school and divorce, and told himself it would all clear up once his break rolled around. Unfortunately it didn’t and his sister forced him to go to a doctor to get checked out. After a whole slew of tests, he was diagnosed with lymphoma. As a result, he took a year off of medical school to undergo treatment and recover. Thankfully, he has been in remission ever since.

Once he was in remission, he was able to go back to medical school and graduate. He was matched to a residency program in Boston, where he thought he would stay. Until a job offer he couldn't refuse brought him to New York.

Matt has found his home in the city, even though he still gets lost once a week on the subway. Thanks to his outgoing and friendly personality, he was able to make tons of friends, even though his job doesn’t always allow him to see them. And although he isn’t always the most present friend, he is the most loyal. He will drop everything for those he cares about, and do anything for them. And he’s sorry he didn’t respond to your text three days ago, he wasn’t ignoring you, he just forgot. When he has free time he is usually exploring the city, making conversation with and befriending anyone who is willing.

[notebookmusical]

Hi! This is part 2. Wow I just watched the video of him singing since I had a chance and was pretty impressed. His voice was low and Stars is such a hard song to sing so I guess I'm not worried anymore, that he can't pull off the role because of singing. We will see how it goes but hopefully I can watch the proshot of Merrily first lol.

Speaking of pro shots, I also heard about the Bonnie and Clyde one and would love to watch Jeremy in that so hopefully I will at some point but I'm not sure when. Like I'm worried If I rent it, my sister and I won't have time to watch or she will be tired idk. I also don't know whatever happened to the Waitress one either. Btw, for your vibes, my instinct was to go with Les Mis cuz it reminds me of you. Not just because of your name either, but because how much you love it..but your vibes also match with Waitress too! It just makes sense.

Anyway I was able to find an Aaron Sweeney bootleg and a Jeremy Little Shop one so maybe I will watch them this week. After some digging, I guess it's alright or easy to find but I was more interested in ones currently still on Broadway and I'm not sure they will be available yet. However there might be a Gatsby video out there since I think I saw it giffed. I didn't have a chance to watch the Lempicka one yet either or listen to the Gatsby cast album yet, but I'm listening later today and will share my thoughts. Also I just found a copy of the book the other day so maybe I will finally read it! I need to get back into reading again as a better distraction haha. Instead I listened to The Notebook, Illinoise and Water For Elephants. Suffs is fine..I listened to it twice and it has some catchy songs but wasn't into the story or anything and found it slightly hard to follow, but it was also the only original musical the season so I guess that's something. I don't really have too many thoughts about it but people always like different things. Like I love the Outsiders based on the story and music but I know a lot of people absolutely hate it for winning best musical. I would hope you would like it but if you didnt, that's also okay. I think what I loved about the Notebook and The Outsiders is that they feel almost totally separate from the movie to me now, in a good way. Like I love both, and I was using the movie to follow the story listening to the songs, but i wasn't like..this is exactly like the movie..they truly offered something a little different and the songs matched the stories. What are your favorite songs from the Notebook? Also, what did you think of the casting choices and how the parts were swapped with their races with the old couple? At first my sister and I were confused but then they said that was the point. Also are you an Ingrid Michaelson fan? I found out she has an album coming out next month too. If you wanna share more about what watching the show is like, with the rain scene maybe, I would love that too!

I am not as familiar with the Water for Elephants movie..but listening almost made me wanna watch it again to see if it was similar or different. I only watched it once so I couldn't really remember much about it. I'm a fan of Izzy Mccalla, Grant Gustin and Paul Alexander Nolan so I enjoyed it. I'd say it did have parts of a more Broadway sound with some of the circus stuff and in general talk singing dialogue in the show. My sister and I noticed that 3 and a half shows had to do with an affair from the women being taken and we thought that was funny. The Notebook, Gatsby and Water for Elephants lol. Anyway you might like it if you wanna give it a listen. I liked Illinoise but also couldn't get much of the story and it felt like listening or imitating Sufjan so I'm sure it's better to watch since I couldn't get much of the story. Hell's Kitchen I was able to follow some or most of the story and am a fan of the singing and performers too, like Shoshana Bean so it's maybe worth a listen. We also said how there was a mix of stories that were teen and adult, and also a lot they were looking back on the past. That could be cuz a lot of them are based on books though lol.

Omg of course I've watched the Spring Awakening bootleg haha. Sometimes I just pick a few songs to listen to, that's why instead of the whole thing or watching but I love it so much! I love that there's nothing else quite like it. I think the only thing I really compare it to is like Next to Normal, and that could be biased. One because of Aaron and Jonathan who are similar performers to me, and two because these were the first musicals I learned about that werent based on anything and also the first bootlegs I watched lol. I think a performance of the show would be so cool so i'm sorry you didn't like the show! What was so wrong with it if you don't mind saying?

Also happy anniversary to Speak Now TV! I might be a day late but still. How does the album hold up for you and what's your opinion of the vault songs? Idk if we ever talked about it. I haven't really been into Taylor as much but I forgot to mention that she sang Castles Crumbling with Hayley Williams about a week ago and it made me nostalgic for my show. Hayley Williams also posted about it being 1 year and Taylor didn't lol. She also sang Mary's Song! But too bad it was only part of it. I haven't been guessing surprise songs as much but I actually guessed that she would sing a song from debut and mash it up with a song from Red..which was right, but just the wrong songs lol. She also sang a I Can See You and Mine mashup which actually sound a bit similar in the beginning of the songs. It's too bad she already played it instead of doing something to celebrate it. I'm guessing she will be singing Last Kiss tomorrow cuz of July 9th and i am putting it here so I can be right for once! Idk if it will be on guitar or piano cuz it could go either way. I also think she might sing the whole song instead of mashing it up..and maybe she will sing Timeless again since she seems to be in a romantic mood. I just noticed they sort of rhyme so they could be almost mashed up lol but I think that's all I'm gonna guess for now haha. I hope I'm right! I haven't got around to listening to those albums yet but I will next week. I am spending another week on Broadway stuff with Gatsby, a musical cast album called The Violet Hour that Jeremy and other Broadway people sing on, and possibly Lempicka after I watch it this weekend. That also reminds me I need to watch Hazbin Hotel too, which he is a part of. I usually only listen to three ish albums a week so ya. What have you been listening to? Sorry this got kinda long again too but I hope you have an awesome week!!! I hope you enjoy my long messages but you can always take time replying. I guess I missed talking to you! 🩷

🩷 i'm so sorry for the awkward delay in replying! my friend showed up early to get me for the basketball game we went to tonight </3 although honestly... if i hadn't been distracted (buying oh mary tickets) i definitely would've had time to answer the rest of this ask before i left. in the time it took for me to answer that last ask and start answering this one i bought tickets to see the thursday oh mary 5pm matinee. bailey loves me and is putting up with me and my nonsense. i also have a packed schedule now. oh well!

i was also impressed when i heard him sing! i was like oh! okay! i am really, really excited for the merrily proshot and i hope it does not take years for it to be released. but at least it's been filmed!

i haven't gotten around to watching it yet but i do need to! loveeee bonnie & clyde! i was listening to the west end cast recording earlier! you could always wait to rent until you know you have time! i did laugh about the les mis thing; i was definitely expecting it to win and was pleasantly surprised when waitress won! waitress is one of my favorites though (obviously) so i am quite pleased with that result.

a lot of the songs on the notebook took a while to grow on me! my days is obviously a favorite, so is iron in the fridge, but there are just so many that really get to me (i always cry when i listen to it). i think it was a bit odd! i remember being like ?????? when i saw it and also when i heard the casting announcement and a lot of the audience was like ??????? but! they are all such good actors. and i am! i love ingrid michaelson's music! the chain is one of my favorite songs of all time. very excited for her album! oh gosh the rain scene is done SO well!! i will elaborate on this after i've seen it again but i remember being SO impressed with it!

i will give water for elephants a listen soon! my friend saw it and liked it but didn't love it :( i think the big sell of illinoise is that it's dance heavy ( i heard it's more like vignettes rather than a cohesive plot of a show ) so i really hope we get a bootleg and that it tours someday!

oh gosh there was so much that went wrong with the production i saw! i have a lot of ... thoughts on that theatre and their artistic direction. i love love loved the revival, and i think the direction + staging + double casting added a lot of complexity to the show. and so i think seeing anything after that would've been a disappointment, but i think my mediocre show experience was really down to two things: 1) a bad show + 2) a bad audience. i think shows do themselves a disservice when they treat their audience like they're stupid. everyone knows that the songs in spring awakening are about ... what they're about. we do not need it spelt out for us. the set didn't do it any favors (it was very bare/minimal — wooden chairs, some trees, and two big rocks that the actors kept tripping over). the casket in the left behind scene was a chair and it was very ... odd. the costumes weren't very great, but the one thing i will not understand is the choice to put wendla and moritz in grim reaper sims-esque outfits (i get why i just think they were very off putting and also jarring in comparison to everything else). a lot of the reviews said the wendla and moritz were terrible; we had an understudy moritz (who admittedly also wasn't great) but i really don't think the wendla was bad at all — she just didn't come off as naive/innocent as i feel like wendla starts off being, but she wasn't like that terrible. the moritz and martha were the saving grace of this show; very clearly talented, out-acted and out-sung everyone else. just very, very good in a very, very mediocre production of spring awakening. a lot of the actors chose (or were told to?) riff as much as they could, which ... well could is a stretch, but also spring awakening is not a show you riff through. and audience etiquette was just absolutely horrid, like why are you laughing at the most inappropriate scenes? why are you hooting and hollering like it's a sports game? it was just ... so deeply terrible. i hate to say it but i understand why one of our local reviewers called it a two dimensional one note show.

happy (incredibly belated) speak now taylor's version anniversary to you too! i haven't actually listened to taylor much lately, but i think the album holds up fine and my favorite vault songs from it still haven't changed (foolish one, castles crumbling, timeless). i still think red has the best vault, and then i would say fearless, then speak now, then 1989. what about you? i really wish she had sung mary's song in full :/ same with a place in this world. i think the mashups are a fun concept, but i don't think i like them all that much — i'd rather hear the songs in full, and i think sometimes they're mashups just for the sake of having a mashup vs. something that has a clear theme + is thought out. if you could hear her do any two mashups (one on piano, and one on guitar), what would you choose?

i haven't really been listening to a whole lot! i listened to the new clairo album today and loved it (i love clairo, so i wasn't shocked that i loved it), and have still been mostly looping brat! aside from that i haven't really been listening to much!

i love your long messages! i always love chatting with you, even if it takes me a while to reply — i usually do read your messages at they come in and then it takes me a while to reply over time but i love it! speaking of, did you know our one year anniversary is coming up? july 14th!! i can't believe we've been chatting for almost a YEAR! happy one year, my friend! 🤍 i hope you're having a good july so far! any fun plans for your weekend or week? sending love!

[fortressofserenity]

Apart

I feel if Kamala Harris were to become president after Donald Trump getting shot, it wouldn’t just lead to riots but also a full-blown civil war and one fought over America’s political identity. Serious conflicts between political parties isn’t anything new, medieval Florence had this with the Ghibellines and the Guelphs.

 But I feel America would really be torn apart because of both Donald Trump’s impending death and Kamala Harris’s rise, if it does come to pass expect serious betrayals when one gets conscripted into a given side. If it does escalate then it’s best for those who don’t want to get killed or conscripted to leave, especially beforehand.

If because it will get worse if Trump gets killed at all, that those who refuse to fight or die would have to leave America for greener pastures. It could be Italy, it could be Spain. But no matter the country, safety is an important decision and consideration. I even prayed to God to have musician Perry Farrell leave America for the Philippines in case if civil war happens again.

He might miss his old friends, but at least he will have peace of mind when he comes to Manila. Same thing with Grant Gustin moving to Italy, at least they will live the sweet and quiet lives if they move overseas. If America were to tear itself apart in a new civil war, better to go away than to stay there for long.

[harryshomeismyhome]

I'm freaking out

THEY FUCKING DID THAT 

FUCK

I KNEW THAT SOUNDED FAMILIAR 

[spidey-stark]

Barry Allen x Reader

Summary - Barry accidentally changes the timeline and can’t find Y/N, only to discover that she is now a meta and was locked in the pipeline.

Warnings - Very brief mention of sex. 

Word Count - 2,099

Authors Note - I’ve had this in my drafts for a bit so I just decided I might as well post it. 

He couldn’t tell them what had happened. 

He couldn’t tell them what he did. 

Or at least not yet. He wasn’t ready to see the expressions of disappointment and sadness flash across the faces of his friends. He wasn’t ready to stand in front of a room full of everyone he loved the most and tell them that he had completely changed every single one of their lives; for better or for worse. 

Besides, there was no way that he was going to bring this up to them until he could figure out just how much damage changing the timeline had caused. So far he had accounted for almost all of the members of Team Flash and was still in the process of making a mental list of how he had changed their lives in this new timeline, but there was still one person that was missing from his list of friends. Y/N. 

“Ayo,” Cisco called out from across the lab, throwing a crumpled ball of paper at Barry’s head, “Earth to Flash!” 

He glanced up from the floor where he had been zoning out, too busy caught up in his own head and trying to figure out where to go from here. “What’s up?” 

Cisco gave him a rather concerned look, obviously confused by how spacey his friend had been lately. “Did you forget why we even called you here?” He asked. 

“Oh, yeah.” Barry replied, shaking his head as a sort of attempt to get all of the dreaded timeline thoughts out of his mind. “I’m supposed to be dealing with some meta in the pipeline, right?” Cisco nodded, confirming Barry’s statement. “And why do I have to talk to them again?” 

Barry wasn’t used to being the one dealing with all of the metas they caught. Unless it was something urgent or some end-of-the-world type of deal, he usually just caught them and stuffed them in the pipeline, a bit too busy to deal with the time consuming part of questioning them. 

“Dude. You literally already know why.” Cisco said, clearly thinking that the answer to Barry’s question was beyond obvious. But, seeing the confusion washing over his friends face, Cisco continued, “It’s the chick that robbed the bank a few days ago. She refuses to talk to any of us, she just keeps asking for you.” 

Barry nodded to show that he had taken in the information before quickly speeding into his suit and making his way towards the pipeline. He knew that Cisco could tell something was wrong. After all, it wasn’t like he was doing a very good job at hiding it with out of it he had been lately. But it was impossible for him to try to focus on what was going on around him when he hadn’t even managed to track her down yet. 

Had she never been a part of his life in this timeline? A part of the Team? Did she even live in Central City in this timeline? Did she even exist in this timeline? 

He quickly pushed that thought out of his head. He couldn’t afford to think like that yet. He couldn’t let himself even entertain the thought of her not being here anymore. 

And, as if it were some cruel joke being played by some higher being, he immediately found himself face-to-face with the answer to the terrible question that had been plaguing his mind. 

Luckily, he hadn’t wiped her from existence. 

Unfortunately, however, she was currently the meta that Cisco told him was locked in the pipeline. 

Barry rubbed his eyes roughly, trying to get his head straight as he looked at the cell in front of him. There’s no way, he thought to himself, taking in the sight of Y/N sitting crosslegged in the center of the cell, looking just the same as she had a few days ago back before he had changed the timeline. 

“It’s about time.” Y/N chuckled, rising to her feet at the sight of him entering the room. “I was starting to think you would never show. It’s rude to keep a girl waiting, ya know.” 

“I-um.” Barry struggled to form words, still in disbelief that the person he had been searching for had been almost literally right under his nose this whole time. “Sorry about that.” 

Y/N scrunched her nose, tilting her head to the side slightly at his behavior. “So?” 

Barry stared at her, stepping closer and closer to the cell until he was right in front of it. It was once he was standing right across from her that he realized how confused she looked. 

“You just gonna leave me in these or..” Y/N trailed as she lifted her arms up to display the meta-dampeners around her wrists. 

“I mean..” Barry motioned to the cell, still struggling to take in the fact that she was really here. And a meta? “Kinda seems to me like you did something to deserve being in here.” 

She scoffed at his statement, dropping her hands back in front of her. “Oh please. Now is not the time for flirting, Flash.” She scolded him, a teasing tone to her voice that continued to add to Barry’s growing confusion. “You’ve already left me down here for two days which is much longer than last time. I would say that it’s time for you to go ahead and let me out and start planning your oh-so-brilliant story of how I managed to escape.” 

Wait... Barry thought to himself as all the pieces of the puzzle began to slowly fall into place, Flirting? Let her out? Do I... Help her? 

The thought wasn’t terribly shocking to him. To be fair, it was just a couple of days ago that the two of them were snuggled up in Barry’s bed watching terrible baking shows together on Netflix and fighting over who got to eat the last honey-bun. She was the one person that Barry loved more than anyone else, and he knew from experience that there was nothing that he wouldn’t do for her. But this timeline changed things, didn’t it? Y/N was a meta now, and clearly not a good one if she had been caught by them and stuffed in the pipeline. So, despite the fact that he wanted to be relieved that some semblance of their relationship had survived the changing timeline, he also felt conflicted. 

“Flash?” Y/N spoke, noticing that he had zoned out for about the millionth time that day. 

“How many times have you been down here?” He managed to choke the words out, trying to get back some sense of composure. 

“Well...” she flashed a grin at him, one that made his heart stop in his chest, “Technically three.” Y/N told him as she proudly lifted her cuffed wrists back up, holding up three fingers at the speedster, “But in my opinion? Only two.” she dropped one finger. “Seeing as though I let you catch me last time.” 

Barry furrowed his brows at the girl. “Let me?” he repeated. 

"C’mon Flash.” Y/N groaned and threw her head back in frustration. “I don’t know what kind of game you are playing here but I am more than ready to be out of these cuffs now. I don’t have time to sit here and recount how I let you live out that little fantasy of yours.” 

His eyes widened slightly. “Fantasy?” 

“Okay, seriously? You’re the one that kept mentioning that stupid dream of yours for days about catching me and screwing me in the cell.” 

Fuck. 

He realized then that obviously more than just a bit of their relationship had survived the timeline change. Actually, a fair bit of their relationship was apparently intact with the one very major problem being that the love of his life was now going around Central City robbing banks. 

“Your powers,” Barry began, trying to move past her previous statement despite the fact that he could feel his face burning under his mask. “do you hurt people?” 

Y/N looked offended by his question, confused, and equally hurt. “What the hell is wrong with you?” When he didn’t respond she decided to answer anyways despite her irritation. “No, Barry.” So she knows my identity? “And you already know that. I’ve never once used my powers to hurt anyone and don’t plan on changing that anytime soon. You also know exactly why I’m doing what I do. And you also should have let me out of these cuffs yesterday!” with each word that left her lips her frustration became clearer and clearer. “And I’m getting real tired of entertaining whatever it is you’ve got going on here. You’re all spacey and weird and acting like you don’t know a single thing about me-” 

She stopped talking. She closed her eyes for a moment, and Barry was honestly concerned as to where this conversation would go next. What was she doing? What was she thinking? 

“Barry...” she finally spoke, her eyes opening back up and looking at him, her gaze much softer than it was before. “What did you do?” 

Despite everything that was clearly different about their relationship now in this timeline compared to the one he came from he still found himself breaking down in front of her. Breaking down at the feeling of familiarity that he had been craving ever since he changed the timeline. “I really messed up, Y/N.” He admitted, voice cracking as he spoke. “I messed things up for all of you.” 

Y/N frowned at the sight of him, noticing the tears that were welling up in the speedsters eyes. “Hey,” she began as she reached up and placed both hands against the cell, trying her best to comfort him, “we can fix it, ok? Whatever it is we can fix it.” Barry swallowed hard, placing his own hand against the glass where hers rested. “But first?” Y/N offered a small smile, “You really need to let me out of this cell. I don’t know if I am gonna be much help in here.” 

Barry didn’t necessarily know if he could completely trust her. Obviously she seemed to think he could, and apparently he was supposed to know things about this version of Y/N that would make all his hesitation in trusting her melt away, but a small part of him still felt conflicted about what the right choice was in this situation given the information he did have on her. But all it really took was one more glance into her eyes and he knew that he would let her out. It wasn’t even his choice to make. He would always do whatever he could to help her, no matter who’s side she might be on. 

And so, he opened the cell and walked over to her, removing the cuffs from her wrists. A small part of him expected her to do something, anything, to show him that he had made a mistake and that maybe the Y/N from this timeline was nothing more than the evil meta that Cisco seemed to think she might be. But instead something different happened as she was freed from the confines of the cuffs. She threw her arms around Barry’s neck and pulled him in to her body. At first he was surprised by her actions, but as the scent of her familiar perfume filled his nose he found himself relaxing into her, feeling a sense of home for the first time in what felt like it had been years. 

“Whatever it is-whatever happened-we will fix it, ok?” She whispered against his ear, the warmth of her breath against his neck just making him squeeze her tighter. 

Y/N leaned back slightly, her arms still around his neck as she looked him in the eyes. “I promise you that everything will be fine.” 

And without hesitation, without any sort of warning, she kissed him. The passion filled, soft-lipped sort of kissing that you don’t just share with a casual fling--and if any part of him still held reservations about what exactly their relationship was in this new timeline, it was slowly being washed away as she tangled her fingers in his hair, a moment so consumed in raw emotion that all of his anxiety about his friends or the timeline or her began to wash away. 

Because no matter what he may have lost in this new timeline, he hadn’t lost her. 

[grantgustinimagines]

hello.

 I’m Venus, and I’ve joined this tumblr. I’m sucker for angsty fics, and I write them. I also write fluff, no smut though… My main tumblr is @barryallenplease. I’ll try to post on here once or twice a week. But I can be very lazy… so. Moving on, if you have any questions for me, feel free to msg me through my main account. Inbox or dm, it doesn’t matter. <3 <3

[so-flashtastic]

Daddy’s promise 0.1

Request from anon: 083 would be awesome

Category: Pregnancy 083: "I can't be pregnant... or....OH, MY GOD! "

Pairing: Barry Allen x reader  Warnings: Girltalk where the word "sex" is mentioned a couple times (idk if that's a legit warning tho), mild swearing (I think there's like... three curewords or something), and a bit bad writing in the beginning. Words: 3516 

A/N: Just thought I'd give you the reason why I didn't post Cinderella part 2: it's pretty much because it's been a while since I wrote last time, and I want the second part to be perfect, AND I didn't have so many ideas – just thought you guys deserved an update quicker...

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When it came to sneaking in after a long night, Y/N Y/L/N wasn’t the best. Was the girl inexperienced? Well, maybe, but she blamed it more on her dominant gene of clumsiness. As expected, the door wasn’t on her side when she tried her best to get into her and Mary's apartment inaudibly.

Squeak! It was moments like these, Y/N regretted not getting their door fixed. Though she excused her laziness with the argument that it was a great (cheap) alternative for an alarm in case of thieves (as if anyone would break the law for her stuff, hah!), it wasn't funny when you tried your best to sneak inside after a long night out.

"Good morning," Mary, Y/N's best friend, and roommate smirked at her, two cups of coffees in her hands.  "We really need to oil those hinges," Y/N tried her best changing the topic, as she took the mug her friend offered her.  "Nice try, go shower and get dressed. You've got a lot to tell me, and I don't want you to be hung over while you're at it," at that moment, Mary was so determined, Y/N didn't dare nor care to tell her she wasn't that hung over.

"You had sex with Barry?! I can't believe it! I mean, you guys are like... the definition of cinnamon buns!" Mary exclaimed in shock. "Ugh, stop it, Mary. Now that I've told you everything about last night-" "He asked you to take som drinks with him and Caitlin, then you just ended up having sex? Who are you?"  "-can you just be the bestest best friend in the world and don't remind me about it for the rest of my life?" Y/N continued as if her friend hadn't just interrupted her, and hid her face in her hands.

"Wait, what? Why? Was he so bad?"   "NO! Jesus, Mary, no, he- he was good... But the sex is not the point!" Y/N shook her head.  "Well then, what's the problem?" "We're friends, and... and... and did you not just hear what's happened?! We had intercourse-" "Don't say intercourse, Y/N/N, it's old and it's weird," Mary interrupted. "Well, we did it-" "You're not five, Y/N, I believe the word you're looking for is-" "Oh my God, Mary, can we just not talk about this?! Please?" Y/n couldn't do this conversation anymore, and with a short "OK" from her noisy friend, Y/N left their living room. 

It had been days since her and Mary's conversation about Y/N's wild night with Barry. Luckily for her, Barry was needed in Star City for a week, so the awkward meet was yet to come. Of course, Y/N knew that it had to happen sooner or later, though later had worked out just fine for the past days, hence why she was still rooting for that method – despite Mary's constant nagging.

The morning came quicker than usual as Y/N woke up by the sudden urge to throw up. This confused her, considering Y/N was never sick – well, excluding the days she actually happened to be, of course. So when she found herself hanging over the toilet, she couldn't help being both frustrated as well as disgusted. 

"Y/N, are you ok?" Mary's voice came from the other side of the locked bathroom door. Y/N never locked the bathroom door – she feared she would get shut in and stuck during a fire – which happened more often than you would think (let's just say that Mary wasn't the best at cooking, or with fires). "Uhm... yeah, just-" She was interrupted by a second and hopefully last round of vomit. "Y/N?" "Yeah, I'm fine, just a sec, Mary!" Y/N was panicking. Y/N was throwing up. Y/N never threw up. "Y/N Y/L/N, I demand you to open this door before I get creepy Jack  down the hall to kick this door open for me!" And that's how Y/N got herself in lockdown.

It was never fun to be at home, sick. Especially when one wasn't sick, but one's crazy overprotective roommate and best friend forced one to stay home because one acted a bit off and looked a bit pale in the morning. Y/N was currently in this situation. She didn't like it. At the moment she was walking around their apartment, feeling 100% good to go to work. "You look terrible today as well, Y/N, you're not going anywhere. I'm telling Mrs. Norman, so if I get a phone call that your toe has even touched the air of the other side of that door, you'll be dead," Mary had told her. 

This was it, the last drop, she was done, finished, finito with staying home any longer. Y/N had just finished her third film of the day, and just laying there was getting her a migraine. 'OK, I'm going out! I'm a grown woman! A big girl, an independent girl! I can do whatever I want to! My best friend can't make me stay at home!' Y/N went for her purse and was ready to walk out the door, but as if Mary could read minds, Y/N's phone rung. "Hello?" Y/N sounded as chirpy as she could, feeling nervous as hell. "Hey, Y/N! Just wanted to make sure you haven't left!" Mary knew her better than anyone, and it was almost scaring Y/N a bit. Almost. 

Three knocks on the door followed by the sound of a pair of keys, and then the door opened. The familiar squeak made its way to Y/N's ears as she laid on her bed in misery. "Hey, Y/N, are you alright?" It was Barry. 'Barry? Is he back home?' Y/N tried not to let her panic take overhand. Anger suddenly washed over her, if this was Mary's work, a certain brunette would be in deep trouble when she came back from work...

"Hey, I uh... I brought flowers," Barry's voice could be heard from the living room, and Y/N's mind was twisting and turning: Should she go on and play sick? It would certainly delay the awkward conversation that was bound to happen... Deciding it was her best option at the time, Y/N made out a weak cough, and answered her friend: "In here, Barry!" as sickly she could manage.

"Hi, how're you feeling?" Barry stepped inside carefully, as if the floor would cause her more pain.  "I'm ok, my head hurts a bit, and I'm a bit nauseous," Y/N thought that her breasts being tender were a fact she didn't have to share. "Uhm..." looking as Barry's ears had just turned tomato red, Y/N scolded herself for saying her thoughts out loud.

"Mary told you to come here?" Y/N tried her best changing the subject quickly as well as keeping her act.  "Uhm, no, heard it from Caitlin actually. She was.. uh... on the phone with Mary I think. She, uhm, she's a loud talker," "Caitlin or Mary?" "Both," the two laughed, Y/N throwing in a couple of coughs. When the laughing calmed down, and the tension started to grow, it was as if her guardian angel saved her, and Barry's phone rung. "Uhm, sorry, I have to go, Captain Singh needs me at the office..." "Yeah, of course, you just go and save the city by stirring in chemicals," her good-bye made him laugh as he made his way out the door in a hurry. 

"Y/N?" Mary asked. They were currently sitting on the couch, eating pizza and watching How I Met Your Mother.  "Yeah?" "Pee on this for me, will you? I think you're pregnant," the brunette said, throwing a box at Y/N – who were almost choking on her food. "Excuse me?!"  "Just do it, it won't hurt, and you've been feeling bad for days. Now be quick and get it done already before I eat this up," 

"This is stupid," Y/N said. It turned out that Mary had seen the episode airing on TV "a thousand times", so they were now hovering over the white stick somewhat curious and excited. "Because I can't be pregnant... OH, MY GOD!” Y/N couldn’t believe it. It said positively. "Is it Barry's?" Mary broke the silence "What?!" "Well, you're obviously not Mother Teresa, and you're not the one to sleep around; I mean, I'm just tying up the loose ends..." "Oh my God, Mary, can we just not talk about this?! Please?" Y/N was still trying to cope with the fact that a living creature was growing inside her vagina. "Yeah, yeah of course..." And the night continued, Mary planning out how she would be the cool aunt of the unborn baby, and Y/N denying the scary fact that she would become a mother in roughly nine months.

"You need to tell him, Y/N," Mary said, looking at her best friend while trying her best not to tick off the ice cream-eating bipolar monster. 'I thought we agreed not to talk about this,'  Was what Y/N wanted and meant to say, though because of the piece of heaven that was melting inside her mouth, it rather came out sounding more like: "Eh ohuph uh a-edh umph uh ahk a-ou es!" Mary, on the other hand, managed to translate the faded message by the clear look in Y/N's eyes. "That was three weeks ago,"  "Ugh!!" And the monster sunk her head in the pillows surrounding her, letting out a loud cry of frustration.

"What about Coby?" Y/N asked her friend.  "Because Cody is too common for you?" Mary answered, still skimming through her magazine in the other end of the sofa.  "I don't know, he just feels like a Coby," Y/N answered, looking down at er stomach – if she really just concentrated hard enough, she could see the little bump forming. "Yeah, you've just begun the first trimester, so sorry hun, but the kiddo doesn't even have a face, let alone a pair of good functionating lungs,"  "You're right, but what about Bia? Or Dory? What do you think about those?" Y/N asked, and at this, Mary set her Vouge away and looked her friend straight in the eyes.

"I think that if you want to name your child after a Pixar/Disney-cartoon fish, you better talk to the daddy..." "Yeah, Dory was a bit too creative maybe... How about Elza? Elza is cool, or Logan? He was always my favorite. Though Jess was also-" Y/N's attempt on ignoring her friend's change of topic failed hard when Mary interrupted her. "Y/N this is getting serious. You haven't even hung out with Barry much for the past weeks. Remember when you two couldn't stay away from each other for more than six hours? I remember that very well. I also remember him being your number one topic to talk about 24/7," 

She was right. Mary was right and Y/N knew it, though she couldn't help it! All she could think of when picturing their first real talk since the one four weeks ago was BABYBABYBABY. Imagine how stressed he would be? He made one mistake, and now he was forced into a huge commitment. In addition to that, this was not what Y/N wanted herself. She wanted to get kids with the man in her life. And currently, that was her dad, considering her status on Facebook was still remaining 'single'. 

"But how Mary? How do I confront him with this? He's going to be a dad! And when I tell him, he will have two options: A, to agree to all terms and conditions, to become a dad and parent with me, or he can B, politely decline and leave my life forever! Mary, I can't bear a life without him!" She hadn't even realized the tears running down her cheeks before now.  "He won't leave you, do you hear me? He will never ever leave you," Mary tried her best reassuring her friend, patting Y/Non the head while whispering soft comforting words.

"You know, having a pregnant roommate is way more expensive than you would think," Mary came in the door with four bags full of food. "Yeah, yeah, where's the pickles?" Y/N asked frantically, to which Mary gave her one of the bags. "I mean, not only does it drench your wallet, but also your mentality. Here you go by the way, bought eleven jars, just for you," Y/N went for it, and opened the first one in sight. But just as she was about to open the lid and down all of the juice like she had done for the now empty seven jars in their fridge, she stopped. "Yuck, how disgusting is this? Do we have any chocolate?"  “Like I said, drenching my wallet and mentality...” Mary said looking up to the roof, shaking her head.

Y/N was currently in her thirteenth week, and her clothing style had changed drastically for a couple of weeks. 'They are meant for comfort and coverage,' she had told Mary when her friend had commented that she couldn't leave the apartment in 'the biggest sweatshirt in the building' and her pajama pants. So you could imagine Barry's shock when he not only saw his once best friend and crush clothed in uncharacteristically clothing but also for the first time in months. How Y/N had managed to avoid him for that long?

Y/N laid in her bed, computer on her lap, popcorn within her hand's reach, and sipping on a coke. Her mind was parallelled set on the kittens in the video she was watching, and how cool it would be when her stomach finally would grow to a proper, usable size AKA when she could drop the coffee table in the living room, and do a Phoebe Buffay. 

Interrupting her thoughts, her phone started ringing, leaving her annoyed as she had to pause her YouTube-watching. "Hello?" She said unaware of whom it wa son the other side of the line.  "Hey Y/N/N, just wondering where you-" It wasBarry. Her Barry. What was she to do?! "Sorry, wrong number," Y/N said in the deepest voice she could muster, as she quickly hung up on the poor, oblivion guy.

Though that wasn’t it, Y/N really was creative with her avoiding methods. She needed to go to the store? She asked Mary. Mary said no? She asked Mrs. Norman. Mary figured that out, got mad at her, and told Mrs. Norman not to worry about it? Y/N asked creepy Jack down the hall, whom she knew Mary wouldn’t dare to talk to. But how about her job? In addition to having a feminist extremist as a boss, Y/N was a writer for a magazine. So simply explaining her situation, adding a couple of white lies, and finishing with a strong apology with a touch of ‘I promise to work twice as hard at home,’ Y/N was off the hook. 

But just as any hormonal pregnant woman, Y/N got enough of her hiding – it should be him hiding, not her! To this Mary had told her that Barry didn’t have the knowledge to why he had to hide (which apparently, Mary didn’t have either) and she was being ‘irrational and not herself,’ which Y/N obviously ignored. Hence why she left their home to get the right chocolate milk, because creepy Jack simply didn’t do the job properly. 

"Y/N? Is that you?" Barry couldn't be too careful when it came to assuming  – let's just say this wasn't the first time he had "seen"  Y/N in public. Though at the mention of her name, Y/N turned to see who had said her name. Her eyes locked into his for mere seconds before Y/N turned away in hope her invisibility powers would quickly appear and hide her. Such a pity Y/N wasn't a meta...

"It is you!" Barry jogged up to her. Great, what was she to do now?  "Hi...!"  Y/N answered back, holding her basket with milk in a tight grip. "How've you been? I haven't heard anything from you for so long..." Barry said, just standing there in front of the girl he loved.  "Uhm, a bit ill actually... Yeah, that's why I haven't had the time to hang out," quite happy about her explanation, Y/N stood there ready to go. 

"For three months?" Barry asked, not completely convinced. "Yeah," Y/n faked a cough, "really bad flu,"  "I see, well, do you want to grab dinner Friday?" "Friday? As in now Friday? in three days?" Barry nodded, and Y/N shut her eyes as if she had to think of her plans for the rest of the week.  'Should I say yes? It would be quite suspicious if I told him no... But he will know! On the other hand, Big Belly Burger does sound tempting...' "Big Belly Burger?" Y/N asked with a smile on her face, which Barry gladly returned. "Yeah! Good, I'll pick you up at six," Barry winked at her, then left. 'What have I gotten myself into?'

"This is good, Y/N! Now you can finally tell him!" Mary said, proud of the maturity her friend was showing. "Telling him? Are you kidding, I'm not gonna tell him anything! We're just grabbing some burgers..." Y/N defended herself. Wouldn't that be scandalous, her telling him? He would flee the country to just get away from her. "You're not serious now, are you?" When Y/N didn't answer her, Mary took a deep sigh. "You are aware of that you're pushing him away from you, right? Because that's why you don't want to tell him because you don't want to lose him? So I'd use some more time to think before you just go on your date-" "It's not a date!" "- later today, and keep your secret safe," Mary finished and left the room for Y/N to remake her decision.

It had taken her blood, sweat, and tears – literally, but Mary finally made Y/N agree to tell Barry about her pregnancy. But after a brutal paper cut, an intense discussion, and while following the DVD-aerobic-instructor, Mary argued her way to victory, Y/N left their apartment in defeat.

Walking next to Barry, Y/N started to regret her choice of clothes – no scratch that, Mary's choice of clothes. Because Y/N was supposed to tell Barry she was pregnant anyway, and 'It's a date for fuck's sake, and you like him, you might as well dress proper!' So there she was. Next to the guy she loved, feeling more insecure about her body as ever, in hope Barry hadn't noticed. And even though he didn't show it, Barry did notice. But the thought of her being pregnant? That hadn't nor ever would've crossed his mind. 

"God, I'm hungry... Haven't eaten since lunch, how 'bout you?" Barry asked, not really sure of what to say. The conversation usually came naturally between the two of them. "Starving," Y/N said, but kept out the fact that she ate an hour ago. "I could seriously eat a horse, or maybe even the whole team, when I think of it," she finished, and made Barry laugh.  "A whole team of horses?" He asked with a smile, to which Y/N chortled at. "Yes!"  "I don't believe you..." Barry said playfully, loving the feeling of the normality between him and the Y/H/C girl.  "Bartholomew Henry Allen, you've officially been challenged to a duel," Y/N said in the stiffest voice she could muster.  "A burger-eating contest?" "Well, if you want it to sound dull, so yeah..."

“Oh Holy Moses...” Y/N sighed and rubbed her stomach. In front of her was a grinning Barry Allen, and five un-eaten 500g-Double cheese-bacon-burger with sweet potato fries. "Told you you'd lose, though I'm impressed, not many can keep up with a speedster," "Trust me, it's not that difficult when you're eating for two!" Y/N said with a laugh, but it quickly stopped when she saw the look on his face. It was a good mixture of shock... shock... and more... shock.

"Uhm... Uh... yeah, I'm uh... I'm pregnant... Sur-surprise?" Y/N had never been this nervous ever.  "You're pregnant?" Barry couldn't believe it. Who was the father? For how many months? Why hadn't she told him before? Was this the reason she hadn't talked to him for so long? However, he decided to keep those questions for himself, afraid of the answers – especially the first one, hadn't he meant anything for her?  "Uhm, yeah... Due date's 4th of April,"

"Who knows?" He asked again, "... is the father aware?" He finished. "Mary and you are the only ones. Mom and dad are kind of still in the dark..." Y/N felt ashamed saying it out loud.  "Ok, well, how are you feeling about it?" He asked, his concern warming Y/N's heart. She was so sure this would have ended completely different – hell she had cut off all contact for three months, and she'd continued if it hadn't been for their random encounter at the supermarket.  "It was hard to cope with in the beginning, though I've grown fond of the little creature,"  "I just want you to know that I'm not leaving your side anytime from this moment, Y/N. You're stuck with me, and there's nothing you can do about it."

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[the-flash-imagines14-blog]

[retvenkos]

gingerbread // barry allen

The Flash (Any Season) - Barry Allen x Reader Fic. Prompt:  you called me at two in the morning, insisting that I come over and help you bake christmas cookies for the party tomorrow because you forgot to make them earlier and now need help A/N: Do I know that it’s after the holidays? Yes. Did I accidentally schedule this wrong? You know it.

“Oh, thank God! I’m so glad you picked up!” Your voice, frantic over the telephone, broke the silent stillness of Barry Allen’s bedroom. It was completely dark except for the light of his cellphone, the bluish brilliance casting awkward shadows on his tired face. Barry Allen never got restful sleep. Not anymore. Not after everything that had happened in so short a time.

“(Y/n)?” His voice was slurred with sleep, but with every word it grew more and more panicky. “What's wrong?” Barry pulled the phone away from his face for a moment to squint at the time. “It’s two in the morning. Are you alright?”

“No!” Your voice, afraid and straining, brought all of his senses to attention. The speedster bolted upright in bed, already making motions to get clothes on. “I mean... yes. Technically. But no, not really.”

Barry stopped in his tracks and stared confusedly at the darkness around him. 

“Can you just come over?”

A flash of yellow. He was gone before you had finished your sentence.

...

Soft music filled the tiny, grossly overpriced apartment when Barry Allen whooshed in. It took a moment for his mind to adjust to his rather calm surroundings, his panic running its quick course through his mind only to settle on peace. The lights were dimmed, but their warmth emitted a soft glow, illuminating the books that littered the coffee table and socks that had been thrown over the couch. Everything looked normal. Barry’s brows were coming together in confusion when an angry oven alarm cut through his thoughts. He turned around and saw you.

Sleep deprivation clung to you, your eyelids begging to close while your eyebrows worked against them to keep you awake. Flour was dusted all over your clothes while cookie dough stuck to your hands. The counter you sat at was littered with pans and bowls - eggshells discarded next to a half-empty carton on milk. You smiled at him softly and he crossed the room to take a batch of cookies - spread too thin from an excess of butter - out of the oven. 

He set them down next to you, and when you saw the state they were in you swore under your breath. Barry looked at you questioningly, a devilish smile playing on his lips. You sighed as you looked up at the cheeky grin that was making its way onto his face.

“Don’t say it. Just...” You waved your arms at the mess around you, gesticulating wildly. Barry snorted. “Help.”

“So now you want my help?” Barry asked, feigning an exasperated look. “What happened to, ‘no, I’ll be fine. Not everyone needs super speed, Barr.’?”

You tilted your head back and sighed, looking up at Barry through half-lidded and oh-so-tired eyes. It’s true, you had denied Barry’s help in making holiday cookies two days ago when he had offered, but you had faith in your baking abilities two days ago. Now that faith, short-lived and bittersweet, would never exist again. Everyone would be meeting at the Allen house in 6 hours, and you were cookie-less and far too tired to function properly.

Barry smirked down at you. Damn that boy. He would be the death of you. “Please?” You pouted at him and Barry’s expression melted into a smile.

“Find me the recipe.”  He kissed your forehead and started to clean the mess around you. You felt your face get warm as you looked through the cookbooks you had scattered around your apartment, your mind suddenly very much awake.

By the time you returned with the recipe you had wanted to make and had tried three batches ago, your tiny kitchen was spotless. There were even new towels hanging off the handle of the oven door. “So here’s the recipe. If you get the dry ingredients mixed I can start with the wet...”

“No,” Barry pulled the cookbook out of your hand and smiled at you gently. “I will take care of this. You need to sleep.”

“But--” Before you could finish your weak protest, Barry had wrapped you in a blanket and placed you on your couch. Despite yourself, you closed your eyes and snuggled into the warm blanket. You could hear Barry in the kitchen, his voice humming along to the music, the whisk in his hands hitting the glass bowl. You slowly drifted off, warm and content.

...

You slept peacefully for 4 hours when you were woken up by the oven alarm. You opened your eyes groggily and padded over to your tiny kitchen. You leaned against the counter as the smell of fresh gingerbread greeted you, along with Barry’s soft voice saying good morning. 

“Is that the last batch?” Your voice was slurred from sleep as you smiled up at him. He had a towel thrown over his shoulder, and a baking mitt on his hand. He looked adorable, you thought. 

“The others are already frosted. I didn’t want to wake you.” He smiled at you briefly before transferring the fresh cookies onto a cooling rack.

“Since when were you the perfect baker, Barr?” you teased him and lightly hit him on the arm with a corner of your blanket, which was still securely wrapped around you. He laughed good-naturedly, but the blush that grew on his cheeks gave him away. You were about to tease him again when his phone went off. He looked at the text and when back at you.

“We need to get ready to go over to Joe’s. He moved up the time - we have to be there in an hour.”

You swore.

...

“Those cookies you made were delicious, (Y/n).” Iris gave you a warm pat on the shoulder before walking into the kitchen, presumably to get some eggnog. Or perhaps it was to leave you and Barry alone. Not that you were complaining, of course.

“You made those, (Y/n)?” You rolled your eyes playfully as you turned to Barry, who was looking at you with a pointed grin. 

“Well, I may have had some help.”

“From who? They must be quite the baker.”

You laughed and Barry joined in. You snuggled in deeper into his side and Barry sighed in pleasure. “Y’know, I never did thank you. You need to bake for me more often, Flash.”

“Only if you do it with me.” He kissed you, then. And he tasted like gingerbread.