#i’m in the middle of a big career change

[harlequinlestat]

.

[reasonsforhope]

No paywall version here.

"Two and a half years ago, when I was asked to help write the most authoritative report on climate change in the United States, I hesitated...

In the end, I said yes, but reluctantly. Frankly, I was sick of admonishing people about how bad things could get. Scientists have raised the alarm over and over again, and still the temperature rises. Extreme events like heat waves, floods and droughts are becoming more severe and frequent, exactly as we predicted they would. We were proved right. It didn’t seem to matter.

Our report, which was released on Tuesday, contains more dire warnings. There are plenty of new reasons for despair. Thanks to recent scientific advances, we can now link climate change to specific extreme weather disasters, and we have a better understanding of how the feedback loops in the climate system can make warming even worse. We can also now more confidently forecast catastrophic outcomes if global emissions continue on their current trajectory.

But to me, the most surprising new finding in the Fifth National Climate Assessment is this: There has been genuine progress, too.

I’m used to mind-boggling numbers, and there are many of them in this report. Human beings have put about 1.6 trillion tons of carbon in the atmosphere since the Industrial Revolution — more than the weight of every living thing on Earth combined. But as we wrote the report, I learned other, even more mind-boggling numbers. In the last decade, the cost of wind energy has declined by 70 percent and solar has declined 90 percent. Renewables now make up 80 percent of new electricity generation capacity. Our country’s greenhouse gas emissions are falling, even as our G.D.P. and population grow.

In the report, we were tasked with projecting future climate change. We showed what the United States would look like if the world warms by 2 degrees Celsius. It wasn’t a pretty picture: more heat waves, more uncomfortably hot nights, more downpours, more droughts. If greenhouse emissions continue to rise, we could reach that point in the next couple of decades. If they fall a little, maybe we can stave it off until the middle of the century. But our findings also offered a glimmer of hope: If emissions fall dramatically, as the report suggested they could, we may never reach 2 degrees Celsius at all.

For the first time in my career, I felt something strange: optimism.

And that simple realization was enough to convince me that releasing yet another climate report was worthwhile.

Something has changed in the United States, and not just the climate. State, local and tribal governments all around the country have begun to take action. Some politicians now actually campaign on climate change, instead of ignoring or lying about it. Congress passed federal climate legislation — something I’d long regarded as impossible — in 2022 as we turned in the first draft.

[Note: She's talking about the Inflation Reduction Act and the Infrastructure Act, which despite the names were the two biggest climate packages passed in US history. And their passage in mid 2022 was a big turning point: that's when, for the first time in decades, a lot of scientists started looking at the numbers - esp the ones that would come from the IRA's funding - and said "Wait, holy shit, we have an actual chance."]

And while the report stresses the urgency of limiting warming to prevent terrible risks, it has a new message, too: We can do this. We now know how to make the dramatic emissions cuts we’d need to limit warming, and it’s very possible to do this in a way that’s sustainable, healthy and fair.

The conversation has moved on, and the role of scientists has changed. We’re not just warning of danger anymore. We’re showing the way to safety.

I was wrong about those previous reports: They did matter, after all. While climate scientists were warning the world of disaster, a small army of scientists, engineers, policymakers and others were getting to work. These first responders have helped move us toward our climate goals. Our warnings did their job.

To limit global warming, we need many more people to get on board... We need to reach those who haven’t yet been moved by our warnings. I’m not talking about the fossil fuel industry here; nor do I particularly care about winning over the small but noisy group of committed climate deniers. But I believe we can reach the many people whose eyes glaze over when they hear yet another dire warning or see another report like the one we just published.

The reason is that now, we have a better story to tell. The evidence is clear: Responding to climate change will not only create a better world for our children and grandchildren, but it will also make the world better for us right now.

Eliminating the sources of greenhouse gas emissions will make our air and water cleaner, our economy stronger and our quality of life better. It could save hundreds of thousands or even millions of lives across the country through air quality benefits alone. Using land more wisely can both limit climate change and protect biodiversity. Climate change most strongly affects communities that get a raw deal in our society: people with low incomes, people of color, children and the elderly. And climate action can be an opportunity to redress legacies of racism, neglect and injustice.

I could still tell you scary stories about a future ravaged by climate change, and they’d be true, at least on the trajectory we’re currently on. But it’s also true that we have a once-in-human-history chance not only to prevent the worst effects but also to make the world better right now. It would be a shame to squander this opportunity. So I don’t just want to talk about the problems anymore. I want to talk about the solutions. Consider this your last warning from me."

-via New York Times. Opinion essay by leading climate scientist Kate Marvel. November 18, 2023.

[nadvs]

Hey girl! I’m obsessed with basketball!rafe, your write him so well! On the night of readers first visit in basketball!rafes condo, you said they slept together. Can we have a blurb on that? I NEED to know how that went

thank you so much!! omg yessss. they’ve been long distance and it’s been hard but they miss each other so much so when she finally visits, it’s intense 🤭

based on this fic, mentioned in this blurb! 18+!

» au masterlist

at this point, they’ve been together for almost seven months. and a month and a half of that has been at a distance.

since rafe moved away, it feels like all they do is argue. most of their calls have been tense. they’ve gone days giving each other silent treatment too many times to count.

so when she’s stepping out of the airport gate that late afternoon, she’s more nervous than she is excited for her three-day stay, and she hates that she feels like that.

she finds rafe standing by a pillar, wearing a baseball hat and sunglasses. he’s gotten even bigger, his muscles bulging under his sleeveless shirt. now that he’s signed with the nba, he’s at practice every morning, hitting the gym twice a day, preparing for the season two months away. always busy. often too busy for her.

he doesn’t wait for her to reach him. he helps close the distance, meeting her in an open pocket in the crowd and wrapping her in his arms. he’s holding her so tightly that she can feel his heartbeat on her chest.

she didn’t know what to expect when he saw her, considering how rocky things have been. but this feels like the best possible way he could greet her. he seems happy. the chasm between them is still there, but it’s closing.

rafe nuzzles into her neck, smelling the mix of shampoo and perfume that makes her her, and is so overwhelmed that his throat feels thicker and tears start to form in his eyes. thank fuck he’s wearing shades.

“hey, baby,” he says, muffled.

“hi,” she says softly. “how are you?”

it’s a loaded question. he’s lonely. he didn’t realize how lonely until he held her. he’s stressed. he’s out of his depth. but he settles for, “not bad. you?”

“better now,” she says.

she knows her boyfriend’s life has changed. but it’s not until they’re walking out of the building and he gets stopped by a middle-aged man asking for a photo with him that she realizes just how much things have shifted. the man’s wife shakes her head, saying don’t bother them, but the man says please, it’ll be quick.

rafe obliges, once again grateful he’s wearing shades so nobody sees his teary eyes.

“you’ll take us to the final, won’t you?” the man says, clearly starstruck.

“i’ll try,” he replies. it’s clear to her that rafe’s a little uneasy, which surprises her. she thought he and his ego would love the attention.

“you’re like famous famous,” she teases once they walk far enough away.

“that’s only like, the second time that happened,” he says, not matching her playfulness.

she can tell that he’s trying to downplay it. but the season hasn’t even started and he’s already being recognized. it’s a big deal.

“is that why you’re all disguised?” she realizes.

“yeah,” he admits, seemingly embarrassed. he really didn’t want anyone to recognize him today.

they reach his car in an underground parking garage and she settles in the passenger seat as puts her suitcase in his backseat. he sits and starts the car.

“what have you done with my boyfriend?” she asks, trying to lighten the mood. “how are you not bragging about what just happened?”

“i don’t know,” he says. “you’re here. that’s what i’m focused on. and who knows… i could be one of those guys who gets one contract and then burns out. better not to get used to all that.”

her eyebrows knit together. he’s being short with her. and he’s never spoken like this. she’s seen him unsure about himself only a few times before. he was painfully nervous on draft night. but he never mentioned anything about his career burning out. this isn’t the man she knows.

“you’re a great player,” she tells him. “you won’t burn out.”

he nods unconvincingly and shifts the car into reverse, trying to avoid this heavy of a conversation right away. she knows him well enough to know what he’s doing. she puts her hand on his.

“hey,” she says softly. “wait a second.”

he sighs, his throat thickening again. he puts the car in park and turns it off.

“you good?” she asks.

he pinches the bridge of his nose. she realizes that his hand is trembling. he finally takes his sunglasses off and rubs his eyes, wiping at them.

“i’m tired,” he admits.

she stares at him through worried eyes.

“i’m sorry. we’ll take it easy tonight,” she tells him. “we can just order food and watch tv and go to bed early. it’s going to be okay.”

he nods, licking his lips nervously.

“it makes sense if you’re overwhelmed. it’s a lot of pressure. your life is so different now,” she says. “and i know i was part of the old one, but i want to be part of this new one, too, okay? i’m here for you.”

she’s not saying it solely to reassure him. she realizes she’s hoping he’ll reassure her back. things are still off between them. she can feel it. maybe it’s because she’s slowly drifting into the past to him. maybe he won’t carry her into his new life.

rafe is speechless. his chest hurts. he hates that she would insinuate that he doesn’t have a place for her. that she has any doubts at all. he’s the one who called her after their last big argument, following days of not talking to each other. he’s still bitter about it. he keeps putting up a fight, yet it’s like she thinks she’s the only one trying.

“the only way to fail is to give up, right?” she says.

rafe snorts.

“where’d you read that?” he says mockingly. cutting.

he regrets it immediately. she sits straighter, creating distance between them.

“i’m sorry,” he says. “i’m just... i want you here. i do. i’m already thinking about how you’re going to leave and it sucks. i’m just so… on edge.”

“so, your way to handle it is by being mean to me like, a minute after i get here?” she asks. his knee-jerk reaction to stress has always been to be rude and combative. it’s her least favorite thing about him.

“my head’s not right. i’m sorry.”

even though she’s hurt and bitter, she pushes past it and nods.

“let’s start over,” she says. “i can tell you all about my flight. real exciting stuff.”

he finally cracks a genuine smile.

when they make it to rafe’s penthouse, she’s shocked. she saw the view of the city through the floor-to-ceiling windows over their facetime calls, but the real thing doesn’t compare. it’s unreal, the way the setting sun is glistening over the skyline.

it’s crazy. she’s stayed right where she’s been since she met him, on the same campus doing the same things, but now he’s here. the stinging anxiety hits her again that maybe he’ll leave her in the past.

“this is really nice,” she says.

rafe gazes at her as she looks out the window. he’s felt out of place since he got here. the dynamic with his new team is nothing like it was back in college. this condo feels more like a hotel instead of his home.

but with her here, the most important piece of all he knows, the place doesn’t feel cold anymore.

he looks out at the view. it is nice. but it’s been hard to appreciate it since there’s been a weight living over him, blurring things.

“you can continue the tour now,” she says.

he offers her his hand. she takes it. his palm is rough and calloused from all his training.

as she paces through the condo, everything about the place is stunning. bare, but stunning.

“i can help you decorate if you want,” she offers as they travel down the hallway. “wanna go shopping tomorrow?”

“yeah,” he agrees. something as mundane as shopping for decor excites him simply because it’ll be with her.

they reach his bedroom. the california king bed is centered against the back wall. the room offers another beautiful view with a balcony.

“you ever sit out there in the morning? watch the sunrise?” she asks, stepping towards the open balcony door. she can hear the dull roar of cars zooming through the massive freeway laid out far below.

“nah, i go straight to practice,” rafe says. “and on days off, i just sleep in.”

“right,” she recalls. he gets up almost every morning before the sun rises. his schedule has been brutal. she feels guilty for fighting with him about how hard it’s been to schedule calls with him. she pictured him living a glamorous life, forgetting all about her. but he just seems isolated. exhausted.

she turns to face him again, gazing around the characterless room.

“would you want pictures in here? maybe some art on the walls?” she asks.

“i thought decorating started tomorrow?” rafe teases. she loves that he’s seeming to ease up a bit.

“can never be too prepared.” he smirks, looking down at her with a tired, but relaxed expression.

“i haven’t had time to do anything with the place,” he says. “and i wouldn’t even know where to start.”

“all good,” she says. “you stick to basketball, i’ll stick to making this place look like someone actually lives in it.”

“deal,” he says with a soft laugh.

she smiles. her eyes drift down, noticing faint white lines on his shoulders under his sleeveless shirt. she traces her fingers over the new stretch marks.

“they’re not working you too hard, are they?” she asks.

her tender touch makes rafe’s body go hot. she feels it immediately, how the tension between them has shifted.

“no,” he mumbles. “the trainer said i actually need to slow down on the lifting. i can’t get too heavy. i won’t be able to run as fast.”

“so, what i’m hearing is you need a few rest days,” she says with a cute shrug. “you need to relax. it’s for the good of your game.”

he chuckles. within minutes of getting home, his girl makes everything better.

“thank you for coming,” he says sincerely, his hands finding her hips. her heart feels ten times lighter.

“for getting on a flight you booked? in first class? to live in your penthouse?” she says. “you’re welcome. big sacrifice.”

rafe smirks at her again, leaning closer. their lips press in a slow, sweet, long kiss. he pulls back once he feels her hand on his cheek.

“you stressed out, baby?” she whispers. his eyes are still closed an he only nods, grimacing. she strokes his cheek with her thumb.

“you want me to help you relax?” she says. he leans lower, his forehead on hers. his stomach is numb. his boxers suddenly feel too tight.

“yeah.” rafe’s tone is low. needy.

“lie down,” she tells him. “i’ll make you feel better.”

his entire body is buzzing. once he’s on his back in his bed, they’re slowly pulling off each other’s clothes.

she thought when they’d inevitably get into bed, it’d be impatient and rushed, but every movement is careful. they want to savor each other. it’s so much better this way.

she leads him to lie on his pillow when he’s left in his boxers and she’s in her panties. she pulls down his boxers, watching him spring out, the coil in her body already tightened to its limit. she missed him so badly.

she holds him at his base, meeting his eyes as she slowly takes the tip in her mouth. she watches his toned body curve as he bucks his hips with a groan.

“fuck,” he whispers. “wait, wait.”

he shifts to his side, turning his nightstand lamp on so that he can see her better, instead of doing this in the dim of the sunset.

he lies back down, placing eager fingers at her roots, desperately guiding her back to where she was.

their eyes lock as she lowers again, her tongue hot against him, slowly sinking until she has all of him in her mouth. she softly gags and pulls back, leaving his length wet with her spit.

“you’ve been working so hard, hmm?” she asks, looking at him as she palms him slowly, dragging her hand over his slick hardness.

“yeah,” he says, voice strained. “fuck, i missed you so much.”

she feels better hearing his words. all the tension between them has dissipated, at least for now.

“i missed you, too,” she whispers. she wraps her lips around him again, feeling him twitch against the inside of her cheek.

rafe can’t take his eyes off of her. she moves slowly, carefully, her tongue flicking around him, her wrist twisting and stroking. his grip is tight at the roots of her hair as she starts to move faster.

he can feel himself getting closer. he doesn’t want to finish like this.

“come here,” he murmurs, cradling her head, leading her closer.

she obeys, hovering over him on her knees. his hands drag over her ass, running over the lace of her panties, squeezing hard as she lowers to press her lips on his.

they kiss hard and slow, over and over until she can’t anymore, breathless and grinding on him. his thumbs loop under the band of her underwear, pushing the fabric down.

she wriggles out of the lace and he grasps her waist to turn her onto her back, kissing her again, finding her wrists and pinning them tightly against his bed.

“i don’t think i’ll last long,” he rasps against her mouth.

“that’s okay,” she says. “i just want you to feel good.”

he so badly wants to tell her he loves her. but they’ve never taken that step, and if he does take it and she doesn’t follow, he might not survive the fall.

instead, he moves to rest his hand between her legs, inhaling sharply once he feels how wet she is.

“fucking dripping for me,” he praises. she spreads her legs wider and he trails up to her clit, starting to trace circles.

she arches her back, pushing against his hand, already getting close. her body is just as desperate and impatient for it as his is.

“i’m close,” she whispers within seconds, her eyes shut. he stares at her in awe, so damn pleased that he can do this to her and get her there so quickly.

“yeah? you gonna come on my hand?”

“yes, yes,” she breathes, her lips parted. “don’t stop, please don’t stop.”

rafe wants to kiss her, but seeing her pretty face twisting in pleasure is too good to miss. one hand keeps her wrist pinned above her head while the other works with fast, firm movements, bringing her closer.

“i can’t wait to be inside you,” he groans. “you’re all i think about, you know that?”

she dips her head back, a soft moan spilling out of her mouth as she unravels, her body weakening with her orgasm. it hits her so hard that she trembles more than ever before.

she takes a moment to collect herself, then finds the strength to sit up just enough to grip him, guiding him to press against her. he groans as he starts to sink in her and she links her legs around him, pulling him in.

she presses her free hand against the head of his bedframe to steady herself so he can slam into her without any recoil, promising him the best sensation she can give him.

with one hand on her jaw and the other on her palm, interlacing his fingers with hers, he bottoms out, grunting against her ear.

“as hard as you want,” she whispers. “you know i can take it.”

her words make him dizzy. he doesn’t build up to the pace. suddenly, their slow, patient movements are gone, and he starts to thrust in and out of her fast and rough, to the hilt every time because of the way she’s keeping herself anchored against his headboard.

it’s like he’s drowning in her. he doesn’t want to come up for air. his breaths grow more shallow, his skin gets clammier, his pulse speeds up.

his bed is shaking with every slam, hitting deep inside her, wrapped in her heat and never wanting it to end. he squeezes her hand, wishing she knew just how grateful he is for her. not just for this. for everything.

“you’re mine,” he rasps. she tightens her legs around him, looking up at him as his handsome, sharp features crease in pleasure. “you belong to me.”

“yes,” she whispers. “i do. i do.”

rafe leans down to kiss her, his body going tight. she feels him grow harder, the pressure outright perfect, and he groans into her mouth as he comes, filling her with his heat.

he collapses on her, heavier than he was the last time they slept together. but she keeps her legs linked around him, withstanding the weight, running her hand down the curve of his spine while the other stays interlaced with his.

he’s panting hard. and he can’t control it when tears sting his eyes. she notices him shuddering, and she squeezes him tighter, kissing his cheek over and over again, her heart breaking for him.

“you okay, baby?” she whispers.

“yeah,” he says, and for once, he’s being honest about it.

all of this has been so hard and discombobulating, but with her here, life feels easy. and finally, he’s confident in something again. he knows they’ll make it. there’s no way they can’t.

“yeah,” he repeats. “hungry.”

she softly laughs, moving to wrap both arms around him. he’s so big and hard and heavy, but she tries her best to hold him, to comfort him.

“let’s get dinner,” she says. she knows his diet has been strict. “cheat day?”

rafe smirks against her neck. he didn’t know how badly he needed a vacation, and that he didn’t even have to leave his house to feel like he’s on one. he just needs her.

[watchmegetobsessed]

LOVE AND TOUR

A/N: im so excited to post this fic bc *drum roll* it's a collab with @harrysfolklore !! the post tour depression is still kicking our butts so we decided to team up for a story that features LOT! hope you guys will like it and as always, make sure to head over to her blog to check out her fic that features all social media posts for this story!

WORD COUNT: 5.1k

SUMMARY: Y/N and Harry were once friends, but his career pulled them apart. Then in 2019 Harry decides to invite her to ONO London and so their story begins or more like continues.

MASTERLIST | SUPPORT ME!

2010

The handmade banner hanging over the white board in the classroom is crooked and two balloons have popped already. The sign reads ‘Good luck, Harry!’ and every letter is a different color. The desks and chairs were pushed to the side to make room in the middle and the teacher’s desk is full of snacks and drinks the kids brought in for the little impromptu party the class decided to throw before Harry’s big day.

He is going to his big X Factor audition this weekend and though he is not convinced he will make it, everyone in school is rooting for him. If anyone deserves the success it’s Harry, the goofy, kind boy who makes everyone smile and always helps whenever he can.

The soon-to-be rockstar is mingling with his friends and classmates, music is playing in the background and the chatting is nonstop. Everyone keeps asking Harry if he’s nervous or ready or which judge he is afraid of the most. He tries his best to talk to everyone and be everywhere, though he keeps an eye on one specific girl.

Y/N has been staying in the back for most of the time, sipping on some soda, listening to her friend as he enjoys the spotlight. She’s been friends with Y/N for quite some time, they live just a street away from each other, they often bike to school together and whenever one of them is sick the other one can be expected to show up at their house with the homework.

Good friends. That’s what they are. But deep down, Y/N is definitely feeling more than just friendship towards the curly haired boy who is now set to step his foot on the road to fame.

When the party is over and everyone has headed home already, Harry and Y/N are the last ones to walk out of the school’s building.

“So, be honest, are you nervous?” she asks as they are walking home , pushing their bikes this time. Harry said he hurt his ankle at PE today so he better not get on the bike, but in reality… he is just trying to spend more time with Y/N. 

“Kind of, yeah,” he admits with a chuckle.

“I’m sure you will crush it.”

“You think so?”

“I know so,” she smiles at him and his heart skips a beat. 

Harry has been trying to work up his courage to ask Y/N out since probably the sixth grade, but he just never got to the point. Now he tells himself that if he gets into X Factor she will see him in a different light and that’s when he should ask her out, but little does he know he doesn’t need to be in a talent show to have her like him enough to want him.

Reaching her house she wishes him good luck and even hugs him before he waves goodbye and continues his way home. Y/N stands by their front door and watches him get farther away, hoping that whatever happens that weekend won’t change their friendship.

2013

The tour bus is quiet, everyone is asleep. Everyone, except Harry. 

Lying in his bunk bed, his face is illuminated by his phone as he aimlessly scrolls on his social media apps, checking out posts by fans, reading news, just killing time. He knew he shouldn’t have had a nap earlier, because now it will be way too late by the time he can fall asleep and won’t be rested enough when they arrive in the next city. 

He opens up Instagram and goes through his feed, he posts a picture he took of the crowd at the show the other day and then watches the likes flood in like crazy. 

Going back to his feed he goes through his friends’ posts, it’s just the usual, parties, vacations, hanging out, everyone seems to be living their life even though Harry often feels like time has stopped since he’s gotten on the road. 

He can feel himself growing sleepier and he is just about to put his phone down when he comes across a post that wakes him up.

Y/N is not one to post often, she is not like most girls he knows who want to share every and any moment of their life. Last time she uploaded something was probably weeks ago. This time she was snapped in her graduation gown, her hair flowing in the movement flawlessly and he recognizes her parents’ home in the background. It totally slipped Harry’s mind that in a life he left behind graduation was happening these days. 

He scrolls down to the caption and all it says is “Soon” and then a crown emoji. It’s enough for him to know she’s going to King’s College London, that’s what she always dreamed about and it seems like she hasn’t changed her mind.

Before he could think about it, he double taps on the picture liking it, completely oblivious to how fans can see his activity and they instantly start guessing about who the girl is whose graduation photo was liked by Harry Styles.

2014

The screaming intensifies wherever Harry goes on the stage, he is jumping and shaking his long hair to the music while his bandmates are singing ‘Steal My Girl’ and the girls are going crazy, the energies are insane, Harry loves performing, this is truly his element. 

He’s been on the road for what feels like forever and if you asked him what day it was, he would have no idea. It’s a miracle he knows which city he is currently in.

Walking to the side of the stage he stops for a moment right before the bridge that’s his part. He lifts his mic to his lips and starts singing when the music dies down right before his lines.

“She knows, she knows, that I never let her down before…”

His voice fills up the stadium, thousands are singing together with him and he runs his gaze over the sea of people in front of him. He sees so many faces, some are even familiar, Harry tends to remember fans he sees over and over again at their concerts, but most of them are new. The song carries on and the boys start singing along with him, Harry is about to move back to the middle of the stage, but then he sees her.

He sees Y/N.

Or so he thinks. It’s hard to tell, because it’s dark and she is so far away from the stage, it could be just someone who resembles her, but something in his gut tells him it’s her. 

He does a double take, losing the familiar face for a moment but then he finds her again and a shiver runs down his spine. He hasn’t seen her in years, life has been simply way too hectic to keep in touch, last time he met her was probably in 2012 when he went home for Christmas, they ran into each other in town and promised to talk soon because they were both kind of in a hurry, but they never followed up with it. Y/N went to college, Harry’s career was skyrocketing, it was impossible to stay as close as they were before X Factor and Harry always regretted not trying harder, because now he has no idea what’s happening in her life. 

Niall walks up to him and pats him on the back and Harry’s focus shifts to his friend for just a moment, but it’s enough to not find her again when he looks back at the audience. Did she duck down? Walk out when she realized he was looking? Or did he just entirely imagine seeing her and it was just a mirage? 

He can’t get her out of his head for the rest of the show and he finds himself looking for her over and over again, but he doesn’t see her again and his consciousness starts to convince him she wasn’t even there. 

It was just a cruel trick his own mind played on him. 

2019

Why does he feel like he is sending out an invitation to the Queen of England? Why is he so nervous to hit send on an email? This is nothing Earth shattering, nothing will happen if he sends it out and life will go on even if she never replies.

One Night Only is set to happen in a few weeks and Harry is now sending out his invitations to his friends and family, he wants everyone who matters to be there on such a big night. Making the list was no hard task, but then he thought of inviting Y/N as well even though they haven’t talked in so long.

The other night, Harry found himself stalking her Instagram which he is still following. She has been posting once or twice a month, tiny glimpses into her life that doesn’t include Harry anymore.

But he wants to change that.

“Fuck it,” he mumbles under his breath and then adds her to the list of people who will get the invitation and then he just hits send and it’s officially out there. 

Harry is not necessarily one to get overly obsessive about something, but the next few days he finds himself checking his inbox every hour, scrolling through the new emails, looking for one particular address to show up, but he has to come to the conclusion every time that Y/N hasn’t answered. 

Days go by, Harry’s enthusiasm fades and by the end of the week he is convinced she won’t be there and soon he doesn’t even have time to think about it. 

One Night Only arrives to London in december. The venue fills up with excited and devoted fans, but no one is more nervous about tonight than Harry. 

He is ready, his band is ready, everything is perfectly in place, but he knows he won’t feel fully calm until he is on stage, performing to the people who gave him this amazing life. 

It all goes as planned, Fine Line is finally officially out there (it has been for about a week if we are being exact) and Harry couldn’t be happier. Coming off the stage he is still high on adrenaline, taking all the congratulations the crew and guests are giving him relentlessly. His smile is so wide, it’s starting to hurt his face, but it’s a pain he could happily deal with for the rest of his life.

He hugs his mum and sister, all his old friends, they do a group hug with the band and he is sure he has greeted everyone by now, but then he spots one specific figure in the back of the room.

At first he thinks he is just imagining it. That his mind is playing the same trick on him it did a few years ago when he thought he saw Y/N at one of their concerts. Blinking a couple of times he is ready to watch her disappear like a ghost, but as the seconds go by he realizes that she is truly there.

Y/N is standing across the room with a nervous smile, looking all grown up and most importantly fucking beautiful. Even though Harry has seen plenty of pictures of her from recent times, it’s still a shock to have her stand in the same room as him. 

His body moves before his brain could process it. His feet start to carry him towards her and before he even realizes he is running and when he finally reaches her he wraps her in his arms, twirling her around, making both of them laugh.

“You’re here!” he breathes out, still hugging her even when he has put her down.

“I am, you invited me!” she chuckles and they finally lean back enough to look at each other. 

“I know, but… you never replied, I didn’t think you’d come and… You are actually here,” he repeats.

“Sorry I didn’t reply, I wasn’t sure until the very last minute if I would come,” she admits nervously.

Harry’s invitation was all she could think about since the morning she got the email. It was more than unexpected, for a moment she even thought it was just some kind of prank, but it came from Harry's old email address, so she had to believe that it was genuine. She hesitated until probably a few days ago when she woke up one day and just knew that she had to be here tonight. 

“It’s okay,” he smiles at her softly, taking in her every feature. The girl he knew is still there, but she changed a lot, she looks so much more mature and her features have definitely gotten a lot more feminine. 

She looks gorgeous. 

Suddenly it all comes down on him clashing, all the questions, the feelings, he wants to know everything, but he fears they don’t have enough time.

“How long are you staying?” he then asks.

“I took a couple of days off, I’m staying for three more days.”

He sighs in relief. 

“Come on,” he smiles, his hand taking hers. “I want to know everything.”

“Everything?” she chuckles, ignoring the tingles wherever his hand is touching hers.

“Harry, don’t assault the poor girl! She almost didn’t come!” Gemma chimes in. Harry stops, his eyes snapping back and forth between Y/N and his sister.

“Wait, you knew she would be coming?” he asks Gemma, who is sipping on some champagne with a knowing smile. She shrugs.

“Yeah.”

“And you didn’t tell me?” he scoffs, hands on his hips. The sight makes Y/N laugh, because she can see his sixteen year-old self in the pose so vividly, it’s insane.

“You never asked,” Gemma says and walks away. Harry turns back to Y/N.

“She messaged me if I got your invitation,” she admits. 

“So you’re telling me, all I should have done is to send you a message and ask for confirmation?”

Y/N just chuckles, shrugging her shoulders innocently. Harry exhales as he shakes his head.

“Alright, now you truly have to tell me everything.”

2020

“Can you hear me?” Harry asks, as the FaceTime finally loads and Y/N’s pixelated face fills his phone’s screen. He leans back on his plush couch and he tries his best to ignore how fast his heart starts pounding in his chest when he hears her laugh.

“Yeah, I can hear you,” she answers and it seems like she just sat down somewhere too.

Struggling with the unstable connection they share how their day has been so far, though Harry has been up just for a few hours while Y/N’s is almost over. The time difference has been making it hard for them to keep in touch, but Harry has learned his lesson and he bends his schedule around these talks, because there’s no way he would waste even a moment he could spend talking to her.

ONO and the days that followed changed everything. It didn’t take long for Harry to realize that his boyish crush is still very much present and after seeing her it quickly evolved into something more mature. Seemingly, Y/N has been sharing these feelings, because it appears she enjoys spending time with Harry in any way possible just as much as he does. 

It took them quite some time to catch up and it feels like they still haven’t shared everything they missed in each other’s life in the past years, but they know they have all the time they need, even if the circumstances might not always be the best. They are both trying their best.

There’s a comfortable silence in their call where both of them are just staring at each other through the screen. The unsaid things have been hanging there between them, they know it’s more than just their old friendship rekindled, but saying the words out through a FaceTime call wouldn’t be right.

“I miss you,” Harry finds himself mumbling the words, kind of to himself, but she hears the words.

“I miss you too,” she replies, biting her lip as she adjusts the phone in her hands.

“Can I… Can I see you before I go on tour?”

“That’s like… in three weeks,” she chuckles.

“I know. But I want to see you.”

“I don’t know, I have a regular, mundane job, I’m not an international rockstar who can just travel whenever it’s convenient,” she reminds him jokingly.

“Okay, then let me visit you.”

“You’re way too busy to come here.”

“I’m never too busy for you.”

She gasps at his words, the pink clouds so thick around her mind it’s almost sickening. If only she could reach out and through the screen…

“Let’s talk about it tomorrow and if you still think the same, we can… figure something out,” she smiles shyly. Harry knows he’ll feel the same tomorrow and the day after and forever. So he just smiles and nods.

They chat some more until Harry has to leave. Unwillingly, but they end the call and return to their separate lives.

Y/N stays on her couch, her phone still in her hands and Harry on her mind. Her TV is on, but it’s been muted, the screen is the only thing illuminating her in the dark room. With a tired sigh she reaches for the remote and turns the volume back on.

The news are on. She stands from the couch and starts cleaning up, not even listening to what they are talking about on the screen.

“... therefore COVID-19 has been officially declared a pandemic. WHO warns everyone to wear a mask in all public places, countries with a high number of cases are urgently discussing what other safety measures should…”

Y/N is questioning her sanity. She has been for the past week that was spent packing her suitcase, she took three covid tests in the last two days and now she is about to board a private jet at an airport that’s scarily empty. The last part shouldn’t be surprising, the whole world is under lockdown because of the pandemic, Y/N has spent her last month isolated in her apartment, right until one day Harry begged her to fly over to him.

“Y/N, please. I will settle everything, I’ll send a private jet for you, pay for it all, just please… please come here and be with me!”

There’s probably nothing she can deny from him. So here she is, escorted onto a private jet by an airport worker, they are both wearing their masks, just like everyone she has seen in the past week preparing for her travel.

Just as she settles in her seat on the jet, her phone buzzes from a text.

HARRY: Everything alright? Are you boarding already?

With a smile hidden under her mask she types her reply.

Y/N: On the plane, we’re taking off in 10.

HARRY: I can’t wait to see you.

Last time she traveled overseas was for a vacation years ago. She flew commercial then and it felt like hell, wedged between an obnoxious little boy and a middle aged woman who complained about everything. Now it’s just her and literally one single stewardess who is there to serve her. It’s a whole different experience for sure. 

Luckily, the journey feels a lot shorter when she’s comfortable, she can get up anytime and eat excellent food instead of some weird frozen meal on a plastic plate. By the time the jet touches down she feels rested and most importantly excited to see Harry again. It feels like forever when they had to say goodbye in december and in all honesty, it took them way longer to reunite, but it’s all because of the pandemic. It’s late april now, they were planning to meet about a month ago originally at the end of march before his tour was set to kick off. By now he was supposed to be on the road through Europe, but instead, he has been under lockdown just like the rest of the world.

She walks through LAX as if it was zombie land, it’s so eerily empty she is expecting zombies to round the corner any minute, but it never happens. She reaches the car waiting for her, the driver loads her begs to the trunk and then they are off to Harry’s place. 

It’s her first time at Harry’s LA home, and naturally it still baffles her to see where he’s gotten from his old life in Holmes Chapel, one that included her.

But his life includes her now as well, she reminds herself just as the car rolls up the long driveway. Getting out of the car she is about to grab her suitcases from the back of the car when the front door flies open and Harry sprints out. Literally.

He is running towards her with such speed, she almost gets knocked over when he finally reaches her and locks her in his arms, twirling around in the air.

“You’re here!” he breathes out, making her laugh.

“Were you not expecting me?” she teases him when he finally puts her down, but his arms remain around her.

“It’s just… I’m so happy to see you,” he smiles widely, taking her in. She hasn’t changed much since December, maybe her hair has gotten a little longer, but she looks the same.

However their feelings are nowhere near the same.

He thanks the driver and then grabs all her bags, urging her to come inside. Y/N wanders further into his home exploring it right away, already migrating towards the pool outside. Harry sets her luggage down in the hallway and walks after her, watching her stop by the sliding doors, admiring the enormous backyard. She turns around and catches him staring.

“What?” she asks, nervously laughing.

“Nothing,” he shakes his head. “I’m just really happy you’re here.”

2021

He’s nervous. There’s no use in denying, anyone could see it. But no one can blame him, it’s been so long since he last stood on a stage, he’s afraid he lost his groove, though the people who know him beg to differ. 

Washing his teeth in his fluffy robe he is eyeing his outfit for tonight that’s hanging in the corner. He knows his fans will love it, the color pink alone would make them go feral, but the sparkly vest with no top underneath will be surely like they won the jackpot. 

He spits and rinses his mouth just when there’s a soft knock on the door and just by the rhythm of it he knows who it is.

“Come in!” he calls out, wiping his mouth with a towel just when Y/N pokes her head inside, her body following a second later. 

“Hey,” she smiles shyly, taking him in for a second as he moves around the room.

“Told you, you don’t have to knock when you come in,” he chuckles.

“But, what if you’re… naked or something?”

He stops and stares back at her, giving her an ‘Are you kidding me?’ look that gets her all flustered in an instant so he decides to take it even further.

“Nothing you haven’t seen, baby. In fact, you can see it right now if you wanted to.” He starts untying his robe, but she stops him laughing and taking the opportunity of having her so close now he wraps her in his arms and kisses her.

It never gets old. The feeling he gets whenever he gets to kiss her, whether it’s a good morning kiss right after he wakes up, or a tired kiss at the end of the day, a needy kiss when he just wants her more than anything or a make-up kiss after a fight, which doesn’t happen often. He can count it on one hand how many times they got into an argument since they’ve become an item in April 2020, when Y/N spent most of the lockdown with Harry. Originally, she planned to stay only for a couple of weeks, but she didn’t return home until the start of June and she was back by July.

Now it’s September 2021, so it’s been almost one and a half years since then and they are still just as in love as they were during lockdown.

“You’re nervous,” she mumbles against his lips and it’s not a question. She knows him, all of his looks, his movements, she knows what he thinks about most of the time if not always, she can read him like a book.

Harry hums and just goes in for another kiss.

“You’ll be amazing, don’t worry,” she smiles at him, patting his chest as she pulls back. “And even if you make a mistake, the pink sparkles will distract everyone,” she jokes, nodding towards his outfit.

“You’ll be out there?”

“Of course. I’ll be the one screaming the loudest.”

“As loud as last night?” The cheeky grin that stretches across his face is proof that he is not that nervous if he can make dirty jokes.

“Shut up or I’m going home,” she laughs, poking a finger into his chest teasingly. He grabs her finger and pulls her back for another kiss.

“Nope, you’re stuck here. With me,” he smirks, lips coming over hers again.

2023

The bittersweet feeling has been lingering around the crew not just all day, but probably for a week now. Everyone knew that the end was coming and now that the final show is officially here, the emotions are overflowing. Everything they are doing, they are doing it for the last time on Love On Tour. It’s the last stage, the last sound check, last time Wet Leg takes the stage before Harry and it’s the last time Y/N is sitting in his dressing room, watching him put on his outfit of the night.

She can sense that he is different than he usually is before a show, he seems antsy and his eyebrows have been furrowed probably since lunch. Y/N watches him pace the floor back and forth in his sparkly outfit, nervously fixing the wire behind his neck even though it’s exactly in the same spot it usually is.

“Do you want me to help?” she asks and Harry stops in his tracks, as if he just realized what he’s been doing. His hands fall by his side as he exhales sharply.

“Sorry, just… fidgeting.”

Y/N stands from the couch and walking over she absentmindedly fixes his fringed vest, planting her palms onto his chest gently.

“It’s okay to be sad, H,” she reminds him. Harry tends to hide his big, sad feelings, because he feels like it would bother others. He is always so considerate about dealing with everyone else’s feelings, but this time his emotions should be in focus as well.

“I don’t want to be sad, that’s the thing. It was a great experience, sadness should not be a thing when I think of Love On Tour.”

“But that’s why it’s okay to be sad. Because this amazing experience is ending and it’s natural that you’re mourning it. It lasted, what? Like almost two years? And if we count in the planning, this tour has been part of your life since 2019. That was four years ago, no one expects you to just let go of it laughing.”

Harry nods, his arms snaking around her waist as he pulls her into his embrace, needing to feel her close in this overwhelming moment. She’s been his anchor, the person he could turn to no matter what during this insanely long tour, he’s convinced he couldn’t have done it all without her. 

Not even Harry can slow time down, so the moment to step onto the stage for the last time in this tour finally comes. Y/N stands with his family and friends at the side, holding Anne’s hands whenever an emotional song is played by him. He puts one thousand percent into it, just like every time on this tour and Y/N’s chest swells with pride when she realizes that it’s one hundred thousand people screaming at her lover.

Or fiancé, to be exact. 

When Harry sings Falling, to his fans’ surprise, she notices him looking for her in the crowd. The song is melancholic and it was written about a time he felt at his lowest, but to look in his eyes tells it all to Y/N.

He is not there anymore, because he has her. 

She’s twisting her diamond ring around her finger as tears dwell in her eyes while she sings along to the song, hoping that her expression tells him too, that she is happy to be the person who brought light into his life, because he did the same to her.

Then the time comes for Harry’s thank you speech and no eye is left dry after his words. Y/N has to swallow back her sobs when he turns to her and addresses his words straight to her.

“My love, thank you for everything, you were such a big part of this journey and I hope that our journey will continue forever.”

The fans are screaming, phones are pointed at her, recording her reaction as she just nods eagerly, one hand covering her wobbling lips. 

For his final piano piece Y/N moves backstage to watch him from there and be there when he walks off the stage for the very last time in the history of Love On Tour. She is standing there with the proudest and most emotional expression on her face when Harry jumps down the steps and he smashes into her arms right away, burying his face into the crook of her neck. She can feel his tears against her skin and she gently keeps combing her hand through his hair, giving him as much time to recover as he needs. 

When he finally lifts his head his eyes are glassy, but there’s a smile on his lips.

“You did amazing,” Y/N tells him, gently wiping his cheeks with her hands.

“And you did too,” he says and his words make her laugh.

“I didn’t do anything.”

“You did the absolute most, Y/N. You gave me your love and support and I couldn’t have done it without those.”

Her heart melts as she pushes up to her tiptoes, pressing a gentle kiss to his lips.

“You’ll forever have those. You’ll forever have me.”

Thank you for reading, please like and reblog if you enjoyed and buy me a coffee if you want to support me!

[astonmartinii]

motormouth | charles leclerc instagram au

pairing: charles : x host!reader 

charles finally gets the chance to go on his favourite internet show, but completely embarrasses himself in front of the host - his celebrity crush 

yourusername 

liked by charles_leclerc, florencepugh and 1,303,765 others 

tagged: scuderiaferrari, charles_leclerc 

yourusername surprise!!! the next guest on the bargain bucket is ferrari prince, il predestinato and chronic bad trouser-enjoyer charles leclerc! in this episode we ate monaco’s local bargain pastries while discussing his f1 career, being the middle child and a potential career as a pianist. available this friday. 

view all 320,761 comments 

charles_leclerc thank you for having me on the show 

yourusername the pleasure was all mine charles, tell ur pr department to stop calling me 

lovelyleclerc oh god what did charles say 

wdccharles this is my multiverse of madness 

pierregasly oh thank the lord he can finally shut up about getting to go on your show 

piarlestruther pierre always exposing his bestie 

charles_leclerc 

liked by yourusername, scuderiaferrari and 601,761 others 

tagged: yourusername, thebargainbucket 

charles_leclerc i had a great time when y/n wasn’t trying to bait me. check out my ep of the bargain bucket this friday. 

view all 4,092 comments 

yourusername i didn’t bait you at all, you admitted it all on your own baby 

charles_leclerc lying isn’t cute y/n 

planetleclerc i’m lowkey loving their dynamic 

leclercfan16 yessss i want to see more 

pierregasly did you admit your crush? 

f1wagupdates PIERRE WHAT 

yourusername 

liked by charles_leclerc, gracieabrams and 1,208,945 others 

tagged: thebargainbucket 

yourusername ahhhhhhhhhh my heart is so full. after a successful few years my little show that started in my parents’ spare room is getting a big upgrade. i can’t say too much now, but watch this space... 

view all 7,092 comments 

florencepugh so so deserved 

flowersforcharles ah i’m so excited 

charles_leclerc but you can’t possibly upgrade from me 

yourusername don’t flatter yourself 

danielricciardo congrats y/n - when can i come on? 

yourusername might be sooner than you think 

f1wagsupdates 

liked by likedbypierregasly, leclercmylove and 431 others 

tagged: yourusername, charles_leclerc 

f1wagsupdates charles and y/n spotted in the background of joris’ instagram story before it was taken down. are they a new couple in the paddock and does this have anything to do with her new project? 

view all 24 comments 

violetleclerc idk about you guys but i love them 

gasly10 this feels kinda forced especially with rumours that her new project is with f1 

f1fan16 yeah it defo feels like she’s only with charles for that reason 

yourusername added to their story 

[caption: a little change of scenery] 

f1 

liked by yourusername, charles_leclerc and 2,309,812 others 

tagged: yourusername 

f1 this season the bargain bucket is on wheels and international. y/n y/ln is sampling the local delicacies while giving you a behind-the-scenes look at the world of f1!

view all 9,523 comments 

tedkravitz welcome to the team y/n!!!! 

yourusername thank youuuuuu ted 

lewishamilton looking forward to seeing you in the paddock y/n 

yukitsunoda0511 can’t wait to show you all the best places to eat in japan

yourusername omg yes yuki

charles_leclerc proud of you lovely 

yourusername sharlllllll i’m blushing 

charles_leclerc 

liked by pierregasly, yourusername and 1,409,532 others 

tagged: yourusername 

charles_leclerc best thing about y/n always being in the paddock: kisses 

worst thing about y/n always being in the paddock: how much she loves lipstick 

view all 12,078 comments 

yourusername you love me really 

charles_leclerc i really do 

leclercfire the way charles was scared he embarrassed himself on the bargain bucket by saying she’s his celeb crush and now they’re together 

babyleclerc i’m proud of him for real 

pierregasly i guess our five hour phone call before going on the show was worth it now 

[martybaker]

Over the rainbow

So I know we love torturing or at least inconveniencing retired Dream with new human ailments and realities, I love doing that as well, but the thesis of this was - what if Dream retired and he finally got to be at peace and all was well, actually 🥹

(started this for prompt First time for dreamling week but here we are over a week late)

————

“I’ve never been kissed,” Dream announces.

He’s settled on the far end of Hob’s sofa with his knees up, chin settled on top of them and arms loosely hugging his legs, somehow looking both comfortable and relaxed as well as like a model in the middle of a photoshoot.

Hob’s had a hard time not staring but when Dream says that line his eyes immediately snap to the vision on his couch, clothed in hues of beige, wrapped in Hob’s own softest cardigan, and he nearly spills the tea that he was bringing for a sip.

“Huh? What?” He asks dumbly, voice unnaturally high pitched.

Dream merely blinks at him and waits him out.

When the wheels in Hob’s brain start turning again he does try to parse that statement, but all he can come up with is: “But…you’ve had relationships? You had a wife and all, did you not kiss? Was it all like, metaphysical or-“

Dream rolls his eyes, unimpressed. “Of course I’ve kissed my partners. Let me rephrase the statement. Murphy has never been kissed.”

Oh.

Dream’s talking about his new human body. His new self, that he named Murphy, a name to be used for dull but necessary identity paperwork that Hob obtained for Dream through rather illegal means.

It’s only been a little over a month since Dream turned human, but he’s been very…calm while settling into his new reality. The retirement was his own choice and he seemed to be perfectly content with his decision, despite the fact that he was forced to live with Hob in his messy little apartment while they figure something of his own for him.

Well, if.

Dream also seemed perfectly content in Hob’s space and showed no interest whatsoever in looking at flat listings.

Not that Hob minded. He would happily spend every minute every day with his friend, if it wouldn’t make him feel guilty about slacking on his job and his students. After all, Hob’s chosen career wasn’t just to keep himself busy, he really enjoyed teaching young impressionable minds about days past, keeping the history alive. Remembering.

But his joy in teaching was currently found lacking compared to the newfound joy of Dream in his home. Not just visiting, robed in dark colors, taking time off of his duties to spend a moment with Hob, but human, dressed in earthly colors, there in the mornings for shared breakfasts and still there in the evenings when Hob returned. Reading a book, slowly going through Hob’s vast vinyl collection, playing the piano, painting, knitting, molding clay. Pale blue eyes focused and clever hands at work, creating, always creating. He’s always been an artist and that part of him stayed true, despite the big change.

All things considered, Hob’s really been having a hard time keeping his foolish heart in check. And with Dream saying things like this, things like-

“This mouth has never been kissed.”

Hob’s eyes drop to Dream’s lips as soon as Dream says that, just to see them twitch in a pleased smile.

Hob stares at him, at a loss for words, while Dream looks back at him expectantly. Expecting…an answer? A reassurance?

Hob clears his throat. “Well…I’m sure it will be? It’s a very lovely mouth,” he says, unable to stop the blush coloring his cheeks.

Dream sighs a long suffering sigh and pets the couch next to himself. “Come here,” he commands.

There’s no ancient power of a monarch of the Dreaming behind it anymore, but Dream still keeps his regality, his head held high, a quiet gravitas to him. Not quite the same as when he was an Endless, but still there.

Confident, elegant, graceful.

And calm, like the still water of an indigo lake high in the mountains.

Hob blinks. What was the question? Oh, right, he was being summoned. He moves to sit next to Dream.

Dream turns towards him, leans in and closes his eyes.

Is he…?

Hob is frozen in shock once again. “Ahh, you, you want me to…?”

Dream opens his sky blue eyes again, staring into Hob’s soul. “Yes,” he says decisively.

There’s a beat when they just stare into each other’s eyes and then Dream closes his again. Waiting, alluring lips just a few inches from Hob’s.

But Hob’s having a crisis. They’ve never done this before! Dream’s never said anything about being…attracted to Hob, he’s never suggested, he never seemed interested that way.

One time, Hob got drunk and Dream had to drag his ass upstairs to bed, and Hob was just enough at his senses to remember that he slurred: “D’ya know what I like best about being immortal?”

“What,” Dream asked as he pulled Hob upwards, making sure he wouldn’t stumble on the stairs.

And Hob smiled goofily and said: “You.”

Dream just blinked at him. He didn’t say anything, not then, not when Hob got propositioned by the shopkeep when they were out together, browsing for new (old) records, not when Death was visiting and she teased if they changed their dates to weekly instead of centennialy.

Not when they were walking in a park, and Dream seemed to be watching a couple on another path on a stroll as well, holding hands.

Hob’s good mood made him act foolish, he reached out a hand in offering, but Dream… he just stared at it. Hob quickly withdrew it, running it through his hair, chuckling nervously. “I was just teasing,” he said weakly, but by that point he was sure his feelings were transparent and Dream’s lack of reaction was a clear signal.

Then again, maybe this was just harmless experimentation? Wanting to know what it feels like, being kissed as a human?

But Hob still hesitates. He feels too strongly about Dream to casually mess around without being wary of the consequences.

“Uhh, wait. I, are you sure? I don’t-“

Dream sighs and his patience with Hob apparently runs out because he pulls Hob towards him by his shirt, kissing him square on the lips.

Hob makes a surprised sound, but then he closes his eyes and falls into the kiss.

It’s unhurried and rather chaste, yet Hob’s heart seems to be doing its best trying to jump out of his chest.

Dream pulls away, slowly opening his eyes.

“How….how did that feel?” Hob asks, reminding himself that this was just an experiment. A one time deal.

Dream contemplates his answer. “Different,” he says.

“Different than when you were..Endless?

“Yes.”

“Good different or bad different?”

Dream frowns. “No such dichotomy applies,” he says, and then he leans back in again and Hob leans away.

He chuckles nervously. “Ahh, haha, hold on. You’re gonna make me think you like kissing me.” He tries to turn it into a joke, holding Dream lightly by his shoulders, trying to prevent him from darting forward again.

Dream glares at him. “And what, pray tell, is making you think I don’t.”

“Oh…really?” Hob lets go of one bony shoulder to pinch his own arm. Surely, he’s still asleep and this is just a …dream.

Dream’s glare turns even more unimpressed. “You’re awake,” he says, sharp, and as if to prove his point he kisses Hob again, more hungrily and passionately, biting at his lower lip, Hob’s hold too slack to hold him back.

They kiss and kiss and it’s far from chaste this time, Dream seems to have made it his mission to explore Hob’s mouth thoroughly, while his hands explore his chest.

Hob’s hand burrows into Dream’s hair, he isn’t able to hold back now, kissing back with vigor, treasuring Dream’s every gasp.

They’re both breathing hard by the time they part - by the time Hob has to pull Dream back by his hair to stop him from diving back in.

He can’t help but laugh. “You do actually need to breathe now, you know.”

Dream doesn’t seem too pleased with this reminder. He huffs, sitting back onto his heels.

Hob already misses the feeling of him in his arms.

He clears his throat. There’s a very important question to be asked first.

“Is it…just the kissing that you like?”

Dream tilts his head at Hob like a cat, measuring him. “You cannot tell?”

Hob shakes his head.

“You’re not very bright, Hob Gadling,” Dream says, and Hob would protest, he would tease back, but the words get stuck in his throat when Dream takes Hob’s hand into his own, putting it on his chest and making Hob feel his racing heartbeat.

Hob inhales, blushing.

“You…I…,” he sighs, searching for words. “I still have a lot to learn,” he offers, smiling at Dream.

“As do I,” says Dream.

It is marvelous seeing Dream like this. His words are confident but his heart beats wildly under Hob’s hand, pink colors his cheeks, chest rising and falling with deep breaths.

He’s trusting Hob with this, with his very human body whose reactions he cannot temper, cannot regulate.

Hob chuckles, feeling warm.

He loves this, the marvelous feeling of finding out your crush likes you back, the feeling that’s always incredible, no matter the time and place, no matter how many times he’s experienced it. One of his favorite feelings, the ones that make life an amazing journey.

“I really thought you weren’t interested in me like that,” he says.

Dream sighs. “I…could not be.”

Hob’s heart aches.

He has to touch, now that he’s allowed, now that he’s invited to. He kisses Dream’s forehead, his cheeks, delighting in the sighs he earns.

He kisses Dream's neck and Dream tilts his head for better access, making Hob feel lightheaded and so full of happiness he can hardly contain it. “I won’t be able to keep my hands off of you now,” he warns. “I’ll kiss you a hundred times every day.”

“A thousand times” Dream says, and Hob laughs, scraping his teeth against alabaster skin, making Dream moan.

He smirks, gaining back his confidence now that he knows Dream means this. He holds him around the waist, pulling him closer.

“I did learn a certain thing or two over the years,” he says slyly, dipping Dream backwards, laying him on the couch. Dream sighs indulgently, wrapping his hands around Hob’s shoulders, holding him close.

“Want me to show you?” Hob asks, and Dream hums in confirmation, pulling him for another kiss.

Soft notes play from the old record player, outside warm spring sun rays melt the last reminders of winter, birds chirp their welcoming songs.

Hope is in the air.

Dream’s here, in Hob’s home, in his arms. The cold weeks when he was distant and quietly hurting and Hob could sense something was very, very wrong but didn’t know how to fix it now seem like a distant memory too.

Hob pulls back for a second, holding Dream’s head in his hands, savoring the moment.

“Will you stay?” he whispers.

Dream inhales, his hand shaking a little when he places it on Hob’s cheek, caressing Hob’s lips with his thumb.

“I’m exactly where I want to be,” he says, smiling.

————

[ghettogirly]

𝐀𝐑𝐌𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐎 𝐀𝐑𝐄𝐓𝐀𝐒 𝐈𝐌𝐀𝐆𝐈𝐍𝐄!

𝐆𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐒𝐓𝐀!

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𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: 𝐉𝐎𝐊𝐄𝐑!𝐀𝐑𝐌𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐎 𝐀𝐑𝐄𝐓𝐀𝐒 𝐗 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐑.

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-> synopsis: it’s your first day at the psychiatric institution within Miami, assigned to the most notorious criminal Armando Aretas, you must navigate your professionalism and your evolving crush for the male. How far with the lines blur?

-> format: one-shot

-> theme: twisted love.

-> warning: themes of toxicity, mature language, themes of violence, Armando is a little rough, themes of manipulation.

-> authors note: sorry for being gone so long, i wanted a little break! i know this is not a request but i wanted to write a story with Armando based on the Joker and Harley Quinn. 𝐫𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝!🌸

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Walking through the rusted, steel gate, the click and clacks of heels were heard echoing off of the concrete floor. Tapping her keycard amongst the galvanised aluminium door, a woman strolled through. Her nervousness filled up the air as the receptionist lazily glanced up at her. “What.”

“Oh! It’s my first day here, i’m supposed to be meeting up with the head of the institution Mr-“

“He’s not here.”

“He told me he would be here though-“

“Well he’s not, so leave.”

“Wait a second-“

A click was heard next to the two women as a buff guy walked through the door, signalling you to follow him, which you do with haste. Quickly collecting your things, you follow him through the door to which he leads you down a hallway, leaving the miserable old woman behind the desk.

“Don’t mind her, she can be a bit grouchy in the morning.” Your superior, Micheal Brown reassured you as he took you towards the staff room.

“It’s fine.. happens to everyone i guess.”

“Did you get here okay?”

“Yeah traffic wasn’t that bad-“

Cutting her off, screams could be heard throughout the institution as you heard metal banging and footsteps retreating. Forcing you to the left, a big group of officers came running down the hall with gas masks and shields as they approach a particular cell where the interference was occurring. A pale caucasian man was being whisked out of the cell, his arm falling limp as his soul seems to have left his body. His lips turned blue, the colour slowly seeping down his body. He was killed.

Another man seemingly walks out of the cell, his hands behind his back as a bunch of guards surround him. To your surprise, Micheal walks towards the guards to figure out the issue. You follow behind.

In the middle of all the bodies, a broad, built man stood coolly between them. His tan skin being lit slightly by the dim ceiling light that hung above him. A slight scar ripped through his eyebrow as he was shirtless. His muscles and toned abs popped out with his tattoos slowly trailing down his arm, forming a sleeve. Slowly putting his head up, he looked straight at you. His eyes low. His lips forming a slight smirk.

You recognise him to be Armando Aretas.

Slightly gasping, you look straight at him. Intimidated by his presence but unable to look away. He lightly chuckled at your reaction to which he got his neck grabbed by one of the guards, unhappy by his recent activities. “Fucking hell Aretas, don’t you ever want to get your shit in order?”

No response.

“Nothing to say? Cap let me sort him out-“

“That’s enough.” Micheal shouts, pushing past the swarm of guards who managed to contain Aretas. “Take him to the solitary unit.”

A myriad of huffs were heard throughout the group who manhandled Aretas, urging him to walk down the corridors.

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“Was that Armando Aretas?”

“The one and only. You’re his new therapist.”

Your jaw went slack in shock as you try to fathom all the consequences that could arise from this. Good or bad.

“Don’t worry, if you don’t want to do this then i can assign you with someone else-“

“I’ll do it.” Jumping at the offer as it can progress your career further if you manage to change the psychologically scarred man, a sense of fear yet adrenaline bubbling through your veins.

“Great. It’s a plan.” Standing up, you shake his hand at the man who happily smiles towards you. Was he smiling at you because you’re helping him? Or was it for a different reason?

You sat in your car, munching on some pesto pasta while flicking through his files. Usually, you wouldn’t really psych yourself out by reading the clients files before you met them but your curiosity took over. Wanting to see what was beneath the male’s cold, callous exterior. Scanning through the paper, you looked at his psychological records noted down by his previous psychiatrists. ‘Sociopathic tendencies, manipulative, signs of antisocial behaviour…’

“The list could go on..”

Munching on the rest of your pasta, you glance up at your car system where the clock struck 9:45am. You were late.

“Oh god, i need to go!”

Quickly getting out of your car, you fiddle with your car keys as you try to lock the door. Running to the entrance, you quickly pass the receptionist, not even waiting for her smart comment today. Now speed walking down the corridor, you open the barricaded door with a keycard, just before stepping inside someone stops you.

“You sure you’re okay with this?” It was Micheal.

“Yes, i’m sure, thank you.”

A darkness welcomed you in as you entered the secluded room. Looking up at you , Armando gave you a side smile. His features entrancing you as you notice his messy beard and hair, his rough hands and built shape. His reputation of being a cold blooded killer who ran Miami clearly preceded him.

His arms was cuffed to a bar that separated you and him from the table. A guard was in the corner to which you signalled him to leave, giving you a peculiar look, he obeyed.

“Hello Armando, i’m your new psychiatrist.”

“I know. They were nice enough to give me an attractive one this time.”

You coughed as you felt a heat rise to your cheeks. “Moving forward. I’m [enter name]. I think we can be a first name basis here, don’t you?”

“Sure.”

Getting out your folders, you scan through his section and start asking him questions. He answers some and answers none. Throughout the whole session you stay focused on analysing and observing his behaviour, even though you could feel his glare on you.

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Over the next couple of weeks, you become more comfortable within the facility and with Armando. Showing good progress within the facility and your sessions, to the point where even the staff have noticed and complimented you. However, a feeling of pleasure seems to mix within your profession as through every session there seems to be progress with you too.

Your love for him.

You seem not be able to get enough of him, scanning him up and down in his orange jumpsuit as he always leans forward to answer your questions. Leaving the tiniest bit of space between the two, to the extent of which you can feel his breath on your nose. His tattoos trailed down his body, creating its own story the further down you go.

“¿Te gusta lo que ves?”

“What?”

“I’ve noticed the confidence mamas. You’ve been wearing more revealing shirts, been more assertive. No te hagas el tonto.”

“I..”

Leaning forward, Armando slowly reached for your neck, tracing it slightly. “Te he estado sintiendo, sé que tú también me has estado sintiendo a mí".

Feeling the your emotions of love and lust wash over you, the walls protecting yourself and your future come crashing down. Now fully succumbing to him and his actions as you lean into his touch.

“Of course i been feeling you puddin..”

Planting your lips on Armando’s, you embrace him into a passionate kiss to which he accepts, roughly grabbing your neck in an attempt to pull you closer. Moaning into the kiss, it continues for a couple seconds longer before he pulls away.

“¿Puedes conseguirme algunas armas, nena?”

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[🌸] 𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐒𝐋𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒:

“¿Te gusta lo que ves?” : You like what you see?

“No te hagas el tonto.” : Don’t play dumb.

“Te he estado sintiendo, sé que tú también me has estado sintiendo a mí". : I been feeling you, i know you have been feeling me too.

“¿Puedes conseguirme algunas armas, nena?” : Can you get me some guns, baby?

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[🌸] 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓: @shurisgf @milliumizoomi @deadpool15 @armandosbabymama @tyneshaaa @thedarkworldofhananerea @5tarlan7 @wizewhispers @dyttomori @dyttomori02 @amplifiedmoan @believeinthefireflies95 @bootlegroach @sarcasticbitchsblog @yeahnohoneybye @omg-mymelaninisbeautiful

[gatorbites-imagines]

Kinktober day 29

John “Soap” MacTavish + Muscle/Body Worship

I’m still exhausted from all my homework and exam prep, but the I’m not gonna let that stop me. Readers older than Soap and is retired from the military.

Kinktober 2023 masterlist.

Retirement was strange for you, especially after having been active in the military for most of your life. Now that you had retired, there was very little to do to fill your day, Especially with Soap away still on active duty. Your relationship was a little strange in the eyes of others, mainly because of your age gap, but you were both adult men with careers when you first met and knew what you wanted.

You spent most of your days doing hobbies, like woodwork or messing with junker cars. The people of the town you and Soap lived in knew you as the older ex-military man who took no shit, but knew how to get even the oldest car running, or creating the wildest things outta wood.

The life outside of the military had taken much stress of your shoulders, but the access to any treat you could want and not being on the move at all times was starting to show. You were still strong as an ox and big in width and height, but as time went on a layer of fat gathered over your muscles. You still looked like you could take down a bear singlehandedly, but insecurity was starting to gather in your chest.

Combine your sudden plush and the grey starting to gather in your hair and beard, the ugly voices in your head started to whisper and murmur. A part of your mind was sure that the moment Soap saw you when he came back from duty, hed turn the other way and run for the hills, as you weren’t the man he had left those months ago.

It was that insecurity that had you pulling on an army fleece jacket, one that still fit and served to hide some of your newer bulk, the day you had to go pick him up from the airport. You were chewing your lip as you leaned against a wall near the back, surrounded by other people greeting their loved ones coming home. When you saw Soap, you almost talked yourself out of calling out for him, but before you could make any decision, he spotted you.

The Scot rushed through the crowd with his army bags, his eyes running up and down your body in a way that had your skin crawling enough that you didn’t notice the hunger that grew in them. He groaned as he hugged you, his bags forgotten on the floor as he kissed you, his arms squeezing around your middle as he couldn’t seem to stop himself from grabbing onto your ass or thighs, squeezing the thicker material of your thighs with an appreciative hum.

Insecurity gnawed in your stomach as you pulled back from Soaps hungry lips, clearing your throat as you reached them to scoop up his bags and lug them over his shoulder. You lover huffed about it for a bit, but you just grinned and made your way towards the car, unaware of the holes Soap was burning in your body as he seemed to take in every change he had missed.

The drive back to your home was spent sharing what you’d both missed, you sharing town gossip, and Soap telling you about 141. As you drove, you almost pulled away as Soap grabbed onto your thigh, his strong hand almost kneading the softer muscle under his palm. But seeing as you were driving, you couldn’t pull away like you wanted too, but Soap seemed to notice your discomfort and pulled his hand to himself with a worried furrow to his brow.

When you got home, you could tell Soap wanted to jump you immediately. It was tradition at this point, after being apart for a while, you two would spend hours expressing the feelings you hadn’t been able too all that time. But the insecurity in your body had you avoiding his advances, even though you had missed him just as much as he had missed you.

His pouting and puppy eyes almost had you throwing your insecurities about your body out the window, but then you would pass by a reflective surface, and you would see your thicker body, your rounder stomach or the extra roundness in your cheeks, and your fears would return tenfold.

This continued for a few days, until Soap finally seemed to have enough as you guys were typically better at talking about anything wrong. You had taken to sleep fully clothed, when in the past all you had slept in were a pair of boxers. That night you two were laying in bed, Soap acting as the big spoon as you liked to switch, his face burrowed in your shoulders as he squeezed your middle.

“God, you’re so fucking hot” he groaned, his hips rolling into your back as he exhaled shakily, his lips pressing against the exposed skin of your neck. You found your face growing hot, along with heat pooling in your gut as he murmured out all the things he thought, a shaky exhale leaving you as he ran his hands up under your shirt.

“The moment I saw you, I almost jumped you then and there, right in the airport” he purred, switching from kisses to bites and sucks. You wanted to retort, to claim he was lying, but the way he panted and ground against your back, his hard cock rutting against you made his point clear. He truly didn’t seem to mind your bodies changes, quite the opposite, he seemed almost rabid with how much he loved it.

“Come on love, roll over” he groaned, withdrawing from your back to grab at your shoulders, rolling you onto your back, but not before wrestling the shirt off your torso. You didn’t even have time to gasp out his name before he descended upon you, grabbing, licking, and sucking hickeys all over your torso, moaning against the fat and muscle of your strong torso.

You gripped onto his mohawk, a shuddery gasp leaving you as he licked and sucked between your thick pecs, his eyes locked on your own, looking half mad and starved as Soap worked his way down your body. “This stomach” he growled, gripping onto your stomach and licking over it, his voice rough and almost worshipping in tone.

“These fuckin thighs” Soap groaned out, pulling your sleep pants down your hips to bury his face between them, gripping them to squeeze them around his head. He looked like a man in heaven as you flexed your thighs carefully, squeezing his head softly between them as he so badly seemed to want.

A curse left you as Soap dug his teeth into the meat of your thigh, working like a man possessed to mark them all over as if to make up for lost time. When he finally seemed to have worked his way all over your body, you found yourself aching hard, a wet spot gathering in your boxers.

Soap almost purred as he ran the flat side of his tongue over your shaft through your boxers, his pupils blown and hair a mess. Wrenching down your boxers, he was upon you like a starved animal, sucking you all the way down his throat even as he gagged and coughed, like all Soap wanted was you to fill his mouth.

The noises were slick and wet as he worked his lips up and down you, one of his hands gripping your thick thigh as the other rolled your balls, his acts akin to worship as Soap moaned and groaned like the act brought him just as much pleasure as it brought you.

It had been a while since you had gotten yourself off, you age playing a factor, as your libido wasn’t as high as it had once been without Soap there, so the end quickly hurdled close. “F-fuck, John” you grunted, voice raspy as he looked down at him, his blue eyes staring up at you with such a deep hunger, his movements growing more desperate and his noises needier.

The grip on his mohawk tightened as you clenched your eyes shut, a deep guttural noise leaving you as you spilled into his mouth, thick spurts of white striking the back of his throat and tongue, Soap moaning louder than you as he gulped it all down like it was a delicacy.

Soap gave a few extra sucks and slurps, just to make sure it was all drawn out of you before withdrawing with a lewd pop, his lips red and wet as he grinned wolfishly. A soft chuckle left you as you fell back onto the pillows, grabbing onto his hips as he clambered on top of you. You both knew it would take a while before you could get hard again, but Soap seemed just as happy to start rutting against your stomach, needy noises leaving him as you moved his hips for him in a tight grip.

[ltbarnes]

Back to December (1/2)

Summary: Your new job as an assistant for the CEO of a big, shiny company was supposed to be a good thing. Instead your ex from uni who completely ghosted you out of nowhere several years ago happens to be one of your superiors. It doesn’t help that he’s only gotten more handsome over the years. But you hate him for leaving without an explanation, and he seems to hate you too. Everything is just fucking great.

Pairing: ex!Simon “Ghost” Riley x fem!reader

Word count: 6.9k

Warnings: OFFICE AU (Ghost is not ceo but he’s up there in the company somewhere), exes to enemies to lovers, harassment, past emotional violence/threats, ghost was a rugby player in uni lol, blood

A/N: I’m finally dipping my toe into another fandom 🫣 I’ve been obsessed with the cod men for months now so I suppose it’s time. this is the first part of two, maybe three. we’ll see where my imagination takes me!!

Part 2

Masterlist

So many years spent wondering what the hell happened that night, and there he is on the opposite side of the meeting room table gathering his papers into a neat pile. Simon always was organized, you remember.

He hasn't seen you yet. Or maybe he doesn't recognize you. You don't think you have changed that much, but you never know. More as a person than your appearance, you guess.

Maybe that's why you haven't fell down to the floor crying yet—you would have just a few years ago. Seeing your ex-boyfriend for the first time since you were 20 might do that to you.

But you just feel anger. Anger over the fact that Simon has the audacity to have grown into his looks that way, and that he's successful and has this great scruff on his face and that he just left and never said a word to you again. How dare he have a good life when he just abandoned you and your relationship that night all those years ago without giving you a reason for it.

Your new boss clears his throat, sitting down at one of the ridiculously expensive chairs right next to you. You didn't notice him come in, and you certainly haven't gotten used to his intimidating presence yet.

"Garcia, you have about...fifteen minutes to go through your presentation. I have another meeting with Hill soon." Mr. Price pauses to look down at his wrist watch for two seconds in the middle of his sentence, before nodding towards the beautiful redhead standing with a small remote in her hand.

For some reason this company seems to be where models who get tired of their careers come to work. You didn't exactly get that memo. It's only your second day here, and you feel intimidated by everyone. Maybe that's the way an assistant should feel.

"Y/l/n, you keeping notes for me?" Your head tilts up dangerously fast at the mention of your name, taking a few seconds too long to process his request, before nodding obediently.

"Yes, sir."

Your fingers click too loudly against the keys as you frantically try to draw up a document with the correct font and size. It's too quiet in here. You haven't done anything wrong, yet it feels like everyone is waiting for you to misstep. Your anxiety is a bitch.

"Riley. Riley, what the hell?" you hear someone whisper angrily. It's not until you hear a pen clatter to the floor that you dare to look up his way.

Honey brown eyes stare right into your goddamn soul. Your breath hitches, speeding up the pace of your anxiety-ridden heart even further. More than what's acceptable for sitting still in a work meeting. But your momentary weakness over catching his attention soon disappears, to be replaced by your anger again.

You look away with a clenched jaw, focusing on the keyboard right beneath you. Simon is still staring at you. You can feel it. Feels like it always used to do, but this time you don't want it. In your ideal world Simon Riley would not sit opposite you, would not stand up to join the beautiful, model redhead to hold a presentation where he keeps stumbling on his words all the time because of your presence. At least you think it's your presence, but you're not sure if it's in a good or bad way. For you it's bad.

But it does make you feel good that he keeps having these space outs—tripping over his words, forgetting them all together. It is not a good presentation on his part, and Ms. Garcia is getting increasingly more irritated at him for his lack of delivery. You hope she scolds him for it afterward. God knows you would like to throw every curse word you know at the man.

Should you be this angry after all these years? Should you have let it go a long time ago? Should you have stopped acting as if being with another man after him is betrayal? Probably. The last question is probably the answer to why you haven't really moved on from your hurt.

It just makes you so mad—for a year he was your entire world. Simon hugged you from behind each time he encountered you out in public and played with your hair as you fell asleep in his arms and woke you up with his fingers tracing patters on your hip. He fucked you until your bed broke and made love to you so gently you might as well have been made of glass to him. Two weeks from your anniversary he stopped talking to you. Not one thing of his was left in your dorm the next morning, and you didn't see him on campus even once during the term he had left of school. The few friends you had in common didn't talk to you anymore.

It broke your heart, to be abandoned like that. That night was already shit, and Simon just decided to make it ten times worse. You were in shock and all you wanted was his comfort. To find out he had left? You barely made it through that next semester.

For years you have pondered over what part of you was so unlovable that Simon couldn't even bear to say another word to you. Maybe his inability to function properly during this meeting wasn't due to shock, but instead disgust over having to be in the same room as you. Fuck, you are mad, and yet so scared that you have to meet him every single week from now on. You're not strong enough for that.

"That was...something. I expect you to be better prepared next time I see you, Riley," Mr. Price says, clicking his pen while pointing it towards Simon. "Don't know what the fuck that was," he mutters under his breath while rising from his chair.

You follow swiftly. The chair is too loud as it's pushed back. You cringe. Gathering your laptop and your papers is ungraciously done. Price still waits for you though, for some reason, but he sighs and puffs while doing so. Everyone else is quiet, besides the slap to his arm Simon receives from Ms. Garcia. They're probably dating. Two perfect, good looking people having perfect sex in their perfect apartments. You hate them both.

You try not to look at him as you walk out behind Mr. Price. But you still say a 'have a good day' that is too quiet to the room, answered with a few nods and some 'you too' back.

A small squeak of surprise escapes your lips when your boss comes to an abrupt halt in front of you. A millisecond is all it would take for you to have crushed into him, and that squeak leaves heat travelling to your face. He turns around, facing the room once again, with his usual glare.

"Don't bloody stare at my new assistant. I don't want another HR-situation with this one. Especially talking to you, Riley."

Price pins his glare on Simon, who gives him an equally harsh glare back. You are just about ready for the floor to break so you can fall through to the bottom level and run out of here. But you're frozen in your place, clutching your belongings to your chest tightly enough to make a computer-sized dent in your skin.

Without another word, your boss turns around and heads out of the room. You couldn't have moved any faster if you wanted to—already tight on his heels while your heart rate desperately tries to calm down. Oh my god. Oh my fucking god. What the hell are you going to do? Ignore Simon and hope that you manage to avoid him for however long you'll work here? It feels kind of impossible, but the last thing you want is to talk to him. You couldn't.

You've just put down your things on your desk right outside of Price's office when he speaks again. His voice always manages to make you jump in your place, head flying up to meet his gaze.

"If Riley, or anyone else, gives you any trouble—you tell me," he says, unflinching and stoic.

You gulp, frozen in your position. "Oh—I, okay. Thank you." The words come out quieter than you wanted to.

"You seem like a good kid. Don't want these fucking fools to chase away 'nother one of my assistants."

The door to his office is closed the next second. You just stand there, dumbfounded and a little confused, but still flattered in some way. A good kid—you'll take that.

Popcorn crunches underneath your sneakers as you push yourself past the people going up and down the stairs, trickling out of the stadium with happy smiles on their faces and lively conversations exchanged now that the game is over. They won. The players are still out on the field, celebrating their victory with slaps to each other's backs, jumping up and down, impromptu attack hugs. You are giggling too, watching them.

Simon has torn his shirt off, sweaty, blond hair a mess as he shakes his head. Johnny just poured water all over him—the guy always gets so overexcited. And goddamn, your man looks good as he has that rare smile on his face.

The game was a really good one on his part. Everyone in the team calls him 'Ghost' because of how quickly and seamlessly he moves despite his size. And the big tattoo of a man wearing a skull mask on his arm. But once  he's out on the field, the players never expects his speed. At least one player during each game runs right into him, as if he was invisible. A ghost.

He hasn't noticed you yet, where you stand leaning against the railing. It's freezing out. The first really cold September day, and you didn't think to bring a proper jacket. But you don't really care, because seeing Simon and your friends this happy has plastered a permanent grin on your face.

"Riley, your girl!"

Someone shouts and points at you, alerting your boyfriend of your presence. His head whips in your direction, brown eyes pinpointing you in your place before a 6'2'' man starts barreling towards you. Simon throws the water bottle in his hand away carelessly as you giggle furiously over his excitement.

"Fuck, love," he says as he reaches his hands out, lifting you over the railing within a second. You yelp in surprise.

"Wha—Simon! Put me down!"

Simon just holds onto you tighter, pressing you close to him with your feet still in the air. How is he this strong? "Not a chance, Princess. We fucking won. I'm celebrating with my girl."

You chuckle, holding onto his shoulders while looking down at his sweaty face. "I know. I'm so proud of you."

A shy grin grows on his face, slowly setting you down onto the fake grass. "Really?"

"Really. It's the best you've ever played. Wanted to shout to everyone that it was my boyfriend doing all the best throws out there," you tell him, now looking up at him instead. God, he's tall.

Simon's mouth comes crashing down onto yours, giving you a sloppy kiss that makes you laugh.

"I lov—I loved having you here." Simon pauses in the middle of the sentence, as if he was supposed to say something else. "You're my fucking lucky charm, you know that?"

"I'm not so sure about that. You have lost quite a few games with me here as well," you tell him, ruffling his messy hair with your hand.

"Don't matter. I feel lucky anyway." A boyish grin adorns his face as he leans down to press a kiss to your head. "Now, tell me why in the hell my little lady is out here freezing her arse off 'cause she didn't bring a jacket? Like I told her to do?"

You groan, giving him a glare. "Stop. I should have listened to you, you were right, and all that. I know."

"Well, better for me, 'cause I get to rub my sweaty arms all over you now to warm you up."

"Go shower, you idiot." You push at his chest gently, rolling your eyes. He pretends to stumble backwards, holding his hands up.

"I will. Just wait a few seconds here, will you?"

Simon keeps walking backwards, waiting for your nod of confirmation, before breaking out into a jog towards the locker rooms.

You embrace your torso with your arms, rubbing up and down with your hands to warm your skin. There's so many players left on the field, still messing with each other like rugby teams usually do. Some you recognize—like Johnny and Gaz. They're your friends too. Others you have seen in passing at parties, in class. Some you only know because Simon complains about them to you. The fly-half never was his favorite. Graves, something? They're constantly at each other's throats.

Simon comes running out onto the field once more, this time with his jacket in hand. You sigh, scratching the skin above your eyebrow with a small smile.

"Si—you didn't have to. I'm fine," you say as soon as he's within earshot.

"Shut up. I'm being a bloody gentleman, just like my mum taught me."

The jacket is laid gently around your shoulders. You tug it tighter around you, because despite your words it is cold. And you love his jacket.

"Look at you. So fucking adorable."

You smile up at him, scrunching your nose. You love this fool. You love Simon Riley, have done so for many, many months. Haven't told him yet though. But it can wait—you have all the time in the world.

Simon is avoiding you. A week of not seeing him even once, despite the fact that you work on the same floor. You haven't attended any more meetings since your second day, but you still would have expected to run into him in the break room, or in the hallway. Hell, you've even delivered paper copies to his office and still haven't seen him.

You don't know what you feel about that. You are mad at him and you definitely don't want to be forced into an awkward encounter with your ex-boyfriend, but still not knowing why he left has chipped away at every ounce of confidence you had in yourself. Even now at your grown age. It's been several years since. It's pathetic. Maybe Simon realized that on a Friday night in December during his senior year of college—you are pathetic.

God, why are you still that 20-year old girl? Why are you sitting at your desk, 3:30 PM on a Wednesday, obsessing over every flaw you can come up with all because of a stupid man?

The anger you held towards him last Tuesday has morphed into deep self-hate. You begin to understand his perspective. He doesn't want to interact with the silly little girl he broke up with ages ago in her silly little assistant job. Simon is a senior executive in this company, for god's sake. He doesn't even have to send a second glance your way.

"Y/l/n! Coffee!" your boss yells from within his office. But the yelling and cold tone still doesn't offend you like it would any other person—it's just the way he is. Price has actually been pretty nice to you. You like him as your boss, despite his less than chipper attitude.

"Yes, sir," you shout back, rising from your seat.

You smooth down your dress, fiddle with your hair in the reflection of your laptop, before taking a deep breath. It's just a short trip to the break room. No big deal. Nobody actually cares that you are the new girl.

It's practically empty as you arrive, besides a man reading his newspaper in the corner while seemingly on an important call. Seems a little arrogant, but you know he's high up in the company. At least you think he is. Price doesn't like him. He told you so the first day.

A sigh of relief escapes your lungs as you walk to the expensive, Italian coffee machine. You press the double espresso button. No sugar, no milk. Just straight, black coffee for your boss. Kind of reflects his personality. It buzzes loudly as coffee drips into the cup, you standing there waiting patiently. It has started raining outside. You'll probably be soaking wet tonight once you come back to your apartment.

Someone comes standing beside you, taking a mug off the highest shelf. You catch a glimpse of his expensive suit before glancing upwards. Your lips part, almost just as shocked as you were last Tuesday. You can't catch a fucking break, can you?

"Johnny?"

The now bearded man, with a full head of hair as well, which he definitely didn't have when you last saw him, turns around towards you with a stoic expression. It doesn't change once he gets a good look at who said his name.

"You work here too?" you ask before gulping.

"Y/n," he says, a frown growing in between his eyebrows. "I work here, yes." The Scottish accent that you used to like listening to is now impossibly deeper.

"Uh, I—how you doing? It's been...a while." You glance away, cowering under his gaze. Soap always used to be so kind to you, treated you as if you were one of the boys. Insisted you call him Soap, something only his friends were allowed to call him. Now there is a hidden undertone of distaste in the way he looks at you. "See you've gotten rid of the Mohawk."

"I'm alright. Good to see ya', Y/n, but I gotta go back," he tells you. For some reason you feel like he's actually not all that happy to see you.

"Oh. Okay." The disappointment in your voice is clear. "We'll probably see each other again soon, I guess."

Johnny has already started walking away when the words leave your mouth. You hear him mumble a halfhearted 'Take care, lassie" before leaving you there dumbfounded and upright hurt with your boss's coffee cup. What was that?

You always knew Johnny was as loyal of a friend you could be, but...you didn't know he hated you that much. Especially when you didn't actually do anything against him. Not that you did anything against Simon either. That you know of. But, you know.

The short interaction leaves you jarred for the rest of your work day. You still get things done, but the look on Johnny's face is in the back of your mind the entire time. What did you do that was so bad that John goddamn MacTavish hates you for it?

It wasn't enough to work with the man who broke your heart, but your ex-friend as well. His best friend. You will never be welcomed here if half of the company leaders consist of people who have a grudge against you spanning years.

When the clock strikes 6, Price sends you home. He will probably stay for another few hours, you think, because there has been empty takeout containers in his office the morning after every day this week. You tell him to have a good night, he answers with a grunt, and then you and your bag take off through the hallways.

Your heels click against the floor as you walk through the mostly empty office space. Some rooms still have their lights on, casting shadows over the mahogany desks and the important people sitting behind them.

You halt your steps as you hear two voices wrapped into a conversation with each other. Someone must have left their door open. You don't want to eavesdrop, but it gets hard to resist when you recognize Johnny's voice from earlier.

"You can't avoid her forever," he says.

"Well, don't you think I fucking know that?"

You freeze as you instantly recognize the deep, rumbling timber of Simon's voice answering Soap. Fucking hell—they're talking about you. You can't not eavesdrop now.

"It's just—it's fucking hard, you know? She just walks in here all..."

"Met her in the break room earlier. Making coffee for Price."

"Yeah? She said somethin'?" Simon's voice sounds curious, eager almost.

"Asked how I was doing, the usual. Didn't know I worked here, it seemed like." A sigh sounds from the room, and you press yourself even closer to the wall. Please, for the love of god, don't let anyone walk by. "I couldn't just act like normal. I can't be fuckin'...nice to someone like that. When I know your past."

"What—you were fucking rude, or what? Just ignored her?"

"No, for fuck's sake. Left pretty quick, though. I just don't have any respect for things like that. You know that."

"Yeah." Simon lets out a bitter chuckle. If you could see him, he'd probably be shaking his head now. "I'm still fucking angry, you know? Can barely stand to be in the same room."

You bite down on your lip, shaking your head to yourself. You can't listen to the two of them talk about how much they hate you. How they don't have respect for 'things' like you. It's nauseating. Your limbs shake with poorly contained anger, but still the urge to cry is even stronger.

But there's no other way out than past his office. So you brave it—practically sprint by with your hand covering the side of your face in hope that they won't see who it is. You don't think they do. The blinds were down.

A single, pathetic tear slips down your face as soon as you exit the building. Cars fly past you, lights blaring everywhere, noise unending. You just want to go home. But you know the overthinking won't stop there.

As the obnoxiously loud alarm disturbs your sleep that finally came about three hours before, you groan into your pillow and wish for it to be anything else but Thursday. You want the weekend. You want to sleep in and wallow in the fact that you probably won't have this job for very long after what you heard Simon and Johnny say about you yesterday.

You don't even bother putting on heels this morning. An old pair of ballerina shoes and a thick, fuzzy sweater over your dress is what you drag yourself to the office in. It's cold and you're exhausted and sad. You can't stand people not liking you—it takes over every part of your being. And when it's Simon...

There's a meeting going on. Price gave you a list of everyone's coffee orders and made you run over to the shop across the street. You see Simon's name taunting you at the top of the list. A cortado, extra sugar. Fuck, he's still the same.

It takes twenty minutes of queuing before you manage to get to the counter. Another ten to have everyone's order ready. The bag is ridiculously heavy as you carry it out of the coffee shop. The meeting will probably be over by the time you arrive, and then Price will curse you out and you will cry, because today you cannot handle even the smallest criticism.

You're a little sweaty by the time you reach the fourteenth floor of the building, which is fine, but the panting doesn't exactly add to your charisma that somehow seems to repent your coworkers from your person. For a minute you stand outside the meeting room, gathering yourself enough to be somewhere near presentable. Not entirely, but as close as you will get.

The door is shouldered open with a little force. More than you thought it would take. Nobody really gives a thought to your presence—they continue the meeting as if you weren't there at all, and you like it that way. You try to match each coffee to the right person on the list. But there's thirteen of them, and you have yet to learn everyone's name.

You feel Simon's eyes on you the entire time you spend in that room. He's anything but subtle, staring right at you without shame. He doesn't even answer as someone calls him by name. And it's pure spite leaving him for last. His order is the only one you know by heart, but keeping him waiting for a few extra minutes is deserved, you think. Maybe it just gives him more fuel to hate you, but if he's going to hate you, you might as well give it right back.

His ring-clad fingers clasp around the paper mug, slowly bringing it up to his lips as if taunting you with the existence of them. God, they are so full and pink and—no. Don't even go down that route. It'll all make it so much harder to live like this if you keep thinking about how fucking attractive Simon has become with his still blond hair slightly unkept from running his hand through it during the day and how his shirt strains against his muscles and the fact that he is still so, so tall.

"This is cold."

The room falls silent, at least you think it does, as Simon's harsh voice echoes throughout the confines of the four walls. The coffee belonging to the person sitting beside him is steaming. You know he's lying. He sets down the mug on the table, glaring up at you with such distaste in his eyes. You never thought that look would be reserved for you.

"Can't even get a bloody coffee order right, can you?" Simon's chuckle is deprecating, shaking his head to himself as if his irritation almost amuses him.

But you just flinch. He doesn't see it, but you think the rest of the room does. His tone fucking hurts. And that he would publicly humiliate you like this?

"Oh, uh..." You want so badly to have a good comeback, something that will make him shrink in his chair, but all you can get out is a stupid 'oh'. Standing there all small and speechless makes you feel dumb. "I'll get a new one."

Your response seems to catch his attention. His gaze flickers up, back to you, and the cruelty falters for a few seconds to be replaced by something likened to...regret? Probably not.

"Riley can drink his cold goddamn coffee. He'll survive," Price chimes in, waving with his pen as a signal for whoever was speaking before to continue.

You nod, clenching your jaw to stop the trembling, before escaping out of the room as quickly as possible without it seeming suspicious.

A shaky, deep breath is inhaled and exhaled as soon as you get out. It was already a bad day, yes, but nearly crying because Simon told you his coffee was cold? That's just childish. You need to pull yourself together if you're going to keep this job. Price clearly doesn't like weakness.

The rest of the day is calm. Mostly you're reviewing Price's schedule, emailing people back and forth about changing meetings and setting them up. He even gives you an extra break, which is so well needed and probably out of pity, but you'll take it.

You realize that you are so fucking petty when your final task of the day, once again, is to deliver some kind of contract to Simon's office. You know he's out on a meeting with a client—you heard him walking past earlier, talking to that client on the phone. You gather your belongings, say goodbye to Price, before heading towards Simon's on your way down.

Stepping inside feels like walking right into his arms. His cologne hangs heavy in the air. Fuck him for still using the same scent.

The entirety of his office is neatly organized, everything in its place. So you move things. A sharpener gets to change its designated spot from desk to shelf. Files labeled under 'F' gets shoved in between 'S' and 'T'. You even go as far as taking out some of the files from one folder, placing it in another. The printer gets unplugged.

Doing something to his old copy of The Fellowship of the Ring that stands proudly on display in his bookcase crosses your mind, but you do want to stay alive long enough to see the end of the week, at least. You remember one time when he slept with it as if it was a stuffed animal. You're being petty, not suicidal.

Your final masterpiece in your rampage is the unscrewing of a wheel on his desk chair. Just the thought of Simon pushing his chair back only for it to suddenly tilt makes you giggle. God, you really are a child.

Any sane person wouldn't even notice half the things you've done in here. But Simon is not sane. This can throw off his entire day, week even. You know from firsthand experience.

Yeah, Simon goddamn Riley broke your fucking heart and now has the audacity to punish you for it. You won't take that.

Simon has been in such a bad mood the entire day. You heard him cursing all the way from his office. Some poor intern got yelled at in the hallway (you really are sorry for that), and you overheard a few of your colleagues mention that he didn't speak to anyone during the entire morning meeting. Price apparently cursed him out for it in front of everyone. That's a little funny, at least.

On one hand you feel proud of your ability to still piss him off without him knowing. On the other hand, you're not too happy yourself. Your situation hasn't exactly changed—half the office still hasn't talked to you, and the ones that do keep strictly work related conversations. You're lonely.

Despite it being Friday, you get off when the sun has already set. It's pouring rain outside and you don't have an umbrella. You really don't have the energy to deal with that as you gaze warily out of the window from your desk. You could take the subway instead of walk all the way home, but you would still get soaking wet during the trek to the station.

"Goodbye, Mr. Price. Have a good weekend," you say, popping your head into his office with a sweet smile on your lips.

"Call me John," he answers without even looking up from whatever report he's reviewing. Still that monotone voice as if he's always tired of hearing people talk.

"Oh. Uh—okay, John," you stutter out. What? He never lets anyone call him by first name.

"Get home safe," Price tells you. Has he grown soft? What's happening? "Have a fuck load of reports needing organization on Monday." There it is.

You smile to yourself, shaking your head lightly, before mumbling another 'bye' to your boss. He lifts his head in a subtle nod as answer. Actually, you might have a chance to stay here if he likes you. He is the CEO after all.

The hallways are dark except the few offices still lit up like every night. These people barely have a life outside of work, it seems like. It's kind of sad. Then again, you don't either, if what counts as a life is having friends and significant others and people who care about you. But at least you have time for doughing in your couch and taking a walk around the neighborhood.

But your daydreaming and overthinking of course leads you into trouble. Rounding the corner forces you right into another person, making you stumble backwards a few steps before a clammy hand grabs your arm to stop you from falling.

"I'm so, so sorry," you say, looking up at the man standing in front of you. It's that executive-something Price doesn't like. Shepherd? An American.

"Don't worry that pretty little head of yours, darling," he says, without backing away from you. He keeps that close distance, letting you feel his dank breath properly.

You gulp, before attempting to release your arm from his grip. He doesn't budge. Your heart rate speeds up instantly.

"Haven't talked to you properly before, sweetheart. Just seen you strutting 'round these hallways in your dresses." He looks down at your wide eyes, before they slowly rake over the rest of your body. Your chest starts to heave up and down as if you've just come back from a run. It's clear he wants something more than just a simple conversation with the new assistant.

"I'm—I'm sorry. I have to go. Train," you stutter out, attempting to tear yourself away from his harsh grip around your arm. You can't.

"Don't be like that, darlin'. I just wanna have a talk, that's all," he tells you, his warm breaths hitting your face.

"Please, sir, I really have to go. We can talk on Monday."

Shepherd raised an eyebrow, gaze flickering down to your chest again as if you can't see it clearly, before tapping your cheek condescendingly with the palm of his hand.

"Alright, sweetheart. Come into my office on Monday. Appreciate it if you'd wear one of those pretty dresses. Makes my day much better, having somethin' sweet to look at."

A wet kiss is pressed to the back of your hand—something that he might think is gentlemanly, but sends shivers down your entire spine out of disgust. You're frozen still as he squeezes your hip before he leaves, leaving you to hear his dress shoes clink against the floor.

The further away he gets, the harder it gets for you to breathe. Panic grows in your chest, tears already threatening to fall as you finally get yourself to move, rushing towards the elevator and pressing the button too many times.

He was so close. And the way his grip tightened as you tried to step away, the squeeze of your hip. It's too much like last time. Too much like that fucking December night all those years ago.

Clear pictures of Philip and his friends flashes past the forefront of your mind as you rush from the elevator, already heaving from your tears. It's empty, thank god, since the guards are posted outside of the main entrance. Philip morphs into the man from just a minute ago. Pushing you against the wall at that party, grinning right in your face as you tell them to stop.

The backdoor leading into the alleyway beside the building is where your feet leads you towards without consulting you. It's better, maybe. You don't want anyone to see you like this.

But those goddamn revolving doors acting as the main entrance starts to move, you hear that, and soon enough someone steps inside with haste in their walk.

"Y/l/n!" someone shouts angrily. You know exactly who it is. "Why the fuck did you move all my stuff? I swear to god—"

Your back is facing away from him, but maybe he still sees the way your shoulders shake from behind. Maybe that's why he falters in his steps. Maybe that's why he decides to cut the first real sentences he's said to you directly since you started working here short.

The last crumb of composure turns to dust, and your hand flies up to your mouth to muffle the first real sob from your lips. You escape through the door, out into the cold, rainy alleyway as your cries turn too forceful to stop.

It's wet and dirty and crawling with grovel as your knees hit the ground harshly. You manage to turn yourself around to lean your back against the cold brick wall instead. It'll all bring you grief later, but right now your legs can't carry your weight.

With a bang, the door flies wide open once more. Long legs bend down, big hands on your arms.

"Y/n. Y/n, c'mon. Why are you crying?"

Simon's voice is drowning in urgency, his shakes of your shoulders almost forceful. But you can't stop crying. And you're still so fucking angry with him.

"Don't touch me," you sob, pushing his hands away from you. The rain grows heavier the same second, soaking the entirety of you as you sit there on the dirty ground.

"Alright, alright. I won't," he breathes out, holding his hands up beside him. Those big, veiny fucking hands that you have missed every day since he last put them on you. "But you gotta tell me what's wrong."

"Why?" you almost yell, tilting your head up, away from the palms of your hands previously hiding your face. You get raindrops right in your eyes. "You hate me, don't you? Can't even stand to be in the same room as me!"

"Y/n," he growls, as if he's scolding you with the simple mention of your name. "You know bloody fucking well I don't hate you. Now tell me what the hell's making you sob like this. You're sitting on the ground, for fuck's sake."

You dry away your tears, despite it being so futile in this rain, while letting out a bitter chuckle. "All due respect, you're the last person I wanna talk to."

Simon lets out a shaky breath, one filled with frustration. "So fucking stubborn..."

He shakes his head. "Just—just let me drive you home, at least, okay? The trains from this station are cancelled. Blowing up to a storm."

The words you were about to force out through your tears disappear completely. Instead you just stare at the man now looking down at you with something likened to concern. Still has that frown in between his eyebrows.

"I'm not going to get in a car with you, Riley," you mumble out. If you had your way it would sound angrier, more assertive, but your voice fails you.

"Riley, huh? That's where it's at?" Simon scoffs, as if he didn't call you by your last name a few minutes earlier. "Just get up, c'mon."

"No." You shake your head, looking down in your lap. In reality you're not just apprehensive because of your anger towards him—he's a man at the end of the day, and you are his ex-girlfriend who he dislikes very strongly.

"Are you—for god's sake." He shakes his head again. "I'm not going to hurt you, Y/n. I would never harm you. Not any woman," he tells you. How can he still read you this well?

You don't answer. Just take your wet sleeve to dry away even more tears. How to stop crying in front of your ex seems to be an art you haven't mastered yet.

"Okay, I'll make you a deal. You let me get you a taxi home, after you get out of this fucking rain and step inside. That alright with you?"

You nod with a sniffle, reaching for your bag beside you.

"C'mon."

Simon nods towards the door, reaching his hand out. You take it, because there's no chance you would manage to get up all by yourself. But that's the only reason.

He holds the door open for you, letting you slip inside again. Exactly how much the rain soaked you hits you as you step inside, instantly freezing cold and uncomfortable. And goddamn your right knee hurts. Falling down to the ground did come with consequences, it seems.

"Fucking hell," Simon mutters under his breath as soon as he gets inside, dripping water down onto the shiny floor. His suit is entirely soaked too.

You see a glance of yourself in a mirror as you take off your heels. There's mascara underneath your eyes. You try to remove it furiously with your fingers.

"Don't have to do that. Nothing that I haven't seen before," Simon speaks up from behind you, looking at you as well through the mirror.

You glance up at him, just for half a second, before lowering your arms slowly. And then you rummage through your bag with trembling hands, finding a napkin you kept from a restaurant. You dry away the mascara with that instead.

Simon looks at you, really looks at you, as you stand there dripping water onto the floor and makeup ruined and your clothes dirty. You feel so vulnerable underneath his gaze. What is he trying to find?

"Bloody hell, Y/n. You're bleeding for fuck's sake. That's a fucking gash."

He points at your knee. You look down, seeing the outpouring of blood running down your leg from the open wound right below your knee. It does look very, very bad. Like, you're slowly becoming nauseous by looking at it. How didn't you notice it earlier?

"Oh."

"I'm driving you wether you like it or not." Simon stalks up to you, grabbing a hold of your arm to put it around his shoulder. His arm sneaks its way around your waist. Fuck.

"Do I get a say in this?" you ask. You know what the answer is, but you also don't understand. What is this? Why is he doing this for you? A few days ago he was talking shit about you with Soap and humiliated you purposely in front of your co-workers. Now he's getting worried about you crying and driving you home from work?

"No."

Part 2

[outsideratheart]

Welcome to Colney (Leah Williamson x reader)

Summer 2022 changed your life. Winning the Copa América wasn’t new to you nor the Brazilian national team but this year was the first tournament where you was the captain of your team. It was an honour and a privilege to wear the armband but it came with pressure and responsibilities that you weren’t expecting. Your performance caught the eyes of several clubs but one stood out from the rest, Arsenal. The decision to move to the legendary English club was made easier when Rafa told you they made her an offer too. It was chance to play football with your best friend at club level for the first time in your careers.

“Are you nervous?” Rafa asked as you pulled up to the training facilities. There would be no training today but the club wanted to celebrate the players who had been crowned champions over the summer.

You shake your head.

“Not even to play with a new team in a new country?”

Truth is you were nervous about learning a new style but you also knew you had to lead by example.

“I welcome the challenge”

“Of course you do”

You arrived to find the entire team, both men and women, outside the front of the building. The sight itself was a little bit daunting but you would let them know that.

“Y/N! Rafaelle!” Jonas is the first to spot you and calls you over.

He introduces you to the team but there seems to be one person missing; your English counterpart Leah Williamson.

It is only when you see Beth Mead and Lotte Wubben-Moy sporting their medals do you realise that you have left yours in the car. Rafa volunteers to go them and in her absence you find yourself gravitating towards your fellow Brazilians on the men’s team.

You are so deep in conversation with Gabi that you don’t realise the women’s team has gathered for a photo.

“Desculpe” you quickly run over where you are instructed to stand in the middle.

Seconds before the photo is taken you feel a hand grab your waist and it sends a shockwave through your body. When you turn to face the owner of said hand you see a shy looking blonde with flushed cheeks.

“I’m Leah” she holds her hand out for you to shake once the photographer says she’s happy for the shots she has.

“Y/N” you shake her hand, a motion in itself lasts a little longer than it did with everyone else “It’s a pleasure to meet you Leah”

There’s something about the minuscule moment you had just shared but you couldn’t put your finger on it.

“We’re very lucky to have you here at Arsenal. I can’t wait to play with you”

“I’m sure you’ll be playing more with Rafa but I look forward to sharing the pitch with you”

It was a compliment face off. It's clear both of you are fans of each other but it is when Beth wanders over do you realise just how big of fan Leah is.

“I see you’ve met your biggest fan” Beth wraps her arms around Leah’s shoulder “Leah here couldn’t stop talking about you when we found out you had signed”

Leah’s face said it all. The embarrassment was clear but you liked it. What you didn’t like was the way Rafa appeared out of nowhere and joined in Beth’s game of expose my captain.

“Oh please, don’t act like you aren’t a fan of hers too. Y/N came her a few weeks ago because she wanted to meet you but when she arrived you were with your team mates on holiday”

“Rafaelle” it was a warning, one which she was all too aware of “I came here to sort out our house whilst you were off celebrating with the girls”

“You didn’t celebrate your win? You were incredible” Leah, once again, pays you a compliment.

“I had a lot on my plate. Like Rafa said I came to unpack and decorate our house but before then I had back to back interviews and photoshoots in Brazil that I couldn't get out of"

“I understand that” the sorrow in Leah’s voice was concerning.

“Being a first time captain leading your team to a championship comes with its downfalls”

Leah only nods her head. The weeks following the euros was nothing like Leah expected. The tournament put her on a pedestal and for the first time since she lifted the trophy she didn’t feel alone at the top.

Of course both of you could relax a little knowing that while here at Colney and at meadow park, Kim Little was the captain and it didn’t take long for you to be reminded of that.

“I see the captain of England and the captain of Brazil have met but we all know who is in charge around here” Katie joked.

“We are team full of leaders. Leah is one of the captains too and I hope Y/N will bring some her her leadership skills to the team” Kim joins the small group which is forming.

You cannot bring yourself to respond. Not because you don’t want to but you don’t want to place yourself with the top players of the team when you haven’t even stepped foot on the pitch.

During the offseason trip to Germany you found it surprisingly easy to fit in with the team. You got along well with the team but more so with Leah. Despite being from different countries, you had similar tastes in music so you would often lounge around listening to your favourite playlists whilst Leah showed you how to play Sudoku.

Things changed when you were back in London. You unconsciously began to close yourself off. It was as if Y/N the human being didn't feel at home in London which wouldn't be a problem given that you had only been there for a month but Rafa seemed to be blossoming in the country's capital. Several players picked up on your change of behaviour so Katie suggested a team bonding night at a restaurant of her choosing.

When she sends you the address of an all you can eat Brazilian you are filled with excitement but the restaurant itself didn't quite live up to a native's standards. The gesture is kind and you make sure to thank her for her efforts when you leave.

"You didn't like it?" Leah nudges you as you and few of the other team members walk back to where the cars are parked.

"It wasn't really Brazilian. It was just a lot of meat" you whisper as not to upset the irishwoman.

"I told you Katie!" Leah shouts much to your failed attempts at telling her to not to say anything.

"What!" Katie comes skipping over to the two of you "I thought you would like going to a Brazilian restaurant"

"That wasn't Brazilian, it was —“ Rafa comes to plead your case.

"A lot of meat" Leah says earning a smirk and a shake of head from you.

This leads to Rafa inviting the team over to the house you shared and offered a home cooked Brazilian feast which you found rich considering you were the chef out of the two of you. The team happily take her up on her offer and as you walk down the streets of St Albans you gaze remain fixed on a certain individual and how her hips swayed with every step she took.

"So you and Leah?" Rafa snuck up behind you. She had seen the way the two of you conversed the entire night. You barely showed anyone else any attention but the sight Rafa saw was rare and she knew that you must have opened yourself up to Leah if you were willing to get this close.

“She —“ how do you describe Leah?

"Ticks every single one of your boxes" the fellow Brazilian finishes your sentence or at least she tries.

"I was going to say she is beautiful"

You couldn’t deny Leah’s beauty. The way her blonde hair brought out the colour of her eyes; it puts the bluest oceans to shame. You were attracted to Leah and you knew it from the first day you met her but the passion she has for the sport you both love led you to fall deeper for her. She understood your mind more than anyone else given that she recently faced the same pressure as you.

"You should ask her out"

"I'm going to"

And that is what you planned to do the next day at training, that is until Beth officially gave you the low down on the couples within the team. Of course you had your suspicions and those had been right. What did catch you off guard was when Beth started talking about Leah and her history with Jordan Nobbs. From the signs Leah had given you, you thought she was single but Beth's explanation of their on off relationship thus far gave you reasons to doubt the moments you and Leah had shared. It’s the reason why you never asked her out that day or the day after that. In fact months passed and you still didn't ask her out even though your feelings never changed. You did keep her close though, just close enough to allow yourself to think what if.

It was during the final away trip of the year that the truth game to light. The team had met for breakfast, Leah observed from a distance as you watched Kim make a coffee with her latest contraption. The look on you face resembles that of a child watching a magic trick whilst figuring out how it’s done. She found it adorable the way you closed you eyes, inhaled the sent of the freshly poured cup then smiled widely as you swallowed your first mouthful.

“You’re drooling” Rafa jokes as she joins her fellow centre back at the table “Leah?” She waves her hand in front of the blonde to get her attention.

“I’m sorry. Did you say something?”

“You stare at her a lot for someone that turned her down”

Leah drew a blank. She had no idea what Rafaelle was talking about. She hadn’t turned you down, she wouldn’t and it’s not like she has had the opportunity to because you haven’t asked her out. She is just about to ask her to elaborate but both her and Kim gets called over by Jonas. You mumble a short and sweet ‘hi’ as you take her place at the table.

Rafa’s words stuck with Leah for the next few days as she tried and failed to think what could have made her think that. In the end it is the culprit herself that confesses when some of the girls are at Lia and Caitlyn’s for a game night.

“It’s been 5 months Leah and you have yet to make a move on Y/N. We can see the see you look at each other” Lia begins her friendly interrogation.

“and the sexual tension is disgusting” Katie fake gags.

“She told Rafa that she asked me out and I said no” Leah explains.

“You turned her down but I thought you liked her?” Viv questions.

“It’s not like Leah would have said yes, She is still with Jordan” Beth says.

You would have though the blonde had confessed to a murder the way all heads turned to her with a movement that could have given the owner whiplash.

“Beth, me and Jordan broke up before the euros. It’s done, we’re over for good this time”

Beth looked like a child that watched on as a problem they caused gets unveiled.

“What did you do?” Viv asks her girlfriend.

“I might have told her that you were already taken” 

Leah couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Had Beth really sabotaged the relationship before it even had a chance to begin. It made Leah realise one thing, you did like her because you were going to ask her out. She tried calling your phone but it went straight to voicemail and despite her trying numerous times after that, the results were the same no answer.

In an attempt to redeem herself, Beth offered to drive the blonde to your house. It was an offer that Leah happily accepted. She knew from overhearing a conversation between you and Stina that you were going back to Brazil for the holidays, she only wished that she could see you before you leave.

With her friends in tow Leah knocks rapidly on your front door hoping with every fibre of her being that you answer it. A Brazilian answers the door only it isn't the one she hoped for.

Rafa notices Leah peeping behind her and its then that she realises the blonde didn't come for her.

"You're here for Y/N?" she asks earning a nod from Leah "She isn't here"

Leah's face fell. It isn't the end of the world but she didn't want to spend the next two weeks wondering what you're doing in Brazil and more important who you are doing things with.

"Where is she?" Caitlyn asks.

"Airport" Rafa then looks down at her watch "Her flight leaves, well right now actually"

If it wasn't already, the way the other girls looked at each other made it obvious that something was going on and Rafaelle was in the dark.

Out the corner of her eye Leah saw a photo frame hanging on the wall. It was a photo on the two of you taken in Germany, a small chuckle escaped her lips at the difficulty that came with the getting to pose for the photo but just as quickly as the happiness flood her systems, it is replaced with sadness.

"I'm about to put a movie on and order a takeaway if you guys want to stay" your best friend points to the takeaway menus that were scattered on the kitchen countertop.

Everyone was up for an impromptu movie night, everyone but Leah who quite frankly just wanted to be alone. She politely declined the invite and left your house with her head hanging low.

The moment she steps outside her body crashes into another sending her to the ground.

"Leah! are you ok?" you help the blonde to her feet.

Leah meanwhile didn't understand what was going on. How was you there when you were suppose to be on a plane to Brazil.

"Leah?" you wave you hand in front of her face "Did you hit your head?”

"What are you doing here?"

"I live here" you chuckle a little at obviousness of her question.

"I know that" she smacks you playfully "I mean in England, Rafa said you were going to Brazil"

"My flight was overbooked so I'm taking the next one which is first thing tomorrow morning" you explained.

You are just about to enter your home when Leah stops you. Her hand rests on top of yours on the door handle. You remove you hand but keep Leah's intertwined with yours. You knew something was wrong. First she was leaving your house alone and now she didn't want you to go in.

"Linda" you look deeply into those blue eyes you like so much "What's wrong?"

"Beth was wrong when she told you about Jordan. We are not dating, that chapter of my life is done"

Your head dips slightly as a smile tugs at your lips. If Leah wasn't with Jordan then it changes everything.

"But she said that you were" you try to remember the exact wording "she said it was on and off. I like you Leah but I won't ruin your relationship"

"There is no relationship, me and Jordan are done. There is something between us though and that is the only thing on my mind"

There something about the girl you like telling you how she feels and it aligning with your own feelings that brings you pure happiness.

"Would you have said yes if I asked you?" Leah nods enthusiastically "then let's go"

She could't believe your spontaneity. It didn't match your every day personality but she liked this side of you.

"I would love that but you should know Rafa and some of the girls are inside having a movie night and since this is your last night here before winter break, maybe we should join them?"

You didn't like to share and given that Leah had all but admitted she had feelings for you, you really wanted to spend the night with her alone. You are just about to tell her this when you hear laughing from the other side of the door.

"We can but only if you let me take you out for breakfast in the morning?"

"I would like that"

When the door opens, the girls on the other side freeze. All eyes are on the hallway as they wait to see who enters.

"Y/N!" Beth shouts "and Leah! who are holding hands?"

You pay no attention to the forward’s observations. Instead you go straight to your place on the sofa which funnily enough remains empty and Leah settles in beside you. Throughout the night you struggle to pay attention to the movie because the woman in your arms in much more interesting. At one point she catches you staring and with the way you are sat your faces are incredibly close. You have to bite your lip to stop yourself from kissing her but when Leah reaches up to caress you lower lip your hesitation goes out the window. Her lips are soft against your own and you relish the moment you have been waiting for since the first say you met her at Colney.  

"Minha Linda" you place a soft kiss to her hairline.

"What does that mean?" Leah had been learning Portuguese from Rafa but it was a slow process.

"My beautiful"

[dreamwatch]

Breaking The Law

Written for @corrodedcoffinfest

Day #1 - Prompt: Firsts | Word Count: 999 | Rating: T | CW: None | POV: Eddie | Tags: school shenanigans, Eddie is a little shit, first band name + first gig, two for the price of one! | AO3

****

“Mr Munson, Mr Williams, my office. Now!”

It’s not that he’s not used to being called out in the middle of the hallways of Hawkins Middle School; Eddie’s academic career has not been without drama. But the principal calling him out? That’s not normal. And here’s the thing: he hasn’t done shit wrong lately. The talent show is in a week, and he’s not doing anything to jeapordise that. Wayne’s taking the evening off work and everything. His nose has never been cleaner.

He and Jeff share a look before following Principal McKenna into her office. They’re both clueless, and Jeff is about as cleancut as they come. 

She slaps a piece of paper on to her desk. “What’s the meaning of this?”

“Uh,” Eddie starts, but he’s so lost Jeff butts in.

“It’s the sign up sheet for the talent show, ma’am.”

“I’m aware Jeffrey, but I want to know what is the meaning of this.” She points to their entry.

“That’s us,” Eddie grins.

The old bitch glares at him; he wasn’t even being smart-assed! 

“I will not have students performing under this name in this school, do you understand?”

“What’s wrong with the name?” asks Eddie innocently.

“Your band is called Jock Itch, Edward. That’s entirely inapropriate. I will not have that on our posters and I am not announcing students on stage to…” she gestures furiously to the sign up sheet, “that. You have until noon tomorrow to change it, that’s when the posters are printed. If you don’t change it, you’re not playing.”

“What?!” wails Eddie. “That’s not fair!”

“Don’t push me, Mr Munson.” She gives them both another firm stare. “And I want to know what song you’re performing. It needs my approval. You’re dismissed.”

Eddie kicks just about everything he can find all the way back to Jeff’s house, Matt and Shawn straggling behind them.

“It’s so fucking unfair, man. Bitch hates me.”

“So we’ll change the name, it’s not that big a deal,” says Matt. “It’s just a name.”

Eddie whirls around to face him, continuing to walk backwards up the hill. “It’s a good name! Fuck jocks, man, who cares about offending them.”

“Well, Mrs McKenna clearly,” adds Shawn.

They spend the rest of the afternoon on the floor of Jeff’s garage scribbling away in notebooks, the ocassional shout of a potential name the only thing breaking the silence.

“What about Blood Monkey?” offers Shawn.

“Hate it,” replies Eddie.

“Blood Sacrifice?” Matt. Jesus.

Jeff cuts him a look. “She didn’t like Jock Itch, dude, I don’t think she’s going to like Blood Sacrifice.”

“Blood—”

“Nothing with blood!” shouts Eddie. “Okay, no one say anything for ten minutes. Just write names and then we’ll share, okay?”

The sound of scribbling and scratching, pens and pencils on paper, is interspersed with quiet mutterings while they all concentrate. Eddie doesn’t even work this hard in class. 

Jeff slaps his pen down. “Okay, what have we got?”

They huddle together, notebooks and scraps of paper sprawled out on the floor. Eddie’s eyes flick up and down the pages. 

Steel Funeral

Evil Primordial

Dark Cadaver

Astral Cannibal (Shawn’s suggestion, honestly Eddie’s getting more and more worried about that dude by the day)

Lords of Hate (Not bad)

Demonic Candle

Fucking hell.

Eddie runs his hands up and down his face because he needs to do something to stop himself from going off half-cocked. He takes a breath.

“Look, these are… I mean, some of them are okay, but we can’t use these. These are way worse than Jock Itch.” He’s handing notebooks back when he sees it, in Jeff’s neat handwriting. 

Corroded Coffin. 

“I like that one.”

Jeff smiles shyly. “Thanks man.” He shrugs sadly. “Shame we can’t use it.”

They all deflate because he’s right, there’s no way that’s getting past McKenna. But Eddie is a godamn genius, if he does say so himself.

“There’s more than one way to skin a cat.” He grins at his brothers in arms. “I think we have a name.”

***

“The Tigers of Roane County? That’s your name?” Principal McKenna raises an over-plucked eyebrow as she stares at the slip of paper Eddie hands over.  She looks at them sceptically, her eyes on Eddie just a little bit longer.

Eddie rocks on his heels. “Yeah, well, you know. It’s like, rock and roll but also ‘Go Tigers’ right? Like, school pride?” He can feel Jeff’s eyes boring into him, they’re probably on stalks, but he can’t look.

“Fine,” she says on a sigh. “And song?”

“Make Your Own Kind Of Music.”

She leans back, hand to her chest. “Oh gosh, I love that song!” And then she’s writing their band name on the sheet and adding the song title and they’re on the bill. 

Fucking. Yes!

On the night Wayne gives him a hug and wishes him luck, and it’s the best feeling in the world. They head backstage, which is now full of cheerleaders and like, what the fuck? How is that a talent? It’s just shit they do for school. But then some cute kid with pigtails is waving pom poms and wishing him luck and he’s so tongue tied he can’t even reply to her. He can feel the blush all the way to his toes.

And then they’re next.

They huddle together. “Okay,” begins Eddie. “Remember. No matter what happens, stick to the plan. We’re fucking awesome and one day that’s gonna be Madison Square Garden. Got it?”

“Got it!” they reply.

“Alright ladies and gentlemen. We have a rock and roll band for you now. Please give a round of applause for The Tigers of Roane County.”

They walk out onto the stage, Eddie sweating buckets; it’s different when there’s a room full of people. But then he sees Wayne. “You’ve got this,” he mouths at Eddie. And he has.

“Ladies and gentlemen, we are Corroded Coffin, and this is Breaking The Law!”

Principal McKenna is a problem for later.

[infinite-orangepeel]

“get too close to your muse & you, the artist, will lose all ability to decipher one shade from the next on your palette. keep your distance…”

fall quarter begins at the curly roots of eddie munson’s ineffable head, runs its’ labyrinthian course through passageways of blue veins & black ink, & ends at a set of hairy crimson painted toes.

steve finds himself squandering every waking moment of his lifeblood & attention somewhere, egregiously, in the middle.

“say you’re drawing a bed of flowers,” his professor lectured a few weeks back, “what happens if you put your nose in the middle of those flowers & try to recreate the details on your canvas? you come up with color and shape, sure, but it’s blurry—isn’t it? it’s a big blobby blur of nothing. that’s not very good life drawing, i’m afraid.”

flash forward to the present—

the bed is firm but comfortable. reminding you of its’ presence.

it doesn’t encourage daydreaming &, yet, steve is ignoring the better advice of his mentor & pressing his curious nose directly into the bud of an all too striking flower.

he knows the intimate contact could kill the rose, is aware of the thorns lining the stem, but he can’t stay away.

he’s struck by fear and temptation and self-loathing and a beauty that stings like a slap across the face.

eddie’s his roommate, his friend, his muse for the most important project of steve’s career as an art student.

& getting too close is lethal, so he creates a sort of optical illusion.

designs an environment in which he can pretend they are star-crossed lovers in a broken world that won’t let them be together. in which touch is a small death each and every time.

steve flits to eddie like a dragonfly to water—

never touching.

never spending too much time in his orbit before making up an excuse to leave & jerk off to the smell of old cigarettes in the bathroom.

everything he really wants to say sits in the back of his throat like a painful, malignant lump & gets spat out onto his sketchbook in a tragically romantic exorcism.

doing the dishes next to him is enough to drive him insane.

drawing him, butt-naked, is another story.

“is it supposed to be so….erotic?”

eddie arches an eyebrow as steve traces the outline of his cock into his sketchbook.

“it’s not that erotic,” steve says, blushing into his charcoals, “besides no one will know it’s you. it’s art.”

art is supposed to be weird & naked. now, hold still, & let me draw you.”

it’s definitely erotic.

there are roses—de-thorned, for safety—shrouding eddie’s dick & leaving a trail of pink petals across his pale thighs.

eddie’s hand is draped over his head; exuding a certain brattiness, lust, boredom—

as if he’s lying there because he wants someone, like steve, to stumble upon him & use his body the way it so clearly needs to be.

his lips are parted on the precipice of whispering some filthy secret into steve’s ear while milking him like a simple farm girl with nothing better to do.

fuck.

he can’t be this close to eddie without losing his mind.

fuck. fuck. fuck.

it’s just a body. just limbs and a huge cock and—

eddie’s quiet for a little while which is rare for him, before he pipes up again.

“what if we painted the flowers together?”

steve wipes the sweat from his brow, drops his pencil, and looks up at eddie across the mattress. working overtime to avoid staring at the erection sticking out amongst the bouquet of roses.

“the piece isn’t supposed to be very colorful. i’m going for muted tones. that’s why i picked the pale pinks and whites.”

eddie giggles a little and, it’s so cute, steve has to pinch his own thigh through his shorts just to maintain composure.

“i don’t think you’re understanding—the colors wouldn’t change much. except for some more white, if you catch my drift,” eddie pumps his hand over his cock several times and mimes cumming stop the petals, “might look cool. might get you extra points with that asshole professor of yours. you’ve said he likes ‘shock value.’”

“i—i guess you’re right. that’s a pretty….different and unique….um….idea. yeah.”

it’s like this that steve strips naked and clambers as close to eddie as he can possibly get without laying a finger on him. adhering to the rules—keeping a particular distance between artist & muse.

they lay side by side. sunlight streaming in through the blinds & bathing eddie’s spindly fingers in gold as he touches himself.

“harrington, don’t act like you haven’t been dreaming about this since day one,” eddie snarks, “i’ve seen the way you look at me, sweetheart. your eyes are gonna burn holes in my ass if you’re not careful. touch that pretty cock of yours, lemme see you.”

before steve can do anything about it or change his mind, he’s got a fist wrapped around his own cock and the other hand pinching his nipples. left and right, back and forth, dragging his nails through the hair sprouting around them.

“didn’t think you thought about me like that,” steve whines, watching as eddie edges himself methodically—

moving faster, slower, squeezing at the base, thumbing over the slit, cupping his balls, slapping the insides of his own thighs until they match the pink petals.

“i like a little pain,” he comments when he catches steve’s wide eyes, “and i’ve always was hallucinating the first time i walked into this room and saw you on the bed—thought i was going into the light and seeing an angel.”

“you’re so full of it.”

“i’d like to be full of you,” eddie breathes against steve’s neck, not allowing his lips to pass the barrier, “but i don’t know if you can handle me, big boy. you’re blushing like a nervous little schoolgirl.”

“am not—”

“are too, &, you’re about to cum just listening to my voice. it’s so crystal clear. look at you—fucking yourself so stupid.”

eddie looks so beautiful.

laying there like a forsaken god locked out of heaven.

steve’s been so good about keeping his hands to himself, about keeping his nose out of the flowers, but desire and temptation are stronger than any amount of remaining willpower he has.

he grabs eddie’s shoulder with his freehand & kisses him until they’re both seeing stars.

celestial explosions of pleasure & truth & this thing that’s been growing violently between them since the moment they first met.

“i’m cumming. i’m gonna—fuck steve, it’s gonna be on the flowers—i hope that’s okay—”

they cum in tandem over petals of pink and white and thornless stems.

steve gets an A+.

taglist (message me to be added or removed at any time <3): @estrellami-1 @disastardly @ilovecupcakesandtea @the-redthread @asbealthgn @bestofbucky @vampireinthesun @carlyv @shrimply-a-menace @lordrrascal @malachitedevil @anxiouseds @gay-little-bitch @jhrc666 @pinkdaisies1998 @perseus-notjackson @eiddets @corroded-coffin-groupie @three-possums-playing-human @stevesbipanic @plutoshelm @arkenstoned @indiearr @they-reap-what-we-sow @gleek4twd @bunnyweasley23 @livingoutload @a-little-unsteddie @novelnovella @neverlandwaitingforme @swiss-cheeze

[lewsnumerounofan]

team bonding (lh x reader)

summary: you may work as a personal trainer for lewis, but that doesn’t mean the two of you have to keep your relationship professional.

notes: nswf, coworker relationship, unprotected sex, fingering, public sex kinda??, maybe choking?, 1.8k words, !!!!not!!!! edited

masterlist

+ i wrote this while playing hay day and also i don’t know how past/present tense works and i’ll never learn. i’m sorry. was sorry. will be. idk.

“Lewis we can’t-”

Your words are cut off by Lewis’ full lips slanting over yours, his hands already rucking up your flimsy athletic top. He’s got you pressed up against the wall in a matter of seconds.

“Lewis we’re in public,” you grit out, but he’s already pulling off your shirt, ducking beneath your pushing arms to tongue at the exposed skin of your breast, your neck. He’s so warm against your skin, so needy that you almost let him. Do let him, for a moment. But when you look up from Lewis’ mouth you’re met with your own dazed reflection in the mirrored wall opposite you. Already your neck is marked purple and red, and you look disheveled under the frantic hands of the man almost on his knees before you. This is wrong. More than that, it’s wrong in the Mercedes training center, where anyone could come walking in at any moment.

“Lewis, stop.”

Lewis pulls back, his hands lighting delicately on your hips. Brows furrowed with concern he follows your eye-line to the mirror. You watch as his expression changes to one you’d grown all too familiar with--he doesn’t even both to hide his smirk as he rounds on you again, teeth biting into the plush skin of lip.

“What, you don’t like watching?” he asks.

Of course he’s not thinking about getting caught. Or maybe he is, maybe he likes the idea of it. After all, he did make a career off adrenaline.

“No that’s not-”

“So you do like watching,” he says, and the teasing heat in his voice makes you blush and turn your face away. He loves winding you up like this. From the first day you met he’d been trying to press your buttons, trying to see just how far he could push the quiet new staff member. You couldn’t really blame him--Lewis was curious by nature, so when you had arrived to temporarily stand in on Angela’s personal training duties, he hadn’t been able to keep himself away. It had started off innocently enough. A few private glances during team debreifings, a few unnecessarily long touches when correcting his workout form. Eventually though, it had landed you here. Pressed to the wall, his muscled thigh thick between your legs.

“We can’t do this here, Lewis. We’ll get caught,” you say, but he only raises an eyebrow, letting a lazy grin curve across his face.

“What, you don’t want our coworkers seeing you like this?” he coos, pressing his hands flat to the exposed skin of your breats, the tender marks he’d left. Under his tattooed fingers your breathing becomes quicker, a fact he notes with a quick click of his tongue. His hands trail lower, fingers slipping deftly under the waistband of your shorts and leaving you fighting for words.

“Or even worse… like this,” he says, and then Lewis is tugging you around until you’re facing the mirror. You both groan at the image reflected back; you, shaky legs and bruised chest, and Lewis, one arm banding around your middle and the other down the front of your pants. You couldn’t look away from his liquid gaze, heavy and languid in the mirror. Even as his fingers dared reach lower, brushing through the brazen heat of your core.

“Lewis…” you say, but this time you’re begging him to keep going rather than stop. Every part of you is narrowed to the big fingers playing between your legs, touching you everywhere except where you need them most. Desperate for something --anything-- you let yourself grind back into the hard shape of Lewis at your ass. He hisses, his grip on you tightening.

“Playing dirty, huh?” he says, but his voice is hoarse and you know his resolve is wearing thin. He keeps you there for a moment longer before finally circling hard on your clit. You whine into him and you can’t help but buck your hips because Lewis is taking up every sense in your body, legs going weak as he licks up your neck. To satisfy the needy sounds you’re making he pushes two fingers into you, murmuring you can take it as the stretch becomes the only thought in your head, the only thing you can feel. You can barely stand as the knot in your stomach tightens and tightens, leaving you gasping and shaking until--

“Open your eyes.”

Lewis’ command cuts through your hazy world of pleasure and you force your lazy gaze back to the mirror, to the sight of Lewis’ strong arms tensing around you, to the wrecked view of you; cheeks rosy, mouth bitten and red. You watch Lewis finger fuck you--watch as his dark eyes practically devour your writhing body. The result of Lewis’ fingers runs down the insides of your thighs, and the image is so intimate, so filthy it has you cumming.

Lewis barely gives you time to breathe before he’s jostling you over to one of the many weight benches scattered across the room. He navigates your wobbly limbs until you’re on your knees, elbows planted on the plastic-leather of the workout equipment. Behind you now, Lewis slows long enough to trace mindless, gentle patterns on the smooth skin of your back. He looks thoughtful, caring, almost, as you turn back to watch him. But then his head lifts and he catches your eye. Smirks. Bastard, you think. The soft touches from before disappear, replaced by his rough hands dragging down your shorts and then his own. You don’t care that he can see you staring as Lewis pulls his thick cock from his boxers, tip already sticky with precum.

For a split second you consider crawling around to taste him, the sudden urge to have him fat and silky in your mouth overwhelming. The smell of him, the way he would talk you through relaxing your throat around his cock. The small, breathy noises he would make when you hum.

Lewis, though, has other ideas. Through the mirror you watch him spit into his palm, rubbing it over his length before notching himself into you. Here he pauses, tattooed chest rising and falling rapidly.

“You okay?” he checks. You respond by pushing your hips back, desperate to feel him inside you despite the heady overstimulation from your last orgasm. You need this--need him--in a primal, untamed way you’ve never expeirenced before. Every part of your mind constricts to where he’s touching you. The warmth of his big hands on your hips. The press of his knees inside yours, pushing your legs open and wide for him. And then--the slow, steady press of his cock as he forces you open. You can’t do anything but take him, mouth open and gasping as Lewis stretches you, fills you, completes you. Doing so good for me, he says, words tight and edged with a moan as he gives you more, more, more. You can’t think past where you’re connected. When he finally bottoms out neither of you move, too consumed by pleasure. You manage to crack open your eyes to see Lewis, chest gleaming faintly with sweat, lip between his teeth.

“So good,” he’s saying, but you can barely hear him becuause you’re watching his arms flex as he readjusts his grip on your hips.

“S’always so good with you,” he murmurs in your neck as he leans forward to kiss up your spine. The change of angle has him even deeper, has you both moaning as Lewis buries himself in your hair.

“How do you do this to me. Everytime,” he says, and all you can say is baby, baby before Lewis is pulling out and slamming back in, rocking himself into you with enough force that the bench moves. You hardly manage to keep yourself propped on your elbows as he fills you up over and over, his own groans spilling into your ears. Already the knot in your stomach is back, accompanied by a dull ache from your previous orgasm. As Lewis winds a hand through your hair, he loops his other underneath you to again rub over your swollen clit. The sensitivity has your legs clenching uncontrolably, your vision blurring with each new pass of his fingers.

“Lew, it’s too much,” you try, but he only redoubles his efforts. He covers you completely, lips tugging at your neck, hand slowly closing around your throat, hips still pistoning into yours. You’re intoxicated by the power he has over you, the complete way in which he weilds it. The fingers gripping your neck are more a show of dominance than anything else, Lewis’ way of saying you’re mine. If you were any less helpless you’d consider fighting back, giving him the sass he loved so much. But you’re drunk on his cock, on the way he knows your body. And when he bites at your ear and repeats his words from earlier you’re helpless.

“Open your eyes.”

In the dim remnants of day light Lewis rises from behind you like a god, the deep cuts of his shoulders and chest carved from shadow. Below you, his arm disappears fully into darkness as he works at your clit, muscles appearing and reappearing as he moves. He’s got you all pressed up against him, leverage gained by the big, tattooed hand splayed like a necklace across your throat. Still thrusting, Lewis locks his dark eyes with you and you can’t look away, even as you feel yourself tipping over the edge.

“Lew, I’m gonna-”

“I know, I got you,” he’s panting, and then you’re both collapsing onto the bench, gasping at the heat of him finishing inside you, the mind-numb clench of your second orgasm.

“Lewis, Lewis.”

Tears pool at your waterline as your legs keep shaking.

“I know. I know, I got you,” he repeats, and he grabs for your hand, squeezing it tight as the two of you lie there, breathing.

Quiet. For a little while it’s just quiet as you collect yourself and feel the drip of Lewis down your thighs. You could live and die for this, you decided. These moments with him. And then he’s shifting, drawing himself up and retrieving your clothes, moving slowly in the low light. You’re cold without him.

He comes back to you though, kissing at your shoulder, your knee, your cheek as he insists on dressing you himself. Only when you’re tying up your hair does he at last relent, settling to trace doodles over your the exposed skin at your ankle instead.

“Told you,” he says. You glance at him, at the mischievous smile he’s failing to hide.

“Told me what?” you ask. You can’t help it, but you find yourself smiling too as he pauses his finger-drawing to look at you.

“Told you we wouldn’t get caught.”

“Shut up Lewis.”

[hitlikehammers]

i realize that this is a world where anything is possible and—

a Pro-Football/Rockstar Super Bowl Steddie AU for @thefreakandthehair

I don’t as a rule write sports AUs, but I do, as a rule, bend my own rules when someone gives me prompts for a fic I’m writing as a gift.

So: when @thefreakandthehair prompted me with ‘Starry Night’ but said she would have liked also something about football? I tried to fulfill the request (try being the operative term)

Lex, I hope your birthday was as brilliant as you deserve, and that this little fic in celebration of you brightens your day  

title from this poem, aptly titled and about, what else, but football; divider credit here

(Also sincerest thanks to the ever-lovely @pearynice for listening to me babble about this and having a look at the final product and being amazing all around, and @hbyrde36 for blindly hlepng pick which ending was ultimately posted—you guys are the best ✨)

✨also on ao3

“I am about ninety-nine-point-nine…” Eddie chews on his bottom lip, coils a stray curl around his index finger and resists dragging it across his mouth: “eight, point-nine-eight percent sure I’m not supposed to be here.”

He’s entirely sure he’s not supposed to be here. Not now.

“What are they going to do?” Steve scoffs at him, leading him by hand through the tunnels. “Kick us out? Ban us?”

He snorts, and Eddie stops trying to not-hide behind his hair a little because: not supposed to fucking be here.

“You’re gonna get us arrested or something.”

“Oh, how the mighty have fallen,” Steve cackles a little and maybe Eddie’s anxious, but he’ll never not melt at that sound, music brighter, holy like he could never touch, let alone play: “Eddie Munson, poster child for sticking it to the goddamn man,” Steve tuts, clicks his tongue and shakes his head: “afraid of stadium security.”

“Pretty sure they’ve got better people on payroll for this,” Eddie points out under his breath but never once fights Steve’s hold, his lead: he’d put his whole fucking life in this man’s hands, no question. It’s just that…

“Relax, babe,” Steve squeezes Eddie’s hand in his own; “no one will know.”

Eddie…Eddie doesn’t doubt Steve, never would, but, like—this is a big fucking deal.

“If Chrissy finds out we fucked something up—“ because that’s why Eddie’s here, obviously, at least in this specific capacity; not like Corroded fucking Coffin, no matter how many albums they’ve sold, would ever land a gig like this for themselves. Nope: Chrissy’s been a friend for eons, and when her career skyrocketed they were all ecstatic for her, but she never changed from being a hometown girl with a sweet heart, never let the fame or the money or the statues dull that down in her, so she was still the cheerleader who clapped for Eddie in middle school, and so of course she invited Eddie’s band to feature on a track—and of course they said yes.

So when she signed on for the halftime show and knew they’d be nearby recording? She’d asked them to join her on stage as special guests for a couple songs.

And no matter what else proved an incentive: Eddie and the guys would have said yes in a heartbeat. It’s the fucking halftime show, but more than that? It’s Chrissy Cunningham, and she smiled and cheered when the Hawkins auditorium sat in silent judgment in the face of their…everything.

“A,” Steve’s pulling him along just a little further, still; Eddie can tell they’re almost to the field, can see literal light at the end of the tunnel; “we will not fuck anything up.”

“I’m clumsy,” Eddie offers a token protest; it’s not untrue, but he’s also kinda half-assing the fight of it; “I might—”

“B,” Steve’s cut him off; “Chrissy loves me,” then he points to Eddie; “Chrissy loves you,” and Eddie tucks his chin a little more to press the bunch of his hair tighter against the seam of his lips; “Chrissy also loves us,” Steve gestures between the two of them, then, chest-to-chest and back; “as in, us together.”

And yeah, okay: Steve had been Chrissy’s friend properly before Eddie, used to help her get the height on her ponytail before games, caused a million rumors but they were never an item—so. Yeah. Chrissy loves them. As themselves, and as SteveandEddie.

“Just here,” Steve eases them to a halt and steadies Eddie by the biceps when he stumbles for the stop anyway because: clumsy, if he’s not on stage. Steve knows this, they’ve been at this too long for him not to, but.

He anticipates it so perfectly, and it still kinda skips in Eddie’s pulse like a giddy schoolgirl for the fact of it. They they’ve got this.

“Close your eyes,” Steve instructs as he smooths his hands past Eddie’s elbows, down to circle his wrists.

Eddie feels his eyes get big as he tries to frown, but gapes instead.

“I’ll run into—”

“I will not let you run into anything, love,” Steve pulls him in for a quick peck on the lips, and speaks into the contact sweet and warm:

“I’ve got you.”

Yeah. Yeah he fucking does.

Giddy-schoolgirl-under-his-ribs again, Jesus.

Eddie slips his eyes closed and barely even has to wait for Steve to grasp his hands tighter.

“Okay,” Steve murmurs deep and rumbly and hot under Eddie’s skin as he walks him at a careful pace further, further, turns a little, further again then slows: “now,” he brings Eddie’s hands together and kisses his knuckles, and Eddie’s not just warm under the skin, now he’s warm everywhere.

“Now, follow me down, we’re just going to sit,” and Steve presses one hand to the small of Eddie’s back and leads him, and Eddie goes because there is nowhere he wouldn’t, nowhere he won’t go with Steve beside him.

It’s just not possible; he’s not built to be anywhere else.

“And now lie back,” Steve eases him gentle even as he says it, and Eddie lets him, enjoys the feeling of being handled like this, precious and delicate almost, in this space that’s anything but save that it’s them, and what they are is stronger than spun silk, tested further than diamonds but they’re also tender, they’re also blood and bone and tangled together soft and vulnerable, if only just to shore each other up and tie together tighter.

“There you go,” Steve says as Eddie feels the whole of his body, the length of his back make full contact with the ground; “and tip your head,” he puts his open palm under Eddie’s chin like he needs to guide, but Eddie figures it’s just to touch: he doesn’t complain, because hell if he minds. As if he could ever.

“Now open your eyes.”

Eddie lets himself bask in the blind touch of Steve for just one more breath before he blinks and looks and—

“Oh,” Eddie barely breathes, and he can feel Steve beaming at him, so wide and shining out in the dark like the meteors that are streaking across endless stretch of sky above them, leaving trails behind to mark their paths, to leave proof of their being before they burn on descent and oh, oh.

“Right?” Steve breathes close to Eddie’s ear, strokes Eddie’s pulsepoint where he still holds at the wrist, kisses Eddie’s jaw as Eddie gapes up because it doesn’t matter how many times he sees the show, it’s awe inspiring.

So much like the man next to him, pressed tight against him so Eddie can feel him breathe: never once has Eddie stopped being filled up with wonder for him, never once will Eddie ever do anything but marvel that he’s here, that he exists, that Eddie can look at him and know in his bones that it’s true, unshakable when he stares and thinks: mine.

“Stevie,” Eddie spins his hand so it can lace with Steve’s, fingers interlocked as he turns into the press of his mouth to catch his lips for real, to taste: “sweetheart,” he mouths, tongues into Steve’s kiss: “it’s beautiful.”

You’re beautiful goes unsaid because they say it clear with touch; what we have is so much more than beautiful is the understood fucking you. Given like the spin of a planet, or the expanse of the universe.

“I know how much you like the stars,” Steve shapes the words more than speaks them, never moving back to pull apart their lips, not all the way; “and when I saw there was a shower, and we’d have a shot to see it, I,” and Steve presses a quick kiss into Eddie then: I couldn’t not, and Eddie thinks lucky isn’t a word that means anything at all, in the face of this.

He watches with Steve pressed against him, slid down to fit with his head on Eddie’s shoulder for a long stretch of seconds before the question comes to mind and he kisses Steve temple, reverent, but still in askance:

“The lights?”

Because it’s too dark. There are still a few bits of the stage setup that need to be moved before the kickoff, so he has to figure there’d be some lights, but the space surrounding them is a near-perfect void.

“So maybe someone knows we’re here,” Steve answers, a little wry. “I maybe bribed Lenny in Operations,” and of all the people working in this mass-ass complex, for this insane fucking event, Eddie actually knows who that is; let him bum a smoke the first time they came to rehearse. “We have about half an hour.”

Jesus. Jesus.

“God, I love you,” Eddie half-exhales, half-wonders at this, this, this specimen of a human before him, pressed against him close and he pulls Steve in, brings their still-joined hands to his chest and stretches down to kiss the tips of Steve’s fingers before just pressing hands there, making sure Steve feels:

“Every time I think you’ve stretched this heart as far as it’ll go,” Eddie whispers, because it’s sacred; this feeling, this thing they make together as one: “every time, you find room to fill it up all over again,” Eddie feels that stretched-heart of his pound a little beneath their hands, and fucking good, too, because then Steve feels it at the exact same time, and that’s what matters, what counts: that Steve knows the depth of this in Eddie’s chest, always; that he understands because:

“You’re magic.”

And Eddie means that. Eddie means that with all his pounding heart.

“You’re playing the Super Bowl tomorrow,” Steve says it like an explanation; like it’s enough of a reason. Like he would have done all of this anyway, just because.

“I am playing as a guest at the halftime,” Eddie knows that’s correct, he knows, but it’s still instinct to look at Steve like he’s making sure he gets the terms for all the different sports games right and it’s worth the knee-jerk instinct surviving all these years just for the grin and the nod he gets, so encouraging and indulgent and sweet; “show.”

“You are playing the Super Bowl, tomorrow.”

Because that’s the other thing, the thing that was entirely not-music-related that existed as the whole fucking incentive for Corroded Coffin to be in town for studio space in the first place: Steve, his Stevie, his partner and lover, beloved and adored, his Steve Harrington is the goddamn starting linebacker in the motherfucking Super Bowl.

Like Eddie would miss that for his fucking life.

Which: hold on.

“Don’t you have curfew? Coach’s orders?” Eddie turns a quirked brow to him and Steve just grins and, god: taps Eddie’s nose.

Gawwwwwd.

“I’m sneaky, baby,” Steve whispers and fuck, the stars above them are exquisite but they’ve got, like, nothing on the way Steve’s eyes shine. “Stealthy like a ninja.”

Eddie wants to laugh, snicker maybe a little under his breath but he…he can’t.

He can’t because he’s, his whole body feels weightless and tingly and untethered from gravity and matter and any atmosphere that isn’t Steve and Steve alone, like just be next to this man, the love of his life, is akin to and far beyond swimming alongside the shooting stars overhead: he can only relish, can only marvel.

He gets this. He gets to have this.

Unfathomable. And yet.

“You did all this for me,” Eddie exhales, still wondering at this. At Steve: the fact of him. The whole of him. This is the night before the biggest game of Steve’s career, likely the biggest day of Steve’s life and yet, here he is. Breaking rules, risking fuck knows what, just for Eddie. It’s, it’s…

“That can’t be a surprise by now,” Steve breathes back, nuzzles their noses a little and Eddie keens, because fuck.

“It’s not just,” Eddie tries to collect his thoughts, his point; “this is big, Stevie,” he says, like that encompasses it, encompasses the day they’re on the brink of, and the fact that they’re here right now, just before that day:

“This is big.”

“All the more reason,” Steve nips at Eddie’s lip then leans back, meets Eddie’s gaze square on before he breathes out slow, and lies back down, turns Eddie’s body to him, both of them on their sides and then he brings their hands between them, close enough that they hit both their chests when they breathe in: “because,” and he takes one more breath, and Eddie doesn’t know why it feels like Steve’s steeling himself, or building up to a thing he feels he has to steel himself for, because there’s nothing he could say or do that’ll sway Eddie from his side, there’s nothing, but then—Steve doesn’t feel stiff, or scared, or nervous against him, his hand in Eddie’s hand.

It just feels big, this moment, whatever it already holds or is gearing up to hold as more; it feels momentous, equally so, either way.

“Win or lose, tomorrow, no matter how big this is,” Steve finally speaks words into the tiny space between them, his grip firm and his eyes unwavering on Eddie the whole time. “I won the only thing I really wanted in life,” and his smile, dear god.

There are no stars, falling or burning, dying in a supernova or sprawling newly born: not a single goddamn one could compare.

“And he’s not really a prize, so it’s not really winning,” Steve’s watching him with so much love, so much love; “he’s a gift, he’s my heart,” and Steve mirrors Eddie this time, draws Eddie in to press against his chest, to feel the fluttering there; “and he gave me his to keep safe, and that was a whole other gift on top of everything,” and Steve laughs a little, his own overwhelming awe, and Eddie almost doesn’t know what to do, save grip Steve so fucking tight; save to memorize the cadence of his pulse like a song.

“So no matter what you call it,” Steve draws a deep breath and lets it shudder a little when he blows it back out; “when I wake up in the morning and I know he’s mine, and I’m his,” and Eddie lifts the hand not held to Steve’s heart to cup Steve’s cheek and just touch, just drink him in:

“I feel like the biggest winner in the world,” Steve says it, so honest, so heartfelt: so much.

“You’re a fucking sap,” Eddie doesn’t realize he’s crying until the tears clog the words when they tumble from his lips but then he’s leaning, then he’s kissing Steve like the world’s ending only to begin again and it’s perfect, it’s heavenly like the fires burning miles upon miles above their heads, cosmic and immense but then Steve’s pulling back, but his open palms are pressed to Eddie’s chest to manage it and it’s contact, it’s grounding: it, too, is perfect.

“Oh, really,” Steve’s lips curl, even as they’re swollen at the pout and wet-red still; “I’m a fucking sap?” but he doesn’t even look irritated, he looks entertained, no: he looks delighted and what—

“Let me one-up your standards then, Munson,” and Steve’s leaning in, catching Eddie’s lips one more time before he raises up on his knees, tips back on his calves and lifts from those glorious fucking thighs of his and if Steve’s ignoring curfew entirely Eddie thinks he’s got a good chance of asking for those thighs to be wrapped around him at some point in the next twelve hours before he gets to spend a good stretch of hours sharing the clothed version in those tight fucking pants with the whole goddamn country, sure, but at Jumbotron-size he can’t wholeheartedly complain and—

“Edward Elliot Munson.”

Wait. That’s him. He’s Edward Eli—

Why is he being full-named here, now?

He starts to sit up too, brings his eyes up from Steve’s glorious legs where they stretch even under his track pants, to meet his eyes and—

They shine. They shine.

They put the stars and the space matter and the glow of angels on high if they’re there at all: they put them all to fucking shame.

Steve puts them to shame.

“Eddie,” Steve breathes deep and Eddie catches the gleam of something in an obvious shape in his hands, but it’s only in his periphery: he cannot, he will never look away; he might be trembling already.

He’s definitely trembling already.

“Will you,” and Steve pauses, plays with Eddie’s bare ring finger, the only one empty just now and Eddie honestly never thought on it too hard but in this moment he knows, he knows in the marrow of him that he was waiting, that he was wanting and he was keeping it safe for just one thing, just one thing:

“Will you let me fill your heart up to stretching,” Steve blinks, and a tear falls; just one, glistening and glorious for the avalanche that’s spilling from Eddie; “and then will you let me fill it up even more, again and again and again, Eddie, will you let me do that for the rest of our lives?”

As if that’s a fucking question.

Eddie doesn’t even have to process the necessity of putting his lips on Steve, of kissing him breathless and then boneless and then weightless, so fucking close and so fucking fierce and giving everything and anything and all that he is and allthat they are; he doesn’t have to process it as a choice before they’re consuming, devouring each other relentless, unceasing, and Eddie will pull back and speak the ‘yes’ that’s already obvious, he will shake a little as Steve puts the ring on the naked finger waiting to be adorned, the last lone space waiting to be claimed; Eddie will wear it proudly on the stage when millions watch him play tomorrow, and there won’t be a single second he’s not smiling like a loon through the whole goddamn day, and it’ll have so very little to do with playing the biggest show of his life, and that’s wild, that’s insane: that is the only real thing in the whole fucking world and—yeah.

Yeah: the biggest prize of living at all is the one they’re holding tight between them, the one they’re passing back and forth, soul to soul between their lips.

[akiranzee]

Akaza, kokushibo and Muzan with a racecar driver! reader? Yes, its a dangerous sport but reader knows what they are doing and knows how to get out of situations like that. maybe reader shows their scars from previous accidents they were involved in that that taught them how to do better?

🏎️ • ° ` — “SCARS”

-> PAIRINGS: akaza, kokushibo, muzan kibutsuji x gn!racecar driver!y/n (separated) -> SUMMARY: You show them the “ugliest” parts of your body. -> WORD COUNT: 1.1k+ -> CONTAINS: fluff, little angst, comfort, reader treats scars as ugly (kokushibo’s part), cringe warning? (muzan’s part), ex problems (kokushibo’s part), akaza is an MMA fighter, suggestive, swearing, akaza is insecure, scar kink (muzan), & akaza, kokushibo, and muzan is 30, while reader is 26. -> A/N: modern au!! IDK MUCH ABT RACECAR DRIVING, BUT I TRIED😭. (i think i went too far degrading u guys)

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------------Complete!------------

★ • ° ` — AKAZA:

The night was cold enough to say that you felt like you were naked, standing in the middle of the snow when you literally had a jacket embracing your figure.

Today’s event to say the least, was exhausting. Especially when your lover, Akaza, swore that he’d watch today’s race, but he didn’t come due to an emergency.

Speaking of which, as you looked up from your phone, your eyes adjusting at the dim surrounding for a minute, before finally seeing Akaza in his black car, smiling at you and eyes that literally said “sorry”.

You sighed in relief as the cold night is about to end once you’ve step foot into his car, the warmness will now embrace you.

“Sorry, I wasn’t able to watch today’s race. How’d it go? Did my darling ace it again?” He softly chuckled as he patted your head, whilst starting to rev up the car.

“Mm. I did. It was exhausting. How about you? What happened?” You asked back, as you placed your hand on his thigh.

“Eh, nothing. Just the boss telling me I needed to go to USA for another match.” Akaza answered nonchalantly.

“Wha- you’ll go...?” The worry and sadness in your eyes was visible enough for Akaza’s nonchalant face turn into something of a frown.

“Of course not. I declined the offer. I’m never leaving you, ever.” Your sadness immediately faded, as happiness filled your face that made Akaza chuckle of how obvious it is.

“But... won’t it affect your career? I mean — MMA fighters from USA are usually big shots nowadays..” Your concern comes back again, hesitation filling your mind completely, afraid he might change his mind.

“I’m a big shot myself. Besides, if they’re that desperate, they’d be more than willing to get over here.” It only made you chuckle, remembering just how stubborn your beloved could be.

~~~~~

Reaching your home, you and Akaza shared dinner, bath, and a bed.

This whole month was a busy month, so you guys never get to have the time to do it.. But, that doesn’t stop you.

“‘Kaza, um.. it’s been long, you know... that we uh.. did it..” You fiddled and intertwined your fingers with redness that showed your embarrassment.

Akaza, too, figured it out naturally, his cheeks tinged with light pink too. Akaza wanted too, but he remembers; a scar that lays flat on his abdomen.

It was a newly wound he got a week ago, during training. It was safe to atleast say; that he was embarrassed and ashamed of it.

He is a big shot MMA fighter, after all. He is a veteran and a pro in this field of sports. So, having to just such a mistake slip that easily is just beyond failure.

You could see the hesitation in his eyes, perhaps you thought he was getting a little shy about it as for how long you guys couldn’t do it.

So, you initiated the first move: you climbed up the bed, and took his shirt off. It caught him off guard, but he stopped you midway. But it was too late. You had already seen the scar lying atop his abdomen.

Akaza felt ashamed, wanting the bed to swallow him up. But in the middle of it all, your finger that traced his scar smoothly... made him think otherwise.

“Akaza... are you... ashamed of this?” The ticklish feeling of having your finger run over his scar multiple times comforted him.

He nodded shyly, not expecting this to happen. What he did not expect more, was how many scars you gained over the lapse of one month, as you undressed in front of him.

His eyes widened, as there were no scars before on your chest, stomach, and waist.

“I’ve also gained a lot of them.. hehe.” You smiled sheepishly, embarrassed, but at the same time, proud at the result of all your hardworks.

Akaza too, traced the outline of your scars. They were bigger than his. He looked at you with curiousity in his eyes, why would someone as good and best as you have this much scars.

“I may be good and all but... I’m still improving. It hurts, but these scars remind me of my journey of being here now. After all, without these, and you, I wouldn‘t be here and win today’s race.” Slowly, your arms snaked and wrapped around his neck, the so little space between the both of you was tempting to not close it in.

Maybe, having a scar wasn’t so bad at all. Especially when you both are matching with one of your scars laying atop your abdomen too.

“So... shall we continue now?”

★ • ° ` — KOKUSHIBO:

As the crowd went wild and cheered, you stood outside your car and waved at the people who love you so much.

As you were waving, you looked amongst the crowd and immediately found a certain black-haired color male with red tips. A smile crept up to your face, and your fans’ screams got louder and louder.

~~~~~

As you were in the locker room, you changed your clothes in front of the mirror. Upon taking off your top, you stopped midway as you just remembered how ugly your body looked.

You turned your back against the mirror, and immediately took off your bottom too.

You could never look at yourself the same way ever again, even after that accident. The scars on your back and stomach, served only as a failure. You’re the best, the top of all racers in the world. How can you allow a failure such as this...?

It’s beyond helping. Your body looked rotten from top to bottom. What would your fans think if they saw you like this? Would they cheer the same way as they did a while ago? Or would they change and look at you with disgust?

The slow forming pain on the tip of your finger as you traced the innumerable scars on your body, made you scrunch in disgust. What if Kokushibo were to see this? How would he react? After all, the both of you’ve ever only done it with lights off, as you feared he’d see this madness. What if he found out this was the main reason why? Would he still love you as he always did? Or would he turn his back around as your past lovers did?

It scares you to the brim that you’d be willing to plastic surgery every single inch of you. Maybe those ghastly, scary thoughts would fade — and he’d continue loving you, right? You’d be able to do it with the lights on, you’d finally get to take the shower together, or bathe at the beach freely with a bikini. Yes, that’s right. You have enough money for plastic surgery, you’ll only need to find a good surgeon, and you’ll no longer feel this way, right? Yes, you should-

“What’s taking you so long?” Your desperate thoughts were cut off, as you heard a voice. The voice you wish was never there.

Immediately, you turned around, facing the man you love, and feared. God, fuck. Why now? Why did he need to come in now? Talk about bad timing, he was looking at your body, your rotten scarred body.

Immediately, you turned your back on him, and covered your hideous body, causing you to face the mirror instead. “W-What are you doing here...?” The fear has started, it‘s starting to eat you up so badly, that you stuttered with nervousness, and shook in fear. He was not supposed to see you like this, god. Did you even lock the door? How could you forget? Anyone — not just Kokushibo, but anyone can come inside and see your hideous body, with the face of digust.

Kokushibo notices, maybe he even knows — that you’ve always feared this day to come. But does he even care? No. He doesn’t.

His keen, observant eyes have seen the fear everytime you look at him when you’re doing “it”. Everytime you do it, you always prefer to turn the lights off. Yet you feared brownouts or blackouts, as the darkness that lurks gives you nightmares.

He wraps his arms behind you, covering the scars on your body.

It took you aback, but the man had always loved you for who you might be, and who you were gonna be.

Your eyes watered. Then tears started to spill from your eyes. You were ashamed, and embarrassed.

How could you ever think of him like that?

That’s right... Kokushibo was never one to prefer looks over personality. He had always preferred you, no matter who you might be. No matter how rotten your body is, how scars covered all the inches of your body, and how you might change because of it.

But he never mind, because as long as it was still you, he would still be him, the one who loves you so much.

Kokushibo was never good with his words, so he’d shown it through his actions.

That night, the both of you didn’t sleep, as he had proved just how much he loved you, now with the lights on.

★ • ° ` — MUZAN:

You: 1 attachment sent You: muzieee i got a new scar😭😭👊👊 Zanzan: What happened? You: i accidentally fell off my bike😐😐 Zanzan: Bike? You: im trying biking, since DOUMA HERE WONT BELIEVE IK HOW TO DRIVE BUT NOT BIKE🤬🤬🤬 You: 1 attachment sent You: see that big ass scar? You: YEAHH THATS HIS FAULT Zanzan: Well Zanzan: That’s hot You: MUZAN WTF🤬🤬🤬

Muzan was your beloved, he was a businessman as well as a politician. His busy day and self could barely give you enough time in person. But he never fails to answer your messages in less than one second, even if he is a busy man.

For some reason, Muzan always adored and loved your scars, even if they looked horrid.

Last time you remembered, you look at your scars as a remembrance of failure and shortcomings. But thanks to him, pleasuring you every night he comes home, along with him pressing loving kisses against your scars, and him asking scar pictures of yours everytime he’s away.

That’s why, you could never look at your scars the same way again, for he loves them as much as he loves you, and as much as you love him.

a/n: i think i did muzan no justice here (his is WAY too short)

[b0r3dtod3ath]

hi can i request andrey rublev x reader?

the two argue heavily after Andrey forgets about a date with Reader, some silent treat from Reader and the two make up after Andrey sees Reader having fun with another guy and thinks it's too late. (they make out at the end)

warnings: alcohol/being tipsy, kinda fem!reader, cigarettes/smoking

You had been looking forward to this evening for weeks. A rare break in Andrey's schedule meant you could finally have a quiet night out together, something that had become increasingly rare with his career. You’d made a reservation at his favorite restaurant and had even bought a new dress for the occasion.

You were supposed to meet at the restaurant. I’m already here. You texted but he didn’t read the message  immediately. 

10 minutes - he’s a bit hectic sometimes, he was gonna be here in a moment. 

20 minutes - you started feeling watched and felt sorry for. 

45 minutes - your eyes were glossy, your calls went straight to the voicemail. 

1 hour - none of the texts were read, none of the calls were answered. The knot in your throat tightened with every passing minute. 

1 hour 17 minutes - you have been defeated. It was painfully clear that Andrey wasn’t coming. You exited the restaurant after quickly apologizing to the waiter for the unnecessary reservation. 

1 hour 40 minutes - you stopped at your local grocery shop, checking for any messages while you sat in the parking lot. 

1 hour 43 minutes - you bought a pack of cigarettes, a bottle of red wine and a Cosmopolitan magazine. 

2 hours - you drove home in the rain with tear-stained cheeks. 

2 hours 15 minutes - you entered your shared flat, your face still moist with tears but you weren’t crying anymore. You turned on some jazz and slowly moved as you found an ashtray and a wine glass. With your heels abandoned somewhere in the middle of the living room, you enjoyed your groceries not letting his mistake ruin your evening. 

By the time Andrey finally walked through the door late that night, you were on your second big glass of wine. You were sat on the couch with a warm feeling, captivated by the article about an ongoing feud between two known stars. The bottle sat on the coffee table, half-empty. The ashtray next to it, half-full. 

Andrey's face fell when he saw you. "I’m so sorry," he began, dropping his bags. "I completely lost track of time after practice and then got caught up with some media commitments. I didn’t realize-"

"Didn’t realize?" you interrupted, your gaze lifting from the magazine. "Andrey, this was supposed to be our night. The one night we had planned for weeks. How could you forget?"

"I know, I know," he said, reaching out to touch your arm, but you pulled away. "I messed up, okay? I’m really sorry."

"Sorry doesn’t change the fact that you weren’t there," you shot back, your tone sharper than usual. "Do you even know how long I waited? How embarrassed I felt sitting alone at that restaurant?".

He ran a hand through his hair, frustration clear in his eyes but you didn’t look at him. Your gaze was attached to the paper in front of you.  "What do you want me to say, Y/N? I can’t turn back time. I had commitments, and I lost track. It wasn’t intentional”.

"But it still happened," you replied quietly, setting your glass down with a little more force than necessary. "It always happens, Andrey. Your career is important, I get that. But where do I fit in? I think you forgot that I’m also a commitment".

The silence that followed was heavy. Andrey didn’t have an answer, and you didn’t have the energy to push further. Instead, you stood up, walked away, and followed your usual evening skincare routine before getting to bed. The silent treatment had begun, a cold wall built out of hurt and disappointment.

For the next few days, the house was very quiet. Andrey tried to bridge the gap, leaving sweet and apologetic notes everywhere and making attempts at conversation, but you kept your responses short and distant. He knew he had messed up, but he didn’t know how to make it right.

On the fourth night, you decided to go out with your friends. You rarely went out without Andrey when he was home but you needed a distraction, a break from the cold silence that had settled in your home. You dressed up, put on your favorite lipstick, and headed out, determined to enjoy yourself. “I’m going out with the girls. Don’t worry, I will be home after midnight.” you said just before leaving. Sure, you needed a break from him but you weren’t going to be totally heartless. The evening was filled with laughter, drinks, and the comforting presence of your friends. For a few hours, you felt lighter, free from the weight of your disappointment.

At one point, you found yourself chatting with a charming guy at the bar. He was funny and attentive, and for a moment, you forgot about the tension with Andrey. But you had no bad intentions, the same could be said about him. You two just talked. Your friend snapped a photo with you laughing with him in the background, a harmless moment captured and posted on her Instagram story.

Meanwhile, back at the flat, Andrey saw the story and felt a wave of fear and regret. He stared at the screen, the image of you looking happy and carefree with someone else. He wondered if it was too late to make things right, if he had lost you for good.

You returned home late that night, your head buzzing from the alcohol. You didn’t bother checking your phone or showering. Andrey was still awake, his heart aching with guilt and worry as he watched you stumble into the bedroom.

Seeing you struggle to undress, he got up and gently helped you. "Let me," he whispered, unzipping your dress and carefully sliding it off. He found one of your sleeping t-shirts and slipped it over your head, his touch tender and caring. You kicked off your shoes, too exhausted to say much, but you felt the warmth of his presence.

"You should get some rest," he said softly, guiding you to the bed and helping you lie down. He tucked you in, brushing a strand of hair away from your face.

The next morning, you woke up with a pounding headache. Groaning, you rolled over to find Andrey sitting on his side of the bed. Noticing you woke up, he quickly grabbed a glass of water and painkillers from his nightstand. "Here," he said softly, handing them to you.

You took them without a word, the silence between you heavy but not as tense as before. After a moment, Andrey spoke again, his voice full of regret.

"I messed up," he said, his eyes looking at your face that was halfly buried in a pillow. "I’ve been so focused on my career that I forgot to make you a priority. I don’t want to lose you. I’ll do whatever it takes to make this right”.

You sighed, feeling the weight of the past few days lift slightly. "Andrey, I understand that your career is important. But we need to find a balance. I’m not telling you to drop everything and run to me”.

His hand stroked your hair, his heart warming at the sight of you smiling that he hasn’t seen for a few days. "You matter. More than anything”. You moved so your head laid on his chest. The tension melted away as you both held onto each other. The conversation continued, honest and heartfelt. 

"Last night, I realized how much I miss you," you said softly. "I don’t want us to drift apart”. 

"Neither do I. I’ll make more time for us, I promise."

The early morning light filtered softly through the curtains, casting a warm glow over the room. The world outside was just beginning to stir, but inside, everything was still and quiet. "I love you," Andrey whispered against your hand just before he kissed it. The gesture was simple, but it sent a thrill through you. "I love you too," you replied, feeling the sincerity in his words. Andrey shifted closer, his lips hovering just above yours. The anticipation was electric, making your heart beat faster. You could feel his breath, warm and inviting.

Then, with a tenderness that made your heart ache, he kissed you. It was soft at first, a gentle prize collected after a few days of suffering. His lips were warm and firm, moving against yours with a sweetness that made you melt. You responded eagerly, your hands sliding up to tangle in his hair, pulling him closer.

The kiss deepened, becoming more urgent. You could feel the heat of his body against yours, the sheets rustling as you shifted. His hand slipped around your waist, pulling you even closer - a sign of the ending of your absence. Your bodies were perfectly aligned - holding each other as close as possible. Everything prior to that morning had faded away.

When you finally broke apart, both of you breathless, Andrey rested his forehead against yours. His eyes were still closed, a contented smile playing on his lips. "I’m so sorry," he whispered.

You smiled, your fingers still playing with the hair at the nape of his neck. “I’m sorry, too. I should have talked to you like an adult and not just escape" you replied softly.

The silent treatment was over, replaced by the warmth of reconciliation and the hope for a stronger future together. You knew that while it wouldn’t be easy, you were both willing to put in the effort to make things right. And that was a start.

June 14, 2024