#grant gustin x you

[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!

[bia-wayne-west]

Children of the future.

— Barry Allen X Reader

Synopsis : Barry Allen goes into the future by accident and finds out that in the future he is married to his best friend, Y/N and has two adorable children.

Characters : Barry Allen [Flash] and Reader [ You ]

Warnings: none.

A/N: I love reading imagines where Barry has kids and is married, so I decided to write another one. Hope you like. Reblog if you like.

Sorry for the writing errors, I'm not fluent in English.

Requests are open

Masterlist

Barry Allen was running like lightning. Cisco decided to test Barry's speed by making him run as fast as he could.

The leaves of the trees swayed as he passed, leaving everything in disarray along the way. Barry didn't care if he was going too fast, until a crack opened in front of him and he couldn't stop.

The speedstet was thrown to the wet grass ground. He quickly stood up and looked around, wondering if it was to the past or the future. Everything was normal.

Barry noticed that there were some buildings in places that were once houses and assumed that he was in the future. He knew he couldn't risk changing the future, but he was curious.

He was surprised to see the name “Allen” engraved on the mailbox of a large house. The house was white and had three floors. He approached, seeing that on the porch of the house there was a swing and a dog house with the name “Grant” engraved on it.

Barry questioned whether he actually read the right name on the mailbox. He didn't have much time to think before a big, fat dog ran towards him, knocking Flash to the ground. The dog caught him off guard.

The animal began to lick his face, making him laugh. Barry carefully pushed the dog away, standing up.

“Sit down!” He said to the dog and to Barry's surprise, the animal obeyed and sat down on the grass. The dog wagged its tail and seemed very happy.

Flash heard laughter coming from the door. He looked up and let out an exclamation of surprise when he saw that Y/N was standing in front of the door, arms crossed.

“I thought you wouldn't be back until tomorrow. Cisco called saying you had an accident in Star City.” Y/N said, walking towards Barry.

The man tried to find words to respond to his friend, but was petrified when he received a kiss from his childhood friend.

The woman ran her hand through Barry's brown hair and looked at him tenderly. Flash noticed that she had a beautiful ring on her fingers. She got married.

Y/N kissed Barry again, leaving him in a state of panic. The brunette never thought about kissing his friend, since he was in love with Iris.

“Let's go. Benjamin and Anastasia are alone long enough to set the house on fire.” Y/N said, pulling the speedster's hand to force him into the house.

“Benjamin and Anastasia?” He asked, frowning. Who were these people?

“Are you going to say you forgot your children's names?” Y/N asked in a playful tone. Barry opened his mouth in shock.

Flash barely had time to say anything. Two small and cute bodies collided with Allen. They were children.

Benjamin and Anastasia they are kids. Barry and Y/N's children.

Flash opened his mouth but couldn't say a word. He looked at the kids who had Y/N's hair color and Barry's green eyes.

The boy looked a lot like Barry and had a very sweet smile. The girl looked like a beautiful princess.

“Daddy!” The girl said, extending her hand for Barry to take it. The speedster wondered if he should pick the girl up, but after Anastasia pouted at him, Barry grabbed the girl and gave her a big hug.

Barry had children. He started a family.

It wasn't with Iris as he imagined, but Y/N seemed to love him so intensely that it was clear there was a lot of love.

“Daddy. Ben, my mom and I made chocolate cake.” Anastasia said. Her voice was soft and sweet. Barry almost cried when the girl laid her head on his shoulder.

“Mom let me make the frosting with the mixer.” Benjamin, who looked to be two years older than Anastasia said, smiling proudly.

“It must be delicious.” Barry said smiling at the boy. The boy hugged Allen's leg.

The two children dragged Barry into the kitchen and made the speedster eat many pieces of cake and a pitcher of juice that Benjamin prepared. It was sour, but Barry enjoyed every drop to make the boy happy.

The house was big and warm. Barry couldn't tell if it was hot because of the heater or if it was because of the family that lived there. The kitchen of the house had a large blackboard glued to the counter where it indicated what needed to be bought at the market and who would wash the dishes that day.

Barry loved everything. It seemed strange at first, but now it was an incredible future. For the first time in his life, Barry felt that everything would work out in the end.

He thought the children were normal, that they weren't speedsters. But the moment Y/N dropped a glass, Benjamin ran like lightning and didn't let the object fall to the floor.

“Are you a speedster?” Barry asked with a face full of surprise.

“Of course my love.” Y/N said, emphasizing “my love”. In the present, she always called Barry ‘Allen’ or some stupid nickname. Barry liked to be called ‘my love’. “Our babies are just like you. Even though Anastasia hates running”

“I prefer to walk.” The girl said. It was the cutest sight Barry had ever seen. The little girl had a teddy bear on her lap and used a toy spoon to give the teddy bear some imaginary food.

“You look strange, dad.” Benjamin said. The boy was focused on a portable video game and barely looked at the people at the table.

“Seriously, Barry. Are you well? “ Y/N asked her husband. She noticed that the speedster was dazed and looked strange. “Children, can you keep the cake in the fridge and then go play in your bedrooms?”

“Yes mom.” The kids said at the same time. Benjamin used his super speed to put the cake in the refrigerator and went to his bedroom. Anastasia preferred to walk like a normal human being.

Y/N took Barry to the living room. The fireplace was lit for winter and some toys were lined up in the hallway. The dog that Barry assumed was family was lying on the couch with its belly up.

“What happened, Barry?” She asked as soon as Barry sat down in the room. She noticed that her husband seemed to have never set foot in the house and was looking at everything like a curious visitor.

“Anything. It's okay, honey.” Allen tried to sound convincing.

“Barry, I wanted to tell you something.” Y/N sat on Barry's lap, leaving him perplexed. The speedster stood as still as a statue as the woman placed a long kiss on his lips. “Do you like having two children?”

“Obviously. Ben and Ana are amazing kids.” Barry said, trying to sound like the father they know.

“Then I think you'll love having three children even more!” Y/N said, with watery eyes. She took a box out of her pocket and Barry recognized it as a pregnancy test box. “I found out two days ago, but I was going to wait for you to get back from Star City.”

“Are you pregnant?” Barry asked.

“Yes. Caitlin thinks I have five weeks. It's still the size of a bean, but I already love it so much.” Y/N said, rubbing her belly.

Y/N was surprised to receive a hug from her husband. Barry was shaking and seemed surprised, something strange since he already has two children.

Allen had tears in his eyes and Y/N returned the hug, laying her head on his shoulder.

“Thank you, Y/N.” Barry thanked him. “Thank you for being my family and for giving me three incredible children. You are perfect.”

“You gave it to me, Barry. You played an important role in creating them.” She said laughing. Flash was thinking about how weird it would be to have sex with his best friend. Barry had known Y/N since elementary school and had never thought of her in a romantic way.

Now, Barry envied future Barry, who had perfect children and a beautiful woman who loved him. The Flash hoped this was his future.

“How did we start dating?” The man asked, trying not to sound rude and irritate the woman.

“You were almost killed by a villain and I realized I loved you. But Iris also realized that she loved you. It took a long time for you to decide that you loved me and ask me to be your girlfriend.“ She explained laughing. “You're always quick, but you read a lot into some things.”

“Funny.” He said, squeezing Y/N's waist. Barry's cell phone rang and the woman got up from his lap, letting Flash pick up the phone and answer it.

“Dude, where are you? You were running and suddenly disappeared.” He heard Cisco say. Flash's friend was nervous.

“I'm coming, Cisco.” Barry said, then hung up without letting Cisco answer. “Y/N, I have to go. Cisco needs my help.”

“Sure honey.” Y/N said, giving her husband another kiss. “Come back early for dinner. Ben's notes arrived today and he wants you to see them at dinner time.”

“OK.” Barry looked closely at the woman and the house before heading to the door. This was a perfect future. “See you later, Y/N.”

“Save the world, Flash.” Y/N said, while stroking her own belly. Barry took one last look at Y/N before running to go back to the past.

Tears streamed down Barry's face as he ran. Barry always wanted to have a family and in the future he did, with a pet dog and warm hugs.

As soon as Barry returned to the present, he went straight to Star Labs. He knew that back then you were helping Caitlin take care of the imprisoned metahumans .

“Hey man, where were you?” Cisco asked as soon as Barry stopped in the middle of Star labs.

“I fainted during the race.” Flash lied, knowing he couldn't tell anyone about the future. “Where is Y/N?”

“She's giving lunch to the imprisoned metahumans. She always does this.”

Barry didn't respond to his friend. He ran straight towards Y/N.

She had a tray in her hand and was walking towards a prisoner's cell.

“Hello, Y/N.” Flash greeted the girl. She just looked at him and smiled, walking again. “I was thinking. We've been friends for a long time and we've never gone out to dinner just the two of us.”

“Why should you go out with Iris, your great unrequited love.” Y/N replied, making Barry grimace.

“Do you want to go out with me on Friday for dinner?” Barry invited his friend. She smiled, stopping walking and looking at the brunette.

“Since you insist so much, I agree to go out with you, Allen.” Y/N said, running her hand through Barry's hair. He smiled, thinking that it wouldn't be so bad to marry you in the future.

[supercap2319]

Y/N accidentally walks in on Barry naked in the bathroom.

Barry got out of the shower and realized there were no clean towels. His body was dripping wet and there were no towels in any of the little cupboards or closet of the bathroom. "Oh my God. Where are the towels?" Y/N must have been doing laundry and probably took them all to get washed. Barry realized that as he kept looking for anything to dry himself with, but only found a small black towel. The door opened up and Y/N walked in as Barry snatched the small towel and put it over his crotch.

"Oh my God!"

Y/N turned to him with a shocked look on his face as he blinked and snickered a bit.

"Get out! What... Get out!"

"Dude, this is my bathroom."

"Dude, I'm using it. Please can I have a little privacy?" Barry should have just speeded to his room, but he was too embarrassed to move his feet.

"Okay. Okay. You're the one with the body issues."

"Get out."

"Lock the door next time." Y/N turned to leave as he left the door wide open. Barry huffed. "Close the goddamn door!" Y/N came back into the bathroom and looked at him. "Did you need something else? A helping hand or mouth?"

"Go!" Barry pointed out the door.

"Okay. Okay. You are so confusing."

Just before he left, Y/N's dog ran into the bathroom and he went for Barry's crotch area as he pulled the small towel and ran out of the room with it. Barry blushed hard as Y/N came back and smirked. "Not bad, Barry. Nice orbs, and you've got a really big joystick."

He winked and left the bathroom for real this time as Barry looked down at his cock getting hard.

[asterias-record-shop]

hey!! i was wondering if you write for barry allen, if you do, i would like some angst maybe? only if you are up to it ofc! thank you in advance and i’m loving you finnick series <3 hope you are okay

—𓆩[angst angst angst]𓆪—

no anon my love, I am not okay after this ❤️ jk jk, im good! finals are coming up, and im glad you’re loving the Finnick series! sorry this took a little long, I needed to come up with some issues that weren’t cheating (I will never write cheating), also, I hope you enjoy the headcannons, im not very good at doing angst on purpose-

𓆩[main masterlist]𓆪 𓆩[request/ask me something!]𓆪

“Neither of us want this to happen, but it has to and you know that.”

— Barry would say this when he wants to die for the greater good and you don’t want him to because it’s fucking stupid.

“You can’t do this, Barry! You’re not dying!”

Barry sighs. “You know that’s not how it works, honey.”

“You said that this happens because of us, right? I’ll do it, I’ll die. That work?” You stand from your chair.

“No, you have nothing to do with it, that’s the problem!” He pressed his hands into his face. “You don’t have anything to do with it, so I can’t keep you safe and I-”

“And what does it have to do with you, Barry? You don’t have to die because you can’t stop it!” You slammed your hands into the table before he groaned loudly and pressed his face into his jands.

“That’s the problem, Y/N! I do have to! I’m not fast enough so I can’t stop it-”

“But why do you have to die?!” You screamed at him. “Why you? Why can’t someone else die?!”

“Because I’m not going to let them!”

“And I’m not going to let you!” You walk around the table, quickly walking toward him. “You’re not going to die, I’m not going to let you.”

He tries to run before you put out your hand, a spark of cold running down his spine. “Y/N, don’t-”

Your ability to freeze time was going to prove useful now. “I don’t care about anyone else, Barry, I’m not going to let you die for people you don’t even know.”

His fingers flinch. “Don’t do this. Please don’t do this.”

“Well I’m not going to let you, am I?”

“We can start over, I’ll do anything you want me to, everything will be perfect - I swear. Just please… please don’t leave me.”

— Barry would say this after fucking up really bad, after he distanced himself so much he didn’t even realize that you left him.

mentions of pregnant wife, divorce, ‘we’re not getting back together’

It was the end of the world, how could he pay attention to something like a relationship? The world could end any minute, and he needed to stop it, to protect you. He hadn’t come home for the past month, spending every night at the lab or the police department.

His phone was charged but he never looked at it, there was no point. As much as he wanted to talk to you, he couldn’t, not like this.

“Barry, you need to leave,” Joe had finally said after Barry fell asleep and drooled all over the table. “Now.”

“I can’t, I can’t. Have you spoken to Y/N, I need some of her DNA to run some tests on the proton… proton, what is it?” He whispers, already forgetting the second part of the word before Joe pauses.

“You… how long has it been since you’ve spoken to Y/N? You haven’t been home in a month, Barry.” Joe says, the younger man shaking his head.

“That’s not the point, where’s Y/N? Can you call her please, she’s not picking up my calls.” Barry goes to the board, grabbing a marker before Joe caught his arm.

“You need to go home, Barry. Now.”

So he did. Reluctantly, he did. He went home, to the small house you and Barry had bought a few years ago away from the city so that you both can just stay away from all the issues going on. He was surprised when he didn’t see your car in the driveway, but when he got to the door he saw how much mail had stacked up.

His brow furrows as he slowly grabbed it, everything with his name and not yours. It doesn’t concern him as much as it should’ve, slowly opening the door. He doesn’t hear Gnocchi’s nails scratching against the floor, the large German shepherd that always ran to him when he got home absent from his usual greeting. He doesn’t hear you singing in the kitchen, making dinner like you always did after you slipped off your wedding ring so it wouldn’t get dirty.

Instead, the house is clean, and the air is stale. He doesn’t see your coat on the rack or Gnocchi’s bed near the back door, the panic finally setting in.

“Y/N? Y/N!” He ran up the stairs to your room, the bed made and obviously not slept in for a while. He ran into the closet, your racks empty and his clothes neatly folded or hung on hangers.

He goes to the restroom next, all of your makeup and skincare gone, and everything in the shower you had spent hundreds on to make sure your body was taken care of gone too. He couldn’t help himself, his breathing getting quicker as he ran downstairs to the kitchen, a glint catching his eye.

He ran toward it, your wedding ring and engagement ring settled over an envelope. He ran toward it, quickly taking the envelop before seeing divorce papers underneath it.

You weren’t a lawyer for nothing.

He quickly pulled out his phone, dialing your number just to be greeted by your mailbox saying, “Hi! This is Y/N L/N, if you’re calling for business interactions, my business number is…”

He knew your business number by memory, but your name? Your maiden name, L/N? It’s been Allen for the past four years.

Quickly, he typed in your work phone number, immediately getting the response, “Hi! This is Y/N L/N, this phone number is only functioning during the times…”

With that, he called Iris. “Iris? Iris, where is Y/N-”

“Well it’s about time you went home,” Iris finally says, sighing. “It took you what, two months?”

Two months? You’ve left him for two months and he didn’t even know it?

“Where is she?!” He couldn’t help the rise of his voice, a shaky exhale falling from his mouth. “Please, Iris… please.”

She inhaled. “I can’t… I can’t.”

“I will run around this whole city if you don’t tell me where she is.”

There wasn’t a point of hiding, not whenever your husband could quickly find you just by running over the city, and he could certainly find where you went in a second. And while making yourself tea before bed, you knew it.

“I hope you brought those papers signed,” you say loudly, stirring in the sugar. “Want this done as quickly as possible.”

You gasped when you turned around, a disheveled Barry standing in front of you. There was dark bags under his eyes, his hair going every which way and his honey glazed eyes were now gold. “Please don’t do this.”

You inhale deeply, shaking your head. You knew that if he came like this to you, you wouldn’t be able to say no. You wouldn’t be able to stand your ground, you would go back to a life where he would ignore you for days on end and would put you in harms way over and over again. You could protect yourself yes, especially with your powers, but you couldn’t. You couldn’t do it, not this time.

Your relationship wasn’t like this at first, he was your next door neighbor and you both were basically bound from the start. He would never ignore you or put you in harms way, but things change. He changed, just like you did. And you’ve gone back to him before, but this time, you couldn’t. This time, it was different.

“I’ve been gone for two months, Barry. And you didn’t even notice!” Your voice gets louder, and you could feel your heart rate spike before you inhaled quickly, trying to calm yourself.

This isn’t good, stress isn’t good.

“I know, and I’m sorry, I’m so so sorry,” he tried to step forward, but something stops him making him look down, a gasp falling from his lips. “No.”

You inhaled, holding back tears as you set down your mug and cover your mouth. “It was supposed to be a surprise,” you whisper, sniffling. “I wanted… I was planning it so cute with signs a-and a party, but you never came home.”

He looks up at you, his eyes watering. “I-It’s mine?”

Oh you couldn’t have been more pissed. You shoved him, his hands quickly attempting to grab your wrist. “Fuck you, Barry! Fuck you!”

He shakes his head immediately. “That’s not what I meant, Y/N, I’m sorry-”

“Oh no? What did you mean, Barry, what the fuck did you mean?!” You screamed at him, slamming your fists against his chest. “It takes four to six weeks to show positive on a test, twelve to sixteen weeks to start showing, you bastard! Do you really think I’d be fooling around? I have been nothing but loyal to you for my whole life, you asshole!”

He quickly grabs your wrists, shaking his head. “No, baby, don’t do that. Don’t do this, don’t , please don’t.”

You inhale sharply, quickly pulling your hands away from him. You weren’t even hitting him hard, but that was no excuse. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry,” you whisper, inhaling shakily. “I’m so so sorry.”

“No, honey, I’m sorry,” he says quickly, pulling your hands to his shoulders. “I’m so sorry, honey, I deserve that. I deserve everything, honey, but I’m so sorry. Don’t do this to me, please don’t do this to me. We can start over, I’ll do anything you want me to, everything will be perfect - I swear. Just please… please don’t leave me.”

You shake your head. “No. No, I can’t do that. I can’t.”

“No! No, Y/N, please, please. Please, I need you, I need you, don’t leave me,” he was begging, whining as he shook his head. “Please don’t leave me.”

“I can’t stay with you, Barry. I can’t, I don’t want to,” you say, even if you were lying. You wanted nothing more than to just go home with him, let him touch you and do anything you asked but you couldn’t. Not after everything he’d done to you, all the pain he made you feel. “I can’t do that. Maybe… maybe later in life, but I can’t. Not now.”

“Don’t divorce me, baby, don’t leave me! Please, please don’t go, I can’t… I can’t lose you, I can’t lose you too,” he kneeled down, crumbling to his knees as he kissed your stomach. “I can’t lose either of you.”

“They’re twins,” you say softly. “Twins. That’s why I’m showing so much.”

Oh Barry could’ve broken down then and there before you grabbed his cheek.

“Barry, I can’t. Not today. Maybe later, but certainly not today.”

**sorry for the slightly abrupt cutoff, I have a major migraine rn 😅 hope you enjoyed anon!

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© asterias-record-shop

[livelovecaliforniadreams]

[mind-empty-just-fictional-people]

I Guess So

masterlist

summary: butcher is furious when he learns you’re a supe.

pairing: billy butcher x female supe!reader

rating: R for language

word count: 4.3k

warnings: language, butcher being a complete asshole, cancer

timeline: set in an au after season 3 — in a world where becca doesn’t exist and butcher got into supe-hunting when his sister went missing.

author’s note: when i reference the flash/barry allen i’m picturing grant gustin, not ezra miller lol

It was a quiet day in the office. Everyone was going through the several boxes of information on Vought that they had gathered at the last hospital they investigated.

“Jack pot!” Hughie exclaimed.

“What’d you find?” MM asked from across the room, head still down as he stayed focused on the box he was working on.

“There’s tons of names here of babies Vought dosed,” Hughie said. “And pictures of them now, looks like they were keeping tabs on the ones that didn’t go great.”

“Makes sense,” MM replied. “If one went off the rails they’d wanna know.”

“But why risk it?” Annie wondered out loud. “Why would Vought want these Compound V babies out there if they didn’t respond well to the serum?”

“Yeah, knowing Vought it’d make more sense to round ‘em up and put ‘em down,” Frenchie said.

“Wait, what the fuck?” Hughie’s eyes widened a little as his brows furrowed. “Uh, Y/n? Do you have a twin?”

“No, why?” you asked half-heartedly, buried deep in the box you were looking through. You had found some info on Temp-V and were hoping there was something in there that could help Butcher.

You were confused as to why Hughie hadn’t answered you so you looked up from your desk. Hughie was now standing at Annie’s desk as she read over the papers he’d just handed her. Frenchie and Kimiko looked up from their desks but didn’t bother going to see what all the fuss was about.

“Uh, MM,” Annie called him over. When he saw what Annie and Hughie were so freaked out over, his eyes widened.

“Holy fucking shit,” MM mumbled before he glanced at you. Annie tapped his arm a little and pointed at something written near the bottom of the page.

“What’s wrong you guys?” you asked, even though you had an idea about what they could be looking at.

You thanked your lucky stars Butcher had left to get lunch for the team, even though you knew you’d have to confront him about it at some point. It wasn’t your fault, you didn’t mean to keep it from him! But you were putty in his fucking hands and when he said he didn’t like Supe’s you weren’t gonna tell him what you had coursing though your veins. And after the ‘I love you’s had been said it seemed too late.

“Anything you wanna tell us, Y/n?” MM asked.

“Please don’t tell Butcher,” you said.

“‘Don’t tell Butcher’? Seriously, Y/n? You’re sure that’s what you wanna say?” Annie asked, silently begging you to just come clean.

“Don’t tell me what?” Butcher stepped into the office and you stood up quickly. “What’re you guys all looking at?”

He put down the food and took a few steps closer to where MM, Hughie, and Annie were. Before MM could move the papers around and help you keep your secret a little longer, Butcher grabbed what he was holding and started reading. By the time he finished, angered tears were forming in his eyes before he looked at you.

“You’re a fucking Supe?” Butcher asked you through gritted teeth. You stayed silent, completely frozen as he stormed over to you, papers still in his hand. “Fucking answer me!”

“Y-Yes,” you said quietly, unable to look him in the eyes as he towered over you. (He wasn’t that much taller than you, but right now you felt about two feet tall and didn’t dare look up at him.)

“What’s this mean?” He pointed to a note at the bottom of the pages. “‘Full power unknown’? ‘Extremely dangerous’?” he read. “What the fuck are your powers, Y/n?”

“Billy, please-”

“Oh, no, no, no! Don’t fucking dare Billy me! Answer the goddamn question!”

“I can sometimes run really fast,” you mumbled

“The fuck you mean, ‘sometimes’?”

“The Compound V in my system randomly acts up and I can run like the Flash. It’s always temporary, never lasts longer than a day or two.” (You could’ve used A-Train as an example instead of Barry Allen, but given your audience you made the right call.)

Butcher looked at you and for a second you thought he might just pull you into a hug as tears slipped down your cheeks as well as his.

“Fuck you,” he spat. “How dare you fucking lie to me, about this of all fucking things!”

“I-I’m sorry-”

“Sorry don’t fuckin’ cut it, love,” he said, teeth clenching again.

“Please, Billy I love you so fucking much!” You tried taking his hand in yours.

“No!” He pulled his hand back. “You fucking lied to me.”

“I had to! You said you hated Supe’s and I didn’t want you hating me!”

“Good job with that,” he scoffed, hurt flashing over your features. “Fuck you.”

He turned away from you before leaving the office, ignoring the others as they asked him where he was going.

**

MM was the first to talk to you about the whole ordeal; he went to your apartment that night to see how you were doing.

“Hey,” you said as you opened the door. He pulled you into a quick but tight hug.

“You could’ve told me, you know,” he whispered before pulling back to look you in the eyes. “I’m sorry about Butcher, has he talked to you since?”

“No,” you shook your head, “but he, uh, I think he’s done with me.”

“I’m sure he just needs time,” he tried to assure you as you both walked to the couch before sitting down.

“He came by and got all his stuff, MM,” you said. “It must’ve been right after he stormed out of the office because when I got home all his shit was gone and the key I gave him was on the nightstand.”

“Fuck,” MM mumbled. “I’m so sorry, Y/n.”

“It’s my own fault, I should’ve fuckin’ told him.”

“Yeah, but he’s always saying shit about Supe’s,” he countered. “He has to understand why you wouldn’t tell him.”

“But I’m not even technically a real Supe! When I’m not fast all I get is the bad side effects of Compound V—headaches, nausea, blurred vision—it fucking sucks!”

“I gotta ask, did Butcher really never notice?”

“He did, I just never told him the real reason. He was worried about my headaches and even asked me to see a doctor. I told him I did and they said it was nothing serious. I think that’s why he’s so mad at me; it’s not the Compound V, it’s the fact I’ve lied to him so fucking much.”

“I think he’s gonna get over it,” MM said. “I think he’s gonna realize how fucking miserable he is without you and just how happy you make him.”

You scoffed a little, “Don’t give me false hope.”

“I’m serious! You didn’t know pre-you Butcher! He was a complete asshole! Now? He’s… Well, he’s still an asshole but he’s not as annoying as he used to be.”

“Really?”

“Oh yeah.” He nodded. “I remember when I first caught on that he liked you; he’d try not to raise his voice, he’d make room for you to sit next to him on the couch, so many little things about him changed whenever you walked into the motherfuckin’ room.”

“He wasn’t like that before?” You smiled, feeling those familiar butterflies over the thought of Billy fucking Butcher having a crush on you.

“Never!” MM assured you. “You need to give him time and space right now, but I know he still loves you.”

**

The next morning you went to work, not knowing what else to really do. If Butcher didn’t want to see you, he didn’t have to come in.

When you got there and saw him at his desk (which was now moved a few feet further from your own) you knew you made a mistake.

“The fuck are you doing here?” Butcher asked.

“She’s part of the team,” Hughie said.

“Come off it! She fucking lied to all of us! She’s a fucking Supe!”

“And we get why she lied!” Annie came to your defense.

“A Supe defending another Supe, what else is new?” he grumbled.

“Butcher,” Hughie warned.

“Alright, let’s take a fuckin’ vote, how about?” Butcher suggested.

“Sure,” MM said. “All those in favor of Y/n staying on the team?” He raised his hand as Hughie, Annie, Frenchie, and Kimiko did the same.

“Five against one,” Frenchie commented.

“Supe’s don’t get a fucking vote,” Butcher said.

“Still three against one,” MM replied. “She’s staying on the team.”

“Butcher-” you started but he cut you off.

“Stay the hell away from me,” Butcher told you. “Don’t you fucking talk to me or touch me or even fucking look at me!”

**

It was a couple days later and you were pouring yourself a cup of coffee when Butcher walked up beside you, clearly wanting coffee as well. You decided you weren’t gonna move from where you stood in front of the little coffee station MM had set up a few months ago. If you stood your ground, Butcher would either have to ask you to move or push you out of the way.

He was getting impatient as you stayed and took a sip of your fresh cup of coffee. You let out a content sigh hoping it would further aggravate him and cause him to say something, anything to you—he’d managed to successfully give you the silent treatment since his angry voting speech.

“Get the fuck outta the way,” he said and you took a step to the side before he instantly went to pour himself a cup.

You were about to gloat a little but when you looked at his face you could tell he hadn’t slept the night before.

“How’d you sleep last night?” you asked, genuinely concerned as you furrowed your brows and turned to look at him more intently.

“Fuckin’ great, I didn’t have a Supe sleepin’ next to me,” he countered. “And don’t fuckin’ talk to me, if it was up to me you woudln’t still fuckin’ be here.”

“So you’d really be okay with me just getting the hell outta here? Never seeing me again?” you asked.

“Drop fuckin’ dead for all I care!” He shrugged a little and took a sip of his coffee before he finally turned to look at you.

“Huh.” You nodded, tears quickly flooding your eyes. “You know what,” you shook your head a little, “fuck you, Butcher.”

“What, now you bruise easy?”

“I have put up with so much shit from you. I have stayed with you through it all and I have proved to you time and fucking time again that I genuinely love and care about you. But this one thing you can’t let go? This one, stupid thing that was given to me without my fucking consent?”

“You lied to me, Y/n!”

“You’ve lied to me, too! You looked me in the eyes and said you weren’t gonna take Temp V then you fucking took it! And what did I do? I stayed up with you all fucking night as you hurled green shit into the toilet! Then you promised you wouldn’t take it again, but you did. And I was angry, but I loved you and I realized you were just doing what you thought was right so again I stayed with you as you puked. I even fucking kissed you after you barely rinsed your mouth out because I just wanted you to know I loved you!” You continued looking at him as his angered expression slowly softened. “And after you learned about the cancer?

“After you made me swear to just ignore it and act like you didn’t have a year to live? I stopped worrying about it in front of you. Instead I lost countless nights of sleep because I’ve been pouring through every bit of research Vought has on Temp V. I even managed to get files that only existed in physical copies kept at Vought Tower. I would’ve done anything for you Butcher because I thought you loved me too.

“The fact you can’t see why I felt I had to lie to you about the shit I’ve got pumping through my veins is ridiculous. And just so we’re clear—you can hate me all you want, but you better start acting fucking professional when we’re on the clock because I’m not going anywhere.”

“Did you have that whole speech planned just to try and get me to fold?” he asked, scoffing a little.

“Fuck you,” you said before brushing past him.

**

It had been nearly two weeks since Butcher and the others found out you were (kind of) a Supe. Everyone except Butcher had gotten over it by now and had even been asking you questions about your “powers”.

Hughie had asked you; “Can you tell when you’re able to run fast? Or is it you’ll be jogging and suddenly you’re miles away from where you meant to be?”

To which you had replied; “No, I can tell when I’m able to run fast; but I can’t predict when it’s gonna happen, you know? Like I have no control over it, I just sometimes know that if I were to try, I’d be able to go super fast.”

Kimko had asked you; “On the days you don’t have your powers, do you ever wish you did? Or are you relieved when you wake up and realize you don’t have them for right now?” (She had texted you while you were seated across from her.)

You had said aloud; “It tends to hurt on the days my powers don’t work. I get really bad headaches and sometimes they’re so bad that I actually puke. I’m happier on the days I can run, not because I’m fast, but simply because I don't have all the bad side effects.”

Butcher managed to ignore you since the coffee incident. He only ever spoke to you about work and never saw you outside the office. Not that you’d admit it, but you missed him like crazy. You hated sleeping without him, you hated waking up and only cooking breakfast for yourself, and you absolutely hated not being able to talk to him about all the random shit you two used to talk about.

He missed you too, though he never showed it. He was losing sleep over how he was treating you, but he figured you wouldn’t want him now. You both knew he only had a little over six months left (nine at most) and he wasn’t gonna go crawling back to you just to die. If he did, you would’ve welcomed him with open arms; wanting nothing more than to hold him while he ignored the inevitable.

**

“Everyone knows the plan?” Butcher asked the group, looking into the back of the truck from the passenger seat. “In and out, no fucking around and finding out what happens when we mess with this guy?”

You and the others beside you (Annie, Kimiko, Frenchie, and MM) nodded.

“I’ll keep the engine running,” Hughie said. “Once we see this guy leave you’ve all got twenty minutes until he’s back—but leave time for getting in and out, so safeside ten minutes.”

“Any questions? We all know what we’re looking for?” Butcher asked, earning nothing but nods. You raised your hand a little and he sighed with (what seemed like) annoyance; “What?” he asked.

“Uhm, not a question, more like a comment, my uhm, my powers just…turned on?” you told Butcher, and therefore the others in the car. “So just…”

“That’s actually great,” Hughie said. “Thank you for sharing, Y/n.”

“Whatever,” Butcher mumbled.

Another few minutes went by before the Supe left his house and you all broke in.

As everyone looked for what they came for (a file stolen from the office that detailed all the crimes this particular Supe had done with proof that would land him in prison) you noticed something strange in the corner of the living room.

“Is that a camera?” you exclaimed.

Before anyone could answer several shots rang loud through the house. Using your powers, you looked and quickly realized three bullets were headed directly for the back of Butcher’s head. He was looking under a desk on the other side of the room and if you didn’t hurry, he’d be dead in less than a second.

You ran and got between the bullets and Butcher; crouching down and letting them hit you square in the back.

“What the fuck!” the man holding the gun exclaimed. Before he could take another shot, Kimko tackled him and held him down.

Butcher looked at you, his eyes wide as you both realized what you’d just done. You looked down at your chest, fully expecting to be gushing blood.

“You’re fucking bulletproof?” Butcher asked, a sense of awe in his tone.

“I guess so.” You furrowed your brows a little, still looking down and not really believing you weren’t dying. As you stood up, the bullets fell off your back and onto the floor. “Wow,” you muttered, “I’m fuckin’ bulletproof.”

“You…” Butcher looked at you as he stood up as well. He put a hand on your shoulder, turning you so he could look at your back—three small holes in your jacket and shirt, but your skin unfazed. “You just…You were ready to die for me?” He turned you back and looked down into your eyes, keeping his hand on your shoulder.

“Well, I wasn’t about to let you die,” you mumbled, looking up at him. You then looked at his hand and smiled a little before looking back at him. You were prepared to make a snide remark about how he was suddenly willing to touch you, but you kept your mouth shut when you saw his eyes brimming with tears.

He wrapped one arm around your shoulders while the other went around your torso. It actually took you a moment to realize he was in fact hugging you but when you did, you put your arms around him too; one going around his shoulders, the other around his torso.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, closing his eyes to keep the tears from falling. “I’m so fuckin’ sorry.”

“I forgive you,” you mumbled, reveling in the feeling of him holding you. You sensed he was about to pull away so you tightened your grip, not ready to let him go just yet, which caused him to do the same.

“I hate to break up this long-overdue hug,” MM said, “but I found the folder, we should take this guy in.”

“We’ll meet you in the truck,” Butcher replied, not opening his eyes or moving a muscle. “Cuff him.”

When everyone was out of the room, you whispered; “I really do forgive you, Butcher.”

“Thank you,” he replied, matching your tone. “Still can’t fuckin’ believe you risked your life for a guy who’s got about six months to live.”

**

That night you went to Butcher’s apartment and when he opened the door, he seemed surprised; “What’re you doing here?” he asked, letting you walk in.

“A couple months ago, I broke into the labs at Vought Tower and stole a shit ton of files they had on Temp V. I got the name of one of the doctors that helped make it, and I found his address. I was ready to threaten him to get him to find a cure for the Temp V side effects but when I explained my situation he said he’d help me willingly. He said he was actually already working on a cure without Vought knowing, because he felt insanely guilty about the fact Temp V kills people. He succeeded. He found a cure and he’s used it to make a new form of Temp V that gives you powers for a day while healing you and at the end of it, you should be back to your old self.”

“Wait, what?” Butcher furrowed his brows. “Why didn’t you tell me weeks ago you’ve been working with this guy?’

“One, I didn’t want to get your hopes up. Two, you told me to pretend you weren’t sick so we could enjoy the time we had left together. And three, he needed my blood for the new Temp V. Turns out I’m like the Ultimate Temp V Supe, and with my blood he was able to make the new serum. Also, I just came from his house, he perfected the new serum last night and texted me this morning. I was gonna come here tonight whether or not you wanted me near you, and I told the doctor if I didn’t meet up with him by the end of the week he should contact Hughie Campbell at Supe Affairs. I figured if something happened to me, Hughie would make sure you got the cure.”

“So…there really is a cure?”

You reached into your jacket pocket and took out the small bag containing a couple vials of the new Temp V and two empty syringes.

“It’ll either kill you quicker or you’ll be cancer free tomorrow,” you told him, handing over the bag before he looked inside. “You don’t have to risk it, but I wouldn’t be giving it to you if I didn’t one-hundred-percent believe it’s safe. If you don’t trust me, I understand and we can pretend-”

“Of course I trust you,” he cut you off. “And of course I wanna be fuckin’ cured, but this seems almost too good to be true?”

“I know.” You smiled. “The doctor tested it on himself and showed me the proof—he’s taken five doses over the last two weeks and he’s healthier than ever.”

“How long did he have powers?”

“Twenty-four-hours,” you said. “But he had the same side effects as the first Temp V; puking, headaches, all that shit. But, after everything, he was fine—no long term or deadly side effects.”

“If I take this…will you please stay with me while it lasts?” he asked quietly, not wanting to go through it all alone.

“I was planning to, whether you wanted me here or not,” you admitted.

“Thank you.”

You both sat down on the couch and you watched as Butcher took the serum, his eyes lighting up the same way they did before. He tossed the used syringe on the end table next to the couch and leaned back, allowing the serum to do its job and he could almost feel his strength come back.

“How’s it feel?” you asked.

“Fuckin’ hurts,” he said, “but I’m okay. It’s better than wastin’ away.”

“You can say that again,” you mumbled. “Can I scoot closer to you?” you asked, not wanting to be close unless he wanted you to be.

“Please,” he said and moved his arm to the back of the couch as you moved to sit right beside him.

“I’ve missed you,” you whispered, not really enjoying how quiet things had gotten.

“I’ve missed you, too,” he admitted. “I’m a fuckin’ idiot for how I acted, and you have every right to hate me, but thank you for not leaving when I told you to. Thank you for not walking out of my life for good.”

“Can I tell you something?”

“Hm?”

“The only reason I didn’t leave was because I needed to know where you were when I got my hands on the cure. Once I knew you were healthy, I had planned to leave like you asked.”

He moved his arm from the couch and instead rested it on your shoulders; “Are you still planning to leave?”

“Only if you don’t ask me to stay,” you said honestly. “If you want to go back to the way things were a month ago, I’ll happily stay. But if you’re still freaked out about the fact I’m a Supe, I won’t bother you again once I know you’re okay.”

“Please stay,” he said. “I’m sorry about the shit I’ve said and done the past three weeks, but please stay.”

“Stay working at the bureau? Or stay…with you?”

“You can’t quit the bureau, you’re the smartest fuckin’ person there,” he said, making you laugh a little.

“I dunno, Hughie’s pretty smart too,” you teased.

There was another silent pause as Butcher thought of what to say. He couldn’t just ask you to take him back, that didn’t seem fair. He couldn’t just say he’d take you back, because that was even worse. He knew he fucked up big time, and any future the two of you had was entirely up to you at this point.

“Do you want to go back to the way things were?” you asked him quietly.

“I really, really do,” he whispered. “But I was too much of an asshole to deserve another chance with you.”

“After everything we’ve been through together, I’d rather just let all the shit we’ve done be water under the bridge, if that’s okay with you. Just let the lies we’ve both told slide and try to be more honest with each other from now on. Personally, I’ve got nothing else to hide and I know there’s nothing you could say or do that would make me stop loving you.”

“You still love me?”

“Of course,” you said. “Do you…love me?”

“Never stopped,” he mumbled. “And I’d really like all the shit to be water under the bridge too if you’re really willing to forgive me for everything.”

“So it’s settled then; all the stupid, fucked up things we’ve both done up until this point are forgiven and we can go back to normal?”

“I love you so much,” he said, smiling a little as he turned and kissed your temple.

“I love you too,” you replied.

[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

[demigods-posts]

percy jackson headcanons that live rent-free in my head:

• percy paints his nails. he only used clear nail polish for a while because he was afraid of getting teased as a kid. then he saved the world a few times and he decided he had bigger things to worry about. he typically wears blues and greens, but he painted them gray on his and annabeth's wedding day.

• one day, instead of teaching younger campers how to sword fight, he canceled the lessons and took them on an underwater tour in the camp lake. it very quickly became a weekly thing amongst the younger campers

• he can sing (shut up, yes, he can). usually, it's silly little songs about random objects in the room, but he'll occasionally serenade annabeth (running home to you - grant gustin, nobody like you - turning red). he also helps apollo cabin with music during campfires when he visits, and everyone loves it.

• he has an amazing posture. it comes from years of attending strict boarding schools as a kid. it also came in handy when he was shorter than annabeth and wanted to appear taller.

• (x) he can drink water from literally anywhere he wants. any damage he gets from the toxins in the water is immediately canceled out by the water itself. he finds it hilarious and loves to bring a hydro flask anytime he goes canoeing.

[6rookie-writer0110]

Stare into the endless sky

Olivia Rodrigo x Male Reader.

Request - R is a famous singer and he has been dating Olivia for 9 months but they haven't made it known to the public, there are many rumors that Olivia and R are dating but they don't talk about it. R is giving a concert, Olivia is in a corner of the stage hidden from the fans, and is watching everything, after 30 minutes of the concert R tells the audience that he is going to sing a new song that he just wrote a few weeks ago and that it is dedicated to a very special person for him, (Runnin' Home To You - Grant Gustin)

It's the middle of the night and Olivia can't sleep. She looks at you and you are still sleeping and she lets you sleep. She slowly gets out of bed and heads to the living with her guitar and sat on the couch. She is working on a song but she didn't finish it a while back, tonight she will try to finish it. You woke up because you hear Olivia singing, you get up and look around. Then you get out of bed and head to the living room and she stopped.

“I didn't mean to wake you up, Y/n. I didn't think I was loud” Olivia said.

“You weren't too loud. What are you doing?” You said.

You sit next to her and you grab her hand.

“I couldn't sleep. Remember that song I was working on a few days ago but I didn't finish it?” Olivia said.

“Yeah, what about it?” You said.

“I thought I could try and finish it since I couldn't sleep,” Olivia said.

“I could help you if you want,” You said.

“Aren't you tired?” Olivia asked.

“We can finish the song together then we would go to bed. You need to rest too, babe” You said.

You and Olivia start to smile at each other. You went to grab your guitar then came back. You and Olivia start to work together on the song.

You and Olivia have been dating for nine months, but the relationship is a secret. But everyone knows that you are a famous singer and Olivia has appeared in two different songs that you wrote. There are rumors about you and Olivia, but you two don't talk about it during interviews. But you will go on tour soon, but you want to spend your free time with your girlfriend.

---

You have a house in California and you have a pool. Olivia has been staying at your house for days, she kept some of your shirts. You took a selfie with Olivia by the pool, in the picture you are smiling and she kissed your cheek.

You are standing by the pool because you are putting pool inflatables in the pool. Olivia puts down her phone, then smiled and pushed you into the pool. But before you fell into the pool, you grabbed her hand and pulled her with you.

“Why did you push me?” You laughed.

“Why did you grab my hand?” Olivia laughed.

She splashed water at you. You swim next to her and you put your arms around her and she starts to kiss you. Then you helped Olivia get on the pool inflatable. You swim around for a little while and she stays on the inflatable.

Much later, you and Olivia ordered take-out food. Then you and Olivia start to write new music together, she starts to sing the chorus then you joined in. She starts to smile at you. You start to write the new lyrics and she likes it. You and Olivia continue to sing and then came up with a new song to write.

Later, you and Olivia were supposed to watch the movie but ended up making out.

✫ ✬ ✯ ✫

You and Olivia noticed new the rumors online. Fans are asking you and Olivia questions about dating rumors. But she is watching your new music video.

“Do you like the video?” You asked.

“I love it, babe. The music is really good. It's different but in a good way,” Olivia said.

You lie next to her on the bed. She kissed your forehead and you just smile at her.

“Next time, we should do a music video together,” You said.

“Oh, that would be fun. Maybe you can be in my video“ Olivia said.

She gives you a peck on the lips.

“Maybe I will” You smiled

----

Your live concert was a sold-out show, you are happy about that. Olivia came to see you play live and you are happy that she came. Right now, you are on stage singing and she is on the side of the stage.

“Okay, everyone I wrote this new song a few weeks ago. And is my first time singing the song live. So, I hope everyone will like it” You said.

You start to play the guitar and the musicians go with your lead. Now, you start to sing, and Olivia is loving the song. You look toward her way and you start to smile at her. You look back at the crowd and Olivia is feeling emotional and she loves the song...

But, it's clear now,

When you're standing here now

I am meant to be wherever you are next to me.

All I want to do

Is come running home to you

Come running home to you

You finished singing the song and everyone starts to cheer. Olivia runs towards you and hugged you. You and Olivia are smiling at each other then she kissed you on the lips, in front of everyone.

“The rumors are true, Y/n is my boyfriend and I only want him” Olivia smiled.

“The song was meant for my girlfriend Olivia” You smiled.

---

The next day, everyone online and talk shows started to talk about you and Olivia. Some magazine companies want to interview you and Olivia. You are still on tour and you face time your girlfriend.

“Vogue wants to interview us, babe,” Olivia said.

“If you want to do it then I'm fine with it,” You said.

“I don't mind us talking about our relationship but I don't want to overshare,” Olivia said.

“I get what you are saying, and I agree with you,” You said.

You and Olivia start to talk about doing the interview.

[supercap2319]

"Y/N? This is embarrassing." Barry stated as his boyfriend flew them high in the sky over Central City. Barry had gotten himself into a sticky situation with a meta, and Y/N had to come and bail him out.

"That's a weird way to say thank you." Y/N said.

"I'm sorry, it's just.... no one in the Central City will think the Flash can save them if he always needs saving himself."

"That's ridiculous."

"Ummm.... guys?" Chester's voice came on their comms.

"What's up, Chester?" Barry asked.

"CCPN just released a photo of you guys. With a caption on their cover story that reads: 'Flash. Hero Wonder? Or Weenie Blunder?'"

Barry looks at Y/N. "I told you."

[crackshipandcrap]

6 x Camila Mendes & Grant Gustin (suggested by ann-elizabethshaftesbury )

REQUEST - DIRECTORY

“Whenever you find yourself judging your partner, go back to your in-breath and out-breath, and ask, How can I see this differently? Can I look more deeply to better understand her suffering and her difficulties?”

gifs makers : @corneliagifs , @harleystuff & @drvgonqueen

[rp-partnerfinder]

[ hi! ]

20f roleplayer with about 7 years of experience looking for some new, active partners. i'm most interested in mxf currently, me as the F. you must be 18+. i’m nice and love talking ooc, and i’m pretty open to most plots, so please reach out if you're interested at all.

fandoms; who i'd like to play against:

marvel -> peter parker (any faceclaim), logan/wolverine, steve rogers, loki odinson

dc -> barry allen (grant gustin), clark kent (any), dick grayson, bruce wayne, jonathan crane

mgm's billy the kid -> billy the kid (tom blyth)

hunger games -> coriolanus snow (tom blyth) possibly haymitch x effie?

harry potter -> harry potter, draco malfoy, tom riddle (chamber of secrets)

stranger things -> steve harrington, eddie munson

challengers -> art donaldson or patrick zweig

west side story -> riff lorton (mike faist)

.

[cuntycassandra]

I am determined to find Kit Walker content, but to do that I’m having to literally swim through mountains of horny y/n and self inserts media of like….every other character other than kit.

I hate when I just want to enjoy a character normally (yes, normally 😑) but all of the posts about him are thirst posts about him and/or his actor

[yourislandgirl]

📌 barry allen

genres: f — fluff || c — crack || a — angst || m — mature/suggestive || s — smut (mdni)

forms: hc (headcanons) || drabble || fic || smau || series

warning: all my works are written with the arrowverse’s flash (grant gustin’s) in mind . i will be posting about my oc and barry allen x oc centric content so if that’s not for you then feel free to check out the barry allen x reader content or just dni :)

💌 barry allen x reader

to be written

💌 barry allen x oc

feel free to send asks abt my oc !!

to be written (technically to be posted . i’ve written a lot hehe)

[[ send an ask/comment if you want to be added to the barry allen taglist (for y/n and/or oc content) <3 ]]

2024 © yourislandgirl

[randomestfandoms-ocs]

Plot Bunny - Grant Gustin in a fandom of your choice?

Rhys Astor in National Anthem ( Gossip Girl, x Blair )

Richest boy in New York

Good intentions but can be out of touch with the world, has a party boy streak for sure

Wants to use his money for good but not always totally aware of his privilege

Very absent family, raised by nannies

Plays the right sports, is in the right clubs, says the right things, knows the right people, but it was all planned and chosen for him, 0 sense of self identity

Dated Blair when they were younger, the summer before high school.  Blair said I love you, he couldn’t say it back (no one had ever said it to him before, he had a bit of a freakout), Blair dumped him.  He was all set to say it to her on the first day of high school and ask for another chance, but Blair showed up dating Nate Archibald, he never fully got over her

[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