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lumosandnoxwriting · 10 months ago

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look at you || Fred Weasley

Title: Look at you Pairing: Fred x Reader Summary: distance really does make the heart grow fonder. Warnings: NSFW - minors DNI! This contains, vaginal sex, female receiving oral, breeding kink, mentions of cum marking, dirty talk, praise, mentions of sex toys/sexting and pregnant sex. A/N: hockey!fred could hit me with his car and I would say thank you. Anyway as always this is dedicated to @darthwheezely b/c she always encourages my shenanigans.

The away games are always the hardest.

Fred is usually gone for a week, and between traveling, playing multiple games and the time differences they mainly communicate via text and maybe a phone call if they’re lucky. At first the lack of communication bothered Y/N. They moved across the country after Fred got drafted and it felt isolating to have the only person she knew in Washington unavailable most of the time. But now that Fred’s in the fourth year of his contract Y/N is a pro at handling the distance. Her and a bunch of the other WAGS always get together to watch the games at someone’s house, and usually do dinner or brunch on some of the days the guys are gone. And now that she’s working and more involved in the area she’s got plenty of friends and activities to keep her busy while Fred is away.

She figured this season would be just like the others, that it would suck while Fred is gone but she’d just keep busy until he was back home in their bed.

Until those two little pink lines stared up at her from the bathroom counter the night before training camp started. She wasn’t totally surprised at the result, considering her and Fred had been together for a decade, married for half of that and regularly relying on the pullout method as their main form of contraception. And of course they’d talked about having kids, but their general consensus had been that they would start trying once the season was underway, hoping to time it just right that their baby would be born at the beginning of the off season, so they could spend the first few months as a complete family unit before hockey took over Fred’s life again.

But of course life decided to say fuck their plans, and now Y/N is due to give birth just before playoffs begin in April.

Y/N had thought that having Fred gone during her first trimester would be the worst part of it, having to deal with morning sickness and those first few doctors appointments by herself. But the nausea and vomiting left her feeling so gross she was glad Fred didn’t have to see her like that, and they were able to work with her doctor so that Fred didn’t miss a single appointment.

It’s now, with Y/N into her second trimester that Fred’s absence seems to be hitting her the hardest. Her bump has finally popped, and she can barely keep her hands from stroking over the smooth skin at all hours of the day. The baby has started to move around too, starting off as gently flutters she assumed was gas that have now grown into distinctive pushes against her belly. Not to mention the nausea and vomiting that plagued her first few months of pregnancy have faded away, and Y/N finally understands what people say when they talk about pregnancy glow. Her skin is the clearest and softest it’s ever been, and her hair and nails look amazing thanks to her prenatal vitamins.

And just as she passed the five month mark her newest, and most annoying to deal with on her own, pregnancy symptom started.

She’s unbelievably horny every hour of the day.

Her newly filed out breasts constantly ache, and some days her nipples are so sensitive just the material of her bra sends a shiver down her spine. Her pussy is almost constantly slick, her clit throbbing and her cunt aching to be filled. Once the seam of her maternity jeans pulled so deliciously against her as she was driving that she nearly crashed the car as she came from that brush alone.

Everything seems to turn her on these days, no matter how inconvenient the time or place is.

Like right now, the guys are on the last leg of their longest away game stretch, the final game of a two and a half week trip, and her cunt is dripping as she watches Fred punch the other team’s center in the jaw. Not only is it inconvenient because she’s sitting on Melaine, the goalie’s girlfriend’s couch, but because Fred isn’t due back home until tomorrow afternoon and she passed out last night before she could put her vibrator back on the charger. And her own fingers will never live up to the memories of how worked up Fred gets after a fight, and how the only thing that seems to calm him down is taking Y/N from behind as he growls in her ear.

She tries to shift subtly as the ref throws Fred in the sin bin, his mouth still moving wildly as he throws insults at the other team, but when Rachel throws her a look Y/N knows she’s been caught. Rachel is the wife of one of the defensemen, and had been heavily pregnant for most of last year’s season, so Y/N figures she knows exactly how she’s feeling right now.

“Tomorrow afternoon can’t come soon enough,” Rachel teases, voice low enough so only the two of them can hear.

Y/N snorts in laughter, nodding in agreement. “You have no idea.”

Fred throws a middle finger over his shoulder as he rushes towards his truck, causing his teammates to laugh even harder. The bus had barely stopped before he was up out of his seat and making his way to the front, far too eager to get home to Y/N. Because the texts she’s been sending since he got off the ice last night have had him perpetually hard in his pants and the only thing on his mind is getting home to his wife.

He drives well over the speed limit on his way home, praying to whatever deity that exists out there he won’t get pulled over, since he’s pretty sure his urgent need to fuck his wife is not a good enough excuse to get out of a ticket. The car is barely in park as Fred throws the door open, hockey bag left behind in his haste to get inside. In a matter of a few seconds he’s barreling through the front door, taking the time to lock it behind him before he heads for the stairs.

“Baby?” he calls as he climbs, ripping his shirt off as he goes. He pauses to kick his shoes off, just letting them tumble back down as he continues up.

“Hi,” Y/N greets breathlessly when Fred appears in their doorway. Her eyes are immediately drawn to the way his jeans hang open, his cock clearly fighting against the material of his boxers.

Fred groans as he takes Y/N in, cock throbbing at the way she kneels on their bed in nothing but his jersey. The curve of her bump is visible even in the oversized garment, and Fred almost can’t believe that this is his life. He makes a living playing the sport he loves and every night he gets to come home to the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen who’s beauty has only grown as he watches his child grow inside of her.

“Fucking hell,” he practically growls as he steps into the room, his complete focus on Y/N. “Do you have any idea how fucking sexy you are, wife? That picture of your pretty pink pussy all wet and begging for my cock has been driving me crazy. I couldn’t sleep knowing you were all alone in our bed, desperate for my cock wearing nothing but my jersey.”

Y/N practically pants as Fred stalks toward her, hands clenched in fists at her sides to try and resist the urge to touch herself. She had to give herself a pep talk before taking the photo she sent, so to see Fred’s reaction to it here in the flesh makes her cunt throb with want. Before falling asleep Y/N had managed to work herself up to a few weak orgasms with her fingers, but those are nothing in comparison to what she knows Fred is about to give her.

“Sexy?” she asks teasingly. Fred has finally made it to the edge of the bed, and she runs her hands up his arms and over his shoulders, resting her palms against the sides of his neck. “Even with my big old bump in the way?”

“Especially with your big bump in the way,” Fred practically purrs. He finally gives in to his urge to touch his wife, one hand hooking around her thigh while the other fists the front of her jersey, yanking her closer to him. “Just knowing that you’re full of my baby, that I did that to you is enough to make me cum, something I know you’re well aware of.”

And she knows Fred isn’t lying. He’d always been possessive in the bedroom, and it only intensified when she got pregnant. Once her bump popped Fred was like a man possessed, needing to have one hand on it at all times. He’s finished on her bump more times than Y/N can count, rubbing his cum into her skin so he can claim her fully.

Instead of responding Y/N lets Fred pull her into a kiss, her fingers tangling in the hair at the base of his skull as he nibbles on her bottom lip. He claims her mouth with his, crawling up on the bed so he can get even closer. The hand he had on her jersey makes its way up to cup her jaw, angling Y/N’s face so he can kiss her deeper, while the one that was on her thigh starts to travel further up.

“Fuck,” Fred moans into her mouth as his hand brushes her bare hip. “No panties? Dirty girl.” He lets his hand cup the swell of her stomach, thumb slowly brushing back and forth in a sweet gesture that is the total opposite of the way he kisses his wife.

“Please,” Y/N pants as Fred’s mouth finally leaves her’s, starting to press kisses into her neck. “Need you to touch me, Freddie, only feels good when it’s you.”

“Well how can I deny my wife when she asks so nicely?”

Fred kisses the juncture of her throat one last time before pulling away just enough so he can pick her up under her thighs. He positions her back on the bed just how he wants, her back flat against the mattress with her legs spread wide, a hand on each thigh to keep them open for him.

“You’re fucking cunt,” he groans, his eyes drawn to her slick pussy as he bites his lip. He sinks down on the bed so he’s resting between her thighs, thumb and forefinger spreading her pussy apart to put her clit on display. “This pussy is going to be the death of me.”

Y/N gasps as Fred finally puts his mouth on her, hips nearly lifting off the bed as he sucks her clit between his lips. Her toes curl as his tongue flattens against her, thighs already quivering as Fred’s thumb presses against her entrance. “God, please, Fred.”

That’s all the encouragement he needs to fuck into her with his index finger, curling it to press against the front wall of her cunt, right against the spot that has her moaning his name. His cock twitches as Y/N’s hand tangles in his hair, curling his tongue around her clit as she tugs.

“Such a good girl,” Fred praises as he presses another finger into her slick cunt, letting his thumb rub small circles into her clit. “I love this pretty pussy so much, wife. Gonna eat it every fucking day of the week.”

He takes her clit back between his lips as he fucks her with his fingers, needing her to cum before he can give her what they both desperately need. His cock aches as Y/N grinds down against his face, the feel of her taking control of her pleasure only turning him on more. Fred’s tongue flicks at her clit as his lips suck, and he can tell by the way her cunt grips his fingers that she’s close.

“Cum for me, baby. Cum all over my hand so I can have you cumming all over my cock.”

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Y/N babbles as Fred licks her, fingers tugging him even closer into her as she grinds against him. Waves of pleasure are swirling in her core, electric shocks radiating all down her spine as Fred brings her closer and closer to the edge. He makes her feel like she’s on fire, completely erasing the few weak orgasms she had last night from her memory.

Fred wraps his arm around her thigh to keep Y/N in place as her orgasm takes over, his fingers and mouth still working her through the pleasure. Y/N’s toes curl as pleasure consumes her, thighs quivering as a cry of Fred’s name leaves her lips. Aftershocks of pleasure send shivers down her spine, and Y/N has to use her grip on Fred’s hair to separate his mouth from her cunt as she comes down.

He doesn’t say anything as he crawls back up the bed, letting Y/N catch her breath before he leans down to kiss her softly. Her legs wrap around his hips, the need for Fred to be close overwhelming her need to get off for a brief moment.

“Need you inside me,” Y/N murmurs against Fred’s mouth, her legs tightening around him.

“Needy girl,” Fred teases, nipping at her jaw. But with one final kiss to her lips he pulls back, climbing off the bed so he can rid himself of the rest of his clothes. Who is he to deny the needs of his wife, the woman growing his child?

Y/N makes a move to pull the jersey she’s wearing up over her head, and Fred grabs her wrist, shaking his head.

“No, the jersey stays on.”

Fred’s pretty sure he hears her mumble something about him being a possessive idiot, but he doesn’t even care. Settling on the bed, back against the headboard with his cock leaking against his stomach, he beckons Y/N closer. “Come sit on my lap and make yourself cum on my cock, baby.”

Under normal circumstances she’d make some joke about how he’s making her do all the work, but her cunt is already aching again and if she doesn’t get Fred’s cock in the next three minutes she may die. Y/N crawls up the bed, shivering at the look in Fred’s eyes. It’s full of nothing but pure desire, and she can feel her heartbeat pulsing in her clit. At one point she feared that pregnancy may change the way Fred looks at her, and now as she straddles his waist Y/N can’t believe what an idiot she had been.

One of Fred’s hands lands on her hip, the other on her bump and the contact sends a shiver down her spine. It takes a little bit of finesse with her bump in the way, but as soon as Y/N has Fred’s cock pressed against her cunt she’s sinking down. She’s slick enough from Fred’s mouth and her previous orgasm that she presses down until she’s fully seated in his lap, and her eyes flutter shut from the pleasure coursing through her veins.

Fred is so thick and full inside her, and Y/N just sits there in his lap, eyes closed and her head tilted back as she appreciates the feel of him inside her. Y/N’s cunt pulses around him, and with how desperate she’s been to feel her husband like this, she already feels embarrassingly close to her climax already.

“Fuck you are perfect,” Fred groans as her hips start to gently rock. He fixes her jersey so the hem rests on the top of her bump, wanting to see it in all of its glory. With one hand squeezing her thigh, Fred places the other on her stomach to help keep her balance. “So fucking full aren’t you, wife? So full of my cock and my baby, hm? Love being full of me, don’t you?”

“Yes,” she responds breathily, leaning back to brace herself against Fred’s thighs. The new angle lets him sink even deeper, and a sharp gasp falls from her mouth at the sensation. “Always wanna be full like this.”

“With my baby or my cock?” he teases.

“Both,” Y/N hits back truthfully.

“Fuck,” Fred growls, unable to keep his hips from thrusting. The moan that comes from Y/N spurs him on, and he continues to match her movements with his own. “Whatever my wife wants my wife gets. Gonna keep you nice and full with my cock and my cum and my babies until we’ve got a whole fucking hockey team, baby. And no one will ever doubt who you, who this fucking pussy, belongs too.”

Her cunt clenches even tighter at his words, encouraging Fred to keep talking.

“Look at you, my pretty little wife, fucking herself on my cock. Bet you thought about this the whole time I was gone, didn’t you, love?”

“Fuck, yes,” Y/N moans. She’s inching closer and closer to her orgasm with each of her movements, thighs quivering from a mixture of the pleasure swirling in her core and the effort it’s taking to fuck herself on Fred’s cock.

“Fuck you look so good like this, baby,” Fred praises. “Not gonna be able to take you like this much longer, am I? I swear everytime I look at you, your belly is bigger. It’s not long until you’ll be too big to ride me like this, isn’t that right, love? But that’s okay, because you look so fucking good all full of my baby. Seeing you like this, knowing I did this, makes me feel fucking feral, baby. You’re doing such a great job, growing our baby. Gonna be such a good Mama.”

The combination of Fred’s cock stretching Y/N to her limits and the constant stream of praise coming from Fred pushes Y/N over the edge, and her back arches as she comes. Shocks of pleasure jolt out from her cunt, her clit aching and her toes curling as her orgasm washes over her in waves.

The feel of Y/N’s walls pulsing around Fred’s cock as she moans his name pushes him to his own climax, his hips just barely pushing up into her as he empties himself into her eager cunt.

“Taking it so well, baby. Fuck.”

He places a hand on her lower back for support as they both come down, the hand he has on her bump rubbing soothing circles into the skin. When having her in his lap starts to get uncomfortable, Fred carefully lifts her off, maneuvering so he can lay Y/N next to him on the bed without jostling her too much.

Finally feeling satisfied, Y/N watches Fred move around their room through her barely open eyes, too tired to try and stay awake any longer. She lets him move her around too clean up, a soft whine coming from her lips when he pulls the jersey up and off over her head. But she’s immediately placated when Fred helps her into one of his old t-shirts, and she doesn’t even fight him as he pulls sleep shorts up her legs.

He disappears into their bathroom then, and Y/N is practically asleep by the time he reemerges and gets into bed beside her. But instead of Fred pulling her into his arms like she expected, her eyes open in surprise as Fred pushes up the hem of her shirt just enough to expose her bump.

“What are you doing?” she murmurs, tone laced with humor.

“What does it look like?” Fred responds as he pours lotion into his hands, rubbing them together to warm it up. He cradles her stomach carefully, slowly starting to massage her skin. “I’m taking care of both of my girls.”

#fred weasley #fred weasley smut #fred weasley fic #fred weasley fanfiction #fred weasley x reader #harry potter #fred weasley imagine #fw #golden

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neonovember · 1 year ago

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hiiii

could you write carmy x reader where she’s a high school friend and carmy always had a crush on her (but he thought she had a crush on mikey) ???? like maybe richie brings her up, and that she’s still in town and SINGLE and carmy gets red like a tomato and ??? richie makes her visit the beef and candy almost has a heart attack?? idk give me some in love carmen !!

pretty pleaseee and thank u

so I got this request and I immediately thought of swim by chase atlantic, and specifically the line that goes;

“I’ve been drowning for a minute, your body keeps pulling me in”

And holy shit if that isn’t Carmen in his denial-in-love with a long time friend era, I don't know what is. Carmen tries too hard to forget you, but you've marked permanently, you've ruined him for anyone else so can you blame him for waiting for you all this time?

Seriously though this request was so good! I got a bit carried away and turned into a 2 part series that may or may not have drabbles added to the universe…I really hope this isn't just a load of word vomit you don't want to read lmao. I just love their dynamic so much, and also FRIDAY DINNERS AT THE BEEF IS CANON OKAY.

Golden Boy

part one of 2

warnings: miscommunication (i know i'm sorry), friends to lovers, carmen and the reader have horrible communication skills and don't know how to call, angst, anxiety

a/n: part two will be up hopefully tomorrow so look out! it may or may not include a smut scene 😈

p.s, listen to swim whilst reading this you'll thank me later

You sat hunched in the tight enclosure of the classroom desk chairs, the once loud conversations fluttering across the huddled groups of classmates and friends that stood against tables and chairs now coming to a standstill.

The air of anxious trepidation falls across the atmosphere of the damp classroom, the windows that had been opened to let the air in felt thin as you and the rest of the students you had known for half a decade waited for that familiar ring of the bell.

The bell that would solidify your last day in this classroom, in these run down halls, in the school you had first stumbled into anxious and oblivious at thirteen.

Your heart ached at the nostalgia of it, and you can't bear to cast your gaze to your friends who had begun to sniffle, like they were holding back tears, the grandfather clock your geography teacher insisted on keeping ticked on as it always did, and whilst you had spent years burning holes through the glass, willing for it to go faster, your one dying wish is for the seconds to tick by in minutes.

You weren’t ready, it ran straight through you, all this time leading up, from when you had first learnt your desire to pursue architecture till the moment you finished that last sentence on your final exams, you felt you would be filled with joy at the sound of your true departure into adulthood and college.

And yet, you felt like a kid again, learning how to ride a bicycle without the training wheels, trying to reach the fifth monkey bar, falling headfirst into the dirt ground of the field when you had thought you were more flexible then you truly were.

You didn’t want to leave, you didn't want to leave this place, this place of memories and friends and people you knew and loved. And it was as if God was listening, cause the resounding echo of the school bell rang through the halls and it was as if he said ‘fuck you anyway’.

You gather the haphazard books and papers laying across your desk, you had purposefully delayed packing in order to waste as much time in this memory as possible, before adulthood would take it away and make it something of the past. You hear your friends calling your name, and you tell them to go ahead as you make your way to your teachers desk.

“Hey Mr Jefferson” You say to your teacher has begun to bid goodbye to the leaving students

Your teacher looks up at you with a tight smile, sadness washes over the wrinkles and creases of her features, her auburn hair falling in short waves at her shoulder and her olive lipstick wearing down. You have to swallow to stop the tears from dropping. Your Geography teacher, whilst not teaching Art, had been the catapult to realizing your fascination with Architecture and design. She had even helped tell your parents, who had been set on the idea of you going into Law or Medicine or anything other than creative arts.

“You’ll do amazing, I believe it because I see how hard you try. Don’t look back at this place, leave with the door wide open and come back only when you want to design me a house” Your Teacher replies with a grin, and before you can reply shes shuffling through her drawers, before pulling out a sketchbook that has been aged and stained with use over the years.

“What’s this?” You ask, twisting the book in your hand, it was good quality, despite being old, it felt like an heirloom.

“It’s one of my sketchbooks I had during college, maybe some of my late night sketches fuelled by coffee and donuts might inspire you”

“I couldn't possible-”

“Yes you could, hell whatever you create will probably be 10 x greater than whatever is in there” Your teacher cuts you off with a chuckle, and you hug the notebook tight against your chest before hugging her goodbye.

You step into the familiar walls of your high school hallways, crowds of seniors running to find their friends and hug them for possibly the last time, test papers and report cards left trampled on the ground, it's chaos, but you love it and the sight almost pulls tears down your waterline.

You walk towards your locker, before you recognize the familiar wisps of blond curls catch your eyesight. Carmen. You considered him one of your closest friends, bonding together over a love of game** and your equal hatred of your Period 4 Calculus teacher.

Carmen didn't have much when I came to be friends, and after he met you, it didn't really get to him anymore, he had you now, and you were more than enough. Over the years you had gotten close to every part of Carmen's life, Mickey, Richie, Sugar, they were all people you regarded as family.

But there was something unsaid between the both of you, it was like there was something beyond friendship, but the embers had just gathered and had left unignited.

He’s gathering his things from his locker, shoving them into a bag in that messy way he is, and he slams the locker with a jolt.

You're standing stationary in the middle of the hallway, classmates and other seniors running by you in confusion, your friends calling your name annoyed, but it's all muffled, it all doesn't matter because it's Carm and god your heart aches so bad.

You see Carmen and he sees you, stopping a few meters away from you, and a moment of recognition washes over him as he gazes with those cerulean blues. There's grief in the way you look at each other, tears streaming down your cheek as you try to smile at him, realising this might be the last time you see him, forever, off to an Art school in New York, leaving him behind. You feel like your heart is being ripped from your chest and he shakes his head, his eyebrows scrunching up as he steps closer so that he’s only a whisper from you.

He brings his hand up, brushing a strand and tucking in behind your ear, eyes strained as he wipes your tears away painfully. He moves closer, so that his breath is against your neck and whispers

“Thought you told me you'd punch me in the stomach if I cried on the last day” Carmen whispers into your eyes with a grin that breaks through the tears that cause his eyes to swirl in colour's of waves.

His words make you laugh and cry at the same time, and you shake your head as you reach for his arm, and playfully hit your stomach with it. Carmen rests it against your waist, looking up to you in a pained expression, his eyes shift to the notebook grasped tight in your hands

“New sketchbook? That..doesn't look new” Carmen says, turning his head to examine the old book more closely.

“One of Mrs Jefferson’s, her sketches are..their fucking amazing” You sigh, running your hand across the folded spine of the sketch book.

“Thought teachers weren't meant to have favourites” Carmen shoots out, a playful grin on his lips

“Hmm, well they aren't supposed to tell you exactly” You banter with a giggle, you flick through the pages of the book, half drawn sketches in grey lead and ballpoint, Carmen tracing his fingers gently across the ingrained lines and shades.

“God you're something, you know that?” Carmen says, all of a sudden, and when you look up you realise he’s been staring at you the entire time.

“Bear..” You breathe out.

“I don't know how I'm going to-, I, it's all so much” You exhale, waving your arms around this place that has held so many memories, so much of your past kept in the creaks and cracks of plastered walls and lockers

“You're the only person in this goddamn place that's going to make something out of themselves, I bet my entire life on it Bug. You're going to do amazing, in that big city, you’re going to show em’' Carmen replies, grasping you against his touch tight. You look up at him, trying to memorise every dip and curve of his features, the curl of his hair that shone honey in the sun, those eyes that were always searching, and the small cut on his forehead where he fell off his skateboard that one summer evening.

“Don’t say goodbye”

“Okay” Your tongue feels like deadweight in your mouth. what if i never see you again?

“You say goodbye and it's the end. Just..don’t” I can't breathe carmy.

You can’t stop yourself from wrapping your arms around him, pressing your nose into his shirt to smell the scent of patchouli and cigarettes he always carried, you want to tell him to come with you, to pack an overnight bag and run with you forever, but the words don’t taste right when you try to speak and you see yourself letting him go, and turning away with a shaky step.

Turn back Carmen whispers, so softly that only the gods above and the wind around him can hear it

You feel an urge to turn back, it speaks to you from within, and before you can stop yourself, your neck cranes, turning your body to get one last look at your golden boy before time would take him forever.

Time would age him into a memory forever.

Carmen feels this tension leave his shoulders at the same time his heart shatters, you will find each other again, even if it was in another universe, where you're sitting across from each other at the kitchen table, going over groceries together with the afternoon light casting its glow across you. He will find you, he will find you and he won’t let go this time.

“Honestly Ma, it’s fine, I’ll get the movers to come in a little early”. You groan into the phone pressed to your ear, papers and unresolved bills are left scattered across your dining room table and you have this itch that's begun to turn chronic somewhere you can’t reach.

You take a moment to look around your apartment, now barren of furniture, and filled instead with boxes of badly organised stuff you've accumulated over the years. This place, albeit small, had been your home ever since you stepped out of the yellow cabbed taxi on your first day in New York, and whilst it wasn't pretty, you felt a pang of guilt leaving it all behind. These walls had seen you through it all, the late night study cram’s, the breakdowns, the accomplishments, the one night stands. You'd miss her, but maybe you were just a nostalgic person.

You’ve made a life in New York, but you felt misplaced, like pieces of yourselves were scattered across the states. Chicago kept a part of you, and it was only when you had gotten the chance to move back home, did it click. You missed your city. And you had cut your lease and emptied out the last of your savings without a second thought.

Now all that was left was tying up loose ends and making the trip down. It was funny, in a way. You had run to New York to pursue architecture, and it brought you back to the very same place you had left, there was a certain trepidation when you thought of Chicago, it held so much of your past, in its city streets and evergreen trees, and you don’t know if you were quite ready to face those memories again.

It still smelled the same. You itch your nose, sniffling against the blooming scent of cocoa and caramel from the Chicago roads, all this time, and all that you can tell is how it still smelt like maple leaves and chocolate. It was comforting, and it felt like the warm embrace of a childhood friend that had stayed sitting on the corner of your suburban street corner all this time.

“Thank you Mae, really, I got the call last minute in New York to come back here and if it weren't for you, I’d be moving back into my old bedroom at my parents” You reply, gratitude filling every word. It was true, your friend had swooped in the second you called, fixing you up with a lease and an apartment with her realtor links. She came in a clutch, and she had made you promise to never leave her again in exchange.

“Oh shush doll, of course. This is probably payment for all the times I’ve crashed at yours anyway” Mae winks, the bracelets on her wrist clinking against each other. She didn't look like a typical realtor, more like a bohemian solo-traveller with her filly skirts and auburn red hair.

“I’m not going to let a degree transform my entire wardrobe, my clothes are antiques, their heirlooms, they tell a story”

She had told you once, one late night on the rooftop of your New York apartment, sipping cheap wine and passing a blunt between you both. You wish you had known yourself as much as she did then.

She had visited you a couple times in New York, coming up for work and spending the time at yours instead of spending thousands on an Airbnb, but it had been a while since you've seen her, and all of a sudden you remember how much you missed her laugh.

“I’ve got some time to spend before it’s all hand on deck” You reply, placing the last of your boxes onto the empty wooden floor of the living room.

“Oh yeah? Can’t believe you’re gonna design a whole building on Michigan Av’, your a fucking inspiration Bug” Mae sighs in adoration, and you giggle, the feeling of embarrassment filling you at the mention of your reason back home.

You never got used to the praise and adoration you received over the years, despite your many accolades and awards, you still felt like that hopelessly broke architect student giving up lunch to pay rent. You didn’t remember when things started to change. When did things start to change?

“You know, if you’ve got time, you should check out the Farmers Market near River North” Mae replies, whilst flicking through her phone

“The one on Division Street?” You reply, you had a faint memory of the long strip of stalls filled with fresh produce, food and the rest of the little trinkets that were sold since you were born on the pleated table cloth of sheltered booths.

“That’s the one, this guy named Samson? Makes the best fucking bearclaw in the entire United States. Tell him you're a friend of mine and he'll hook you up…you know since you can't afford it” Mae replies playfully, and you roll your eyes with a laugh.

“Yeah yeah, you hook up with him or something?” You poke back, Mae had the tendency to know everyone in Chicago, from the mailman to the old woman you’d see feeding the bids on a park bench.

“Yeah, actually I did. Not like you could relate, how long has it been, hm?” Mae replies, stepping forward to whisper down at your pants.

“I’m so sorry she hasn't been taking care of you. What are you, mummify her?” Mae looks up from her crouched position with a raised eyebrow.

“Ugh, you know I've been too busy to think about that. She’s gonna have to be patient” You reply, you don’t want to think about how long it has actually been, since you've had any type of release. But the tension has begun to weigh on your shoulders as time went on and you fear it might become something you can’t ignore.

You begin to move some boxes into your bedroom, thanks to your planning your large furniture such as your bed and coach, had been moved into the apartment before the rest of the things had got here, so at least you wouldn't be sleeping on a mattress on the floor. Changing into a pair of dark jeans and a short sleeve top, you loop an embroidered handbag onto your shoulder.

“So, you coming?” You call to Mae, who’s begun to fill your fridge with the groceries she's swung by with.

“Sure would Bug, but got a call to come in. I’ll come by again later this evening though?” Mae replies, with a grunt as she lifts the 2 litre bottle of milk onto one of the drive shelves.

“Yes please, I’m dying for a glass of wine”

“And a blunt” Mae replies, snickering at the way you roll your eyes at her.

Mae offers to drop you off, but you wave her off, telling her you wanted to see a little more of your hometown. You needed some fresh air that wasn't the coffee and smoke scent of the New York streets.

The walk to the Farmers market was a short one, but you felt like you were wading through a current. By the way the memories of your past began to resurface as you passed the streets and shops. Every corner holds a part of you, and you have to rush by your old school to stop the pang of pain that surprises you. You weren't an emotional person, but god it was almost as if you were hanging by a thread the second you touched down on Chicago.

What was causing this? You felt like you were holding your breath as you stepped through the fallen autumn leaves marking the sidewalk, the gentle sun on your back, what were you waiting for?

You tear yourself from your thoughts momentarily when you catch the looming buildings that had been built on ions ago, the infrastructure of Chicago still enamoured you, in a way that couldn't be beaten by even New York’s impossible skyscrapers.

There was a charm to it, each of the buildings felt like you were stepping into a different decade, they had been the stepping stones to a lot of the infrastructure and architecture that spread into other cities. You felt like you were at the start of it all every time your eyes trailed across the facade and arcades of the century old stone buildings.

Without realising, you had finally made it to the Farmers Market, the constant stream of people coming in and out with boxes of produce or hauling wooden antiques with very audible grunts. You can’t stop the smile stretching your face as you step through the embroidered banner at the front of the street.

Despite the many different stalls and food around you, you don't feel overstimulated. This was your home, you felt like you belonged, like a name scratched into wet cement, remaining ingrained for years no matter the seasons that came.

You go over the haphazard list of things you wanted to look for in your mind, but you're caught off guard by a stall that seemed to be huddled by patrons. You step towards it, and as people move aside you see the blooming flowers and carefully wrapped banquets in woven wooden baskets to the side of the stall. A short woman with light brown curls is standing at the front, taking down orders with a grin, whilst a rather tall man behind her makes quick work to wrap delicate orders into soft brown parchment paper tied with string.

And all of a sudden the need to buy pink tulips becomes your first priority. The woman at the front looks familiar, but you can't quite put your finger on where you've seen her, but as you walk up to the front her face morphs into familiar as she looks up at you in surprise.

“As I live and breathe” She says your name with a screech and it's her voice that pulls her name to your mouth. Adeline, a close friend from senior year who’d taught you how to crochet and pick a lock.

“Bug? How've you been? What brings you back to town?” Ade replies after telling the man behind her your order without you even saying a thing.

“Tulips, pink ones right?” Ade grins, and you have to let out a chuckle at how you haven't changed even a little.

“Got invited to join in designing a new building on Michigan Avenue, so I'll be back for a while-”

“Michigan Avenue? Holy shit Bug! You’re making moves, knew you always were special” Adeline replies with a gushing smile and you rush to reply with the same adoration

“Are you kidding, look at this line” You motion to the increasing line of people forming at Adeline's stall.

“People love their flowers” Adeline replies with a shrug before you shake your head vehemently

“No, they love your flowers, and for good reason, look at these” You gush, pressing your face into the bundle of tulips that had been handed to you.

“They only look that good because Henry's so good at wrapping them” Adeline replies with a laugh, her eyes flicking to the brown haired man dressed in corduroy behind her. A look passes between them that tells you there was more than love between them.

“Henry huh?” You reply with a grin, and the man is quick to introduce himself, and you don’t ignore the cold press of an encrusted band on his ring finger as he shakes your hand with a soft smile.

And it's as if Adeline reads your mind and she slips her left hand in yours, looking up at you with a teary grin.

“Yes, yes I know, I should've called, and I’m so sorry-”

You press yourself against her, leaning over the stall to wrap your arms around her. You whisper words of congratulation, shutting down any words that hinted at you being mad at her.

It wasn't her fault, it should be you she's mad at, you hadn’t really made that much of an effort to keep in contact with your friends back at home, and the reality of it weighed on you heavy now, you had missed so many milestones of your loved ones, all to chase your own dreams in New York.

You felt like you were constantly playing catch up, and you couldn't lie when a strange feeling crept up at the thought of your friends moving on with life. You were so incredibly happy for Adeline, and you were even more elated when she had told you of the Wedding in April that you had to come to.

But that didn't stop that same strange feeling of being behind everyone else, you had spent so long climbing the ladder to wear what you wear now, relationships and love weren't even a thought, you filled your nights with studying and drawing and the occasional fling, but nothing more. And now doubts had begun to creep in, had you missed out?

Watching everyone around you get married and have kids whilst you were still drawing buildings in that same sketchbook your teacher had given you 8 years ago. You’re not looking as you walk past the many stalls of the Farmers market, and it is your thoughts again that causes you to accidentally stumble into the hard muscle of a man back. You feel yourself falling, before arm's reach out, grabbing you quickly to stop you from ending flat on your face.

You breath out a sigh of relief, shaking a head at your clumsiness

“God, ‘m so sorry, I’ve just been in my head, I wasn’t looking where i was going-”

“Holy fuck” Your quick to spit an apologetic thanks, you haven't even looked up to see who you've dubbed into, and when the sound of surprise meets your ease you look up, only to be remain stone faced with your mouth left open.

“Richie?” You say, the shock of it is still in the air. You hadn't expected to see him in Chicago, or maybe you did and it was sooner than you thought.

“When did you get back? Holy shit, thought we wouldn't see you again” Richie replies with a smile

“Yeah uh, came down for some work for a little while. How, uh How are things” You reply with a squeak, you can’t bear to say what you're thinking and Richie nods, a look of acknowledgement in his face. Mickey’s death had shaken you, it had changed you in its own way, and you still grief him, it still hurts when Richie's face kinda falls and melts at the reminder of his best friend's death.

“After, uh, after Mickey, he had left the restaurant, you know, the Beef?” You nod in agreement, the hazy memory of the sandwich shop on the corner of Chicago's, busiest streets, you stomach rumbles at the thought of one of those sandwiches you'd down in less than a minute during your high school years.

“Yeah well, get this, he left it to Carmen. And honestly, I was hesitant at first, real hesitant, I love him, but god, he's a self centred ass coming in like he knew everything, spewing the bullshit CDC shit he learnt up in the big apple? He changed things, and you know how I feel about change, but he made it better, I can;t lie, and you better not tell him this, but the Beef actually..” Richie’s familiar rambles are muffled to your ears, the only thing you can hear is Carmen.

Everything zones out as you scrunch your eyebrows, wincing almost, at the pain and it shocks you, it shocks you how the very name of him still brings back those memories. You still hurt the same way you did the day you left him.

You must have looked out of it, as Richie shakes your shoulder, anchoring you back to the present, and you have to swallow back the bite of pain that bleeds through your chest.

“Did you hear what I said? The Beef’s holding a little family dinner tomorrow, shutting down the shop early, inviting only friends and family, it’ll be like a little reunion for you! You have to come” Richie replies, and you nod trying to seem present.

Carmen took over the Beef? He was in New York? What?

Your mind is scattered with the uproar of questions you have, the thought of Carmen, the memory of him is like a fresh wound. It un tethered and opens up a thread of thoughts and emotions you had thought you bottled up and threw deep into the ocean.

“You, you still talk to him right? Ya’ll were pretty close growing up, like fucking thieves attached to the hip if i can remember” Richie chuckles, fondly remembering the two of you.

You cough back, smiling up at him as you trying to reply coherently

“Yeah, uh sometimes you know” You lie

No. You haven't spoken to him since you left, and it feels like your tongue falls dead when you try to say his name again. You hadn't called and he hadn't picked up. Carmen told you not to say goodbye, but the truth was it had been the end of you even before you had both realised.

You had spent years pretending like Carmen not calling you, not making an effort to see you after everything didn’t burn, but the reality of it had marked you in a way that felt eternal.

“So you're coming, yeah? You and Carmen can finally catch up” Richie replies with a smile, and look of something passes through his eyes before it leaves, and you have to smile back with a nod, like you and Carmen were still close, like you don't feel that he might turn you away or scream at you the second he saw you, like you weren't both irrevocably in love with each other.

Bear. You missed him, you are shocked by how much you do, you thought bottling up your memories and emotions about him and stuffing them so far back into your mind you forgot would actually change anything. There had always been this lingering thought, at the recesses of your mind, the last thing you imagined before you fell asleep, the feeling that filled you the second you came back to Chicago, it was all Carmen, it was all your golden boy.

And now you would have to see him, in less than a day you would be in the same room as Carmen Berzatto, you don't want to say it, you don't want to speak it into acknowledgement but deep down, you wanted to see him again.

Beyond it all, you both were bonded in friendship, sharing something you didn't even have with Adeline or Mae, and you had felt like a part of yourself was missing each day that went passed without hearing from him. Had he forgotten you? Had it been as hard for him to go on with life? He had been in New York for christ sake, he didn't even think to visit you, that thought alone made you want to run back home and never come out.

You couldn't bare the possibility of exposing yourself to such heartache, to the chance of being rejected by the very person who you forever longed for. You were always searching for him, looking through crowds to see the familiar curl of his brown hair, or the scent he carried, ears always leaning in, trying to see if it would catch his syrupy baritone voice.

The two of you were forever connected, like the roots of trees spanning miles under the Earth. The kind of companionship that transcended time and space, and god did you want to feel the sharp edge of his jaw between your hands.

You couldn't stop it now, Richie had opened something you kept locked and sunk for a reason, and now it felt like you would break if you didn't see Carmen. Even if it would break you, even if it was the one thing in this world that would destroy you,

You had to see your golden boy.

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luvrgreyy · 4 months ago

Text

THE AMERICAN DREAM

leon kennedy x f!reader

word count: 2.4k summary: living the picture perfect marriage with leon. masterlist | taglist | ko-fi

18+ MDNI. DEAD DOVE. typical american marriage, mentions of abuse, throwing up, drugging/use of drugs, gaslighting, leon being mean and condescending — he’s very ooc in this one, non-con, basically somnophilia, unprotected sex, p in v, choking, slapping, spanking, spitting, fingering(vaginal and mouth), degrading language.

a/n: 100 FOLLOWER SPECIAL !! thank you so much everyone <3 sorry if the writing on this ones a little sloppy, this one’s mostly self indulgent and i was half asleep when making this so i didn’t really know what i was writing down. anyways, hope you guys enjoy this, love you all xx.

you loved your husband. your relationship was everything you’ve ever wanted. a nice house in a beautiful suburb — white picket fence and all — a doting husband, and an idyllic life that seemed straight out of a hollywood movie. each day was laced with domestic bliss.

everything was perfect, living the dream with the perfect husband. you don't even remember the fact that he took you away from your family. or that he was systematically drugging you, slipping small doses of amnesiacs into your food and drink to keep your memory fuzzy and prevent you from remembering the fact that he was basically abusing and raping you on a daily basis. the drug kept you docile and unquestioning.

sometimes, you have nightmares about it, though you can’t really remember anything, and you think they’re just things your brain like to make up.

you woke up with a start, your hands clenched tightly into fists in the bed sheets as your breath came in sharp and fast. the room was quiet, except for the soft ticking of the clock. it’s the same nightmare, the same thing that leaves you feeling disoriented and unsettled, but you can't recall the details.

you felt your husband shift behind you, his warm body pressing against yours. "mm, baby," his groggy voice rumbled sleepily, his hands slipping around your waist to pull you closer against him, a touch meant to be soothing. his chin rested against your shoulder, his lips trailing languidly across the nape of your neck. “you okay?”

“another nightmare?” he murmured lowly, sensing your unease.

"i— i'm gonna throw up,”

a slight pause and then leon sprung into action. he immediately rolled over and gently pulled you into his arms, cradling you against his chest while he carried you towards the bathroom.

“it’s alright, sweetheart. let it all out,” he soothed, his voice a soft, comforting murmur as he cradled you closely. he leaned you over the toilet, holding your hair back as you wretched and retched.

he held you close to him, gently massaging your back with one hand, stroking your spine soothingly with his fingers, all while using his other hand to hold your hair back.

“i’ve got you,” he whispered softly, pressing gentle kisses on the crown of your head, his arms holding you firmly yet gently as you hunched over the toilet. his free hand reaches over to grab a clean towel and wiping away any remnants of vomit from your lips.

after a few moments, your body slumped and you gasped for breath, leaning against him for support. he continued to hold you gently, running his fingers softly over your clammy skin.

"tea?" you looked up at him with hazy eyes, still feeling queasy. the room was spinning and your stomach churned at the mere thought of food. but the idea of drinking something soothing sounded nice.

"yes... please,"

he ushers you into the kitchen, fetching a tea bag and a cup from the cabinet and pouring in some boiling water from the kettle. he sets the cup on the table and takes a seat across from you.

“here,” he hands you a steaming mug of tea, his large hand brushing against yours for just a moment. you take a sip and it tastes strange — slightly bitter and with a weird aftertaste. but it does seem to ease the churning in your stomach.

he sighs in relief as you take another sip of your tea, not noticing the small pill dissolved in the cup.

“there we go, sweetheart. i know you've been feeling a bit under the weather lately. that’ll help you relax and feel better in no time,”

he smiles warmly, pretending to care about your wellbeing, when in reality he's just trying to keep you sedated so you don't realize what a hellish existence you're living.

you blinked slowly, the warm tea feeling good as it slid down your throat. the room was still spinning a bit, but you felt yourself starting to relax. leon watched you carefully, relieved that the nausea seemed to be subsiding.

“feel dizzy,” you mumble slowly.

he reached across the table to pat your hand gently. "there, there sweetheart. why don’t i take you back to bed so you can rest? you’re clearly exhausted,"

without waiting for a response, he helps you to your feet and steers you towards the bedroom. you stumble and sway on unsteady legs, unable to resist as he guides you. once you're on the bed, he covers you with a blanket and tucks you in snugly.

"oh, my poor baby.. i’ll join you in a few minutes, just gonna wash up the dishes in the kitchen."

you can barely keep your eyes open as the drug pulls you under. your last thought is wondering why you feel so tired all the time, before slipping into a deep, medicated slumber. you snuggle deeper into the blankets, your eyelids growing heavier by the second. leon lingers by the bedside, watching you with a mixture of amusement and anticipation.

soon, your breathing evens out and your body goes limp, succumbing to the drug's effects. leon smiles, satisfied. he knows he has a window of opportunity before you wake up again. without wasting any time, he quietly slips up your nightgown, exposing your tender flesh to his hungry eyes and eager touch. his hands roam freely over your body, groping and squeezing as he pleases. he reaches up and cups one breast with each hand, weighing them appreciatively.

he leans down and starts planting wet kisses across your neck and chest, staying close so you don't stir.

then he's on top of you, shoving his pants down and mounting you roughly.

your moans and protests are muffled by your sleep-addled state as he ravages you mercilessly, using his big, strong hands to hold you down and shut you up.

“l-lee—leon,” you manage to mumble.

leon silences you by reaching down and forcing two fingers into your mouth, thrusting them between your lips.

"shh, ‘ts okay baby," he hums into your ear, giving your cunt a light slap that makes you yelp around his fingers. "such a good girl, taking it so well," he praises you with a growl as he works your mouth open with his fingers, stretching your jaw wide for his invasion. your protests are swallowed by your own gag reflex as he fucks your face with no regard for your well-being.

your mind is hazy and you can't seem to rouse yourself enough to push him away. he's just too strong, too overpowering. you're at his mercy, helpless to resist as he takes what he wants.

his fingers finally slip free from your mouth, coated in saliva. he uses that same hand to roughly spread your legs further apart, pleased with how easily he’s able to violate you in your vulnerable state.

he flips you upright and pulls your hips back, exposing your pussy to the air. he runs a finger along your slit, feeling how wet he's made you.

"look at you, getting all worked up over nothing," he chuckles darkly, spreading your lips and poking his big finger into your entrance.

“so wet f’me,” he coos, sliding his finger inside you and starts to pump it, scissoring it to stretch you. you moan and wriggle against him, still only semi-conscious.

leon ignores your attempts at protest, too focused on his own pleasure. his hips start rocking, his hard cock rubbing against your thighs as he uses you like a doll. “fucking slut, getting off to this," he growls, giving your clit a harsh pinch that makes you whine. his words are thick with insincerity, a mocking edge to his voice as he uses the pet name he knows you love. in reality, he despises you and views you as nothing more than an object to use at his leisure.

you try to push him away with your sleepy hands, clawing and flailing your arms, but he pins them to the mattress easily. he's too strong, and you're too weak from the drugs coursing through your system.

“be good and stay still," he growls, smashing his mouth down on yours to muffle any screams that might escape. his tongue probes aggressively at your lips, seeking entry. you cry out as he thrusts his thick cock into your resistance, splitting you open and making you scream. his hips start pounding into you with renewed vigor, bouncing off your ass as he breeds you hard and fast. the bed creaks and shifts with each brutal thrust.

"so fucking tight," he groans, starting to piston his hips, using your throat for leverage.

he grunts and growls as he ruts into you like a beast, your body sloppily pressed against his. your head is forced to bob up and down on his cock as he thrusts, drool streaming down your chin. your muffled whimpers and protests are lost around his shaft. “look at that, you take my cock so well baby," his filthy words are punctuated by sharp smacks to your ass and thighs, keeping you off-balance and unable to fully rouse. he's relentless, using your mouth and body for his own sick satisfaction.

your struggles weaken further as the air gets cut off from your lungs. he pauses to spit in your face, the slick substance mingling with your tears and drool. “what’s the matter sweetheart? can’t breathe?" he taunts, smacking your face. "just relax, you can take it." he punctuates his words with a sharp smack to your inner thigh, making you gasp and squirm beneath him.

the bed frame creaks ominously with each powerful thrust, threatening to give way and spill you both to the floor. his hands are everywhere, gripping your hips, pulling your hair, slapping your ass. he's completely lost in his own pleasure, using you as a means to an end. you try to squirm away from him, but it's futile. he's too strong, and you're too drowsy. he simply reaches up and clamps a hand over your mouth, muffling any cries for help.

"quit fucking squirming," he growls. but somehow, he’s lying. he wants you to fight back, to struggle and make it harder for him. it's more exciting that way. your throat burns as he continues to use it as leverage, twisting your head with every brutal thrust. tears stream down your cheeks, your eyes squeezed shut in fear and pain.

saliva and juices run down your thighs as he slams into you without mercy. your mind is fuzzy and disconnected, unable to fully process the assault on your body. all you can do is endure, a ragdoll for leon to use and abuse as he sees fit.

"atta girl," he hisses. "take it, baby." he punctuates his words with another sharp smack to the ass, the sting adding to your growing pile of discomfort.

you can only moan and mewl in response, too far gone to resist. your body is numb, your mind foggy and detached.

you try to nod, too weak to do anything but comply. he loosens his grip on your throat and moves his hand back to your hip, pulling you against him roughly. his cock throbs inside you, swelling up further as he gets close to coming.

"fuck, gonna cum," he warns, his hips redoubling their pace. you moan helplessly as he breeds you hard and fast, the bed creaking and shifting under you. he slaps your ass hard twice, the sound echoing in the room. he groans, coming with a loud grunt. your body is wracked with shudders as he fills you with his cum, your cunt clamping down on his shaft to milk him for every drop.

when he finally pulls out, you're left gasping and sputtering, drool dripping down your face. you lie there in stunned silence afterwards, sprawled beneath him in a puddle of your own fluids. leon collapses on top of you, pinning you to the bed as his chest heaves with exertion.

you're still drifting in and out of consciousness when leon rolls off of you and onto his side, facing away from you. your mind is a fog, struggling to process the events that just transpired. a small sob escapes your lips as you try to make sense of the pain, confusion, and shame that's flooding through you.

after what felt like an eternity, leon reaches over and pulls you into his side, pressing your body close to his. you can feel his warmth, his heartbeat, away his arms are uncomfortably resting atop your skin.

slowly but surely, the fog in your mind starts to clear. you become aware of the dull ache in your throat, the soreness of between your legs, and the disgust you feel for yourself.

fresh tears spring to your eyes as the reality of your situation comes crashing down on you.

"shh, calm down baby," he whispers, stroking your hair soothingly. but his touch is cold and clammy, sending shivers down your spine.

your body feels heavy and numb, your mind hazy and disconnected. slowly, your eyes flutter open. the room is blurry, the edges fuzzy. you try to move, but your limbs feel like lead. leon's face swims into view, his features distorted. "you had a bad dream," he murmurs, his voice sounding distant.

"just another nightmare, sweetheart. it’s okay, i'm here." his words are slurred, his face wobbly. you try to focus, but it's impossible. your vision starts to tunnel, fading to black. the last thing you hear is leon's gentle humming, lulling you back to sleep.

when you wake again, you'll have no memory of the nightmare, no recollection of the way he violated and degraded you. the drug will ensure that. all you'll know is that you slept fitfully and woke up feeling unwell.

tags: @crowleyco @arcane5019

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cillianhead · 1 year ago

Note

Hello dear!!! I hope you're having a wonderful day!

Could you please write a piece about Cillian falling for a (younger!) poet? He starts frequenting her reading sessions and that's how they meet. The rest is up to you!

Thank you 🩵

Yes!! Love this, thank you <3

Enjoy my sweet nonny!

This is heavily inspired by the song All Too Well (10-minute version) (Taylor's Version) by Taylor Swift!!

Wind In My Hair, I Was There || Cillian Murphy x Reader

warnings: Smut, angst, age gap (reader is in her mid to late twenties, Cillian is in his forties.), swearing, Cillian is sort of an asshole in this in some parts, so that is a warning, infidelity (Cillian is married), general adult content ahead!!

Minors DNI! 18+

I'd also like to clarify this isn't really based on the real Cillian!! I know he's married and very happy, this is just fiction and fantasy!! Not meant to portray Cillian as a bad person!! I'd also like to clarify that the ready doesn't really know who Cillian is... or maybe like Cillian isn't that famous in this fic universe or something because there are a few plot points that may seem questionable... that's all. Anyway... enjoy!!

The autumn you spent with Cillian Murphy would be one you would always remember, not that you really had a choice in whether or not you could forget him.

Your apartment was small and cozy at the time, with a perfect view of the falling leaves outside. It was sitting across from a small park in New York City; the trees were red and orange, and it felt like the fall was putting on a show just for you. You felt fortunate and privileged to live in such a place.

You lived right up the road from a small cafe with a library. Every Thursday, you meet with like-minded writers and read your work aloud. It helped bring you out of your shell; you felt a sense of pride when you read your poetry out loud and had people praise you for being so brave and how well you wrote. Despite the fact you have been attending these little group meetings for almost two years now and you felt pretty comfortable amongst the people who were there, you felt like you could vomit your pounding heart right up every time you stood at that podium in front of the dozen or so people that attended. But even with the lump in your throat, you'd read with a shaky voice and tears ready to spill, you would receive the same round of applause every time and a pat on the back from some of the attendees you were closer with.

It was September 14th when you first saw him, but it wasn't the first time he had seen you, summer still lingering in the air but barely grasping on as Autumn began to take the reigns. You were standing at that cedar-wood podium, reading aloud as nervously as you always did. You had yet to notice him quietly slip in; you were too busy ensuring you were on the right line.

"-And something beautiful sprouted, something that I am not... something that I never will be." You looked up after reading the last line, biting your lip nervously and stepping back from the speaking podium. There he sat, in a sweater and the most hypnotizing eyes you had ever seen. Maybe love at first sight was real, you thought briefly. People clapped, but the room remained silent and still for you as you two made eye contact; he didn't clap; he just stared at you with a look that told you he was just as taken aback by you as you were by him.

He kept attending the sessions, but he never got up and read anything and never really interacted with anyone else; in fact, you'd see him get up and leave once you had finished reading your poetry. You wondered if anyone else noticed him the way you did, or maybe he was a figment of your imagination... a ghost.

It was October 19th when you first spoke with him. You dreamt about him day and night, and you two had never even spoken before every session; you'd wonder if he'd be there, and he always was. Sitting in the same seat, at the very back, going ultimately unnoticed by almost everyone but you.

"Excuse me, sir!" You yelled out, rushing to follow the man in the plaid shirt and beanie. "You dropped this!" It was a pair of keys you had clutched in your hand, the crisp autumn air meeting the apples of your cheeks.

He turned around, only a foot or two away from you, as he looked at you up and down, taking notice of his keys in your hand. "Oh gosh, thank you, love," He took the keys gently out of your hand, his fingers lingering on yours a little too long for a stranger, fingertips brushing together. "I swear I'd lose my head if it weren't screwed on." You took notice of his Irish accent. It made you even more curious to know him better. "Erm... thank you so much."

"It's no problem..." You trailed off. You're not sure what to say now. He gave you a stiff nod and started to turn around and keep walking, but you just couldn't let him leave. "Wait!" What do you say now?

"Yeah?" He turned around, tilting his head at you, blue eyes staring at you, waiting.

"I... I'm Y/N... by the way... I always see you here... but I never see you read anything..."

"Cillian," He chuckled. "Not interested in reading anything I've written, only here to listen." Cillian's response was short but straight to the point.

"You don't stick around for very long... you always leave after... I've finished reading my writing..."

"Well... your work is the only one I come to listen to. The rest of the lots' poems just go in one ear and out the other," He said honestly. "You've got a charm about you; I've never heard anything like what you write. It's unique and intelligent, cleverly crafted written pieces... It captures my attention, unlike the rest, which all seem like people trying to mimic someone else... you write from your heart... or your head... I can't decide which, really." He notices your silence, Cillian steps a bit closer to you. "Perhaps I've said too much." He mumbles. The proximity of where he stands is close enough that you can feel his warmth, a stark contrast to how cold it was outside. "You've surely captivated me, Y/N." He said your name like it was a sacred prayer.

You felt like your heart was in your throat, looking at him dumbfounded and unsure what to say. "That's... very flattering, I don't know what to say... thank you, Cillian..." You scratch behind your ear, swaying nervously on your feet. Cars honked, and people passed by as you two stood outside the little cafe, which was now closed since the reading sessions had ended. Cillian looked around awkwardly before sucking in a deep breath and exhaling, his breath visible out in the open air due to how cold it was.

"Would you like to go out for dinner with me?" Cillian looked at you, eyes reflecting the city lights. The moment felt like something from a movie or something you'd write a poem about. It felt like something that wasn't quite possible within these depths of reality. "I understand... if not... you're a young beautiful woman... probably got someone waitin' at home for y-" "N-No, I'd love to!" You interrupted him, with your heart racing. "I'd love to go to dinner with you... I don't have anyone at home... waiting for me..."

"Well, aren't I lucky... when are you free?" He gave you a smile, the first you'd ever seen from him. It made his usually sombre face light up; he grinned, making you feel all giddy.

"I'm free any time on the weekends... and on Tuesdays, I have work off, so... I would love to... see you this weekend, maybe?"

"Wonderful, Saturday evening, you and me?"

You nodded. You exchanged numbers and went on your merry way, walking down the streets of New York City with a smile on your face that was purely gleeful. People would give you looks, but you didn't care. You were excited about something for once. You obsessed over it for the next day and a half.

October 21st marked your very first date with Cillian Murphy. At six, you waited patiently outside your apartment building in the cold air. With a red scarf wrapped around your neck your nose runny from the autumnal weather, you looked around like a lost puppy.

"Y/N," Cillian's warm voice startled you from behind you. You jumped but swiftly turned around to look at him, a bashful smile on both of your faces. "You look lovely." You felt your heart pound at the sight of him.

"Thank you. You also look lovely yourself." You replied. He leaned in and kissed your cheek before taking your hand in his and guiding you down the street. The feeling of his hand in yours made the cold weather seem like summer. Your body lit in flames at the idea he wanted you close to him. And the feeling of his lips on your cheek remained there the whole evening, burning its mark into your skin.

The night went on, and you found yourself in a charming Italian restaurant. It was nothing too fancy, but it was nice and romantic for a first date, definitely nicer than any other places other guys have taken you. It was just the two of you sitting towards the back, in a small booth, eating your plates of pasta. You talked, and you talked, and you talked. He spoke about how he was an actor; you could see his eyes light up at his passion for his work. He told you he was in New York for work and was filming a movie for something he couldn't legally disclose yet. Your chemistry was magnetic, and the conversation would weave in and out of different subjects. You talked about anything and everything, things like masculinity, The Beatles, the incident that happened on your 21st Birthday, batman, and everything else there was to discuss. You felt like you had known him forever. He said the same thing and referred to you two as twin flames. When you were about to leave, his phone began to ring.

"Fuckin' hell, what is it now?" He groaned. "Probably just a wrong number... or somethin'... hold on, love." He stepped outside, and you watched him on the phone. Cillian looked angry and frustrated, like he was arguing over the phone with someone. Your heart, which once rode the waves of love and joy, now sank beneath them into the deep dark depths of navy blue and dismay, watching him grow angrier and angrier and yell over the phone. He was seeing red.

When he waved for you to come out, you approached him cautiously. He huffed, puffed, and fidgeted his hands in his pockets, clearly restless. "Who was that? Are you okay?" "It was no one," He replied shortly and coldly. "I'm fine, let's go." You didn't say a word after that. The tension was thicker than the cold. You were afraid of saying anything to further upset him. So silence was the answer as he walked you home. You felt disappointed that this was how the night was ending. You wondered who it was and what they had said that had upset him so badly. The familiar apartment building you called home came closer and closer within sight, the disappointment weighing you down like water in your shoes. The disappointment tracing every inch of your freezing skin.

You stood in your elevator with him. He promised to walk you back to your unit at least, and he kept that promise. "Would you like to come in... Cillian?" You asked. You pulled out your house key and unlocked the door, looking at him hopefully.

"No, I'd better not." He remained cold and rigid with you. He couldn't even bring himself to give you a smile. You felt you'd never see him again; maybe he didn't like you the way you thought he did. Maybe he found you obnoxious and dumb. Perhaps the phone call was from another woman he realized was better than you. Maybe you simply needed to be better for him. "Goodnight, Y/N." He turned and walked away; you couldn't speak as tears welled in your eyes. Sorrow built up within you like some sort of horrible game of Jenga; one wrong move and you'd come crashing down and falling apart all over the place.

"Goodnight..." You whispered, but by then, he'd already stepped into the elevator, and the doors shut, taking him away from you. You cried yourself to sleep that night, both out of self-pity and disappointment.

When you awoke, it was to the sounds of soft raps on your front door. It was eight in the morning. Padding gently down the hallway, floorboards creaking, sleep still in your eyes, and your face puffy from the tears that leaked from your tear ducts the previous night, you opened the door, expecting it to be a neighbor asking you if they could borrow some sugar or something along those lines.

"Good morning," Cillian stood at your door, this time with a big apologetic smile, a complete change from last night's cold demeanour. He held a pink, yellow, and white bouquet and a small paper bag in his other hand. "I came here to apologize... for how I treated you last night." "Come in." You ushered him in.

He noted your knick-knacks, the photos on your walls, and your old, worn-out furniture. The way you decorated the place stood out to him, but the look on your face stood out to him the most. Sad, tired eyes, puffy and glazed over, you looked at him expectantly. "I'm so sorry." He whispered to you.

"What for?" You asked as you sat in your favorite olive green armchair. It was velvet and soft, and you'd spend most of your time writing, reading, or drinking your morning cup of coffee.

"For treating you like I didn't care," He sighed. He sat on the leather sofa beside you, gently placing the flowers on your glass coffee table and the paper bag smelling of freshly baked goods. "I don't want to discuss exactly who it was or what happened on that phone call... but I... I shouldn't have shut you out just because I was upset... that was... wrong of me, and I'm sorry." Your anger and sadness dissipated the way a fire dissipates when it's being smothered: immediately. His big blue eyes were the blanket that hushed that flame out, striking him as immediately forgiven.

"I understand, Cillian..." You mumbled, pulling your knees up to your chest. "Things happen... it's alright... I...." You wanted to confront him and tell him how insignificant and stupid he made you feel, but you swallowed it back and gave him a small smile. You remained the people pleaser you always have been. You spared his feelings over your own. "I understand." You repeated.

"I thought... I would make it up to you," He pushed the small paper bag over to you. "We could spend the day together... if you don't already have plans."

The paper bag contained a chocolate eclair. You had written a poem that mentioned eating a chocolate eclair while in a made-up love affair. The rhyming was cheesy, but it was one of Cillian's favorite poems of yours. It was the first one he had heard from you. Of course, you didn't realize the irony of it at the time. You just grinned and accepted it happily. You didn't know that you were engaging in a relationship with a man who was already married. So you took a bite of the eclair, letting him into your fragile heart, and entered this sad and tragic love affair.

So you spent the whole day together. You walked around New York City, holding hands and laughing your heads off. It felt romantic and intimate, and you got to know each other even deeper than you did before. You kissed under a stop sign and shared sweet nothings. The clouds rolled over, and the sky opened up. The rain watered you down like a pair of leaves in a pot plant, and you both ran through Central Park, trying to find the nearest shelter until you came across a large oak tree. It was something out of a movie, sitting together, soaking wet, staring at each other as lightning strikes in the distance. The wind was in your hair, and his lips were on yours.

You spent pretty much every day together after that. You made love in every room of your apartment, cherishing each other's bodies. Cillian would sit in that cafe, and he would clap after your readings and then reward you with a kiss when you got back down to him. You wrote poetry about him, and he would write some for you. It was a beautiful, quiet, little harmonious relationship you had going on. You found yourself falling in love. You thought he was, too, though you never said it out loud.

He even met your dad. They got along quite well. Your dad didn't seem to mind that Cillian was only a few years younger than him (and much older than you). Your dad just wanted to see you happy and safe. In fact, your dad told you he had never seen you more content. Cillian made your dad laugh, they got along like old friends. Seeing them bonding and getting along made you incredibly happy and excited.

On November 16th, at noon, you got ready to go to where he was staying, wrapping that red scarf around your neck again and stepping out into the living room where Cillian waited for you with eyes full of affection. You had packed a small bag since Cillian told you he was staying at his sister's house in upstate New York. She was away at the moment. "Most beautiful girl I've ever seen." He hummed jollily. You wrapped your arm through his and went down to the lobby.

His car had that new car smell, clearly a rental. "No matter how often I've stayed in America, I never get used to driving on the wrong side of the road." Cillian chuckled, exiting his parking spot and beginning the long drive to his sister's house.

The drive was beautiful. Driving through the city and slowly entering into suburban areas, red and brown trees lining the streets, Halloween decorations on display, and music playing through the radio, you both sang along to the words happily. The drive was surreal and peaceful. You drove down a long country road, and the tall trees created a tunnel above you. Only small slits of the grey sky could be seen through the scarlet leaves.

"We're here, Y/N," Cillian smiled at you, stepping out of the car and walking off without you. You hurriedly got out of the car with your things. "Oh, lock the car for me, the button doesn't work... please, love." He tossed you the car keys, not looking where he was throwing them, and they landed in the dirt before you. You ignored how it made you feel (stupid, insignificant, small), picking up the dirty keys and locking the car manually before rushing over to where he was unlocking the door.

The house was nice and quiet and far from the rest of civilization. It felt like home somehow. It is decorated nicely with photos of his sister and her husband, even some with Cillian when he was younger. It was getting dark by now, and you set your belongings down in the guest bedroom where Cillian was staying. You never asked when he was going back to Ireland. You didn't wanna know. You wanted to appreciate your time together instead of counting down the days.

Cillian cooked you dinner and shared a long, loving kiss to say thanks. You sat cuddled up on the couch together afterwards, your crimson scarf hanging over the stair railing as you rested your head lovingly on his shoulder. An old Western movie played in the background, but you were too busy holding each other and whispering sweet things.

"Cillian..." You whispered, pressing soft kisses along his stubbly jaw. "I'm so happy you brought me here... this feels so special." "I'm so happy to have you here, Y/N." He whispered back. Cillian pulled you into his lap. "This is special, just you and me... here... I'm going to make you my own." You wanted to tell him, 'I'm already yours, Cillian; my heart and soul are yours', but you remained silent, smiling dopily at him.

And with those charming words, you kissed him. Flashes of red played through your mind, fireworks sounding off in your head as your lips danced together. His hands cradled your head as you made out nice and slow. Both in your pyjamas now, warming each other up, hands running up and down his back. Cillian's hands wandered down your back until they rested on the tops of your hips, his thumb fiddling with the waistband of your sweatpants.

"Take them off." You hummed, raising your hips slightly off of his, and he obeyed, sliding your pants off until you were only in your panties. Cillian observed how you sat back down on his lap, the lace scrunched up, showing off the curve of your ass.

"I'm going to ravish you." He growled, eyeing you up and down. The timbre of his voice caused your thighs to tightly squeeze together. He pressed you down onto the couch, slipping his pants down until he was just in his briefs. He slipped your shirt over your tits, breasts bouncing out of their containment and straight into his mouth. He sucked happily on your nipples until you were a panting mess, begging for more. "Let me feel you, sweetheart."

"Please..." You exasperated. "Please... Cillian."

Two nimble fingers slipped under your lace underwear, straight down to where your arousal pooled. "So wet f'me, always so wet, aren't you, baby?" He groaned, fingers teasing your slit before sliding back up to rub circles on your clit.

"You know what you do to me..." You breathed out, biting your cherry red lips and closing your eyes, embracing the pleasure. "Always so wet for you, Cillian..."

The way Cillian cradled you in his strong arms as his fingers caressed you to your peak was the most intimate thing you had ever experienced. His eyes watched your face contort with pleasure, mouth open and spilling sounds of satisfaction as you came on his fingers.

"That's it, baby... doing so good," He whispered, kissing your cheek. "So beautiful."

You lolled your head to the side, panting and looking at him with a dazed grin. "Please fuck me."

Cillian laughed at your words. "Such a dirty mouth!" He teased as he tugged down his pants. "Gonna fuck you nice and slow, gonna show you how much you mean to me, love."

Then, in the dim light of the TV and the moon shining through the window, you made love like it was your last night on Earth. Hands ran up and down each other's bodies, trying to savor every final touch. Lips captured together, your bodies working as one, the love was there, glimmering in the light. No words could explain how you felt then; nothing else existed to you, just him and his hands all over your body. You and him for the rest of eternity, at least; that's how it felt in your heart.

You held each other tight in bed, clinging on for dear life. You listened to his heart slow as he slept and the way he breathed. You wondered if he dreamt about you the way you dreamt of him. Eventually, you fell asleep at midnight after watching his pretty face sleeping.

At three in the morning, you wake to an empty bed. Sitting up with a sweat, where did Cillian go? You slip out from under the covers, wincing at the room's cold air that meets your bare legs. You wore one of Cillian's button-ups, only the middle button holding it together as you slowly creep out of the room, listening to the sound of quiet music from the kitchen.

"Cillian?" You called out, cautious and slightly afraid at how dark the house is. It was a lot quieter than you were used to. You were a city girl, unfamiliar with the countryside silence.

"Y/N?" You heard, which relieved your paranoid mind.

Down the stairs, Cillian stood in the fridge's light, soft music playing through a small radio on the kitchen counter. "What're you doing up, Cillian?" You worriedly walked over to him, arms reached out as he turned to look at you, only in his sleep shorts.

"Just needed a midnight snack. I'm alright, my love," He smiled sleepily, with a sheepish look since he wasn't fully awake yet. "C'mere... dance with me."

"Oh... Cillian..." You giggled, walking over to him, letting him wrap you up in his strong arms and sway you gently. "This is nice."

"Mmmm..." Cillian hummed into the soft skin of your neck.

The refrigerator remained open, the cool-tinted light painting you both as you swayed side to side. You were half asleep, and the rocking motion didn't help your drowsiness. You felt as though this was some strange dream.

"Are you real?" You whispered.

"What do you mean?" Cillian purred back.

"I just feel like I made you up." You muttered, pulling your head back to look up at him with big, sleepy eyes.

Cillian looked back at you with the same look. Your wide-eyed gaze and his sweet blue eyes looked like something out of a romance film or something you'd see in a painting. The love you shared was unanimous... or at least you thought so. A kiss and then another kiss and then another turned into a sleepy yet heated make-out.

"Gonna take you right here," He grumbled into your mouth. "My midnight snack."

You giggled at his words as he pressed you against the kitchen island countertop. Kissing so hard it felt like your lips could bruise. He ripped off your shirt and pulled it off you like it was nothing. Cillian growled at the sight of you, hands groping at your tits and lips trailing down your neck. You whimpered, letting your head hang back as he ground his stiff cock into your clothed cunt.

"Fuck!" You whined, wrapping your legs around his hips even further. You ignored the feeling of the marble countertop digging into your lower back; the feeling of his cock was too delicious, too distracting, to really let it ruin the mood. "Cillian, please, baby, just put it in me... need you so bad."

He gave you a grunt and slipped off his shorts before pulling your panties to the side. Cillian acted like a feral dog as he pushed his cock into you and began fucking you on his sister's countertops at three in the morning. The act was sinful.

"Oh god! Yes!" You wailed. You could be as loud as you wanted to out here. No one else was around to hear, and you knew how Cillian liked to hear you scream for him. His hips pistoned in and out of you, cock fitting perfectly inside you. Your eyes rolled into the back of your head. He had never been so rough with you before, but you were enjoying it.

"Best pussy I've ever had," Cillian groaned, sweat dripping from his forehead. "Fuck... so good... feels so good."

His fingernails dug into your hips, grunting into the dips of your neck and shoulders as he chased his own high. You ran your hands up and down his back, leaving scratch marks across his shoulder blades. The fridge remained open, but right now, you didn't care. All you could think about was how good he was fucking you. Drool spilled down your chin, mind blank, and legs went limp from the euphoria taking over.

"Yeah, is that it?" Cillian muttered, voice gritty and low as his hips sputtered. "You gonna cum for me, baby? Gonna cum on my cock?"

"Yes... oh fuck! Yes!" You moaned. "Gonna cum for you, Cillian..."

"Love the way my name sounds comin' from your mouth," He whispered, letting out a mouth-watering whine straight into your ear. Your pussy clenched around him tighter as Cillian, usually a quiet and stoic man, came undone and let out the most delectable pornographic-sounding moans. "Y'make it sound so dirty..."

"Please cum in me..." You whimpered. "Please... need it so bad."

"Really?" Cillian panted and looked at you incredulously. He had never had the pleasure of getting to cum in you yet. "You sure?"

"Yes!" You threw your head back, panting like a dog. "Please, Cillian! Please... give it to me." "Fuck... alright... gonna fill you up, love."

You pressed your face into the curve of his neck, mewling as you came around him and the feeling of his hot cum beginning to spill into you. "I love you." You gasped out, squeezing your eyes shut as you came around him. You meant it; you did love him. You had never loved anyone the way you had loved him. You could see yourself with him for the rest of your life, having his babies, getting married..., and dying together. He just groaned loudly as he came inside you, not saying a word to your confession. Maybe it wasn't the right time, or he would wait until he was done to say something.

"Fuckin' hell..." Cillian whispered as he slipped his softening length out of you and pulled his shorts back up. "Look at that..." He mumbled with amazement, getting down on his knees in front of your quivering and cum-filled pussy.

"Cillian, I-"

"Shhh..." He hushed before pressing a loving nip to your inner thigh, and then he unhinged his jaw and attached his watering mouth to your cunt. You forgot everything you were about to say at the feeling of his tongue licking you up and sucking on your swollen clit. You came again quickly due to how sensitive you were, and Cillian sucked up your gushing juices and his cum that still dripped out of you. Standing up, he grabbed you by the chin and kissed you, spitting the mixture into your mouth, tongues swirling together. You moaned at the salty taste and the dirty act. "Such a good girl..." Cillian hummed. "Swallow it, baby. Show me how good you can be for me."

He watched you gulp it down before leaning in and rewarding you with a wet and messy kiss, teeth grabbing your bottom lip before pulling away. "Cillian..." You whispered, out of breath and incredibly flustered. "That... was so good... I love-" "Let's go to sleep," He interrupted abruptly, crouching and picking up your discarded clothing. "It's real late, sweetheart."

"Oh..." You mumbled, heart breaking a little. "Okay... let's go then." You didn't get a peep of sleep that night. While Cillian snored beside you, one heavy arm draped across you and his hot breath fanning the back of your neck, you stared at the ticking clock with tears slipping down your face. Why didn't he say it back? Why didn't he at least say something? You knew he heard you. The dread built up within you that night, and daylight didn't seem to get any closer.

At 7:47 AM, you were pulled out of a state between consciousness and sleep by Cillian's phone ringing. "Fuck..." Cillian said groggily, reaching over with a heavy hand to pick up his phone. "Who is it?" You moaned out of dissatisfaction from being pulled out of your slumber.

"It's my sister..." He groaned before answering the call. "Hello?.... Yeah, it's alright... no, I don't have anything on today... you're comin' home today?... I thought you'd be home Monday..." You sat up at this, heart racing. Were you going to have to meet his sister today? You were nervous but also excited. Cillian looked over at you with a horrified look in his eye. "Yeah... alright... see you then... bye."

"...Is everything okay?" You asked cautiously.

"Yeah, I guess we're not sleepin' in..." He grunted as he got up and walked towards the en suite. "Gather yer' things, we're going back to the city." "What? Why?"

"I just don't want my sister to know I had a girl over." That was the last thing he said before shutting the bathroom door, clearly in a bad mood. Your heart sank at his words as if it wasn't already hurting. So you got up, fighting back the tears and gathered your things, shoving them back into your bag as you let out a choked sob.

Half an hour passed, Cillian was still in the shower, and you sat at the bottom of the stairs, feeling sorry for yourself. Your bag sat beside you, and the floorboards creaking behind you caught your attention. You turned and looked up at Cillian, dressed in a lovely blue turtle neck, dress pants, and a grim look on his face.

Begrudgingly, you followed him outside and into the car, then began the drive back in silence.

"You wanna grab some lunch wit' me today?" Cillian asked after about twenty minutes of silence.

"No." You said dryly.

"What? You got plans or somethin'?" Cillian asked with a chuckle. The question felt condescending and rude.

"Because what you said to me earlier really fucking hurt me." You hissed, turning to look at Cillian to see him already looking at you.

"What the fuck are you on about?" He barked back, putting his eyes back on the road and giving you that dry, condescending laugh again.

"You said you didn't want your sister to know about me.... that you didn't want your sister to know about you having a girl over."

"Yeah, and?" Cillian quipped, clearly flustered.

"Is that all I am to you?" You whimpered, trying to keep your composure, trying to seem strong. "Just a girl?" "'Course not, Y/N." He said in a hushed tone.

"Then what the fuck are we?" You raised your voice, a tear slipping down your cheek. "Why can't your sister know about me? About us?"

"B-Because..." He faltered before falling completely silent.

"Why, Cillian?" You cried. "You've met my friends... you've even met my father... for fuck's sake... why can't... why can't I meet your sister and her husband?"

He kept his silence. You could see the tears in his eyes that refused to spill. Those tears were just as stubborn as he was.

"Answer me!" You screamed, tears pouring down your exasperated face. "Say something!"

"Because I'm married!" He screeched back.

That shut you up. You leaned back and just stared at your feet. You felt like you had been winded, like all the air in the car had been sucked out, and you were choking on carbon monoxide. He was married. You sobbed as the shock set in, and Cillian pulled the car over to the side of the road, unbuckling his seatbelt. You fell into a state of despair; your chest felt incredibly heavy, and your brain played a loop of hopeless thoughts.

"Y/N," Cillian said firmly, reaching out and placing a soft hand on your shoulder, which you quickly smacked away. "Y/N... look at me..."

You looked over at him, and you could see him wince at the look on your face. He'd never seen you in so much pain. Never had he seen you look at him so coldly. "What?" You spat. "What is it, Cillian?"

"I... I'm sorry."

"Fuck you," You cried harder, covering your face with your hands and leaning on the dashboard. You cried so hard it felt like you could vomit. You felt like the salty tears were slowly dissolving you away. "Fuck you!" You sobbed.

"Y/N... I am sorry."

"If you were sorry..." You hiccuped, looking back at him with red eyes and tears endlessly slipping down your flustered face. "You never would have... you never would have done this to me... you never would have gotten involved with me!"

Cillian sighed and shook his head, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "I... I stumbled into that cafe one night, and I saw you and... I heard the way you spoke... and the words you said... and I couldn't believe you were real... and things haven't been amazing in my marriage lately... and I haven't seen my wife in months..." He was rationalizing with you... with the infidelity. "I... I've never met anyone like you."

"You lied to me."

"How was I supposed to tell you I was married, Y/N?" Cillian snapped at you, looking at you with fangs barred. "What was I supposed to say to you?"

"You didn't have to say anything," You sobbed. "You shouldn't have invited me to dinner... you shouldn't have even... you shouldn't have ever shown up to those reading sessions... you just shouldn't have gotten involved with me in the first place!"

"My wife doesn't have to know."

"That... doesn't make it any better," You bawled. "You have a woman... back in Ireland fucking waiting for you, and I'm here... thinking I'm falling in love with you while you fuck me over!"

"I'm sorry..." He whispered, defeated. "I'm so sorry."

Silence.

"Do you feel anything for me?" "Of course, I feel something for you, Y/N... you're-"

"Do you love me?" You corrected. "Could you say you truly and honestly love me?" "I..." He looked away at that. You scoffed and shook your head, wiping tears off your face. "I don't... I don't know... I just..." "What the fuck was going to happen between us?" You cried. "How was this going to end? This was always going to end tragically... wasn't it? Wasn't it, Cillian?"

"I didn't... I never thought about how I was going to end things... I go back home in December... filming ends in two weeks... I was going to spend the last few weeks with you..." You scoffed again loudly. "Aww... how sweet! Spend your last few days with your mistress, who's twenty years younger than you... and then fuck off back to Ireland and go be with your loving wife and your... oh god... you have kids, don't you?" "Yes... I..." "Fuck!" You screamed. It wasn't like you to be so angry. You weren't usually this loud. But the pain was just too much, and you needed some way to get the pent-up rage within you out. "So this is it... this is going to be the last time I'll ever see you."

"It doesn't have to be that way, love," Cillian whispered, placing a hand on your arm; this time, you let it stay there. The shame of having him touch you made you sob again. "We could... spend this last month together... we could... cherish what we have while we still have it." "What we have is gone," You replied. "It's gone! It's dead! You killed it! You can't even say you love me."

"What good would that do?" He pushed you further over the edge. "I mean... I could lie and say I love you... I could feed into your fantasies that this... this could last... but it's not..."

Those words 'I could lie and say I love you' echoed over and over again in your head.

"I know that!" You yelped.

There was a pause. The silence hanging heavy in the autumn air and your teardrops falling into your lap where your hands lay curled up. Cillian's thumb rubbed circles into your arm, and you only cried harder.

"Maybe... if we had been closer in age... maybe we would have... maybe we would have been fine." Cillian broke the silence with that banger. The words ringing in your ears, you didn't reply. You didn't utter a word. Those words made you want to die. A minute or two went past. You just ignored him, ignored the way his hand lit your skin on fire, and ignored the way his eyes bore holes into the side of your skull. "Y/N?"

"Take me home." You muttered.

"Y/N..." He whispered.

"Take me the fuck home, Cillian."

And so he did. He pulled out of the parking spot, and you spent the next hour in an agonizing silence. At some point, the tears stopped falling, and the stupidity sunk in. You felt stupid and ashamed. You had told everyone about him, how happy you were, how handsome and funny... and how sweet he was. And now you sat in the car of a man you felt like you didn't know.

"We're here, Y/N."

"Goodbye, Cillian."

"Please don't do this." He begged, you looked at him, and he had tears in his eyes. "Please." You sucked in a breath, his eyes pleaded with you, and you wanted to stay so badly... you wanted to give him one last kiss and say, 'I understand,' but you knew you couldn't. You were too heartbroken. It was going to end one way or another... and it might as well end now.

"Goodbye, Cillian." You said once more before stepping out of the car and walking off into your building. Never looking back to see the broken man in the car, crying just as hard as you did, loving you just as hard as you did him.

Three months went by. There wasn't a day where you didn't think of him. Not a day passed when you yearned for his touch and to feel him hold you again. You thought about dancing with him in the refrigerator light. You thought about his hand on your thigh as you drove upstate. The memories all too real and... all too there.

And tonight, as snow fell outside, you stood at that same podium, reading the poem you wrote for him. You could barely utter the words, your heart catching in your throat as you looked around the room and spoke the words written on the page.

"Just between us, I remember it all too well." You finished, and the room clapped, but the applause didn't matter. Your heart still felt just as broken as it did the day you left him.

And as you descended from the podium, people would pat you on the back and murmur praises for how well-written your poem was and how well-spoken you were. But your eyes were focused on the hazy figure outside the cafe, the silhouette all too familiar.

And it was wearing that same red scarf you had left behind.

And you knew it was him, watching you from afar. Loving you from a distance... remembering it the same way as you did...

All too well.

hope you enjoyed!! Sorry this was all over the place a bit but I really wanted to write something angsty... anyway... there are lots of little easter eggs and references to the song, did you pick them all up? Okay byeee!

#cillian murphy #cillian murphy smut #cillian murphy x reader #cillian x reader #cillian x fem!reader #cillian murphy fanfic #thomas shelby #tommy shelby #peaky blinders imagine #peaky blinders

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hey-august · 3 months ago

Note

Buggy thinking reader insert likes Shanks more is for ever and always gonna be one of my favorite things because the angst potential, the comfort potential… delicious.

But also like… ultimate comedy because depending on the dynamic you see him and Shanks having it can also be like: Shanks. Obnoxious wingman.

Buggy fretting over you being in love with Shanks, while not only you aren’t, but also Shanks doing his best combination of „I know all of this guys dumbest moments because we grew up together“ and „WHOOOO!!! BUGGY!!“

He wouldn’t even need to sell you on Buggy but he’s constantly just hyping him up to you anyways, Buggy is so funny. Buggy can juggle with daggers! Shanks is a hot mess in the fashion department, yes, hahah, yeah he knows, if you want to talk to someone who can tell colors apart you should go to BUGGY, now BUGGY is a stylish guy, you need to know your shit to make clown fashion look good.

…. Also speaking of clowns, one time when they were eleven Buggy got stung by a bee on his nose and it took away like fifty percent of his vision because it swelled so- „CAN IT, YOU BASTARD!“

Buggy not only being so blind he mistakes your advances as being intended for Shanks, but also not even realizing Shanks is just constantly trying to get you two closer as well.

aaaAAAHHH Anon, I love the idea of Shanks trying to be Buggy's hype man, and doing that plus more. C'mon, they're not embarrassing stories, they're funny! Endearing! Here, have a 550 word stream of consciousness about this trio's dynamic:

Both men can easily be the center of attention. But maybe Buggy's circle is intimidating. Maybe not. Maybe you're nervous about approaching him just yet.

Grab a drink, chat it up with the easy to talk to guy at the bar, get invested in some childhood story he's telling a crowd, a story full of adventure and danger. Plus some goofy antics that only two best friends could get into.

And when Shanks calls out to the so-called friend for confirmation about a particular detail (what happened first - the swarm of bees that blocked out the sun or falling into that pulsating mud pit ), it's the guy you've had your eye on all night.

And Shanks - the schmoozer, the sweet talker - is too quick to pick up on that subtle shift in your expression. Wide eyed not because of the fantastic story he's telling, but for a different reason. So you two keep chatting, and the circle of conversation shrinks until it's you two and stories about Buggy.

Finally, eventually, why did it take so long, Buggy makes his way over and Shanks introduces you two. Aaaand nothing. Buggy looks you over and scoffs. Shanks can go hook up with whoever and do whatever the fuck he wants - Buggy doesn't need a consolation prize.

That was...rude. It would have been absolutely crushing if it wasn't for Shanks clapping a hand on Buggy's shoulder and shaking sense into him. Chiding him for being so blind - how did Buggy not notice that you have been undressing him all night from across the bar? Or how you'd whip your head around and pretend to be looking anywhere but at the clown when his attention drifted anywhere near you.

It's obvious Buggy isn't going to believe any of that, so you decide to jump in. And, you know, word vomit every thought in your head.

"He's right, I think you're cute and I want to buy you a drink and he said you like hot dogs so we can go get a bite to eat, my treat, if you don't mind, I hope you don't mind, we've been talking about you because I wanted to get to you more because I...think you're cute." You might have blacked out while talking because you hardly remembered what came out of your mouth. It wasn't until the end that you realized both men were silent and staring at you.

Shanks laughed first. Of course he did. Buggy didn't. He turned red. Redder than the nose on his face. You thought it was the nicest shade of vermillion, but wow could it get brighter when this guy had emotions.

You two were talking about him? What did Shanks say?!

Only good things, really! That he's talented with knives. That he's clever with chemicals and science. Oh and one time he accidentally blew off his eyebrows. And that Buggy has the best jokes. In fact, there's one particular joke about a mermaid, a pirate, and a sandwich that no one can tell like Buggy.

And there's the light. The sparkle. The opportunity. All the pieces have been played.

Shanks drowns the rest of his drink while Buggy leans in to tell you the joke. That joke. What you didn't know is it's rather raunchy. Downright filthy. And exactly what you and Buggy needed to start a fun night getting to know each other.

#buggy x reader #buggy the clown x reader #red haired shanks #buggy the clown #buggy x you #x reader #buggy op #opla buggy #one piece buggy #hey-august buggy headcanons

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loversj0y · 1 year ago

Text

three drunk nights.

wilbur soot x gn! reader

TWs: lots of drinking and alcohol, alcohol is used as a coping mechanism (dont do this), slightly suggestive content, vomiting, jokes about vomiting, lots of pining, drunk kisses n drunk confessions

word count: 8.8k (specifically 8888 words)

note: MAR IS FINALLY POSTING WHO CHEERREEDDDDDD this fic was a tiny idea that i discussed a bit with a friend and then it just absolutely spiraled into this. this is also probably the most suggestive thing i will ever write (it's not that suggestive, i am just anxious so i actually had to ask someone if one of the lines was too suggestive so-) anyway. hope you enjoy! big thank you to everyone who chatted with me about this fic and helped me brainrot over this concept so i could actually stay motivated

taglist: @l0veb0mb1ng / @corequeen / @zooone / @melunnek / @shubblelive

When you moved to Brighton, you knew you would have to find a roommate. Rent was expensive, and your salary wouldn’t be nearly enough to live alone. You didn’t expect your roommate to end up being Wilbur Soot. You didn’t know who he was when you met him, he just seemed like a kind guy looking for a new roommate. You were a bit wary at first, when you’d only communicated over texts after seeing ads in a coffee shop, but after meeting him, you felt okay to move in. He was a genuinely nice guy, and not only did he make you feel safe, the two of you ended up getting pretty close quite quickly. It helped that he was funny and kind and had the most gorgeous eyes you’d ever seen.

You couldn’t deny just how attractive you found your roommate. Even when you first met him, you thought he was quite fit, but you made an agreement with yourself that you wouldn’t catch feelings. You needed a place to live more than another ruined relationship under your belt.

Your heart didn’t quite agree. Within the first three weeks of living together, you’d become entranced by him, a crush that took over your body and soul. Every time you looked at him, it brought a grin across your face, and every time he looked at you, it had a wine flush rising to your cheeks.

Regardless, you wouldn’t act on it. As overwhelming as it was, you couldn’t risk it. Wilbur is always home, so it makes it kind of hard to escape him, but at least when he’d stream, you could have time alone without having to worry about acting like a fool.

Today was like that. When you got home from work, you could faintly hear the sound of Wilbur talking and yelling in his room, and you smiled at the sound. You changed out of your uniform foremost, grabbing some headphones as you walked into the kitchen. You used the headphones to play music, not wanting to risk disturbing Wilbur. Instead, you started making some dinner. Just something simple and easy, and you made a portion for Wilbur too. Even if he’d already eaten, you could at least save it for lunch tomorrow. You finally had a day off, and you were so incredibly excited to do nothing except lay in bed for hours. The cooking was calming too, allowing you to unwind from a stressful day. And speaking of unwinding from a stressful day, you grabbed a wine glass and poured yourself a quick glass, humming along to the song playing in your headphones. You drank and cooked at the same time, until your pasta was done, and you started preparing yourself a plate. You prepared a plate for Wilbur as well, setting it in the microwave to stay warm. You grabbed your glass of wine first, and as you went to reach for your plate, you yelped and jumped as you felt a hand on your shoulder, splashing wine across your shirt.

You pulled your headphones off, turning quickly to see Wilbur, chuckling softly.

“Sorry, I called out, didn’t realise you didn’t hear me over the headphones.” He smiled softly, then frowned when he saw your shirt, “Sorry. Didn’t mean to make you jump.”

You shook your head softly, “It’s alright. Didn’t realise you were done already,” you hummed, grabbing a napkin even though you knew your shirt would need a lot more than just that. “I made you some pasta too. It’s in the microwave, I didn’t want it to get cold.”

He smiled fondly, humming, “Thanks.” He reached for his plate, and you walked to your room to change quickly. “Did work go well?” He called out as he sat down on the couch.

“Eh, it was fine,” you called back to him. “How was your stream?” You asked, walking back into the room to pour yourself another glass of wine before eating.

“It went well. Just did some Geoguessr.”

You nodded, sitting next to him on the couch as you began eating. You grabbed the remote, tossing it to him.

He chuckled and took it, putting on some random YouTube videos for you to watch while you ate. Most of the meal was silent, occasional quips in between videos being the most spoken until you finished your food. You washed your plate quickly, knowing you’d be annoyed if you left it for tomorrow. Wilbur did the same after, humming as he looked around the cupboards.

“You’re off tomorrow right?”

You nodded, “Yeah, why?”

“You want a drink?” He hummed, grabbing a bottle of vodka from the cupboard. You thought about it. It’d been a while since you drank anything, and it’s not like you had any obligations tomorrow anyway, so…

“Sure,” you hummed, “Just use a mixer. You are not getting me to drink anything straight ever again.”

He rolled his eyes, “That was one time.”

“One time that resulted in me throwing up in a parking lot,” you remind him. He chuckles, starting to pour the drinks, “And now you have a very fun night out story to tell people.”

You chuckled, rolling your eyes, “Yes, and I’d like to keep the number of those stories at one.”

He hummed a bit, shrugging as he handed you a drink, “We’ll see. Cheers.” You tapped your glass against his, taking a quick sip.

“Wow, for once? It actually tastes drinkable.”

He snorted and rolled his eyes, “I know what I’m doing.” He grinned, and you followed him over to the couch, sitting down next to him.

As the drinks flowed, so did words and stories from both your lips as you sat next to each other, the TV having been forgotten in respect to the far more interesting view in front of you. Wilbur’s cheeks were dusted in pink from the alcohol, and you were almost certain that yours matched. Though it wasn’t just the alcohol in your case.

“Have you ever really been in love?” He’d asked a few minutes ago, and it brought on a whole conversation about past love.

It’s not like your case was tragic. It just wasn’t exactly the most loving either.

“Honestly? My ex was the most boring person you’d ever meet. Even now, it’s been almost two years since he and I were together, right?” You chuckled softly, “I couldn’t tell you a single thing about his personality. He wasn’t even interested in anything. And it’s not like he was mean or anything, the relationship was fine, but he barely even kissed me. Like if it’s been about two years since before we broke up, it’s probably been like two and a half since I’ve last been kissed.” You laughed, finding amusement in it, as morbid as that seemed.

“Really?” He asked, “Even when me and my ex broke up, we’d still at least been kissing by that point. Granted, that was only a few months ago, but still.”

“I’m serious, it was,” you hummed, “it was something to say the least. Truthfully, I question if maybe I’m just a shit kisser or something. Sometimes I wonder if I’d even remember how to kiss someone at this point.”

He tilted his head a bit, “Hm, I doubt you’d be a bad kisser. Have you ever- like- practised with someone? So they can tell you?”

You snorted, almost choking on your drink, “God, no, I, never,” your cheeks flamed as you shook your head. “Never was really close enough to anyone to do that, I guess.”

He was silent for a quick moment, “Would you?”

The bright blush on your cheeks didn’t falter as you spoke, “I’m not sure, uhm, it depends on who it is and-”

“Me.” He hummed, a grin on his face. “If you wanted to practise, and I offered, would you?”

This was incredibly dangerous territory for your brain. The logical part of you probably would’ve ended the conversation, switching topics onto something you felt that you could discuss safely without your heart trying to overtake it. But honestly, before you could even consider the consequences, the alcohol had knocked down the filter in your brain, leading to your easy response of, “Yeah.”

That brought a slight blush to Wilbur’s cheeks, and god, you didn’t even have the words to describe how gorgeous he looked right now with his tousled hair, loose striped shirt giving you a peek at his collarbone, and the alluring pink that covered his cheeks. He set his drink down, though the glass was empty anyway, and he shifted a bit closer to you.

“Do you want to practise? I can give you a thorough review.” Despite his big words, his blushing was just as bad as yours.

You should say no. This is probably a bad idea. It’s a terrible fucking idea. It’s a bad idea.

“Yeah.”

Wilbur didn’t hesitate, his hand wrapping around your neck and pulling you in for a kiss. It was soft for about half a second. Then it was passionate, your arms wrapping around his neck and gasping into the kiss. One hand moved down to your lower back, holding you close as the kiss deepened. After a moment, he pulls away, panting.

“You’re definitely not a bad kisser.”

He doesn’t even give you a chance to respond, pulling you in for another heavy kiss, warmth radiating through you. You knew nothing would escalate past this, but you didn’t even want it to. The way he kissed you had you reeling, gasping into his mouth as he held you close. You ran a hand up, tugging at the ends of his hair and making him groan against your lips. The sound was melodic, and you wanted nothing more than to hear it again. God, you knew it was wrong. You were so fucking in love with this man, and you were both drunk, and he was just doing this as a bit of a favor. But fuck, you were going to allow yourself to indulge this once. This was probably going to be the only time you ever got to kiss him, and you knew tomorrow the both of you would pretend this never happened.

Your prediction was correct. The next day, when you finally rose from bed with a brain-splitting headache, Wilbur was standing in the kitchen. Neither of you brought up the kiss and things went on, business as usual. You didn’t regret the kiss, per se. However, it definitely made your heart heavier whenever you saw Wilbur. The kiss was something you’d never recover from, but you had to try.

You devised a plan. Maybe you just needed to meet someone new. Someone to get your mind off Wilbur. And what better place to find a person who will most definitely be a mistake than a pub. While you were planning to go alone, Wilbur had seen you getting ready and asked where you were going. You could’ve lied. Call you weak, but when he looked at you with those soft eyes and gentle grin, you just couldn’t.

“The pub,” you answered simply, “Do I look alright?”

He took a moment to look over your outfit and nodded, “Yeah, looks good. I’ll get dressed, and I could join too? If- if you want, I mean-” he stuttered a bit, not wanting to impose.

You should’ve said no. But you were just so weak to him, “Yeah, sure. That’s fine. You can invite whoever too.”

He nodded, “I’ll see if Toms and his girlfriend want to join, yeah?”

You nodded again, humming softly. He walked to his room, presumably to change, and you fucking prayed that Tommy and Molly would be joining. You didn’t think you’d be able to go an entire evening of drinking alone with Wilbur without making some sort of mistake. You pulled on a coat, grabbing a sip of water before you left, trying to prevent another morning of groaning in pain and shut curtains. Wilbur walked back out from his room, and you mentally cursed yourself for just how good he looked. His black button up that he left just slightly unbuttoned at the top had your mind reeling, and you quickly shifted your eyes away. Tonight was not the night for thoughts like those; you were trying to get over him.

“Tommy said they’ll meet us there, sound good?” He asked as he grabbed his wallet.

Thank god. “Yeah, that’s fine.”

He held the door open for you to walk out, and you paused to let him lock the door to your flat.

“Any reason you wanted to go out tonight?”

“Not really,” you hummed, walking side by side with him. “Just felt the urge to get out of the house, I guess.”

He nodded, “Oh, yeah, I suppose neither of us really get out that much.”

“You get out less than I do. I’m shocked you even go into the sun anymore, you vampire.”

He laughed, head tilting back with a grin, “I’m not that pale. And I don’t bite, I just look like I do.”

The bump on your lip last week begged to differ.

“You do look like you would. What’s the opposite of an ankle biter? Because you’re too tall for that. Maybe a scalp biter.”

He snorted, “Careful, tease me too much and maybe I’ll stoop to that level.”

God. You knew it was meant as an innocent joke, but fuck, you were too sober for this.

You gave a half-hearted chuckle, “Right, mmhm. Not my fault you’re just that tall.”

He rolled his eyes, placing his arm onto your head, “You’re just mad you need help grabbing things off the top shelves.”

“Listen, they just shouldn’t make things unreasonably tall. You are an outlier here.” You moved your head from under his arm, huffing.

“Mmhm, console yourself however you please.”

The walk felt pretty short between all of your shared joking, and you had to continuously remind yourself that you were trying to get over him, not fall further in love. When you two arrived, you were thankful that Tommy and Molly were already there, at least allowing you to have some semblance of a mental break from his stupid, gorgeous face and mind. You shared a quick hello, sitting across from Molly, and taking a moment to look around and scope out the place. You were focused on trying to see if there was anyone that interested you when Wilbur nudged your arm.

“I’m going to grab a drink, you want anything?”

You hummed, nodding, “Rum and coke. A double.”

He raised an eyebrow, then chuckled, “Alright. Sure.”

He walked to the bar, and you let out a soft sigh. You felt bad being so relieved that he walked away, but there was a certain level of stress associated with being around him and hiding your feelings. You met knowing eyes from Molly, and you huffed, looking away.

“Soo, how’ve you been?” She asked, and you could sense the undertones there.

“Fine. Hoping to find someone tonight. You know how it is.”

Molly nodded, understanding flashing in her eyes. Tommy was none-the-wiser to the secret conversation you and Molly had, speaking up, “Oh, yes, I definitely know how it is. Ah, young love, young love. Sometimes, you know, young love is right under our noses.” He poked at his nose, pushing it up to accentuate his point.

You nodded slowly, “Right. Well. It’s been long enough, I think. About time to get back out there.”

Tommy seemed hesitant to this, “I doubt people here will be the best pick.”

“Probably not, but it’s pretty good practise, right? Flirting with strangers?”

“Sure. I mean, I flirted with so many women to be ready to flirt with Molly.”

You snorted, “Sure, Tommy. How many women did you flirt with, then?”

“Tommy?” Wilbur spoke up, having returned with your drink and his own, “None. Tommy doesn’t know how to flirt.”

Tommy gasped, “I do know how to flirt! You don’t! I have given you so many tips, Wilbur, and which one of us is in a relationship? Not you!”

Wilbur was laughing, rolling his eyes in response to Tommy’s annoyed griping, “Sure, Tommy. And how many times have you tried to get Phil and Kristin to divorce?”

Tommy went to respond, but he was stumped by Wilbur nonetheless.

Drinks and stories had been shared, you and Wilbur both feeling the familiar warmth of drunkness coming over you. It’d been almost two hours, and you still hadn’t even spoken to a single new person. You knew you’d lose your chance soon, and thankfully, you had a convenient way to slip away from the table.

“I’m going to use the bathroom and grab another drink, any of you want one?”

Molly and Tommy turned you down, but Wilbur was quick to ask for another drink with a grin that made your knees weak. You nodded, heading straight for the bar. You didn’t actually need to use the bathroom; you simply wanted an excuse to be gone for a bit longer.

You walked to the bar, standing there alone for a moment, both to get used to the drunken perspective and to scope out any prospective flirts. It didn’t take long.

The man next to you was tall (not as tall as Wilbur), with slightly wavy brown hair (not as soft looking as Wilbur’s), and hazel eyes (not as gorgeous and deep as Wilbur’s). The important part about him was the look he gave you; not quite undressing you with his eyes, but not innocent either. A haunting middle ground for you to discover what would likely become a mistake.

“Well, hey there,” he grinned, turning his body towards you, “You look like you could use a drink.”

You ignored the fact that you knew you looked and felt plastered already, letting a giggle pass from your lips, “And so what if I do?”

He smirked, turning to the bartender and ordering for you. A vodka cranberry. The drink seemed to reflect the man as well; basic and not the best choice, but at least a consistent one. You could always trust a man to be consistent in his ways, at least.

He handed the drink to you, and you took it with a smile, taking a sip, “Well, why thank you.” You chuckled, causing a laugh to bubble slightly from him.

“So, what’s a pretty person like you doing alone in a bar like this?”

You weren’t alone, and you were the exact reason men like this went to a pub like this. You held your tongue, “Looking for something new, I suppose.”

“Oh? A lost soul, then,” he grinned, taking a sip from his pint, “I can respect that. I think all of us are lost in some way.”

Jesus fucking Christ. “Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah. I think the society we live in makes us feel lost. Always searching for something new. You know, I read this article-“ you tuned the rest of his sentence out, watching his lips move and nodding in key occasionally.

“That’s really interesting,” you hummed after he finished, “So, what are you doing here then?”

He chuckled, and you could feel a weird response coming on, “Anything. Seeing where the wind takes me. Finding some action, maybe, if that’s what’s decided for me tonight.”

You wanted to rip your hair out. “And if that is what the universe has decided for you?”

He smirked, and it did nothing for you, unlike the butterflies in your chest when Wilbur did the same. He brought a hand to your hip, “Well, guess it’s just my lucky day, then. If the universe presents me with an opportunity, who am I to turn it down?”

“You big on fate then?”

“Sure,” he nodded, “I find that fate is one of the most interesting things in life. The way it brings people into our lives. It’s fascinating.”

You drank about half of your drink before responding. “Yeah, it is. It defines things in your life before you even have a chance to know them.” You didn’t even believe that. You hated the idea that your life could be predetermined and decided by some other force and leave you no opportunity to change anything.

“God, yeah, it’s amazing,” he spoke, his hand wrapping a bit closer to you, “I’m not sure anyone’s told you, but you’re really smart. Smart and pretty.”

Wilbur had told you that. Probably a million times now, calling you a genius simply for being able to reset your wifi router. But you didn’t want to think about Wilbur now.

You allowed the alcoholic flush on your cheeks to be mistaken for a blush, smiling with faux-shyness, “Wow, thank you.”

“Yeah, you know, a lot of guys don’t see the beauty of a beautiful mind, but I think it’s the best quality, to not be an airhead like most people here are.”

You wanted to slam your head against the wall. Instead, someone slammed into you from behind, pushing you forward into the guy’s arms. Your hand came up to rest on his arm, craning your head up to look at him, resisting the urge to glare at the person behind you. At least from this angle, you could pretend the man you were speaking to was cuter than he actually was.

He chuckled, holding you up against him, sighing, “God, some people really are dicks.” One hand came to your chin, and you hummed.

“Yeah, at least you’re not.” You smiled softly. You had to at least act like you weren’t in love with someone else for this to hopefully work. You let your hand raise further up to his shoulder, eventually resting in the cusp between his shoulder and neck. You leaned in a bit closer, ready to spur some flirtatious line about how his lips taste when you were being yanked away.

You stumbled, only gaining footing when you were pulled outside, coming face-to-face with a pissed Wilbur.

“Will? What the fuck is your problem?”

“Oh, my problem?” Wilbur chuckled bitterly. His words were slurred slightly, not unlike yours. He pinched his eyebrows together, scoffing softly, “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

You gave him an incredulous look, arms crossing, “I was talking to someone, Wilbur, is that a fucking problem?”

“Oh, sure, you can call it talking all you want. You were throwing yourself at him.”

Your jaw dropped. “You’re fucking kidding me, right? You’re- you’re pissed because I was flirting with someone?”

“That wasn’t flirting, you were about to fucking make out with him! You don’t know him, I’m trying to look out for you!”

“Wilbur, you’re acting like I was begging him to fuck me or some shit, I was just flirting! He seemed like a nice guy, God forbid I try to actually find a relationship for once!” You felt insane having to defend flirting with a stranger to a man you not only loved, but just a few weeks ago spent hours making out on your couch. You tried not to think on it much.

“You cannot possibly think that was safe! You have no clue if he’s actually a nice guy!”

“Oh, I have no clue if he was a nice guy?”

“Yeah, you, he could’ve been a total prick, and you were basically crawling into his lap, begging him to kiss you!”

“For fuck’s sake, Wilbur, don’t act all high and fucking mighty about this, need I remind you, you’re the only who made out with me!”

“Yeah, and I’m not the one going off and throwing myself across the lap of the first person to buy me a drink!”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” You scoffed. You were aware of people staring at the two of you. You were outside and weren’t exactly quiet, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. “If that’s what you think about me, I may as well just go back in there and make out with him right there! At least then I’ll be matching whatever fucking description of me you have in your mind.”

“You know what? Fine! Knock yourself out! Serves me right for trying to keep my best friend safe, just don’t come crawling back to me when he breaks your heart or leaves you drunk and stranded!”

You groaned in annoyance, watching as he walked away, leaving you in front of the bar.

“Fuck you, dickhead!” You yelled after him, and he didn’t respond, just kept walking.

You panted, yelling out in frustration into the cool night. You kicked the brick of the wall, whimpering in pain afterwards. You turned and sat on the ground, leaning your back against the wall as you just breathed.

You focused on breathing until you could focus on the lights around you, signs illuminated by fluorescent street lamps. You willed away the tears that blurred the words. The argument was sobering, to say the least, every aspect of a hangover hitting you all at once now that you sat against the cool brick. Fuck. You felt miserable, both from the sobering feeling and the fact that your best friend and roommate currently seemed to fucking hate you. And the worst part is you didn’t even get why! Like, yes, you were being reckless, you can attest to that, but you’ve been reckless before. He’s been reckless with you. With your heart. You can’t blame him for that; he had no way of knowing how horribly in love with him you were.

The worst part was that it didn’t even work. Flirting with a stranger only brought you greater reminders of how in love with Wilbur you were. Fighting with Wilbur only made you worry that you’d never get over him. You should hate him right now. He said horrible fucking things; he was a prick, an asshole, a dickhead. There weren’t enough swears to properly convey just how mean he’d been. In the morning, you’d give him more sympathy for being drunk and not having enough of a filter to process what he was saying. But in this moment, you gave him no sympathy, and you still felt like you would tear your heart out and hand it to him if he asked.

Everything sucked. You were cold, shaking from anger, exhausted, and just downright fucking sad. Usually when you were upset like this, you’d just go to Wilbur for some cheering up, but you’d be damned before you faced him again tonight. Which left you two options. Either staying out until Wilbur was hopefully asleep or asking Tommy if you could crash at his. Knowing Wilbur, he wouldn’t be asleep until three or four at the most.

You didn’t want to go back inside. Didn’t want to face the stranger you’d flirted with, have to entertain another conversation that would lead nowhere. You would just wait. You’d sit here and close your eyes and just wait until Tommy and Molly came out.

“-y? Y/N?” You felt yourself being shaken slightly, eyes opening blearily.

Tommy was crouched in front of you, one hand on your arm.

“Oh, shit,” you groaned, rubbing your eyes softly. It was still dark, and you could still see the same couple Wilbur passed at the end of the corner when he’d left, so it couldn’t have been much later. “Must’ve drifted off, I guess.”

Tommy frowned, looking around. “Have you just been alone out here? Where’d Wilbur go?”

“We got into a fight,” you sighed, running a hand down your face, “Uh, would it be possible to crash on your couch tonight? I’d rather not face Wilbur again tonight.”

“Yeah, yeah, that’s fine,” he frowns softly, “Do you want to head there now, or do you need us to sit with you for a moment?”

You shake your head and sigh, “I’d rather head there now.” You stood up slowly, Molly coming to help you up as well.

“Was it a bad fight then? He said he was just going to check on you,” she asked softly, Tommy starting to lead the way back to his apartment.

“It was… rough. Think he hates me,” you admitted in a soft voice, and she frowned, rubbing your back gently.

“I’m sure he doesn’t. Wilbur’s just a little bitch,” Tommy sighed, and you could hear a mixture of disappointment and fondness in his voice.

You didn’t respond, and the topic dropped.

When you woke up in the morning, it was with the groan of a headache and a sore back. Tommy’s couch wasn’t uncomfortable per se, but it was bad enough to have you holding your back as you slowly sat up. The sunlight streaming in through the blinds made you wish that you had sunglasses, or some form of lightswitch to just shut the sun off. You grabbed your phone, sighing as you unlocked it. There were probably a hundred texts just from Wilbur, along with a few missed calls from the morning. As you scrolled and started reading the texts, another call came through. You huffed, setting your phone down and letting the call ring out.

“It’s been doing that all morning,” Molly hummed, emerging from the kitchen. She set a mug in front of you, and you took it thankfully.

“And here I was hoping to forget last night,” you chuckled bitterly.

She sighed, “He won’t let that happen. He feels like shit. He was on call with Tom for like an hour. Probably just got off, if anything.”

“Did he tell him I was here?”

“No,” she chuckled, “I wouldn’t let him. Figured you’d be too hungover to actually be able to handle that.”

“Thank you,” you sighed, running a hand through your hair, “You wouldn’t happen to have painkillers, do you?”

She nodded, standing and coming back with a small bottle in her hand. You took it from her gratefully, taking two and setting the bottle back on the table.

Tommy walked out, smiling a bit, “Well, I finally got Wilbur to calm down a bit. He knows your safe, but he’ll probably keep texting you until he heads to his office.”

You nodded, opening your phone and turning on Do Not Disturb, “Do you know when he’ll get to the office?”

Tommy shook his head, “Not sure. He won’t stream until later for sure, if he does, but I know he had editing to deal with and some band stuff.”

“Isn’t that stuff he could do from home?” “Possibly? Can’t say for sure.”

You nodded, sighing softly. You wanted to go home, take a shower and eat the pint of ice cream you had in the back of the freezer. “Is there anyway you can get him out of the apartment so I can sneak back in?”

Tommy frowned, “That bad?”

“I just don’t think I can do it today. I can talk to him tomorrow, but today is too much.”

Tommy nodded, “I can text him, see if he wants to get coffee or something?”

“Please, if you can.”

Tommy grabbed his phone, calling Wilbur.

“Hey, Will, any updates?” He asked, giving an overexaggerated wink to you and Molly. Molly stifled a laugh, and you gave a bit of a smile. You couldn’t quite make out what Wilbur was saying, but Tommy was responding a moment later.

“Well, I’m sure they’ll respond soon. They’re probably still asleep, mate. You might need a distraction.”

A chuckle, and a nervous glance towards you and Molly.

“Yeah, no, I just mean like, we could grab coffee or something. A little pick me up since you’re all upset.”

Tommy listened closely for a moment then seemed to relax, giving you a thumbs up. You relaxed and stood, letting him finish the conversation while you went to splash some water on your face. God, you looked fucking rough. You ran your hands through your hair to try and fix it up a bit, though there wasn’t much of a success there. You used cool water to try and lessen the bloat of your cheeks, sighing when you didn’t have much of progress there either.

You sighed, walking back out of the bathroom. Tommy was stood up, pulling his shoes on.

“Molly and I are going to head there, and we’ll text you whenever he’s there. My spare is under the mat, so just lock the door and put the key back once you’re done, alright?”

You nodded, “Thanks again, Tommy.”

He nodded, “it’s no problem. Try and talk to him when you can, alright? He’s genuinely upset over whatever happened.” “I will.”

You did not end up talking to Wilbur. Not that day nor the day after. Every time you thought about it, you just felt sick to your stomach. You snuck in the apartment with Tommy’s help, using the time he was out of the apartment to grab some food to keep in your room, and then you just used your room like a shelter. You heard Wilbur come back. You knew that he knew you got home: your shoes were left by the door and your keys hung up on the rack. But he didn’t try to say anything.

Until the day after. He was usually asleep when you left for work, and you assumed the same was true that day. After you came back from work, you snuck past his room, moving quickly to your own in case he heard. An hour after, you heard him knocking on your door, quietly asking if you were there.

You didn’t answer.

The next two days were a complete repeat. Sneaking out, avoiding him when you got back, ignoring him when he tried to talk. You don’t even know why you were so against talking to him. You wanted to fix it; you couldn’t stand living like this, and you wanted your best friend back. It hurt, though, because every time you thought about him, you thought about the fight. He was a bit drunk, and he always was a bit loose-lipped when drunk, but you couldn’t wrap your mind around why. Why he said those things, why he cared so much about some harmless flirting. You know he didn’t actually think you were someone who slept around or something, but it hurt nonetheless. You were banging your head against a wall trying to understand why he said those things, and it had you grasping at straws, questioning if you two were as close as you thought. You honestly just didn’t know what to think.

You needed to get out of the apartment. You felt a knot in your throat at the idea of going there. So you didn’t.

After work, you just went to the pub. It was the same one from that night, but you just sat at the bar and drank a bit, trying to get your mind off… everything. Your head was swirling with thoughts about the fight, about how much you love Wilbur, about how much you thought he hated you. You didn’t keep track of how much you were drinking. You didn’t feel it at first either. Not until you could barely keep your head up, words slurred as you closed your tab. You stood up, stumbling over your own feet and falling directly into a familiar friend.

“Y/N?” Tommy asked, holding your arms to steady you.

You smiled, blinking a bit as your eyes focused on him, “‘ey, Toms, w’as up?”

His face was full of concern. You found it funny, giggling to yourself as he spoke, “Are you alright?”

You gave him a thumbs up, giggling out, “Mmhm, I’m fuckin’ fantastic.”

“You are fucked, mate, where’s Wilbur?”

You pouted a bit, “He’s at home, like a loser. Di’n’t wanna be invitin’ him for our first conversation since- yeah.”

Tommy’s eyes widened a bit, and he sighed, ruffling a hand through his hair, “Alright, stay here. I’m gonna tell my mates something, and then I’ll be right back, okay? Have you drank water?”

You shook your head, and he nodded again, walking up to the bar where you’d just been and ordering a water.

“Wait for the water for me, and I’ll be right back, okay?”

You nodded, and he walked away quickly. You turned back towards the bar, waiting patiently, oh so patiently, for the water Tommy had ordered. You could understand why he seemed concerned, but it didn’t really cut through the haze in your mind. You were fine. You couldn’t see straight or stand straight, but you were fine. Everything was so, so perfectly fine. The bartender gave you the water, and you took it, holding it carefully for Tommy. He’s such a nice person, he deserved nice things. When he came back, he took your arm, guiding you outside.

“Here, take a seat,” he helped you sit down against the wall, pulling his phone out.

“I got your water,” you hummed, holding up the glass.

He chuckled softly, “it’s for you, drink it. I need to make a call.”

You nodded, taking a sip. He stayed stood up as he made a call, words hushed just enough so you couldn’t hear them. Not that you were really able to focus on it much anyway. Your head felt light, but your body felt heavy. Everytime you touched your skin, it felt like it wasn’t your own hands touching you, every nerve felt separated from yourself. Most of all, you were tired. You wanted to sleep. Your head hung forward, and you let your eyes slip closed for a few minutes, just to rest them.

You weren’t allowed to for long. Tommy gently shook your arm. It felt like a sick parallel of just a few nights ago.

“Hey, don’t fall asleep on me, alright? I’ll get you home soon.”

You groaned softly but nodded nonetheless.

He sighed, crouching in front of you, “make sure you drink that water alright? Not too fast though.”

You gave him a thumbs up, this one weaker than before. You took another sip of the water, rubbing your face a bit.

“Did you tell anyone that you were even coming here?”

“Nope,” you hummed, popping the ‘p’. “Too- too sad.”

“Too sad?” He frowned, “Is this because the whole Wilbur thing?”

You nodded, and you couldn’t fight the slight tears brimming your eyes, “I just… I don’t get why. I-” you choked on a weak sob, head falling forward again as you quietly admitted, “I love him. So, so much, Tommy.”

You could hear Tommy let out a hiss of air, almost a gasp, gently placing a hand on your shoulder, “I really think you need to talk to him. It won’t be an excuse, but I think you’ll understand it.”

“I want to, I-I’m just scared.”

“What are you scared of?”

“I’m scared that forgiving him means accepting how in love with him I am, because I know it’s hopeless. I’m scared of forgiving him and signing away my heart to someone who- who just won’t love me back,” you felt less coherent than you spoke, the drunkenness letting out slurred words you’d never let pass your lips otherwise.

Tommy frowned, pulling you into a hug as you sniffled.

“I just-” you sobbed quietly, “I feel so stupid.”

“You’re not stupid,” Tommy spoke, rubbing your back gently, “It is scary to love someone, but it’s not a bad thing. I really think you should just talk to him, I think-”

“Tommy?”

Your heart dropped in your chest slightly upon hearing Wilbur’s voice. Tommy let go of you, standing back up to head over to Wilbur. You took the time to wipe the small tears on your face, brushing off your temporary bout of sadness. Tommy spoke to Wilbur for a moment, and you fought the urge to hang your head again. Quite poorly you fought that urge, letting your head lull slightly, the exhaustion coming in full force. You heard feet shuffling, and you could see Wilbur’s usual Docs in front of you. He crouched down, one hand gently coming onto your cheek.

“Hey, darling,” he spoke in a hushed tone, similar to how one would speak to a wounded animal, “are you feeling alright?”

You hated that you leaned into his touch, even in you didn’t have much control over your body right now. “‘M fine,” you hummed out.

He frowned, clearly not believing that, “Let’s get you home, alright?”

As much as you wanted to fight going back to the apartment with him, nothing seemed better right now than lying in your bed rather than on the cold ground. You nodded, and he carefully helped you up. You immediately stumbled, but he was quick to hold you against his side.

“I got you, it’s alright,” he hummed, pulling you into his side. He gave Tommy a bit of a wave, humming out a thank you to him, before he started walking you both home.

The ground was swaying – or were you swaying – underneath you, and you groaned softly, leaning into his side.

“I know, I know,” he hummed softly, “if you need me to carry you, just let me know, okay?”

You snorted. “I’m fine, Wilbur,” you spoke with a slur, dragging out the word ‘fine’.

It made him giggle a bit, and honestly, fuck him for letting out such a beautiful sound, “I know you are. You’re just a bit silly right now, hm?”

“I’m always silly, actually, you’re just a lil bitch.”

He laughed, holding you closer, “I know I am, trust me. I very much am a ‘lil bitch’.”

You hummed, nodding, “Glad you know it.” You couldn’t stop the words that came out next, “you’re my lil bitch.”

If you’d been looking at his face, you probably would’ve caught the slight flush that covered his cheeks.

“Yeah,” he hummed, “I am.”

You gave an affirmative nod, leaning your head on his shoulder slightly as you looked up at the world.

“Wilbur.”

“Yes?”

“The lights are moving.”

He snorted softly, “What do you mean, darling?”

“The streetlights are moving.”

He hummed, nodding and stopping walking. “Did that fix it?”

You glared at the streetlamps, trying to determine if they were pretending to be still, “A little, but I think they’re lying about it.”

He started walking again, chuckling, “Oh, they are?”

“Yeah,” you hummed, “Government conspiracy, innit?”

He laughed, nodding thoughtfully, “Yeah, must be. Don’t look at them too much, alright?”

“Why? Scared they’ll start running after us?”

“No,” he laughed, “Just don’t need you throwing up on the street.”

“I’ll throw up wherever I please, actually.”

“Oh, do you need to?” He asked, concerned suddenly.

“No,” you huffed, “I have a gut of steel.”

“We both know that’s not true,” He noted, relieved once again.

“How dare you, actually, that is so rude. I’m going to throw up on your shoes as protest.”

“I’d very much prefer you didn’t.” “Mm. Don’t care. You’ve shamed me,” you giggled, “The shoes will pay for it.”

He chuckled, “I sincerely apologize, darling. Will that save the shoes?”

“Hmmm,” you pretended to think. “Well, darling,” you mocked, “that will save them, but only for now. They’re on thin ice.”

He grinned, walking up to the front of your apartment building and pulling out his keys, “You ready to walk up the stairs?”

You groaned, “Why did we get an apartment on the third floor? This is a curse.”

“You got this. I can always carry you.”

“I can do it, the stairs are just evil.”

“They are evil, but you can conquer them,” he smiled, holding you tighter as he helped you manuver the stairs.

“This sucks,” you groaned, trying to focus on your steps and nearly failing each time.

“We’re about half way, love. You still feeling alright? Wanna stop for a moment?”

“If I stop,” you paused, “I will not continue.”

He chuckled, “Alright, good to know.”

You both continued walking up, slower than usual to make up for the fact that you could barely see straight. He helped you every step of the way, taking his time to make sure you’d be alright, which you were thankful for given the amount of times you were tripping over your feet. You finally made it up to the door, fighting the urge to just lean against it as Wilbur unlocked the door. All the movement was making you feel a bit off and even more tired before. Wilbur guided you to through the door to your room.

He carefully sat you down on your bed, “Stay here, I’ll grab some water, alright?”

You nodded, eagerly sitting on your bed. You relaxed on the bed, pulling your phone and wallet out of your pocket and setting them on your nightstand. Wilbur walked back in, setting the glass of water and a pack of painkillers on your nightstand. He grabbed the wastebin, setting it next to the bed.

“Feeling any better?” He asked softly.

You nodded, but you paused, actually taking a moment to focus on how you actual felt. Your throat felt slightly closed, and your mouth was salivating. And your stomach felt rough. Oh fuck. You leaned over, spilling the contents of your stomach into the waistbin. Wilbur rushed over to clear your hair out of your face, gently rubbing your back as you threw up. You panted softly, gripping the edge of the bed. You cursed softly, wiping at your mouth.

Wilbur stood, bringing you the water. You drank it thankfully while he walked out for a moment.

He came back in with a big hoodie and a pair of shorts, and you looked down and noticed the vomit on your shirt and pants. You felt exhausted. You groaned softly, slowly getting up and taking the clothes thankfully, walking to the bathroom to change quickly. You only noticed it was his clothing after you already got dressed, and you did not feel like changing again either. You shuffled out, walking back to the bed. Wilbur was sat, waiting for you. You sat next to him, lying down with your head next to his lap. You wanted to rest your head on his lap, craving the comfort he brings you, but you felt wary to do so. Regardless, he brought a hand down, gently playing with your hair.

“I know we should talk about this more in the morning, but…” he sighed softly, “I really am sorry for what I said the other night. I just- I wasn’t thinking, and I was just drunk and upset. These are all just… excuses, but I… I really am sorry.”

“I know,” you murmured softly, “I knew it was just you being drunk, but… I just didn’t understand why and I was scared you hated me.” You spoke quietly, moving your head onto his thigh, solely so you could hide your face against his chest.

He shifted to move your head fully into his lap. “I could never hate you. I-I have a reason, but it doesn’t excuse what I did or said.”

“What’s the reason?”

He frowned, biting his lip and going silent for a moment, “I… can it wait until morning? I think I may only be able to say it once.” You felt the pit in your stomach drop, but you nodded nonetheless, burying your face further into his stomach.

“I’m sorry,” he continued, “that I brought you to this. Hiding and getting drunk and just… recklessness, I guess. I was really scared when Tommy called me.”

“I’s not your fault,” you sighed softly, “I just didn’t know what to do, I chose to do this. I could’ve just talked to you.”

“You could’ve, sure, but I was… a dick. I don’t blame you for being scared to talk to me. I said horrible stuff. I have no control over who you talk to or decide to flirt with, and it was entitled of me to even act like I do.”

You sighed, yawning quietly. You wrapped your arms around his torso gently, relaxing into him. You could feel the exhaustion taking over, eyelids heavy.

You spoke quietly, “I was only flirting,” you mumbled, “to try and get over you.”

He tensed, but you didn’t hear his next words, sleep taking you like you ached to take Wilbur’s hand.

In the morning, you were overwhelmed with a feeling of dread, created by a mixture of the hangover and the remembering. Shockingly, you weren’t alone. You thought once your words had processed to Wilbur, he’d have left you. Instead, you were pressed against his chest, cuddled into him. You could tell he was awake – could feel his hand gently carding through your hair – but for a moment, you just wanted to pretend. After whatever conversation was coming up, you didn’t know if you’d ever get to be wrapped up in his arms like this again. Not to mention, opening your eyes meant an imminent headache due to the daylight. So for a few minutes, you just tried to gain some comfort from this and ignore the growing dread.

But you couldn’t pretend forever.

“Darling?” Wilbur whispered, “Are you awake?”

You sighed, groaning lightly as you nodded, “yeah.”

“How are you feeling?”

You whined softly, chuckling a bit, “Like shit.”

He chuckled softly, “I have water and painkillers, you want them?”

You nodded, and he shifted up, grabbing them from the nightstand without pushing you out of his arms. You still had to eventually, sitting up to take the painkiller and drink some of the water. You opened your eyes, and you were thankful to find that the room wasn’t as bright as you had thought it would be. You saw Wilbur watching you with concern, one hand gently rubbing your back. You set the water down, sighing softly after.

He bit his lip before speaking, “Do you… want to talk now or when the painkiller has kicked in?”

The question you were dreading. Better to just rip the bandaid off. “Now.”

He nodded, shifting and gently taking your hand.

“Last night, you said… you were flirting to try and get over me. What did you mean by that?”

You gulped softly, closing your eyes to brace yourself for the potential rejection, “Wilbur, I… I’ve liked you for months now. And I thought I’d get over it, but it just- it just got stronger. I’m sorry if it makes you uncomfortable, and I understand if you want me to move out or something. But I wanted to at least try to flirt and see if I could get over you, and it just didn’t work. So, that’s- that’s why. I wanted to get over the crush I have on you.”

He didn’t respond for a while, and you kept your eyes closed, taking a shaky breath while you waited for him to respond.

“What if… I didn’t want you to get over it?”

Your eyes flew open, looking up at him quickly. He had a shy expression, a faint blush on his cheeks. “What do you mean by that?”

He sighed, squeezing your hand a bit tighter, “I got mad at you flirting because I was jealous. I’ve liked you for a really long time, but I didn’t want to say anything because I was scared to lose our friendship and my roommate. I asked to kiss you that night while we were drunk because I figured it’d be my only chance to ever get to kiss you. But if you’re telling me that isn’t true? Darling, I’d do anything just to feel your lips on mine again, let alone to get the chance to date you and make you happy.”

Oh. Oh.

You moved a hand up, gently cupping his cheek. He leaned into you, and you leaned forward, pulling him in for a gentle kiss. He let out a quiet gasp, kissing you back lovingly, his other hand coming to wrap around your back. The kiss was short lived, but only so he could pull away to speak, foreheads still pressed together.

“Darling, can I,” he paused, taking a quick breath, “Will you do me the honor of being mine?”

You chuckled softly, nodding, “It’d be the greatest gift I could ask for.”

He grinned, pulling you in for another kiss, this one stronger and… just.

You didn’t have the words to really describe it. It felt warm. Like daylight resting on your skin on a spring day. The warmth that felt like home. Like pulling clothes out the dryer and just holding them close for a moment. The warmth that came from laughter and telling stories in the middle of a summer night. It was golden.

When he pulled away, you two stayed close, panting lightly for a moment. When you finally separated fully, his arms were coming to wrap around you once more, hugging you tightly.

“And here I was thinking that I’d lose you when I confessed.”

You hummed softly, “I thought the same.”

He smiled, pressing a kiss to the top of your head, “Well you didn’t. And I didn’t lose you. Don’t worry, either, I’ll be taking you on a proper date once you’re feeling better. For now… cereal date?”

“Hm,” you thought, “Can it be a cereal date in bed?”

He chuckled, “Absolutely it can be, my love.”

#wilbur soot x reader #wilbur soot #mar writes #mcyt x reader #lovejoy #dsmp x reader #wilbur x reader #mcyt x you #wilbur soot x you #wilbur soot fanfiction #mcytumblr #mcyt wilbur

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dielgonacoffee · 5 months ago

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i must finished s1... i have So Many Thoughts

- why in the ever living FUCK did they decide that danny getting together with rachel AGAIN was a good idea huh...? despite that relationship with stan crumbling apart she was still MARRIED mind you!! why did we decide that danny engaging in infidelity was a good idea 😭 (i have a bad feeling about her. HORRIBLE!)

- wo fat... hes like a persistent cockroach that just wont die despite how well you exterminate the place

- kamekona has got to be my favorite recurring character. shaved ice vendor by day, informant, gambler, weapons hoarder, babysitter, etc. at night. also all around A Very Good Bro. hope he sticks around for the rest of the series.

- is it weird that i like sang min's character? LOL hes like a pesky little shit and i love him for it. also helped 5-0 catch the hpd mole! brownie points for u sir!

- steve is such a menace to society honestly. how is he not charged with multiple counts of property damage and endangering of civilians. that grenade in the pawn shop? really? i will personally start a gofundme for your therapy bill mr. super seal

- you would think that danny would be able to control steve's worst impulses but hes just as erratic and impulsive lmao its quiet broody chaotic good meets loud mouthed argumentative chaotic good. they are cut from the same cloth.

- CHIN HO KELLY YOU SELF SACRIFICIAL BASTARD i swear if i wasnt so in love with your voice i wouldve throttled you across the room. handing over the deed of your house to a bookie? really?! 💀

- anyway i also love how he always has a shotgun instead of the standard handgun that they all have. (but when he shot that guy aiming for his cousin?! sir u were directly behind him im pretty sure u just blew a fist sized hole through that mans body 😭)

- kono kalakaua my beloved my surfer girl the most competent rookie in the history of rookies she went from being fresh out of the academy to being part of hawaii's elite task force. DESERVED. but i do wanna see more stuff about her that isnt surfing. the amount of time she spent in this season in a bikini is ABSURD.

- the dressing down steve gave ms cia agent whats her name?? HOT. that was unfair, i never stood a chance.

anyway i probably have more thoughts but theyre lost somewhere in the gray matter highway and i cant cough up more for this word vomit. might add to this post or make a new one when they arrive to me 🤷‍♀️

#h50 #hawaii five 0 #hawaii five-0 #hawaii five o #mcdanno

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oh-sweet-mama · 5 months ago

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Soooo as I've been thinking; Imagine a Frankie Morales, (and the rest of the boys), in an outbreak!AU like I'm talking TLOU zombies. Soooo many thoughts.

(Sorry this is my favorite gif of Francisco!)

CW: zombie apocalypse canon violence <33, mild angst (longing for pre-outbreak), no descriptors other than "Beautiful", "gorgeous", and “stunning”

Like imagine him being all protective as you all backpack across the country following leads to a safe haven. (Sm like Jackson).

Imagine being forced to share a sleeping bag or a mattress, and y'all are secretly crushing on each other. He tries to keep himself at a distance, but he some how wakes up with you pressed against him, and that creates another issue within itself.

Santi and Benny constantly teasing him with looks and snickers as he wakes up to see them looking at the pair of you snuggled up with one another on a hot June night.

Imagine Frankie having to help you after you get injured from getting caught in a shootout at a rundown corner store. All gentle eyes, and calloused hands as he stitches you up.

Cooing that he "knows it hurts" and "It's going to be ok, baby. Only a couple more stitches". Followed with "You're doing so good, it's almost over".

As if he isn't the one dousing the wound with rubbing alcohol and poking your skin with a needle. You still look at him like he hung the stars and the moon, because you know that this is your Frankie helping you.

He gingerly takes you to bed, and pulls the shitty covers up your chin. Softly petting a hand over your forehead to brush stray hairs, and sweat. You look up at him, and Frankie smiles at you; partly in love, and partly in sadness.

Sadness that this is the reality now. That you got hurt trying to look for a can of green beans to feed the group.

But oh how he loves you. Way too overly protective, and didn't let you go into stores or run down buildings for the first 6 months of the outbreak. Barely lets you get close to having to pull your own firearm out, constantly keeping you tucked behind him, with his broad frame.

The feeling of usually having his hand wrapped around your upper arm. So he can pull you away from danger if needed.

The brown eyes that were once rarely hardened and mean, now only melt at the sight of you. Even when you inist that you feel gross; and haven't properly showered in a while. He doesn't care; he thinks the you're still the most beautiful person he's ever laid his eyes upon.

Even as you get rougher due to the outbreak, and backpacking through the haphazard land of was once a country. The scars that now adorn your face, and body. He thinks you're gorgeous. Abosloutely stunning.

Sometimes he wonders what it woud've been like if the two of you had gotten together before shit hit the fan. And that's when he lays there at night, with an ache in his heart, and an arm around you waist holding you close. He grieves the dream that he wanted to have a home with you. He'll imagine that the two of you are in a bed, in a safe room, with an overly spacious master bath. And his truck parked out front, and his only worry is when the next time is he'll mow the lawn. What's for dinner, and who's washing the dishes.

But Francisco Morales will take whatever your willing to give. He doesn't understand why you're still you even after all of this mess. Maybe it's the man that was in the army and saw days of combat that is currently out to play. But you still smile, and you still crack your stupid jokes. You steal his hat, and tease him about his dimple. And oh my- He's laughing in the middle of the goddamn apocalypse because of you. But he doesn't hate you for it; in fact, you're one of the last reasons he has to keep going.

AN: Did I just word vomit about Francisco Morales in the zombie apocalypse? yes! Did this possibly stem from the fact that I've been reading wayyy to much Joel Miller x Reader... possibly... Anyways, hope you guys enjoyed :)

#francisco morales #frankie morales x you #frankie morales fanfiction #frankie morales #triple frontier #francisco morales x reader #frankie morales x reader

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i-literally-cant-with-this · 5 months ago

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A/N ::: So, I was trying to work something out about Kafka's ass and the sparse amount of hair on it that he's self-conscious about but holy god, I couldn't do it. I started like 4 different things, all of which were not even close to what I was going for. So, here we are. With another idea I had about Florist!Kafka. I had this idea yesterday, I think. Thank goodness I can check this off of my to-do list. There are too many now. It's getting bad, guys. My feelings for this man are becoming an issue lol. Anyway. I about vomited when I finished this because the ending could not have been more perfect (for me?). I love it. I hope you guys like it too!

C/W ::: None. Just more smooshy lovey shit. Sorry not sorry. Maybe I'll carry on with this after the fact. Idk. Let me know if I should whip something up for later? Like after the initial thingy happens?

WC ::: 621 ish

Florist!Kafka has seen you walk past his little pop-up shop every day for the last 2 weeks and he feels like if he doesn't get to talk to you, he'll burst. He does what he can to get your attention and he'll smile at you. You smile back, politely, sure. But that's becoming not enough. He wants to talk to you. With you.

Florist!Kafka has had enough when he sees you making a run for it from one side of the street to the other when it's raining and he's sitting comfortable and dry under the large umbrella that covers his portable cart. He calls out, jogging toward you with an extra umbrella he has.

Florist!Kafka who trips over his own feet and goes flying through the air, knocking you over, too. You're both laying in the biggest puddle you've ever had the displeasure of encountering. Not only that, but he's lying on top of you, face to face. You can feel his breath fanning across the bridge of your nose.

Florist!Kafka who jumps up faster than he ever has gets right to work on helping you, making sure you're ok and that you didn't hit your head or anything like that. He apologizes profusely, offering you to come sit down at his cart to rest for a moment - to collect yourself, were his exact words.

Florist!Kafka who wanted nothing more than for you to take him up on the offer so he could spend more time with you. More importantly, so he could ease his mind and actually see you get some rest. You're always rushing off to one place or another and he wants to see you just "BE".

Florist!Kafka who is delighted beyond words when you agree to go sit with him for a moment, "to collect yourself," as he put it. You thought it was sweet how he was fussing over you. He wouldn't take no for an answer when he offered you a bottle of water. So, you took it, graciously. Thanking him for his kindness but reiterating that he doesn't have to go through this much trouble for you.

Florist!Kafka who disappears around the other side of his mobile stand for a couple of minutes and comes back with a single yellow rose with a bunch of black tulle floofed up around the stem and an unnecessary apology for you. He blames his uncharacteristically clumsy nature on how pretty you are - this isn't the first time you've made him slip up.

Florist!Kafka who blushes when he sees how happy his observation (and the rose) made you. He wants to ask you out so badly but he's not feeling the bravest right now - despite his ability to fight actual monsters when he's really "working". Love is a beast he has not conquered yet. Though he's reveling in the strength you give him just from being there. He could kill a thousand kaiju after a single kiss from you.

Florist!Kafka who hopes you are ok when he lets you leave him to go off and take a second shot at your day. He watches you all the way until you turn the corner at the end of the block and disappear. He smiles for the next 15 minutes straight because he got to be with you for a short amount of time. But still, he had some lingering thoughts.

Florist!Kafka who worries you won’t find the little note he put in the tulle.

Florist!Kafka whose lingering thoughts were all shattered when his phone alerted him to a new notification; a text. From you! He opened his phone, scrolling right away to read the message ...

"Meet me where I fell for you. Come hungry. - Y/n"

@kazutora-kurokawa @southside-otaku

@reiners-milkbiddies @darkstarlight82

@bakubunny @supersecretsaga @katkusuo

#kafka hibino #hibino kafka #kafka hibino fluff #kafka fluff #kaiju no. 8 #kaiju no 8 #kn8 #kn8 x reader #kafka hibino x you #kafka hibino x reader #kafka hibino x y/n #hibino kafka x you #hibino kafka x reader #hibino kafka x y/n #kn8 fluff #kafka kaiju 8 #kaiju 8 #you guyssssssss #i have it so bad for him you don't even understand

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fox-daddy · 9 months ago

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On a calm day, Portia is dared to stack an entire set of playing cards. With the help of Nadia, the cards dont stand a chance, but beautiful things are never meant to last long.

1,094 words (I'm going to put this as no ships it's just Nadia, Portia, and Kyle hanging out).

Kyle sat at the desk looking over the notes he had taken for his own stories. The original plan for the day had been to travel somewhere for an important meeting, then travel back for dinner. However, it had been cancled at the last minute due to an unforeseen incident. While it made him curious about what this incident was, he knew better than to openly snoop. Rather, it was easier to wait and hope Portia would dig up some gossip. With their day plan thrown out, it had left Nadia plenty of time to go through some boring paperwork nearby. As much as Kyle would love to offer to help her with it, he knew that it was best to let her do it and just remind her to take breaks. Especially since the last time he tried to help with the writing stuff, he had been half tempted to set fire to a particularly rude one about overpriced fish. Instead, writing stories would have to do. It wasn't just them feeling this slowed pace as Chandra sat near Nadia looking as elegant as always, then their was Kai, who was determined to destroy the feather Kyle was writing with. At least she had given up trying to swim in the ink. While Kyle would growl her, it was fun watching Kai fluff up and attack it whenever he so much as moved the feather slightly too fast.

Feeling Kai nip his fingers, he looked over at her only for her to start bobbing her head. "What's got you being a jerk?" Without waiting for an answer, he gently flipped Kai on her back so he could gently start play fighting her. This mainly consisted of pushing her around the table. When he went to slide her, that's when he noticed Portia at the end of the table with what looked like the beginning of a card tower. Feeling Kai gently nip his finger he knew she had the same thought as he gently slid her across the table causing her to go through the cards before falling off the table and quickly flying off with what could only be described as a laugh.

"Hey!, stacking cards is hard enough without having a bird thrown at it." Feeling Kai land on his shoulder with a soft thud, Kyle couldn't help chuckling.

"Sorry, Portia, but it was too tempting. Why are you stacking cards anyway?"

"I've finished my afternoon chorses early. Also, Bludmila was going on about how hard stacking cards, so I said I could stack an entire set. He didn't believe me and said if I could, he'd have to drink an entire cup of that 'volcanic mud' shot I gave you. If I can't, I have to drink it instead." While Kyle liked to believe he could handle spice, he knew he couldn't. It wasn't even the spice of the shot that had gotten to him but the taste. It tasted like a mix of mud, salt, unholy level of spice, and the after taste that made it neigh impossible to taste anything else but spice and mud. He had taken one shot and almost vomited it back up immediately, so the thought of drinking an entire cup left him shaking away the thought.

"You have to stack an entire set of playing cards?" Looking at the box, Kyle was glad he hadn't been a part of that bet.

"I can do it, I did it before once." Heading back to his spot, Kyle thought about helping but knew from past experiences stuff like that wasn't his strong suit. Using magic was one thing, but keeping his hands steady enough to stack something almost as thin as paper? As Kai wokld put it. Yeah, nah, that's not happening. As he went back to writing, he noticed Nadia looking over at Portia's attempt to stack the cards.

"If it's not against the rules of the dare, would you like some help stacking them, Portia?"

"Yes, please. Having an extra pair of hands would make this so much easier." Watching Nadia get up gracefully as ever Kyle smiled softly. It wasn't too hard to get back into the flow of writing stuff once he actually started the writing part. As seconds turned to minutes into hours. Every once in a while Kyle could hear them let out a small annoyed noise or soft complaint whenever any cards fell but as dinner started to approach eventually Kyle was snapped out of his thought when Portia suddenly shouted with triumph.

"FINNALY ALL THE CARDS ARS STACKED!" Without waiting, Portia was off probably to go grab Bludmila before they fell down by a rouge wind.

"That definitely took longer than I expected." Nadia seemed proud of it nether the less, but locking eyes a small but growing part of him felt the urge to throw something at the tower. As if realizing Kyle's thought, Nadia slightly sharpened her gaze at him a simple unspoken 'don't'. Before Kyle could reply, Portia was back with Bludmila.

"Told you I could do it. You never said I couldn't have some help." Portia seemed to tease.

"In my defense, I've only heard of one... two times it's been done. Not looking forward to that drink."

"You should know better than to bet what you can't afford to lose." Hearing Nadia and Poetia bantering with Bludmila Kyle looked back at his writing, deciding it was probably time to start getting ready for dinner. As he was packing up, he suddenly heard Portia shout Pepi's name, looking up in time to see Portia scoop the cat out of midair. "Naughty kitty, firstly you know you're not allowed on the table, second you almost knocked over the cards." Pausing for a second, Kyle looked around for Kai as he realized what was about to happen before it did. As he looked back just in time to see the tower of cards, Nadia and Portia had spent hours stacking, come down in an explosive burst as a large chubby parrot crashed right into them Kai seemed to pay Nadia and Portia no attention, and she flapped her wings at the cards, falling down around her, letting everyone know it wasn't an accident.

"KAI, WHY DID YOU DO THAT!" Pepi jumped onto the table after Portia dropped her happily play, fighting with Kai, who sounded like she was laughing at them.

"At least it looked nice while it lasted." Kyle chuckled softly.

"All that matters is, Bludmila, saw it so I don't have to do the dare."

#vesuvia weekly #intrusive thoughts won #the arcana game #the arcana #the arcana mc #the arcana fan apprentice #nadia the arcana #portia the arcana #mc kyle

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5sosxqueen · 3 months ago

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Poor Health and Self Destruction

(Ashton Rewritten):

~Part 1~ , Part 2 >

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Warnings: This story contains graphic depictions of physical and mental illness, suicidal ideations/actions, self-induced vomiting/bulimia, anorexia, mentions of sex, and Asparagus. Please proceed with caution.

This storyline takes place in 2017. Enjoy!

Word Count: 10645

Also Availible on Wattpad and AO3!!!

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Luke's POV:

"Ashton, you're burning it!" Michael yelled as he rushed to the pan on the burner, scaring Ashton of his stupor. He lifted the ban off the burner, holding it up. "Well, it appears these hash browns are out of the question," he laughed, unknowingly making Ashton feel bad.

Ashton was making breakfast for everyone on the last day we were on the bus until our next show. "Oh… My bad, I completely spaced out there. Breakfast is ready," He let out a nervous chuckle and started to put food onto plates. He served everyone, saving himself for last and he went to hand me a plate, but I only waved him off. "Come on, Luke, you need to eat something," he sighed, his shoulders dropping.

"That burnt smell is making me sick. I'm not hungry, anyway," I explained. He shoved the plate closer towards me, like a parent trying to nudge me to eat as if I were a child not wanting to eat his vegetables. I looked at it grossed out. I glanced up at him. "No thanks," I protested with a little attitude, pushing it back to its original position.

"I'm sorry about the smell, Luke. Try to ignore it. Please, just eat Luke," he insisted. When the only response he got was a glare, he grabbed the fork, trying to force-feed me. I smacked his hand away, grabbed the plate in anger, and flung it across the room. The plate shattered once it came in contact with the wall. My outburst caused Michael and Calum to jump out of their skins.

"I said no! Fuck off," I slapped my hands against the counter and stormed off, laying down on my bunk. I curled into a fetal position with a small sigh. Large parts of me felt bad for my actions and outbursts, but I couldn't help it. I was just so angry all the time.

A while later, Ashton walked back in. Keeping his distance, he asked, "Could you please eat something? I'm worried about you," He was speaking calmly, to likely avoid another outburst from me. I huffed and sat up, figuring I'd had enough time to cool off. I agreed reluctantly and followed him back into the kitchenette. Michael and Calum got up from their spots as I walked back into the room. They were avoiding me, avoiding my gaze.

Ashton set another smaller plate in front of me, and out of instinct, I pushed it away again. I wasn't interested in the food in the slightest.

"Luke, you haven't been eating! You are severely underweight! Eat, please…" he begged, sounding close to tears. I could see the utter disappointment and worry on his face. He pinched the bridge of his nose and brought his hand to rub the back of his neck, clearly getting more than impatient with me. I wanted to cry. I hated making people feel that way. Begrudgingly, I reached for the plate to eat the grease-ridden food in front of me. I thanked him shyly and started eating. I dreaded each bite. When I was done, I pushed my plate away and got up, heading straight to the bathroom.

I stared long and hard at the man staring back at me in the mirror. He was not me. He was skin and bones and despite Ashton's words, I knew I was way heavier than that man looking back at me. I looked down at my bulging stomach in disgust.

I let a tear slip, my mind being invaded by tons of dysphoric thoughts. I always hated my appearance. I wasn't eating in hopes to lose the colossal amount of fat I was drowning in. It did not matter what I did, it just didn't seem to be enough.

The food was sitting heavily in my stomach, despite only having eaten one-third of what was on my plate. I got onto my knees in front of the toilet, stopping for a moment to turn on the shower in hopes to block out the ensuing noise. I lifted the lid of the toilet and stared at the clear water below. I brought my hand to my mouth, sliding my fingers back to my uvula. I couldn't help but pull away when I initially gagged. I did this a couple of times, this time only letting myself remove my hand when I had something forcing its way up. I coughed up my breakfast and sniffled after.

I didn't feel much better. I blew out a sour breath, watching the now murky water ripple. I coughed hard enough to elicit another gag. I spit the residue of vomit left in my mouth and flushed the toilet, sending the evidence down the drain. I cringed at the sticky slime-like saliva that was coating my right hand and pushed the curtain aside to rinse it off.

I showered with my mind racing. I knew I needed to at least pretend while around the lads. I had to be okay for their sake.

Ashton's POV:

Luke was worrying me, Michael, and Calum. We had been watching helplessly as he went from a healthy weight and happy to severely malnourished and depressed. He had been fighting all of us, mainly me, when it came to eating. It had been a daily struggle since a month into the start of the tour. I was getting tired of it, tired of the worry and looming fear that he wasn't going to be around for much longer, as grim as that sounded.

I wasn't about to tell him, but he wasn't exactly quiet in the bus bathroom. I could tell Luke was making himself vomit up what I had given him. It wasn't like it was the first time. I sighed resignedly to myself. He was rapidly depriving himself of his precious life.

I was relieved when we were finally able to deboard the bus after a full ten days of travel. Getting to the hotel, Matt had told us that management decided to treat us to our own rooms. It was a rarity. We all were ecstatic to hear the news, especially since I had a migraine brewing for the past few days and medicine hadn't done much to elevate it. Luke's outburst earlier in the day hadn't exactly helped either. I wasn't sure if it was the stress from that whole fiasco or if I was actually getting sick.

I was given my key card and I half-assedly dragged my luggage up to my room. I was so drained by the time I reached the door. I slid the key in and opened it, letting myself in. I didn't even bother looking around before I toed off my shoes beside the door. All I wanted was to get to bed. I got settled in the room as quickly as I could and threw myself atop the bed, barely having the energy to crawl under the covers before my eyes closed of their own accord.

I groaned as I slowly woke from my uneasy slumber. My head felt like it was stuffed with cotton and my neck was sore to high heaven. Even in the darkness of my hotel room, the casted light of the moon was blinding. I grimaced as I rose to a sitting position. I wanted to know what time it was, but I was too terrified to look. I already felt like I had daggers being pressed into my eyeballs.

I made the decision to just do it. I tried to turn my neck over my shoulder and was met with a shockwave of pain radiating down from the base of my skull. I yelped, reaching my hand back to attempt to massage the pain away. I let out small whimpers as I turned my body to squint at the illuminated clock on the nightstand. It was only three-twenty in the morning.

I squeezed my eyes shut, quickly shielding them from the offending light. The pain instantly ebbed; I let out a long sigh, feeling my body relax some. I knew I needed to try the medicine again. I had some with me, but it was across the room in my travel bag. I threw the blanket aside, abandoning the warmth, in favor of feeling better.

As I moved, I felt like a foreigner in my own body. I was shaking harshly by the time my feet touched the floor. I held my trembling hands in front of my face for a moment, rapidly concluding that it wasn't just my neck that was achy, everything was. Just the simple act of lifting my arms hurt immensely.

I buried my face in the palms of my sweaty hands, contemplating calling Matt; something about this was all wrong. I knew that, yet ultimately decided against it, seeing as how the sun wasn't even dawning yet. I dropped my hands into my lap, trying to get my body to move.

I straightened as much as I could, a couple of cracks emanating from the top of my back. I bit back another groan when my stomach swirled under my fingers. I sat there for a while, once again tossing the idea of calling Matt or one of the guys, but I didn't want to burden them with a simple flu.

I sighed and stood to shuffle across the room. My surroundings tilted and spun around me, eliciting me to stumble and I was forced to gulp down the warmth rising in my chest. I prayed I wasn't about to hurl all over the carpet under my feet. I ceased all movement, taking a deep breath.

When I finally felt okay enough to move, I continued. It took longer than I would have cared to admit to get to the table my bag was set upon. By the time I was there, I was panting from exertion. I fell limply into the chair beside it as I rummaged through to find the medicine.

It wasn't much. All I had brought was a bottle of ibuprofen and Pepto Bismol. I uncapped both bottles and took a swing of the foul pink liquid, almost dropping the practically full bottle at the taste. I gagged, trying to swallow it. The taste was awful, sure, but the consistency of the medicine was what nearly made me lose my stomach. My throat worked in overdrive to rid itself of the slime that coated it. It took a moment, but I managed to regain my composure enough to close the bottle and take the pills.

I looked over at the bed. There was no way I'd be getting back over there, dejectedly laying my head in the crook of one of my arms, utterly exhausted.

Calum's POV:

"Where in the actual fuck is he?" Luke cursed, checking his phone for the hundredth time in ten minutes. I shrugged, not knowing what to say. I was getting worried. Ashton was never late. It was totally unlike him.

Michael sighed, pushing himself away from the wall. "I'm going to try to give him a ring again. I think he may have fallen back to sleep," I agreed with him.

"I say, if he doesn't answer, we should head up and check on him," I suggested. Luke glared at me, causing me to shrink a little. I was only concerned for Ash's wellbeing… Nothing big…

"Well, I'm not going. It's not up to me to make sure he's up and ready on time," Luke griped. Michael growled.

"God, Luke, shut the fuck up already! He would do the same for you," Michael snapped, waiting for his phone to ring. The hotel had terrible reception. He ducked his head down once his phone started to ring. Nothing. Michael sighed. "Could we all check on him? I'm getting worried," I nodded and both of us looked to Luke for an answer. "Are you coming?" He finally asked.

"No. Like I said before, I'm staying down here," I nodded slowly.

"Right, don't go complaining if we don't come down right away. I know he hasn't been feeling the greatest the past couple of days," Michael warned. Luke shrugged, nodding his head with his eyebrows raised, making me flashback to our teen years when our parents or teachers were being stern with us and we didn’t want to hear it. Seems like he hadn’t grown out of doing that.

We went up to Ashton's room. I knocked as a small warning for him but received no answer. I took the spare key card and swiped it. I slowly opened the door and peered into his room. Ashton was slumped over on the table. My heartbeat quickened. I walked briskly over to where he was sitting and shook him on the shoulder.

"Stop," he mumbled. I breathed out a sigh of relief. At least he was okay. He surveyed the room, eyeing Michael and me. "Can you find the bin and hand it to me, please?" He asked, closing his eyes with a shudder. He placed his hand on his stomach. I searched for a whole two seconds.

I bent down and snatched it. "Here. It was actually right behind you," I said, passing it to him. He placed it in his lap causing Michael and I to frown. He gagged and coughed almost instantly. He spit a tiny trickle of orangey-pink-tinted saliva into the bin. He spit once more before placing the bin back onto the ground at his feet.

He grunted harshly in an attempt to clear his throat and bore the palm of his hands into his eyes. "Can one of you guys p-please close those?" Ashton pointed over to the window. Michael went over assuming he meant the curtains and slid them closed. Ashton exhaled loudly once the darkness enveloped the room.

"So," Michael started, walking back to the table. He pulled up the other chair to sit in front of Ashton, being mindful of the bin. "Did you sleep here last night or something?" He asked Ashton.

Ashton lowered his hands and looked at him, still squinting at the minimal light still cascading in. "Something like that… I woke up in a massive amount of pain and came here to take meds. I guess I did fall asleep sometime after that," Ashton rolled his head, wincing slightly. "I'm paying for it though. My neck kills worse now," he whispered. He squeezed his eyes shut, his mouth forming a straight line. He shot forward with a sudden dry heave. One hand went to his knee for support, the other going to his head. Michael was quick to bring the bin up under his chin.

The next heave brought up more medicine and last night's dinner, which was barely recognizable at this point. I carefully massaged his neck. He seemed to lose a bit of tension compared to when I first started. He didn't bring up a whole lot so he finished vomiting relatively quickly.

"I don't know about you, Calum, but I feel like we should see if we could take him to the doctor. I'm not liking the amount of pain he's in," I nodded and went to make an appointment with the closest doctor's office. As luck would have it, the place I called had times available for the same day. I set up a time and briefed the other two. Ashton blearily nodded. It was just enough for me to notice.

Ashton wiped the sweat from his forehead and cleared his throat. "Um, what about the- the photoshoot? I can't miss," Ashton asked, reminding us of why we were awake at six in the morning in the first place. "Do you guys want me to call Matt to let him know what's going on?"

Michael shook his head. "You don't need to do anything. One of us can do it," Michael said. Holding onto Ashton's shoulder, seeing that he looked like he was about to fall forward.

"I need to do it. I doubt it would be as believable if I didn't do it," we both just looked at Ashton, unamused.

"Dude, it's not like you are trying to fake your way out of this one. You are really sick," I responded. He hummed and shrugged, mumbling an okay under his breath. "I'll go ahead and make the call. Can you stay with him? I'm going to head back down to Luke to let him know what's going on. Hopefully, we can get this shoot rescheduled," Mike nodded, eyeing Ashton intensely. He reached his hand out and placed it on top of Ashton's. Ashton's head was bobbing forward.

Michael's POV:

"Would you like to lie down?" I asked, causing him to lift his head and startle out of his dosing state. Ashton just stared ahead for a while. "Ashton?" I frowned, squeezing his hand slightly as worry grew. He turned to me slowly with a hum, staring straight through me. "Do you want to lie down?" I repeated. He nodded jerkily, his eyes darting around. He seemed so out of it. I felt bad for him.

I helped him up, thankful that I had a decent grip on him. His knees began to give out as soon as he was upright. "Have’ta piss," he admitted.

"Okay, let's turn and head to the bathroom, then," not a word more was exchanged between the two of us. I stayed with him while he did his business and led him back to bed once he was done. He fell onto the bed and halfway on top of the blanket, having to pull it out from under him in order to get it on him. His face was contorted. He looked like he was in absolute agony. There wasn’t anything, in my mind, that I could do to make him feel better. I just tucked him in even though it wasn’t going to solve a thing. His face softened and he was letting out congested snores before I had even gotten the covers over him. Maybe it solved something, at least temporarily.

I placed the bin beside him and sat across the room from him at the table. It wasn't long until Calum reentered, Luke tailing him. I shushed them, not wanting Ashton to wake.

"How is he? It reeks of barf in here," Luke commented, wrinkling his nose at the smell. I was just glad he kept it quiet.

"Well, yeah. He was in a lot of pain so he got sick," Luke looked down at his feet shyly, kicking an imaginary pebble around. "What did management say about the shoot, Cal?" I asked.

"They surprisingly didn't argue. They are allowing all of us to skip this one as it isn't a completely necessary one," I raised my eyebrows. That wasn't like them at all.

"Wow," I mused, earning a chuckle from the two. "What time did you say his appointment was?" I asked, glancing over at Ashton again when I heard a whimper come from his general direction. He was still asleep.

Calum took a seat on the edge of Ashton's bed, trying not to jostle him too much. Luke decided to sit in Ashton's old spot. "The appointment is at one so we've got around five hours to kill. What do you guys want to do?" I tried to think of something, but couldn't come up with anything. "Well, this hotel does have a small buffet downstairs. Maybe two of us could go,"

"That does sound like a good idea," I responded. Luke's stomach growled almost on cue at the mention of food, making Calum and I gaped over at him. Luke's eyes widened with embarrassment.

"Uh, yeah, great idea, Cal," Luke reiterated. He shot up and nudged my shoulder. "You and Cal can get food for me and Ashton," he damn near pushed the both of us out of the room.

When we were outside, we both sighed in synchronization. "He is not going to eat, is he?" I asked. Calum shook his head.

He started walking away. I rushed to catch up to him. "I'm fed up with how Luke has been acting," Calum said.

"Same here, but I don't think there is anything we can do, unfortunately," We made small talk the rest of the way, discussing what we would do about Ashton and Luke. Neither one of us had any clue. It was something we would just have to play by ear.

We ate and grabbed plates for the others. The plates consisted of small salads and scrambled eggs. It wasn't much, but it was light and we hoped that Luke would try to eat it too with no backlash. Due to the day before, we were still a little afraid of what he would do.

When we got back to the room, we heard sobbing. Luke was cuddling with Ash, brushing his hair with his fingers, trying to get him to calm down.

Luke's POV:

After the other two had left, I climbed into Ashton's bed. I had zoned out listening to the sound of Ashton's light snoring. He grumbled and suddenly whispered my name. "Yes, Ash?" I asked. He was staring at me with eyes half closed.

"Mhm… I m-" my eyebrows furrowed as I tried to make out what he was saying.

"What?" I moved closer to his face to hear him better.

"I miss you," I was thoroughly confused. I backed away from him slightly.

"I'm right here. What do you mean, 'you miss me'?"

"I miss the real you. You've been different for months. I just miss you," it seemed like he was rambling, but I couldn't help but feel guilty nonetheless. He hummed, his face contorted into a grimace as he tried to adjust himself. His body relaxed, but he tossed his head.

"You okay?" I was watching his skin turn a translucent shade of gray. When I received no answer, I pressed the back of my hand to his forehead to get a proper feel. I yanked my hand away in shock. "God, Ashton, you are boiling," I shot up. I was growing extremely worried.

"My stomach," he cried.

"What about your stomach? Does it hurt? What's wrong?" I questioned.

"Nauseous," he opened and closed his mouth multiple times, huffing.

"The bins right beside you," he groaned and opened his eyes. I wasn't sure what he was going to do next. He laid there for a couple more minutes, seemingly trying to ride out the nausea. We were both startled when he unexpectedly let out a loud gurgling dry heave. Well, it was almost dry. His back arched and he began to choke. He scrambled to get his face over the side of the bed and over the bin. Another retch assaulted his body, leaving him a trembling mess.

I sat there not entirely sure what to do. I never was the one taking care of someone who was sick. I decided to pat his back in hopes of comforting the sick man. He belched up a small stream of whatever was in his stomach. Even behind him, I could hear the crinkle of the bag. I felt disgusted and felt bad for feeling that way.

After a handful of dry heaves he laid back down bawling his hazel eyes out. Almost out of instinct, I reached down and started rubbing his chest and stomach.

That was when Calum and Michael came back into the room. They held not one, but two plates of food. I internally groaned, not wanting to eat whatever monstrosities the buffet had to offer. Upon seeing what the lads had put onto the plate, however, I sat up and actually decided it wasn't so bad. At least salad is healthy and I wouldn't feel the need to purge after the fact.

They handed Ashton and I the plates and I dug in. I was ravenous. I froze around mid way through. Ashton wasn't eating anything, which wasn't too surprising all considering. He was just pushing his food around on his plate. I continued to eat until the plate was gone and handed it over to Calum with thanks.

"I'm sorry, I can't eat this," Ashton sighed, placing the plate onto the nightstand beside him. Mike frowned but reached for it and handed it over to Calum. We all sat there praying for the hours to tick on by.

Ashton's POV:

When it finally came time to go to the doctor, I was dizzy and couldn't stand on my own. I was having trouble before, but it was impossible by that point. Getting to the car was a chore. It made me realize that I had always taken my ability to move for granted.

I came incredibly close to passing out right outside the office. As we were walking up, I grew weaker and my knees shook drastically. Someone swung the door open for us. The lads got me seated and Luke sat by me as the others checked me in. I leaned on his shoulder, feeling too dizzy and weak to keep myself upright. I ended up falling asleep to Mike, Cal, and Luke all conversing about me. They were fretting over the paperwork, filling out all the information that they knew. I was in a state where I could hear everything that was going on around me. I was aware of my insides churning, every ache in my body. I was so uncomfortable.

Now and then, I would let out a pitiful whimper as my symptoms worsened. That went on until I was gently shaken awake. I groaned, glancing around to see who had done it. It was Michael. He was in front of me holding the clipboard. "Sorry to wake you. I know you are tired, but we need your social," my eyes were closed again by the time he finished speaking. I felt his fingers rub up against my cheek. "Ash?" I didn't have the energy to answer. I heard Michael sigh as he stood.

The next thing I knew, I was in someone's arms as they carried me back into a room. The swaying made me feel like puking again. I heard them talking amongst themselves for a while after being laid on a hard cushioned exam table. I curled up, hugging my knees to my chest. I let out a sob.

All of the lads did what they could to keep me comfortable. Michael even gave me his hoodie to use as a pillow. Even though I was on steady ground I felt like I was rocking back and forth. It felt like I was on a ship that was caught in a storm while out at sea. "Oh, he's drooling," I heard one of them say, feeling something remarkably similar to a sweater paw, wipe the nausea-induced spit off my cheek soon after.

A knock sounded throughout the ten-by-ten-foot room, causing me to wince from the pain that the reverb caused. The doctor came in and tried 'waking me,' but I wasn't budging. I whined and grumbled something under my breath that not even I couldn't decipher. My fever driven mind was making my thoughts all muddled as delirium set in. The doctor resorted to talking to the lads as she examined me.

She turned me every which way. She prodded my stomach. My eyes finally shot open as I gagged, my mouth filling with the contents of my stomach. I pulled myself to lean over the side of the exam table with a strong heave. My stomach was overwrought, apparently deciding that it needed to rid itself of everything… I had to let everything spew out of me. It all hit the floor with a sickening splatter. It came in large gushes, the definition of projectile. The movement caused a shocking pain to radiate down the base of my neck into my back. I had to rest my chin on the edge of the table, being in way too much pain to properly hold my own head up. The doctor pulled open a drawer and grabbed a sickness bag. She brought it over to me and held it under my chin as the productivity was reduced to a string of non-stop dry heaves. My stomach got its wish. It was definitely empty, yet it didn't seem to get the memo. I was in tears again by the time I was finally done, the reason split three ways: over exertion, exhaustion, and pain.

I mumbled a quiet apology, wiping my mouth on my sleeve. I was left panting heavily. I leaned back again, the dizziness getting worse. "He needs to go to the hospital. I'm going to call an ambulance," I shook my head, but whether I wanted to or not, I was going. I had no say in the matter. I watched the blurred shape of the doctor leave the room, hot on her heels.

I felt a hand come to rest on mine and I held it as tight as I could muster. My eyes hovered toward the blonde tuft of hair beside me. I knew it was either Michael or Luke, but I couldn't distinguish between the two for the life of me. I coughed up some spittle and felt them wipe it away with a tissue. They held my hand again, this time holding my hand up pressed against their lips. I felt so tired. My eyes fell shut and my hand fell slack in the others' hold as I fully lost consciousness. My body had finally had enough.

When I woke up again, there was a shrill and annoying beeping coming from the right of me. Once again, I could somewhat make out bits and pieces of conversation.

"I thought he might have meningitis, but that doesn't seem to be the case. If he hasn't been complaining of a stiff neck, he hasn't gotten a rash anywhere, or any other symptom then that's not what he's got. I'm sorry. He's most likely just fainted due to being dehydrated from all the persistent vomiting," Someone said.

"But he's been passed out the entire time he's been here. How would you know that he doesn't have a stiff neck? You've also barely even checked him over for the rash that you so overtantly claim he does not have," Calum retorted. I felt a hand in mine and squeezed it slightly to let whoever it was know I was awake.

"Guys! He's awake," it was Michael. I cracked my eyes open, being blinded by the lights and white of the room. Once again, my eyes felt as if someone was taking a knife to them, and to make matters worse, the doctor Calum was arguing with came over and shined a minuscule flashlight into them. I yelped and swatted his hand away. The flashlight flew from his hand, clattering and effortlessly glided across the slick tile floor. I gripped the sheet of the hospital bed tightly, full-on crying. The overwhelming pain had escalated to unbearable.

There was frantic yelling, which did me no favors. I was writhing in the bed. I found myself choking on my own stomach acid again out of nowhere. I only had time to turn my head to the side before I was sick again.

Calum's POV:

After Ashton stopped vomiting, the doctor administered strong pain medicine and an antiemetic into Ashton's IV, but I made sure it was the last thing that doctor did to him. I no longer trusted him. I wanted a second opinion. I let the doctor know and he said he would tell someone to take the case over.

A new doctor came in an hour later. Poor Ash was still in tears. Michael and I were holding both his hands, squeezing the life out of ours, while Luke paced around the room, unable to stay still. The new doctor's name was Dr. Mukherjee, a beautiful Indian woman.

After greeting herself, she came to assess Ashton. She thoroughly looked him over, being as careful as she could as to not do any more harm to him. Still, Ashton whimpered and cried as she asked him to roll onto his side or move a certain way. Though, I had to admit, I was impressed with how gentle she was.

"Well, I don't see anything that would indicate anything serious. I think Dr. Falton was correct on the presumption of it just being a bad case of the flu. You can get severe migraines and pass out from dehydration," Ashton mumbled something and we all looked at him.

"Mh- It's- My head was hurting before I started throwing up," he explained when he realized no one heard him. Dr. Mukherjee nodded.

"Yes, well, have you been drinking enough water?" Ashton shrugged. His eyes were beginning to fall shut again. "I know it's been getting rather chilly out lately. It may mean you aren't feeling the need to drink as much water, but that doesn't mean your body doesn't need it," Ashton watched her with eyes half-lidded as she listened to his lungs, heart, and even stomach. "Yeah, I don't see anything that's a cause for concern. You just need more fluids and anti-nausea medication and rest. Im going to order a x-ray just to be sure and I would like to keep you here overnight to monitor you," she said, throwing her stethoscope back around her neck. Ashton gave the weakest of nods and cozied himself against the pillow, closing his eyes again, falling asleep almost instantly.

While Ashton slept, Michael, Luke, and I headed down to the cafeteria. It was just about to close, but they let us in, thankfully. Everyone was hungry and even Luke had decided to eat something. They were serving tacos, one of Luke's childhood favorites. It was something he couldn't pass up. We sat at a table, talking about Ashton, and just general chit-chat. Luke had opted out of the conversation sometime in, picking listlessly at his food, and neither of us paid him any mind. It wasn't unusual for him to do that, lately.

What had honed our attention back on the man, was the sudden movement of him leaving the table and running off. We watched as he crossed the hall into the bathroom. Michael just scoffed and shook his head, returning to his meal as if nothing happened, but I stood up. "You aren't serious, right? Are you really going to check on him? Knowing him, he's making himself vomit again," I scowled at him, but nodded, walking off without a word. Michael hadn't seen what I had seen due to the angle he was at, but I knew for a fact that Michael's presumption was wrong. It wasn't by force. Not this time. Luke gagged before he even made it to the door.

I retraced Luke's steps, nearly slipping right outside the bathroom door. I looked down with a pang of sadness and sympathy when I realized that he hadn't even made it to the bathroom before he was sick, albeit not a lot. I swung the door open, ready to call him, only to stop when I laid eyes on him. He was right in front of the door, panting over the rubbish bin. "Hey, what's going on?" I reached out to him and he instantly leaned into my touch.

"'M sorry. I just felt so nauseous all of a sudden. I don't think the food's agreeing with my stomach," I nodded. My worry deepened as he pitched forward bringing up another trickle of bile. I brushed his hair out of his face the best I could.

"Luke, answer me this, and please be honest with me. Did you make yourself vomit?" I was hesitant to ask him, but I needed to know for sure that this wasn't intentional.

Luke looked offended. "What? No, how could I? I barfed before I even made it in here. Why would you even ask that?," He raked his eyes over me as it dawned on him. "Dammit, you know… How long have you known?" I gave him a dejected look, my silence served as my answer. "Ah… I see," He turned his face back to the bin, his face pinching right before he was hit with another heave. He coughed and straightened back up some. "Do the others know?" I said nothing again, casting my gaze downward. Again, he got his answer.

"Would you mind if I went to talk to Mike about something?" He shook his head, nausea induced spit dripping from his lips. "Is there anything I can do for you before I go?"

"Yeah, could you bring me something to wipe off my hand and mouth with?" I nodded, walking over to the sinks to grab and wet some paper towels for him, grabbing extra to clean the small mess outside the bathroom. No one else needed to fall, or nearly fall, because of it. "Cal," I stopped when he grabbed onto my wrist. "As an answer to your question, you two can put your worries to rest. I wouldn't do something like that in public eye,"

Walking out of the bathroom, I took a moment to clean the spots in the hall, tossing the paper towels into a bin. "Mike, I seriously don't think he's doing it on purpose, this time," I explained, walking up to the table.

I froze, mildly freaking out. Michael was on a video call with Matt, which of course he overheard what I said. "Doing what on purpose?" He asked. Michael and I looked at each other briefly.

"Uh, Luke's been-" I stopped, biting my lip.

"What are you boys not telling me? What has he been doing?" He questioned again, wanting an immediate and truthful answer from one of us.

"He's been making himself… vomit," I spat, my shoulders dropping as guilt had just fallen on them now that I outed Luke to him

"What? You are telling me Luke's bulimic? Why am I just getting told this?" He berated us. He was absolutely fuming.

"Sorry, Matt. To be honest, I don't know why we didn't say, but there's more. He isn't just bulimic… he's also anorexic," Michael butted in, only serving to further agitate our manager. I felt absolutely terrible that we did this.

"I can't believe Luke's had, not one, but two eating disorders and you boys kept it from me… I need to know these things. How long has this been going on, exactly?" Matt inquired further.

"Since the beginning of the tour," Michael told him. I scratched the back of my head nervously, seeing Matt roll his eyes at our 'carelessness'. He hung up and I knew right then we would all be getting an earful later on. All, including Ashton. Michael and I winced hearing a grating retch sound from the bathroom again. "You sure this wasn't his intent?" I nodded and he sighed, taking our trays over to the bin by the exit. "I suppose we should go check on him, then?" I agreed.

Just as we were walking over, Luke emerged, looking outright uncomfortable and peaky. "We've only got another hour to see Ashton. Do you guys want to head back up?" He grated, his voice completely shredded from the stomach acid.

"Are you sure that's a good idea, Luke?" Michael inquired, raising an eyebrow, crossing his arms over his chest.

"The food's not agreeing with me. That's all this is. I'm fine to go see him, Michael," Michael nodded, still not entirely convinced, but let it slide, nonetheless. Luke's movements were slower than usual and as soon as we entered the room again, he stopped with a hand over his mouth. "I'm just gonna-" he pointed to the bathroom, unable to even finish his sentence. He booked it toward the toilet, retching loudly before he could get above it.

The loud sound caused Ashton to jolt awake. "Is that Luke?" We nodded and he frowned. "Lu, you alright?" He called out, causing Luke to laugh dryly.

"You are the one in the hospital, yet you're asking me if I'm alright?" For someone who was throwing up, he sounded very amused.

"Well, I'm not the one that's currently spewing, am I?"

"Touche," Luke recanted, further proving Ashton's point by barking out harsh dry heaves over the course of several minutes.

Michael had enough. He walked to the door, tapping against the frame harshly. "Alright, Luke, time to head back to the hotel. Come on," the toilet wasn't flushed, but I could hear Luke's knees pop as he rose from his crouch. "Did you even actually manage to get anything up?" They both came into view without a verbal response from Luke. I assumed the answer to Michael's question had been a no.

"Sorry, Ash. I really was going to try to stay," Ashton shook his head.

"It's almost time for you guys to leave, anyway. Though, I think one person can stay with me…" he turned to me. "Please?" I smiled gently at him.

It was settled. I stayed behind as the others went back. Ashton dozed off again soon after and when he woke again, he said if he needed to come back he wanted the same doctor, Dr. Mukherjee. I didn't think it was a good idea, but I didn't try to talk him out of it. He liked her. If he wanted her, then we would have to try to get her back on his file as his doctor, need be.

I tried to sleep while Ashton did. I was curled up on the recliner in the room beside him, listening to his soft snores. I placed a hand on my forehead, staring at the ceiling panels. A part of me couldn't shake the feeling that both doctors were wrong about his diagnosis. I sighed and curled onto my side. There wasn't anything I could do besides trust his doctor in the present moment and pray that she was right.

I had barely slept a wink. Dr. Mukherjee came in just as I had gotten to sleep, waking me from my light slumber with a knock. I groaned and rubbed my eyes. She walked in and woke Ashton up to check on him. "How are you feeling? Any better?" Ashton pulled the covers to his chin, shivering. He licked his chapped lips.

"Not good, but better, I guess," he answered eventually. His voice was shot from being so violently sick.

"Okay, well let's get you something to eat. If you can keep it down, you will get discharged," she explained. Ashton agreed and he was handed a menu. "Just use the phone there to call down to the cafeteria once you find something you'd like," she pointed over to the phone on his nightstand. He nodded, taking a look at the menu in his hands. "Go ahead and ring when you are done eating and I'll come back in to check on you and discharge you,"

"Thank you," Ashton said quietly. She left the room and Ashton turned to me. "I'm not hungry, honestly, not in the slightest," I frowned and sat forward, putting my elbows on my knees.

"You know you need to eat, Ash," he sighed.

"Yeah, I do," he picked up the menu again and eyed it wearily. "I guess I'll get a salad,"

"For breakfast?" I asked, raising an eyebrow at him. He glanced my way.

"Right… maybe just pancakes then. I need something light on my stomach," I nodded. He grabbed the phone and rang the cafeteria to let them know his order.

When the food came he didn't even want to open it. He finally did and instantly had a disgusted look on his face. He pushed it towards me. "Ashton… No, bud," his eyes watered.

"You have it, please. I'm not hungry. At all," I sighed.

"You need to eat. That was the one condition, Ash," Ashton just shook his head in response.

"I can't. I'm still feeling sick. I just want to leave. I need to do the concert tonight," I sighed again. I didn't want to take his food and trick his doctor, but in truth I was really hungry, and if he didn't want it-

"Fine, I'll have two and a half. You need to at least try eating half," he nodded with a watery smirk.

"Deal," he chuckled, pushing the plate closer to me. I grabbed one of them and tore it in half, handing him the other piece.

"Oh, Matt knows by the way,"

"About?" I mentally smacked myself. I had been having the whole conversation in my head instead of speaking aloud.

"Sorry. About Luke. He knows about his poor eating habits and what he's been doing after the fact. Though, this time surprisingly had nothing to do with that," Ashton nodded, finishing off his pancake. I wanted him to try some of the applesauce the cafeteria provided, but he shook his head, insisting he couldn't eat more, and I didn't try to force him.

Thankfully, Ashton managed to keep down the single half of a pancake and was discharged soon after.

Ashton's POV:

I kept blacking out from the moment I was discharged from the hospital. Most of the day sped by, missing from my memory. The worst episode was when I found myself on stage absolutely drenched in sweat under the heat of the stage lights. How I managed to get as far into the concert as I had in the state I was in, I'd never know. We were already a little over twelve songs in. I had no recollection of the entire concert and I was a fuckin' terrified. That must have been what being on autopilot felt like…

My vision doubled, but I persevered, just trying my damndest to finish the show. We only had two more songs left to play. I didn't want to disappoint the fans. Muscle memory was what powered me through the chorus of What I Like About You. It was a cover and I wasn't doing it any justice; my usual chaotic grace was gone. At some point in the song, I had just started to sporadically beat on the drums. My drumming was erratic and nonrhythmic. I barely made out my name being called by surrounding fans, sounding more than concerned.

Slowly, I heard the other instruments stop playing and the other's voices fizzled out. I leaned over to the mic and whispered that I was sorry and held a hand over my face. I let the drumsticks fall to the stage floor and gulped, feeling the nausea return despite the Zofran. I rested my head against one of the drums and stared down at the floor below. A hand came to rest on my shoulder, but I suddenly felt too ill to move. I swallowed compulsively, trying to down the excess saliva that was pooling under and around my tongue. I gagged shallowly.

The lights were being died down and some light music started to play. I wasn't sure if it was boys trying to distract the crowd or if someone in the sound booth was playing something over the speakers.

Calum murmured to me that my mic was muted to which I was thankful. Things went from bad to worse in a moment. Without thinking, I attempted to push myself away from the thousand dollar drum kit. The stool tipped and I landed flat on my back, knocking the wind out of me, Calum was hovering above me. I gasped for breath before rolling to the side to dry heave, letting spit fall to the ground. Footsteps ran over and Calum explained to them the situation. I was mortified. I knew that the fans were still eyeing me, seeing me at my lowest, some probably attempting to record me in the darkness.

There was a loud thud as the man fell to his knees beside me. He was talking to me but I could barely make anything out. I blinked, or so I thought. What I heard made my heart beat harder in my chest. "On-" One voice, then another, "He's having absence seizures,"

It happened again. In what felt like a blink, fifteen seconds came and went. I was so disoriented that I didn't even register the need to vomit. I was rolled onto my side.

My ears were ringing and my vision went. "C'n se-" I slurred. My body felt heavy as I fell into unconsciousness.

Once again, I was rushed to the hospital in an emergency vehicle. I bawled my eyes out the entire time. I sincerely felt that I let the world down. All those fans… they came to have a good time and I ruined it. I was violently sick for a couple of minutes, vomiting straight into a sickness bag that seemed to materialize in front of my face.

A twitch here and there escalated to a numb limb, a numb cheek. My head felt fuzzy. I was being pushed back onto the stretcher just as my eyes rolled into my skull. For a few more seconds, I could feel every muscle in my body constrict, my back arched and just like that, I was in the thralls of a full-fledged grand mal seizure.

Michael's POV:

"Ashton Irwin, he was brought in by ambulance. Where is he?" I asked immediately upon entering the emergency room doors, Calum, Luke, and Matt right behind me. I was running. I tried to skid to a stop but ended up slamming my midsection straight into the countertop of the reception desk. I gasped for breath, the wind knocked out of me from the impact.

"Mike!"

"Jesus! Sir, are you alright?" The receptionist jumped up and gripped my shoulder. I nodded and coughed with a tight grip around the impact site.

"Just- fine… please, just tell-tell me about my- brother," I repeated, my voice thick from pain. She nodded and sat back down.

"What was the name again?" I repeated his name and she typed it into the computer. "It says he only arrived ten minutes ago. There wouldn't be any information available right now,"

"There's got to be something," I protested, not wanting to believe the woman before me.

"I'm sorry, sir. Nothing has been put into the system. It's too soon for the doctor to have input anything. You said he came by ambulance, correct?" I nodded.

"Yeah, that's right,"

"Then I apologize, but they are more than likely still evaluating him. You guys would need to wait," I sighed and thanked her. I turned around and hung my head.

We all walked to the chairs in the waiting room and sat down. I was rubbing the spot just below my rib cage. "Mike, are you sure you are alright? You hit that counter pretty fuckin' hard," Luke questioned, leaning forward in his seat beside me to look me in the eyes. I glanced his way.

"Yeah," I mumbled, letting out an airy chuckle. "Just a bit sore is all," he hummed.

There was a long silence before he spoke up again. "Mmm- I hate hospitals," Luke swallowed hard. It was just then that I noticed that his clasped hands were shaking.

"Are-Are you alright?" He nodded, inhaling sharply, wrapping his arms around his stomach. It was almost as if he was trying to cower away from something. His stomach growled suddenly, loud enough to be heard over the telly we were under.

"Are you hungry?" Matt asked him, his tone mildly accusational. Luke's face turned cherry-tomato-red.

"Uh- n-no. I'm feeling a bit sick actually. Hospitals just make me nervous," he explained. I huffed, not knowing whether or not to buy into it. It's not like he was doing a very great job at hiding the fact that he hadn't been eating- or purging when he does... To anyone else who hadn't witnessed it over the course of time, it may have really seemed like it was well and truly just nerves.

"You should probably have some soup or something. We could take you to the cafeteria. We should all eat something to be fair. It's been several hours since any of us have had anything," Calum offered. I watched this whole thing go down and saw Luke's skin visibly pale at the mere mention of food.

"That settles it then. Let's go," Matt said, standing up. He held out his hand for Luke to take. Reluctantly, Luke did so, allowing Matt to lead him to the hospital cafeteria.

Just as we were about to enter the doors, Luke stopped. He let go of Matt's hand to grip his stomach, his other hand going to his head. His skin grew the color of curdled milk and he staggered.

Luke's POV:

I was trying to mask how bad I felt, putting up a facade. It was just nerves. And, yeah, It was a bold-faced lie because I didn't want anyone to know the truth. The hunger pains were excruciating. It was causing a tremor in my voice and hands. I was getting weaker. It was getting bad enough I could feel my body giving way.

The thought of putting anything into my stomach repulsed me, but the lads all insisted. By the time we made it to the cafeteria, I was worse off than I ever was. I groaned as I swayed. I heard my name being called and felt myself being pulled inside the cafeteria. I stumbled dizzyingly behind whoever it was that was pulling me. I looked around, the bright lights assaulting my eyes. My vision blurred and black dots shrouded my vision. My knees gave out and the hand gripping my bicep tightened as I fell limp.

I was only truly unconscious for a few seconds, but I felt too weak to even open my eyes. Despite still being semi-conscious, I had no control over my body. I could hear everything happening around me, even envision it. I tried to move, but was too weak. My breathing picked up as panic coursed through my veins. 'Fuck! This isn't fun anymore…' I internally screamed. I just wanted to lose weight, but it was at a cost to my health.

Footsteps rushed towards me. "I'm a doctor. What happened?" The mystery person questioned. The boys frantically explained what happened, their words jumbling together as they spoke over each other. I felt the man's presence just above me before he checked my pulse, heart rate, and all that shit that doctors do.

I squeezed my eyelids tighter together, having still not yet opened them. "G-Go 'way," I mumbled, weakly bringing a hand up to bat the man away.

"Jesus, Luke! You scared the shit out of us!" Calum yelled. My eyes opened a sliver, just enough to let me see blurred shapes of my bandmates and band manager standing above me, along with the doctor that ran over when I collapsed.

"I'm fine. I don't need your help," I spat. The doctor backed off. Matt and Calum helped me sit up while Michael went to grab something from the line. My body was trembling harshly. I held my head in my hands, trying to take deep breaths to rid myself of the hunger pains and the ghost of nausea creeping up on me. I groaned lowly.

"Here," I looked up and Michael stood before me holding out a water bottle and a banana. I grabbed the bottle and lowered it to my lap. I wanted to thank him, but my throat was tightening at the threat of a gag. I swallowed compulsively. I held my other hand over my lips and turned my head to the side so that it was no longer over my legs. "Luke?" I shut my eyes again. "Hey, are you going to throw up?" Michael's hand landed on my back. I shrugged.

"I'll grab something, just in case," I heard Matt say. Calum walked behind me and sat down.

"Let's get him to a secluded area with no prying eyes," Michael said, glancing around. Apparently, a lot of people were staring at me. They got me to a table in the corner of the cafeteria. Matt must have seen it because he appeared with a bin a moment later. "Can you try to eat this banana? I'm sure you'll feel better once you've got something in your system," Michael placed it in front of me. I shielded my eyes from the sight of it. My mouth was rapidly filling with saliva just thinking about food. I want to eat, but I just can’t.

I shot over the bin with a sudden dry heave. My cheeks flushed. I knew people were staring at me with disgust. I, more than likely, just ruined everyone's meal. I heaved, bringing up almost nothing. My stomach wrung itself dry in two violently painful heaves. I panted and looked up, confirming the glares I knew were there.

"Fucking hell… that's embarrassing," I sighed, my voice raspy. I wrapped an arm around my stomach. It hurt even worse after vomiting. I dropped my head onto the table with a thud.

"I know the last thing you want to do right now is eat, but you've got to try, Luke," Michael said again. I growled, lifting my head, rubbing my forehead with my sweaty palm.

"I do not want it," I was growing frustrated again. I wasn't sure why.

"No, Luke, you need to eat something," fuck frustration, I was pissed.

"God, Michael, just shut the fuck up already!" I screamed over him, standing up and slamming my hand against the tabletop. Calum and Matt gawked at me whilst Michael's face showed pure rage. They just didn’t get it.

"Don't you fucking dare talk over me like that!" Michael yelled, his voice sounding more demonic than that of a man. He grabbed me by my collar, causing me to flinch. "We are all tired of this bullshit, Luke! You are an adult. Act like it. Grow the fuck up and quit acting like a fucking dick!" He shook me. I pushed him away, my jaw clenched tight. It was then that I noticed people staring wide eyed at us.

"I'm leaving," I sighed. I could tell that I was not wanted there.

"No, Luke, don't go," Calum sighed, trying to lightly hold onto my wrist. I just shook my head and high-tailed it out of there. I needed a moment to breathe.

Matt's POV:

"Was all that really necessary, Mike?" I asked him, placing a hand on his shoulder. He shrugged it off, clearly still angered by Luke's actions. "Look I understand this has been going on for a while, but that doesn't mean you should treat him like this," Michael rolled his eyes and plopped back down in his seat.

"He hasn't been eating, Matt. It's been going on for several months now. Basically since the start of the tour. And you expect us to sit idly by and watch him wither away? I don't know what to do… none of us do," Michael explained. I sighed, picking up the chair that Luke had so carelessly tipped in his outburst. I sat down in it, trying to take everything in. The situation as a whole was overwhelming to me. I couldn't imagine how the boys were taking everything.

"I'm just upset that I wasn’t told at the start. If I had been, I could've encouraged Luke to go to therapy or talked to him myself," They both shrugged. I was at a loss. I huffed, "Well, let's eat. I'm sure you guys are hungry. I'll pay," I offered.

"Sure, I guess," Calum murmured. Michael ran his hands through his hair.

"Mike?" He looked up at me through his eyelashes.

"I'm not hungry, thanks though," I cocked my head at him.

"I'm not taking 'no' for an answer. I don't need another one of you lads passing out on my watch," I expressed.

"Fine," Michael caved.

We ate rather quickly, not wanting to miss the doctor's call. I grabbed the banana in hopes I could get Luke to eat it at some point. I thought there was a chance he would have listened to me.

Since we had been gone for around an hour, I went up to the counter and asked about Ashton. There wasn't much change, just that he was admitted and his doctor would hopefully be out in a bit. I nodded and turned, nearly bumping into Calum. He walked around me and walked back over to where I previously stood.

"Ashton requests that he have the same doctor as before. I believe her name was Dr. Mukherjee," the charge nurse typed something into her computer.

"I apologize, but she isn't in at the moment. I did put it in the notes though. Once she is in, she will take over," He nodded and thanked her.

We walked back over to the waiting area. "We should text Luke, try to get him to come back," Calum suggested as he sat next to a sulking Michael.

"Yep, I got it,"I agreed and pulled out my phone.

____________________________________

To Luke:

Hey mate, where you at?

—

From Luke:

Out.

—

To Luke:

I'm gonna need a little more than that, bud.

—

From Luke:

Right outside the hospital. I needed a fuckin breather.

—

To Luke:

Could ypu come back?

You*

—

From Luke:

Not of I've got to talk to him.

—

To Luke:

Luke…

—

From Luke:

Please don't "Luke…" me I'm not a kid despite what he says and rhinks.

—

To Luke:

Youre right. You're not. I apologize if it cMe across as if i was implementing that.

—

From Luke:

Why do you want me to come back?

I really don't want to.

—

To Luke:

The doctor should be coming down soon with news on ashtons condition.

That and honestly, I want you and Michael to talk.

—

From Luke:

The ONLY reason I'll come back is to see Ashton. Let ne know when we can go up. I'm NOT talking to Michael right now or anytime soon.

—

To Luke:

Come on… mate.

—

From Luke:

No.

I'll say this again. I'm not coming up until we can go see Ashton.

I'm not going to talk to Michael. There won't be will only be conflict between us right now and quite frankly I don't want to deal with that shit right now.

WTF did I just type??? Whatever you get it.

—

To Luke:

Ya i do.

Ok fine. Ill tell you when we can go up there.

____________________________________

"I'm going to have to talk to both of you later, but he's not coming until we can go see Ashton. When we do, I do not want you to start something. I know he's being an ass, but we just need to be here for Ashton, not down each other's throats," Michael stayed silent and nodded again. I glanced at Calum, who shrugged.

When the doctor finally came down, I asked if I could call Luke and have him come down before he told us anything. He said it was fine so I did that. Luke walked in a few moments later, his eyes red-rimmed and puffy. He had clearly been crying.

That was when I gave Ashton's mum a call. She answered at the first ring.

It wasn't good news. Ashton had to be rushed to the ICU and put into a medically induced coma. I felt myself grow shaky and the boys all sobbed. The sounds of Anne's cries came in through the speaker. Of all the years I had known these boys, that had been the first time I'd ever heard her break.

The staff allowed all of us temporary access to Ashton room. For two hours, all of us were able to be in there at once.

#5sos #5 seconds of summer #luke hemmings #michael clifford #ashton irwin #sickfic #calum hood #ashton 5sos #emeto #calum 5sos #near death tw #near death experience #meningitis #vomit sickfics #sickfics #emeto tw #vomiting #anorexla #bullemla

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loveisonaroll · 2 years ago

Text

Major Confusion, Part 2

Here it is! Part 2.

Word Count: ~3k

Warnings: general angst, arguing, swearing, fluff.

------------------------

“Y/N? Ronnie, hey.”

Jake’s eyes were wide as he stood a few feet from you with his hand stretched out towards you, as if he was reaching out to stop you from leaving.

“Hey, sorry I’m a little late. What’s going on, Y/N? Are you okay? You look like shit.”

What do you say? She seemed genuinely concerned, you thought, but how could she be worried about you when everyone else in the house wanted you gone? When you didn’t answer, Jake’s venomous voice rang in your ears.

“Of course, you’re skipping out now. God, you couldn’t even wait until after our end of tour party to leave? You’re a coward.”

Your eyes once again filled with tears as you stared past Ronnie’s shoulder. You didn’t need to turn around to know Jake’s face held a look of disgust.

“Jake, that’s fucking rude—”

“No, Ronnie, he’s right. I am too much of a coward to stay in a home where I’m no longer welcome. It was nice getting to spend time with you this week. I hope you’ll still visit me.”

As you turned to rush towards your car, you noticed two things: 1) your car was, in fact, blocked in by one of your guests, and 2) both yours and Jake’s parents were getting out of their respective vehicles. You froze for a beat before turning back towards Jake and Ronnie.

“Our parents. My parents,” you rushed out, mirroring Jake’s widened eyes. You grabbed your bag off of your shoulder and thrusted it in Ronnie’s hands. “I’m going to go clean up. Just…let’s just get through this. Everything is fine.”

You rushed back up the stairs towards the bedroom to freshen up your makeup. You stared at your reflection for a moment in disbelief. Your parents were known to flake on your plans. You had lived in the city a mere two hours from your hometown for almost ten years, and you could count on one hand the times they had ever visited you. They had been invited to the party, and you were excited to show off your newly completed home. But they had canceled a couple days beforehand, which was unfortunately not a surprise to you. It was, however, a surprise to you that they had shown up anyways. You just hoped you could keep the obvious end of your relationship a secret until you had the chance to process it yourself.

After you went back downstairs, the party moved along without a hitch with you and Jake staying to opposite sides of every room. Thankfully, both your and Jake’s parents treated you like normal, asking about the furniture you had picked out and how exciting it must be to have a home in your favorite city. Ronnie seemed to divide her time with you and her brothers equally, though you could see her irritation with Jake from across the room with every eyeroll.

“So has Jake seen his office yet?” Karen smiled, wrapping a warm arm around your shoulders.

You smiled hesitantly back and bit your lip. “No, he hasn’t. He’s been busy with company since he got in.” You silently hoped she would accept your response without any comment.

“Well, I would like to see it. Maybe we can all go see it together?”

Before you could stop her, she was making her way towards her husband and Jake who were having a side conversation near the bar. As if she could see the terror on your face, Ronnie appeared at your side.

“What’s up?”

“Nothing, I just…your mom wants all of us to go look at the office. I just think he’s going to hate it and it’s going to be so embarrassing in front of your parents and my parents.”

Ronnie’s hand fell to your shoulder as she shook her head. “He’s not going to hate it. I think he’s going to love it. You put so much thought into it.”

As much as Ronnie tried to encourage you, you just couldn’t shake his words of irritation earlier when you had mentioned adding a little something to his office. When Karen reappeared by your side with her husband, your boyfriend, and your parents in tow, you were almost positive you were going to vomit from your nerves.

“Let’s see this office, shall we?” Kelly, Jake’s dad, clapped his hands together and looked at you expectedly.

Maybe you were moving too slow, or maybe you were stalling, but Jake huffed slightly and grabbed your hand to pull you in the direction of his home office and studio. “No time like the present for a present, darling,” he joked to hide his annoyance from your entourage.

The closer you got to the room, the more anxious you became. “If you don’t like it, I can just take everything out and put it back the way it was,” you rambled nervously.

“Oh, I’m sure you’ll love it, Jake! Y/N’s just being modest. I’ve seen the pictures and I think it’s perfect!” Jake’s mom gushed and your mother nodded her head in agreement from her spot next to her.

Even still, your anxiety was taking ahold of you. Your eyes started to water and your throat felt like it was closing up as you made eye contact with Jake. His abrasive demeanor seemed to falter a bit when your eyes met, but you just shook your head and bit your lip as you turned the doorknob.

The collective gasps eased the tension in your shoulders a bit as you and your group entered the room.

“Oh, honey, you did such a beautiful job,” you mother cooed. Similarly, Jake’s parents offered their own praises for the room.

The room really did seem to fit Jake perfectly. With the help of Jake’s dad Kelly, you had transformed the built-in bookshelves into climate-controlled instrument cases that lined one wall of the office. On the opposite end of the room from the point of entrance was a large bay window with the set of worn leather chairs Jake had purchased for his previous apartment—his first big furniture purchase as an adult. Throughout the office were various bohemian rugs of rich colors and enough furniture to have all of Jake’s brothers and friends play music with him. The wall opposite the instrument cases, though, held your own personalization of the space. The ceilings in your home were 13 feet, and you filled that space with prints of first-edition patents of some of Jake’s favorite things framed in custom built sound-absorbing frames. Patents of various instruments, including the body style of his beloved Gibson SG, the first patented compass and a motorcycle. What you were most nervous about, though, was an additional patent you placed in the bottom right corner. One that memorialized something significant in your life. One that you placed there as a reminder of you.

Jake and your dads inspected the instrument cases while you moms made a beeline to the window and chairs, all with a look of awe on their faces. Ronnie smiled as she moved towards the wall of patents, placing her hands on her hips in satisfaction. She had been a huge help in finding the right person to make the frames, and this week she had spent most of her time visiting helping you get the room ready for its reveal. You knew that seeing the room complete and her brother experiencing it for the first time was a proud moment for her, too.

You stayed back and observed from your place leaned against the door frame. As you watched Jake flit around the room taking in his new space, your heart felt heavy in your chest. You loved him with every fiber of your being, and you spent so much time meticulously decorating his office to create a space he would love. But you couldn’t shake the way he had treated you earlier in the day.

When Jake came to stand in front of your patent wall, he seemed enamored. His eyes floated across each drawing, studying each a little more than the last. When he came to the last patent, he reached out to touch the frame, huffing a small breath of air before he turned to look at you.

“If you don’t like any of them, we can find something else to put in the frames. That last one was more for me so if you don’t want it in here…” you trailed off, biting the inside of your cheek as you ducked your head towards your hands.

“Baby…” you saw his tattered boots come into view before you felt his hands grasp the sides of your face to gently coerce your eyes to meet his. “This office…wow. It’s better than I could have even imagined. I wouldn’t change a single thing.”

“Are you sure?” you whispered so only he could hear.

Jake only smiled and gave you a soft peck on the lips before engulfing you in his arms. It was the first time that day his lips had met yours, and you finally got a glimpse of the man you knew and so desperately craved.

Your moment was short lived, however, and soon the office was filled with the curious ruckus of his brothers and friends. Another first of the day was the genuine appreciation the rest of his group showed you in that moment.

But all parties come to an end. Both sets of your parents left to their hotel rooms, and the band and their friends hadn’t left the office since discovering its wonders. You had heard a collection of instruments and singing all evening, and you smiled to yourself thinking about how much fun they have playing together, even after a months-long tour.

Before cleaning up the kitchen, you decided to make your way to the office. You saddled up to Ronnie and threw your arms around her shoulders to thank her for all her help this week. You truly couldn’t have had it all finished in time if it wasn’t for her.

As you looked over Ronnie’s shoulder, your heart sank to the bottom of your stomach. Jake sat in one of his leather chairs, guitar held lazily in his lap, and sitting on the arm of his chair with her arm resting on the back of the chair behind Jake’s head was his ex, Hailey. She had her head thrown back, laughing at something someone had said, and Jake’s face was full of amusement as he watched her. Maybe it was innocent, maybe it wasn’t, but you didn’t want to stick around to find out. As Ronnie turned around to figure out what had you so taken aback, you fled the room.

“Jacob Thomas Kiszka, what the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

When you made it to your shared bedroom, all you could do was collapse at the foot of the bed in a pile of tears. You knew the short moment your shared in the office was too good to be true. He must have been putting on a show for your parents, you thought. How else could he go right back to freezing you out?

At least you had a bag packed. You wiped at your eyes and cleared your vision enough to pick your bag up from where Ronnie had placed it earlier in the evening. When you turned towards the door to leave, Ronnie was barging through with Jake hot on her heels.

“Do you want to know why my brother was being a giant prick to you all day? He thought you were cheating on him!”

“Ronnie, what the fuck? I told you it was my place to tell her, not yours!”

“Shut up, Jake. He thought you were cheating on him with your coworker, you know, the one that helped us hang up all those frames for his office?” Ronnie dismissed her brother by stepping in front of him and closer to you.

“God, do you ever know when to shut u—”

“Is that true?” you cut him off, newfound tears welling up in your eyes.

“I—baby, I’m so sorry I didn’t trust you, I just saw that video and immediately made assumptions an—” Jake tried to rush all of his words out, but Ronnie interrupted him once again.

“All from a Ring video that doesn’t even show who he was kissing! If you would have just asked you would have known it was his wife who was also helping decorate your nice little office!”

“Okay, Ronnie, that’s enough.” Ronnie threw up her hands in exasperation at her brother and stomped out of the room.

Your head was reeling, honestly. It was coming back to you, the day you had asked your coworker’s interior-designer wife to help find the right pieces for the office. She had recruited your coworker, Jared, to help hang the patent frames a few days before Jake had made it back home, and when he rang the doorbell that day you had sent his wife to greet him.

“Why didn’t you confront me with this, Jake?”

“I’m so sorry. I just—I jumped to conclusions without asking you. I am such an idiot.” Jake ran a hand through his hair and sat at the foot of the bed. “I should have asked you about it first.”

You shook your head in disbelief, crossing your arms as you moved to stand in front of him. “I can’t believe you didn’t trust me enough. Every time I see a picture or a video of someone who looks like you with another woman or an old picture with an old girlfriend, you know what the first thing I think of is? I think, it must be an old picture, or it must be someone else. You know why? Because I trust you, Jake. I trust that you wouldn’t jeopardize our relationship like that because you love me too much and I couldn’t fathom a life without you.”

You could practically see the tension rise in Jake’s hunched shoulders as he roughly rubbed his face with his hands. Still, you continued.

“And you were so awful to me today. In fact, everyone except your sister and our parents ignored me most of the day, so I assume they thought I was a cheater. I was so excited to see you, to celebrate you, to show you the house in person. But I didn’t get to do that.” You wiped your nose harshly as you openly cried while ranting. “And don’t even get me started with your ex being here. That was so hurtful, Jake.”

Jake remained quiet for a moment, but he eventually looked up at you with red-rimmed eyes. “I know. I’ve made a lot of mistakes today, and if I could go back and change it I would. I am so sorry, Y/N. I just…it’s not an excuse at all, but sometimes I think you might want someone more available, and when I saw that video I just let my insecurities convince me.”

He was looking away from you now, roughly wiping at his face with the side of his palm. You knew he hated crying, and even more so in front of people, but you only had a little sympathy for him left.

“I just…I’m sorry. I love you so goddamn much and that scares me. I should have never thought any less than you, especially when all you think is the world of me. I mean, shit, look at my fucking office. You got everything perfectly matched to me, and I thought you were cheating on me. How fucking ridiculous of me.”

“Babe…” you whispered, gently placing a hand under his chin to pull his face back towards you. “I love you, too. But this cannot happen again. There’s no reason to not trust each other or to not communicate things that trouble us.”

Jake slowly moved to stand, taking your face in his hands and wiping away tear tracks with his thumbs. “I know, and I promise I won’t jump to any more conclusions without talking it out with you. You’re my partner, and our relationship is a two-person job.”

You turned your face to kiss the inside of one of his wrists. “Thank you for apologizing. I just think I need some space tonight, if that’s okay.”

Jake sadly smiled and nodded his head. “Of course it’s okay, baby. I’ll go bunk with Josh like the old days. Just promise you’ll unpack that bag eventually?”

“I promise,” you assured him, giving him a soft peck on the lips.

As much as you loved him, and as determined as you were to work at a healthy relationship with him, you needed some time to process the events of the day. So when Ronnie showed up in your doorway after Jake made his way down the hall with a bottle of wine in her hand, you had an impromptu sleepover filled with ranting about her brother and watching comfort rom-coms.

The next morning you awoke to the smell of breakfast and the sound of running water, and Ronnie was nowhere to be found. When you made your way to the kitchen, you smiled in amusement. Jake and Sam both adorned aprons and were arguing over the appropriate amount of yolk “runnage,” and Josh and Danny were tackling the dishes from the party before. Ronnie, looking ever relaxed with her feet propped up on the kitchen table, smiled as she noticed your figure in the doorway.

“Good morning, sleepyhead. Isn’t this a great sight, men being right where they belong—in the kitchen?”

You chuckled at Ronnie’s candor and wrapped your arms around Jake’s waist and leaned your head on his shoulder. “Good morning, baby,” you murmured.

“Good morning, sunshine. It’s a new day, isn’t it?” Jake turned his head to place a kiss to your forehead.

“It really is,” you smiled.

#Jake kiszka #Jake gvf #Jake kiszka fic #Jake kiszka fanfic #Jake kiszka angst #josh kiszka #Jake kiszka x reader #greta van fleet

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