#i’m so excited to go to one in like… two ish months!! but i miss this one Explore tagged Tumblr posts

[crepusculum-rattus]

thinking abt these photos from october again… man o(-(

[reverie-starlight]

{need you now- hawks}

y’all remember need you now by lady antebellum?

gn!reader, no physical descriptions. angst-ish? kinda fluffy. I’ll be doing a part two of this from keigo’s perspective eventually.

you can’t sleep.

this has been happening more and more lately, and you wonder how much more you can take without starting to hallucinate.

he’s back home from a mission now, which you only found out because of one of his fan accounts. well- “home”. he’s been staying in the luxurious house the commission kept aside for him. nothing homely about it according to keigo, but it’s not like he has much of a choice.

not after you got caught up in the argument and told him you wanted nothing to do with him.

you had shrugged it off when you saw the post, not knowing if it’s been too long to try and reconcile, but now you’re going down memory lane, holding back tears as you flip through the photo album he made you.

you fight yourself to stay off your phone, but you get to a photo of him kissing your cheek and you can’t stop yourself any longer. the loneliness you’ve been feeling all this time finally wins out.

the clock reads 1:15 AM.

is he even awake right now?

it’s been a month… and he’s always so busy, do you even cross his mind anymore? he always seems to be on yours.

you call anyway, against your better judgement and your heart lurches into your throat when he actually answers.

after two rings, at that.

“hello?” his voice both soothes you and chills you to your bones at the same time.

“hi keigo,” you whisper.

“hi, ba-“ you think he’s about to call you baby out of habit and you wish he hadn’t stopped himself. “did you need something?”

he sounds… somber. solemn. sad.

not at all like the keigo you love.

guilt pools in your stomach at the mere idea of you hurting him this badly.

“I…” you bite your lip. “I miss you.”

you hear his breath hitch. “really?”

you wish you could see his expression and figure out what he’s feeling. he’s always been so good at keeping his voice free of emotion.

granted, he always tried to turn that skill off around you, so you gather that he must be feeling guarded.

you keep going. “I’m so sorry for that night, keigo. I said things that I didn’t mean and I regret it so much… I’m so sorry I hurt you.”

he’s quiet on the line for a few beats and then and exhaled “I’m sorry too, baby. we both said some pretty awful things, didn’t we?”

you laugh, but it sounds a bit more like a sob to you. “yeah,” your voice breaks. “keigo, I… I need you here with me. can you please come over so we can talk about this?”

he clears his throat, likely working overtime to continue to keep the growing emotion out of his voice, but it sounds thick when it breaks anyway. “y-eah. yeah, I can come over. I need you too. I’ll be there soon, okay? unlock the window for me, sweetheart.”

he hangs up and you quickly move to do as he asked.

five minutes later, he’s on your balcony, sliding the glass and slipping into your room.

he immediately wraps you in his arms and your body, once cold and empty, fills with a warmth only he could provide.

he’s whispering words into your scalp. “I love you, y’know that? I love you too much to ever want to break up.”

you nod against his chest, letting the tears flow freely. “I love you too. I’m sorry,” these words are repeated between the two of you- they shoot out of your mouth and hit his chest, sinking into his skin and bubbling up his throat only for them to hit your scalp and absorb into your brain, then fall out of your mouth again like a well oiled machine working overtime.

but there’s nothing habitual about these phrases- as is the case for any time you say them, they’re promises.

promises that will never be broken again.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I’ve had this idea for a while and I finally wrote it :3

AND I’m gonna work on this from his POV, which I’m almost more excited abt than this one 👀

@emmyrosee sum angst (ish)

[amakumos]

MEET ME IN MONTE CARLO. — jake sim. (teaser)

SYNOPSIS. As a Formula 1 driver, being competitive is just in Ferrari driver Jake Sim's blood. Perhaps Jake cares about winning too much though, because during his conquest for the world title, he loses you. It isn't until 2 years later when you show up at the Monaco Grand Prix with his main rival, Red Bull driver Park Sunghoon, when Jake finds himself determined to not only fight for the championship, but also to fight for you.

GENRE. fluff, angst, exes to enemies (one-sided ish) to lovers

PAIRING. formula 1 driver! jake x fem! reader

WARNINGS. none in the teaser. in the fic, cursing, mentions of car crashes and accidents

ESTIMATED RELEASE DATE. late march, early april

WORD COUNT. 20k ish, teaser is 883 words

AUTHOR'S NOTE. well... this will be my second to last fic for the meantime! i'm excited to drop this one. i've been working on it for quite a while now. here's a formula 1 fic starring our very own jake sim :) i hope you enjoy this little teaser, and the taglist is open so just pop in an ask if you'd like to be tagged when i post this <3

TAGLIST IS OPEN, send in an ask if you’d like to be added!

You were the first person that Jake Sim ever loved. You were there at his first Formula 1 race, you were there at his first race win, and you were there for his first world title win. A series of firsts. 

But, Jake Sim has first breakup on the list as well. 

He always regrets how things ended between you two – it was messy, it was awful, and it left him crying at 3 in the morning in his apartment. 

Jake isn’t certain about many things in his life. But what Jake is 100% certain of, is that the breakup was all his fault.

You had screamed at him, and he knew that he deserved it. You were slowly slipping away from his grasp, and Jake allowed that to happen as he chased another world title so desperately. So desperately to the point that he would end up neglecting you. 

Forgotten dates, forgotten anniversaries, and forgotten birthdays. Text messages would be left unread for days when he was in some other unfamiliar city, as you walked to your lectures with a heavy heart and the stream of his race playing in the back of your phone as you waited for a response. You wore red every time he had a race, for Ferrari, for him, even as your relationship was crumbling. 

“I’m sorry,” he had choked out. “It is difficult.” 

You looked at him with bloodshot eyes and shaking fists. “It is. And you’re chasing your dreams, but… I can’t be with you if it’s like this. The past few months have been like we weren’t even dating in the first place.” 

Jake gulps. “I know. I’m sorry.” 

“I want to try,” you had said with an exasperated sigh, and Jake knows that you’re tired. He’s going at maximum speed, and you’re left trailing behind him. He’s so far ahead, and you know you’ve lost all hope of catching up. But you say those words anyway. “Please tell me you’ll try.” 

Jake doesn’t say a word. Because he knows that he won’t be able to. He wants to say yes, so badly. He wants to hug you, he wants to kiss you, and he wants to commit. Just as he commits to his races, to the championship, to Ferrari. 

But he can’t. Not a single word leaves his lips, and his silence is enough of an answer for you. “Oh,” you say, and Jake doesn’t miss the way your voice quivers, and your lower lip trembles. You’re dressed in red, Ferrari’s colour – his colour. “Okay.” 

“I’m sorry.” he told you. 

“It’s important to you.” you pressed your lips together in a thin line. “I understand.”

You say that, but Jake knows that you don’t. He knows nobody would ever be able to understand choosing to win over choosing someone you love. But Jake is committed to racing. He is committed to win. 

Yet, he’s not committed to you. The one who’s been with him through thick and thin, the one who’d catch red-eye flights to find him in some unfamiliar city to watch him win, the one who’d go through hell and back for him if it meant that he’d be happy. 

He can’t do the same for you, and he hates that. 

“I’m sorry,” he repeated, and you simply shook your head. You don’t have anything more to say to him, so you quietly pack your things. “I’m sorry.” 

Before you opened the door to leave, you took one last look at Jake. “I hope you figure out whatever’s going on in your life.” You don’t say anything more, and that is the last time Jake Sim ever sees you again. 

He doesn’t know what you’re doing either, because you’d deleted your Instagram account, starting a new one where none of his fans could keep up to date with you. The only way he knows how you’re doing is updates from Heeseung's girlfriend Yoona, who goes on trips with you often. He sees his fans constantly wondering if you’re doing well, and Jake finds it funny how he’s got the same exact question.

He drowns himself further in training, in racing, in wanting to become the best after the split. He wins, he wins, and he wins again – and that feeling of euphoria when he stands on the podium never leaves. It fills him with a joy like no other, and it reminds Jake why he does this. He wants to win. He wants to be the best – no, he is the best. 

Winning means the world to Jake Sim. Racing is in his blood – he does it to hear the crowds scream his name, he does it to lift that trophy on the top step of the podium, and he does it to feel the overwhelming pride in his chest when he crosses that chequered flag first. 

But he’s been so focused on winning, and he’s lost his everything. 

His everything is the girl who went to his first race. His everything is the girl who would tire herself by studying during the day, and catching long flights to the cities where he’d race in to support him. 

And his everything had left him 2 years ago in his apartment in Monte Carlo, Monaco, with teary eyes and a red dress. 

[joocomics]

ಬ different kind of normal

pairing: idol!taehyun x fem!reader

genre: angst, smut — mdni! wc: 1.7k

contains: situationship, reunion sex, sub!reader, slight hint of dumbification, slight dacryphilia, unprotected sex, dirty talk, pet names, reader is emotional and cries during sex, not a happy ending (?)

a/n: this has been sitting in the drafts since august and it’s finally seeing the light of day. cannot believe such angsty smut is happening on joocomics, tbh i don’t think i’ll be writing anything similar anytime soon phew it was tricky and i realised that i need my happy endings. but i wanted to try smth new, i really hope you enjoy it </3 sometimes you just need a kim taehyun to numb your emotions

You go down the familiar stairs and walk into the bar. It’s loud, lit by the usual dim yellow-ish lights, the scent of alcohol and skin is covering every corner, wrapping around your silhouette.

Your eyes observe the place to search for him and it doesn’t take long to find him - he’s sitting on your usual spot which is distanced from every other table; it feels intimate and secluded.

None of the people who visit this bar know who he is, nor do they know you, and sitting on this specific table every time you see each other only enhances the feeling you get in these moments - like you and him are the only people existing in this place and time.

“Taehyun,” you greet him at once.

You haven’t said his name out loud in so long. You’re not allowed to talk about him to anyone; not that you want to anyway, you want to keep him to yourself though it feels nice to be able to roll it off your tongue again. It feels freeing, especially in his presence.

Maybe he missed hearing his name in your voice, because his eyes smile at the sound before he even turns to face you. The letters ring nicely, like his name is something he can feel caressing his skin when you’re the one saying it.

“You’re here.” He automatically leans forward after you sit down next to him; the usual gravitational force that always pulls you together is another thing he was anticipating to experience again.

His one arm goes over your shoulders and the sudden warmth enveloping you makes your knees weak. The truth is, they were already weak from the steps you had to take to reach your table, but now they feel like they’re about to melt.

Being so close to him months later feels like it’s your first date all over again. You hate it and love it all at the same time.

“I just ordered your favorite,” he says and you can hear the slight note of pride in his smooth voice.

His hair is covered from a black cap which he eventually takes off before running a hand through his hair; it grabs your attention with a new color that you haven’t seen him with in person before.

You point out the obvious fact about how he still remembers your order as you take a minute to observe the attractive features that make up the face you learned to love.

“Of course I do,” he simply replies, leaning in for a kiss.

The first kiss after three and a half months. It feels so exciting and electrifying, just like the very first one you had a year ago, but at the same time it feels familiar too - like you’re reminiscing on a comforting memory you haven’t looked back on for a while.

His hand slides up your thigh, then travels up your hip only to sneak in discreetly beneath your shirt, sending you pleasant shockwaves. Soon enough he breaks the kiss though, careful not to bring any unnecessary attention on you.

“Next month I’m gonna have a week off.” Taehyun speaks up after a moment of silence between the two of you. After a sip of his beer, he continues: “I was thinking that you can come visit me if you want.”

Yes… Yes. You do. You want to scream it out loud. But the only thing you do is breathe in, staring inside the cup of your cocktail; trying to force yourself to speak before your mind turns blank.

“You don’t need to worry about money,” he adds as he shifts his gaze to you, hopeful and anticipating of your response. “It’s all on me, baby.”

There it is - the reminder you needed before giving any answers. His money, his fame. His life that’s so unfitting to yours. The pink balloon you found yourself in for a moment as he shared about his plan, tempting you to naively build dreams about your one week together, it pops, and brings you back to the harsh reality.

“Tae…” You shake head, “no matter what we do or tell each other we can’t be normal.”

Taehyun’s brows furrow at your choice of word.

Normal.

“This has to end at some point, I don’t think we should complicate things any further… as we’ve already said before.” You exhale deeply after blurting out the things you’ve been practicing on your way here. He didn’t hear the sound that escaped your lips because of the music mixed with the chatter, but if he did, he’d have known that saying all of this cost you an immense amount of energy.

You don’t glance at him even once, but Taehyun on the other hand can’t stop staring at you like he’s in some sort of a bad dream that’ll end soon if he’s patient enough.

“Right, right…” He nods, finally able to force his eyes somewhere else. He peers down at his hands on the table that begin to tap nervously at the wooden surface, sharing almost the same rhythm as his heartbeat. “You’re right, that’s the wisest thing to do.”

You know it is, but hearing him agree turns out to be more painful than you expect.

For the best, this has to end soon, you remind yourself. Maybe not tonight, but tomorrow.

“I missed you,” Taehyun rises your body temperature through raspy whispers and open mouthed kisses which he scatters onto your skin almost in a rush; as if you’re going to disappear from his hands if he dares to slow down. “Missed you so fuckin’ much...”

His soft lips trace a path from your neck down to your cleavage and soon enough he’s even lower, running his tongue against your stomach before kissing that area sensually too. The slight moisture slipping from the corners of his mouth in addition to the delicate sucks makes you shudder as he simultaneously tugs on your underwear.

“Missed this sweet pussy too,” he invites his fingers into your walls effortlessly. His gaze focuses upon your lips and how they open for a silent gasp as he glides through with ease because of your already collected arousal. “Did she miss me?”

While anticipating an answer, Taehyun swirls his tongue inside his mouth before letting a string of saliva fall right onto your clit; he smears it all over your folds, provoking your thighs to open even wider for him.

“Tae—“ You arch spine, emphasising your need for something more than this lingering rush that’s growing in a pace that’s not quite enough for how much you ache for his touch right now. “Please…”

“I think she did.” A lustful spark shimmers in his eyes as his hand maintains its delicate motions. The movements make you moan every time his fingertips reach your sensitive bundle of nerves before slipping back down again. “Say it.”

At once he meets your eyes as his frame eventually hovers over your naked flushed body.

Your hands relax on his broad shoulders as your focus fixates on his face. Hopefully there’s not as much pain into your eyes as there is in your heart in this moment. You don’t want him to know how much exactly you’re actually hurting.

“I missed you every day,” you whisper softly as your noses touch; your mouths search for each other, thirsty for the other’s taste even more now. When you feel his hand guiding his cock to your entrance your breathing catches, but you still manage to repeat it. “Of course, I missed you.”

The second he hears your words, Taehyun crashes his lips against your mouth. Because he cannot bare hearing this one more time or because he enjoys the sound of it too much - he’s not able to tell.

As he leads the kiss swiftly your legs wrap loosely around his hips and your warm walls immediately squeeze onto him as he quickens the pace, eager to make up for all the time you were away from each other.

“Fuck—“ He grunts at the growing pleasure that he reminisced about night after night before breathing out against your neck: “Finally… I swear to god nobody else can make me feel this way.”

His voice, husky and domineering despite his on going confessions, echoes in your fuzzy mind. Although you shouldn’t, you put in all the effort you can into memorising each word he says; you hold onto it tightly as the continuous thrusts gradually turn more rigid and sharp causing your nails to sink into his shoulder blades. However, as amazing the buzzing sweet wave inside you feels, you cannot suppress the sadness that’s about to overpower you first.

You swallow another failed attempt to fight back the bitter emotion, but you can feel it lingering everywhere - in your heart, inside your stomach, on your tongue once he slows down his hips to grip your face, and inside your throat that feels like it’s closing up.

“Why are you crying?”

Taehyun peers into your eyes that are sparkling at him with a bittersweet emotion which he hasn’t gotten used to seeing inside them. His gaze lowers to your puffy lips, trembling as they separate with hesitation.

“I… I don’t know what’s gotten to me, sorry,” your arms wrap tighter to pull him closer. His thumb caressing your wet cheek only makes it worse for you. “Please, k-keep going.”

“Sweetheart,” he whispers under his breath as he fulfills your wish by resuming his thrusts - more forcefully though to distract you from the sorrow, “I’ll make it go away now, okay? Focus on me, baby.”

You grasp his shoulders while the delight starts to numb your mind with each intense push of his cock. The hits against your sweet spot are fast and strong enough to weaken your memory right away.

“There you go,” Taehyun’s pants blend with your whimpers ringing beneath him as the tears on your skin begin to dry. “Such pretty eyes, look at me, love.”

Something about seeing you cry for the first time made his heart clench, and now his mind fogs up, leaving him with only one goal - to make you cum as many times as possible so you can’t think of anything for the rest of the night.

Right now, he’d erase every single thought from your brain if he knows he’s capable of doing so.

The moment he feels you’re tightening up Taehyun’s eyes open so he doesn’t miss out on one flinch of yours.

“Yeah, I’m here, baby,” he murmus, trying to keep moving forward while your peak lasts, causing you to quiver beneath his frame. “Let go, baby, I’m right here.”

Yes, he’s here, and tomorrow morning he’s still going to be here, but you’ll be gone, because this time if he tries to stop you like all the previous times, you’re not going to look back.

But for now, you and Taehyun are close as you’ve never been before.

! please do not repost, copy or translate my works

! please keep in mind that english is not my first language. i apologise for any mistakes i’ve might missed

[ysljoon]

Love Maze-Chapter 1

pairing: single dad!simon 'ghost' riley x live-nanny!reader wc: 1.8k warnings: slow burn-ish, unexpected pregnancy, abandonement, swearing, afab!reader a/n: trying to do a chaptered fic after so long my god pray for me yall but im really excited i hope yall enjoy this as much as i enjoyed writing it MINORS DNI (have your age in your bio or you're getting blocked) >next chpt.

Simon stared down at his baby girl with unreadable emotions swimming around his pupils. He loves his daughter with every fiber of his being and would do anything for her. Although she came into this world unexpectedly at a time when Simon was unprepared to be a dad and the mother left as soon as he was born into this world he stepped up for her. All Simon wanted that night was a night to relieve some tension after a particularly hard mission with any broad that was willing to look past the mask and just make him feel good. He didn’t expect her to be at his doorstep two months later with mascara-tinted tears rolling down her cheeks with a pregnancy test in her hands. She was blubbering about a missed period, not being ready for a baby, and cursing her birth control for not being more reliable, but Simon’s ears were ringing and his chest felt tight just from the sight of the pregnancy test. He had to brace himself against the frame of the door to keep himself steady. He needed to stay composed for this poor girl.

He invited her in and they sat over a cup of tea to devise a game plan on how to go about this pregnancy. Simon had half a mind to just tell her to get rid of it and as those words almost rolled off his tongue he heard her utter the words of wanting to keep it as she was already attached, Simon scoffed at that notion, but at the end of the day, he couldn’t tell her what she can and cannot do with her body. Simon’s heart was racing when she started to get ahead of herself talking about the color of the nursery how they should go about the gender reveal and if it should be a big party or a private affair. Simon felt like that was enough for one day and politely ushered her out gave her his phone number and told her they would be in contact.

Simon did try to keep in contact, but two weeks after that meeting he got called on a mission that would send him abroad for over three months. He had a strict rule that he left his phone behind while he went on operations to not be tracked. He knew it was shitty to do after being aware of the knowledge that he has a child on the way, but he favored the thought that the girl would just leave him alone and he would be free of all responsibility for the child.

That was not the case when he came back, to say the least. When he turned his phone back on after his arrival back home he saw 50 missed calls and hundreds of texts from his fling. At first, they started with concern as to why he was not answering and the texts slowly descended into angry texts filled with swears about how awful he is for abandoning a pregnant woman and the child. The last text made his blood run cold.

Since you want to abandon me I can do the same to you.

He stared at it trying to figure out the full meaning behind the cryptic sentence and there were many ways it could be spun. He frantically called her and bounced his leg trying to steel his nerves as the call rang out. On the second to last ring, she finally picked up.

“Nice of you to finally get around to answering my calls.” Simon gritted his teeth.

“I need to know what that last text meant.” She scoffed hearing his words. “It meant exactly what it meant Simon,” The venom in her voice seeped through the speaker of the phone and it was palpable. “Once I have this baby it’s all yours I’m not dealing with an absent baby daddy. I’ve done all the hard work anyways while you were out fucking off to go do whatever it is. Oh right, I don’t even know what it is you do because it’s all classified.” Simon had to roll her eyes at the tantrum she was expressing over his absence. “Can you be fuckin’ rational? We’re not doing that shit.” He was losing his patience as the call went on, but the girl just laughed at his response. “You don’t get to decide when you pick and choose to be a father so I’m deciding for you. I’m done with all of it! You’ve left me here with no support and I’m not going to live like that for the rest of the kid’s life. Oh, and it’s a girl by the way.” And with that, the call ended without Simon being able to get a final word in. In a fit of anger, he threw his phone down on his hardwood floor causing the glass screen to crack, but it was still usable.

The day he was there at the hospital for her baby girl’s birth was a day that will forever be ingrained into his memory. The feeling of holding such a fragile and small human overwhelmed him to no end. When signing the birth certificate he decided to name her Ella. He felt like it matched her perfectly. When he got home and placed her sleeping form into her crib he sat on the couch and took in everything that had taken place. It was now just Simon and Ella and he wasn’t mad about that, but he also realized he couldn’t do this alone and that’s what terrified him. He wasn’t ready to let the task force know about his daughter.

Simon spent the whole night occupied with making a job listing for a live-in nanny. He felt like that was the best option for him to go about his life as normal without worrying about his child at all hours of the day. Once it was posted he rolled on his side and just stared at Ella sleeping peacefully in her crib. He rolled it closer to the bed and closed his eyes hoping to get an hour or two of rest.

You were up late at night straining your eyes against the bright screen of your laptop busy searching for a new job. You had been out of a job for almost three weeks now and your savings were depleting faster than you expected. You had loved being in childcare, but the last daycare center you had worked at was just not the right fit for you. The coworkers were toxic and you could tell management wasn’t in the best interest of the children, but to ensure that administration had their pockets lined with cash. It had burnt you out to be in an environment and you needed a change of scenery. You refreshed the job listing website you browsed hoping a new job listing would miraculously pop up. Your prayers were answered when you saw the new listing pop up of being a live-in nanny for a newborn. You fervently submitted your resume and went to bed wishing you would get a fast response because this job sounded like everything you needed such as a great wage and a place to live. After all, the rent at your current was unsustainable for the salary you were receiving for your past job, and living paycheck to paycheck was draining.

You woke up at noon and were delighted to see a notification from the poster of the job listing wanting to arrange an interview for the position. He gave you his availability and you realized he was available today for an interview. You hastily agreed to meet with him at 3 p.m. to discuss. You frantically searched your closet for your best professional attire and you printed out a copy of your resume just in case. As you got ready nerves started to build up in your stomach. You needed this position and you didn’t need any unfavorable first impressions to ruin this opportunity for you.

The GPS leads you to quite a large and cozy home. You triple-checked the address to make sure you were at the right home before knocking on the door. You rapped your hand thrice against the door and occupied observing your surroundings so as to not look too nervous. The door creaked on its hinges as it opened and you were greeted by a burly man that towered over your frame and had half of his face covered by a mask. You didn’t expect it but still greeted him with a bright smile and a handshake. He stood to the side to allow you in and you followed him into his living room which had a large black leather couch, a fireplace, and a wall-mounted TV. The home was very minimally decorated, but you could still tell that this man was in a different tax bracket from you. He grunted as he sat down and you tried not to make too intense eye contact as you waited for him to begin the interview.

“To preface, my name is Simon and my daughter’s name is Ella. I work in the military and the line of work that I’m in specifically requires me to be gone for weeks to months at a time and that’s why I need a live-in nanny. I already looked over your resume and you seem to be very experienced in childcare which is a great sign. You would be given the wage that was listed in the job description as well as a weekly grocery allowance. You are allowed to pretty much do whatever you want around here to make yourself feel at home. The one thing I will not allow is strangers to be over. I prioritize my daughter’s safety over anything in this world and if you do anything to jeopardize that I will deal with that and that’s one thing you don’t want me to do.”

You took in all his words and this wasn’t even an interview it had already sounded like you had the job. “Do you understand? If you agree to this position we can get to signing your employment contract and you can start Monday so you have the weekend to pack up your belongings.”. “I understand fully sir.” “Drop the sir, we're not doing that here. You can call me Simon or Mr. Riley.” You nodded at that and he stood up from the couch and went over to the dining table where a thin stack of papers was. He brought them over a pen and slid them across the coffee table for you to look over. They essentially reiterated all the rules and expectations of the job and you signed and initialed wherever it was necessary. You handed him back the papers and he gave them a quick glance to ensure it was completed. He nodded and then stood up to help escort you out of his home. You gave him a quick handshake as your goodbye and went along your way. You could practically be skipping to your car with how excited you are to be starting this new chapter in your life and career.

[waltermis]

The Oscars

MASTERLIST ↠ SINGER!READER UNIVERSE

Summary: It’s time for the Oscars

Warnings: swearing, most likely inaccurate stuff about the Oscars… I tried to collect as much information as possible, but it is entirely likely that I messed the whole thing up.

Pairings: Scarlett Johansson x fem!reader (romantic), Scarlett x Lorelai Philips (platonic), Scarlett x Quinn Jones (platonic).

A/N: Happy birthday, Scarlett ❤️❤️

↠↠↠

Scarlett sighed nervously as she watched the people around her bustle and hustle in her hotel room, attempting to get her ready for the Oscars. She silently hoped that she would be nominated for at least one award but never voiced her thoughts out loud, not wanting to be disappointed if she didn’t get nominated. Looking around her busy room, she really wished that you could’ve been here. 

You’ve been on tour for over a year now and the last time she was able to physically see and feel you in person was 7 months ago when you performed for 3 nights in Atlanta. She had a couple of reshoots for Black Widow there, and when you had told her that you would be having a concert there, she instantly bought tickets to see you perform. She bought tickets for all 3 nights, singing/screaming the words to the songs until her voice was raspy and on the verge of going away. She bought tickets for your brothers, your dad, and the rest of her family to go with her, to support you. She had so much fun watching you sing and dance; seeing you have fun with your dancers and backup singers on stage had her so mesmerized. And watching the way you interacted with your fans, she really understood why you loved them so much.

She gasped lightly, getting pulled away from her thoughts when her hairstylist accidentally tugged too hard on her hair. “I’m so sorry, Ms. Johansson.” Quinn apologized quickly.

“It’s okay,” she reassured. “And how long have you been my hairstylist?”

“6 years-ish, give or take,”

“And how many times have I told you to call me Scarlett?”

“Too many to count,” they said, sheepishly. 

“Exactly, so are you going to start calling me Scarlett?”

“It’s very unlikely,” the two of them laughed at that. “Are you excited for tonight?” they asked.

“Yeah,” Scarlett replied, “I think it’ll be really fun,” she smiled while they added the finishing touches to her hair.

“And done.” they said, showing her hair in the mirror.

“I love it, thank you.”

“You’re welcome, now go get your dress on. ‘Cause I’m pretty sure Lorelai’s head is gonna explode.”

Scarlett looked over at her manager, who was standing in the corner talking on her phone, and Quinn was right, Lorelai looked beyond stressed. “She looks like a headless chicken.” she said, grinning. 

Quinn burst out laughing, which caught Lorelai’s attention. “Shit shit shit, go to the bedroom now!!” They pushed her off the makeup chair. She quickly ran into the bedroom and put on her dress. Looking at herself, she smiled softly. God did she wish that you were here right now. 

She decided to pull out her phone and give you a call. The phone rang for a couple seconds before your voicemail came on. “Hi, this is Y/N; I am currently not available at the moment. Please leave a message after the beep and I’ll try to get back to you as soon as I can.” Scarlett smiled at the sound of your bubbly voice. 

Beeeeeep

“Hi baby, I was just calling because I missed you. I’m just about ready to leave for the awards tonight and I wanted to hear your voice. Call me back tonight when you’re free? I love you.” She hung up.

“Scarlett!! Are you ready?” Lorelai asked, a little panicked, knocking excessively on the door.

“Yeah, let’s go.”

In the car, Scarlett pulled out her phone and began to watch reels of you singing during your tour on Instagram. She honestly couldn’t be more proud of you, she knew you always wanted to be a singer, but that dream didn’t solidify until you first sang in the first Pitch Perfect movie. She saw how hard you worked for this, and knew that you deserved every single round of applause you got after each song you’d sing.

↠↠↠

Scarlett stepped out of her car, putting on a practiced smile for the cameras. She looked at the paparazzi and her fans who were screaming and crying out her name. She got her picture taken and was led to the section where interviews were taking place. She did a couple of them, she even had one with her co-star and friend, Florence Pugh. 

Soon, Lorelai was ushering her off to the next part. Scarlett smiled as she greeted Cole Walliser; he was the one in charge of the GlamBOTs; the camera that moves extremely quickly but the footage taken is in slow motion. After he instructed her on what she should be doing, Scarlett did her iconic over the shoulder pose into the camera and smiled happily. The speed of the camera startled her for a moment, but she was quick to regain her bearings. She thanked him again, and then joined her manager in one of the more secluded areas as an usher led them into the building.

Scarlett smiled softly in thanks at the attendant who led her and Lorelai to their seats. Getting inside the building took quite a bit of time; with the amount of celebrities showing up in it was bound to get crazy. She sighed, gently wiping her hands on her dress. “You nervous?” Lorelai whispered quietly.

“Little bit,”

“Don’t be,”

“I kinda wish Y/N was here…”

“I know,”

“Not that I don’t love your company.” Scarlett amended quickly, “I just– I just miss her. I mean, I haven’t seen the woman in 7 months!”

“I know that too,”

“And I know that she’d be able to calm me down in a second if she were here. I know that she wouldn’t care if she won an award tonight, cause she’d think that all the other nominees deserved it better.”

“That sounds like Y/N,” Lorelai laughed. “Now before you can go into a spiral right now, do you think you’re gonna win tonight?”

“Maybe…? I mean there’s so many other people to consider before me,”

“Hey, don’t sell yourself short. I know you, and knowing you, I know you’ll get a nomination, I’m sure of it.”

Scarlett smiled a genuine smile at Lorelai, “Thank you,”. Lorelai winked at her, before the night began. 

Scarlett smiled brightly as each nomination was announced. She had to admit, even if you weren’t here, she was having a nice time. Her heart had skipped a beat when she heard Taika Waitit’s name get called when ‘Jojo Rabbit’ won Best Adapted Screenplay. She quickly stood him and congratulated him, sharing a moment of joy before he went on stage. “He deserves this,” Lorelai said, watching as Taika started his speech.

“He really does, this was one of the best scripts I’ve ever read.”

“I know…. I saw the movie.” 

Scarlett scrunched her eyebrows together. “Hey, do you know why you have an empty seat beside you?”

“I don’t know, maybe someone wasn’t able to show up?” Lorelai guessed.

“Probably, I wonder who couldn’t make it.”

↠↠↠

“How’re you feeling?” Lorelai asked, a little bit later. They were now watching the little clips put together for the award of Best Documentary Feature.

“The nerves are still there but I’m good.”

“Good,” Lorelai smirked, she had a strange look in her eyes as they began clapping as the winner was announced. Scarlett gave her a suspicious look but paid her no mind as she listened to the speeches.

Soon enough, Mahershala Ali came out to present the award for Best Supporting Actress. Scarlett held her breath, squeezing Lorelai’s hand lightly as her heart beat out of her chest. 

Mahershala began his speech. “Most every actress and actor I know wants to build a lasting body of work choosing roles that do more than just speak to them personally, but with the hope of their performance will resonate with others. The five women nominated Best Supporting Actress have done just that.” 

The short clips of multiple different movies began, starting with Laura Dern in Marriage Story. Then she saw herself as Rosie Betzler in ‘Jojo Rabbit’ play on the screen. She sighed happily, feeling exhilarated that she was nominated. She smiled even harder when she saw Florence was also nominated. “Here are the nominees for performance by an actress in the supporting role.” He paused, “Kathy Bates, Richard Jewell. Laura Dern, Marriage Story. Scarlett Johansson, Jojo Rabbit. Florence Pugh, Little Women. Margot Robbie, Bombshell.” 

“And, the Oscar goes to……. Scarlett Johansson, Jojo Rabbit.” Everyone in the crowd cheered as Scarlett stayed frozen in her seat. It wasn’t until Lorelai nudged her lightly did she realize that she had really won. Hugging a couple of friends quickly, Scarlett headed up onto the stage, smiling bashfully as everyone continued to clap. “Congratulations,” Mahershala said, giving her a quick hug and a kiss on the cheek. 

“Thank you,” she smiled, taking the award as he handed it to her. She walked up to the microphone set up in the middle of the stage, standing in front of everyone beaming proudly when the crowd began to clap even harder. 

Suddenly, Scarlett felt two arms wrap around her waist from behind. She spun around quickly, alarmed. She was fully prepared to scream out when she stared into a pair of eyes she’s longed to see in person for the past 7 months. “Oh my god,” she whispered, her words barely audible. Scarlett let go of her award as she wrapped her arms around your neck, hugging you tightly. With your quick reflexes, you manage to catch the award before it hits the ground and you hand it off to Lorelai who was waiting to receive it at the bottom of the stage. 

You returned Scarlett’s hug just as tightly, cupping your right hand over her neck and wrapping your other arm around her waist, pulling her into you. “Hi baby,” you whispered into her hair, kissing her temple. You closed your eyes for a moment, cherishing the feeling of her finally being in your arms again. You didn’t realize how much you really missed her until just now.

You felt her body shake and gently you removed her from your body, keeping her at a nice distance. Scarlett had tears streaming down her face as she reached for you. “No,” she whimpered, her hands coming up to clench at your clothes. “Too far,” she clarified, tugging you closer still.

“Okay, I won’t go too far, but why’re you crying?” you asked, gently turning her body so her back faced the stage. Delicately, you brushed away her tears while you tried not to ruin her makeup. Thank god for waterproof makeup.

“I just missed you so fucking much,”

“I missed you too,” you kissed her head again, relishing the fact that she was with you for real and that it wasn’t a sick dream.

“What the hell are you doing here? I thought you were still in Rome!” 

“I was… but I thought I’d stop by before my next show in a couple of days.” you replied, smiling warmly at her. 

“What’re you wearing?” Scarlett asked, once she’s got a good look at you.

“What? You don’t like it? I think I’m dressed very nicely for the Oscars,” you teased, tugging at your hoodie and sweatpants, and then scrunching your face up, showing your face without any makeup.

“I think you look great.”

“I know… I was supposed to be at the house before you came here to actually be there for you but my flight got delayed because of the weather,”

Scarlett gasped, “That’s why you didn’t take my call!”

“Didn’t see it, had my phone on airplane mode. Anyways by the time I landed, the event had already started. And when I actually got here, they were presenting your award. I didn’t have time to change, if you can’t tell.”

“You look beautiful,” she said. “And I love you very much,” she murmured into your neck as she buried herself back into you. “And I appreciate you being here for me,”

“I love you too,” you mumbled. “Now, I think there’s an entire room full of celebrities waiting for your speech.” you quickly pulled away, making sure that you didn’t smear any of her makeup. Hastily, you reassured Scarlett that you would still be there when she was done with her speech but she wasn’t convinced. Instead, she clasped your hands together behind her as Lorelai handed her back her Oscar and headed back to her seat.

What the two of you didn’t realize was that during your reunion, the microphone had picked up everything you’ve both said and there wasn't a dry eye in the audience. Anyone who knew you and Scarlett knew that you were perfect for each other. And anyone who’s heard of you knew that you were the power couple that dominated every industry. You were the ‘it’ couple. One of the only couples the world knew that clicked as well as the two of you did.

You stood behind her, beaming with pride as Scarlett started her speech, her hand still grasped tightly in yours behind her back. “I’m so sorry about that, um, I haven’t seen her in 7 months and yeah,” she chuckled lightly, “I just wanted to thank everybody who got me here. I want to thank…” the rest of her speech faded away from your ears as you admired your girlfriend. You knew without a doubt that this would be the person that you’d spend the rest of your life with. “I also want to thank my partner in crime, Y/N,” you snapped back to reality at the sound of your name. “Without you, then none of this would’ve been possible, you helped me remember my lines and perfect my German accent, which was not easy, by the way, and yet, you never wavered. You never doubted for a second that I couldn’t do this, and I am so grateful to have you in my life. I love you more than words can ever express.” You smiled, kissing her cheek before you led Scarlett down the stairs to get her name engraved into her award. You stood beside her the entire time, holding her hand tightly, squeezing it periodically to reassure her that you were still there. And then again, when she went to get her picture taken. The media had a field day at the sight of you with Scarlett, dressed in old baggy clothes. However, you didn’t care at all. The only thing important to you was Scarlett.

The only time you let go of her hand was when an attendant needed her to return to her seat. You smiled at her comfortingly, “I’ll be back in a bit, love. I need to change into more appropriate clothes for tonight. I’ll meet you back at the seats.” Scarlett nodded before walking away, finally understanding the empty seat next to Lorelai when she saw she had moved down one spot. 

“You sly bitch,” Scarlett whispered to her. Lorelai simply smiled before turning back to Cinematography clips. 

Soon, Scarlett grew restless wondering where you were. As if you knew about her worries, you immediately appeared beside her, taking a seat next to her, dressed up like everyone else. You were wearing a black mermaid dress with no straps and shimmers decorated the fabric of the dress. Your hair was released from its messy bun and lay to rest on your shoulders. Your makeup around your eyes was dark but simple, just a bit more eyeliner on your waterline.

Scarlett’s incessant staring started to make you nervous and self conscious. “What? Do I look weird?”

“How is it possible that in only a couple minutes you can look so gorgeous while it takes me hours to look like this.” she gestured at herself.

“You look absolutely amazing,”

“You really think so?”

“Definitely,” 

“Even if I probably had snot and tears running down my face earlier?”

“To me, you looked like an angel.”

↠↠↠

Everyone began clapping again as Rami Malik walked up onto the stage. “It is truly an honor and privilege to be here celebrating the transformative performances as displayed by these five nominees; they're powerful, profound, and indelibly etched in our history and in our hearts.” You smiled excitedly at Scarlett when you saw her picture from Marriage Story show up on the big screen. Your jaw dropped when you saw your performance for ‘Palm Springs’ appear on stage. “Here are the nominees for performance by an actress in a leading role. Cynthia Erivo, Harriet. Scarlett Johansson, Marriage Story.” You cheered loudly. “Saoirse Ronan, Little Women. Charlize Theron, Bombshell. Y/N L/N, Palm Springs.” This time, it was Scarlett who was cheering loudly for you, as you smiled shyly.

“And the Oscar goes to…… Y/N L/N.” Standing up, you had tears in your eyes as you gave everyone a hug. Scarlett gave you a quick kiss before you walked up onto the stage. “Congratulations,” Rami said, when he hugged you.

“Thank you,” you smiled as he handed you your award. Walking up to the microphone, you looked out into the crowd. 

“I don’t know if any of you saw it earlier but I literally just arrived…” you laughed lightly, “Um wow… I did not know that I would be winning an Oscar tonight, or else I would’ve been more prepared. Truth be told, I was only really here to support my girlfriend, Scarlett Johansson. I had no idea that I would be winning something too. So, I’ll make this quick, I just want to thank Max Barbakow who even gave me the chance to audition for the part of Sarah. I also want to thank the amazing cast and crew, without you here then there wouldn’t be a movie to make and I am so grateful for all of you. And finally, I want to thank my incredible girlfriend, Scarlett Johansson. If it weren’t for you then I would’ve never even thought about taking this role. You have guided me and supported me through this entire project and I can’t thank you enough. I love you so much more than you’ll ever know. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have about 7 hours left here before I have to fly off to the next destination on my tour. Congrats to all the nominees and the winners tonight!” 

Speedily, you walked across the stage and out the back to get your name engraved. You stopped for a couple pictures before you returned back inside. You came back in just as they announced the last winner for Best Motion Picture. The event soon came to a close.

You grinned along with Scarlett as everyone around you congratulated the two of you. Florence even came to tackle you into a hug. After arranging a date to hang out together again, you and Scarlett headed through the back where Lorelai and her driver were already waiting for you inside the car. 

You opened the door for her, letting her in first. On the way back to the hotel, the two of you were sitting as close as you could with your seatbelts on. Your arm over Scarlett’s shoulder while she kept her face buried in your neck, trying to memorize your smell. The two of you spent the rest of the night talking about nothing and everything.

THE END

↠↠↠

3292 words

[aboutcustardcreams]

For the prompt thingy how about Missy x reader and ♡ "I think I'm in love with you and I'm terrified"

I was so excited to wrap this up that I didn’t reread so I’m sorry if there are any mistakes. Hope it lives up your expectations. Soft Missy here cuz I love me a soft Missy ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡ who doesn’t, lies!

Hold on to something beautiful

Word count: 3600 ish

Your place hadn’t felt like home in a long time if you’re honest. You felt misplaced, wherever you turned. It almost disgusted you to be confined there. It was lonely and dull. You hated it, but you had nowhere else to go. Your place had been the TARDIS for five years, traveling side by side with the woman who day by day grew on you. She showed you the most amazing views, stars and galaxies. The sun itself. To live a stationary life on Earth after having gotten a taste of all those wonders seemed wrong. 

How much time has it been? You wished you lost count. But there was a clock ticking in your head, reminding you of every second spent without her. It’s one of her routine visits to Gallifrey, she told you. In two days she promised to be back. You knew she hadn’t been completely acquitted— every now and then she had to show up, proving she had changed. And she did. You were so so proud of her. 

It’s been months, despite her having promised you to be away only a couple of days. Told you to rest, meet up with your family and friends, before leaving again for another adventure. When you attempted the request to go with her, of course she said no, that it wasn’t necessary, and you had dropped it, truly thinking that a couple of days wouldn’t have been so bad after all. Except that days turned into weeks and weeks turned into months. And Gods, if you missed her. 

Not a message, nor an hologram of hers. Completely abandoned in your apartment, with no explanation, no note whatsoever. People say time helps numb the pain, but you can’t bring yourself to agree with them. You can’t remember a single moment you felt an ounce of relief since she left you. It hurt so much, sometimes you feel like you can’t breathe. Time Lords lie. You had been warned before, yet you had hoped foolishly that she wouldn’t lie to you. 

You hated how she saved you and then ruined you. A part of you wished she had erased your memories, if her intention was to leave you like that. 

What hurt the most was the look on her face when she told you she would come back. You still remembered that. She made a promise she knew she was going to break and she looked absolutely fine with it. You wondered if she found another human to travel with. You scoff bitterly at the thought. More like, a new toy to play with. That’s what you had been for her after all. 

Turning your hands into fists, you bite your bottom lip so hard to prevent screaming. You were mad. It was one of those days where the line between sadness and anger was so thin, it blurred. You tried to bring yourself to hate her, yet all you could do was hate yourself for having been foolish enough to allow your feelings to bloom. 

That was your life now; part of your days spent in bed, rarely eating anything. When was the last time you left your house for a breath of fresh air? You didn’t remember. Once a week you had your groceries delivered at home, with the bare minimum to survive. Living was a privilege you did not possess. She would laugh at you, wouldn’t she? Reminding you how weak and fragile human lives truly are. And she would be right.

Your head hurts. It’s not a novel to you. It’s probably dehydration too. But you couldn’t bring yourself to care. 

You let out a humorless, dry chuckle, when you believe you’re hearing the familiar whoosh of the TARDIS echoing in your rooms. You cover your eyes with your palms, before rubbing them angrily with your fingers. The whirring of the blue box used to give you a thrill now all it gives you is a sense of nausea and heartache. “Ugh stop this. Just stop playing games—“, you mutter to yourself. 

A timid squeak follows, but you try to ignore it. You had no idea there was actually a TARDIS inside your room, in its usual spot, by the window. You even started to believe it all happened in your head, Missy, the Universe, the stars and all the galaxies she showed you. 

“What a spectacular landing, I must admit,” the woman in purple gently taps the TARDIS’ door with a pleased grin, before stepping out, rather excited to see you. 

She parts her lips to cheerfully chirp your name, but when she spots you curled up in bed, under a pile of sheets, she stalls, freezes.

“Poppet?” Her hearts shatter in her chest at the sight of your glazed cheeks, tired eyes and ruffled hair. She nervously clears her throat, taking in your unexpected sadness. “Hiya, hot stuff. It’s me, Missy.” 

You think you’ve imagined it. You had to. A bitter chuckle escapes your mouth in fact, “I’m going crazy,” you mutter incredulously. 

Missy’s frown can’t help but deepen. She lightly shakes her head, bemused, horrified by the blank look on your face. 

“Why can’t you just–” you don’t finish your thought and gwan at your bottom lip as if you were pondering on those words. An exhale, “why can’t I just forget you?” 

Missy swallowed, hard. “Is this some kind of joke?” Her throat bobbled. “Because if so, it kinda hurts my feelings, so knock it off,” she could feel her own voice struggling to come out as fluently as she would like. 

You hum. When something or rather someone sit to the side of the mattress, you can’t help but see and feel her presence around you, above you. You can’t imagine it. Her hand reaches out to you, finds your leg and gives an hesitant squeeze, as if she is suddenly unsure whether it’s okay or not to touch you. 

It’s your turn to feel your throat tighten. Chest suddenly to small to contain your heart. 

“Look at me, poppet,” she pleads softly. 

You’re shaking, but it’s not cold what you feel. “Is it really you?”, your voice barely above a whisper. 

A watery smile curves her lips. “Of course!” Her hand moves from your leg to your face, gently cupping it. It feels so cold. You’re cold. Yet you’re under the bedsheets. You exhale shakingly. “Who else could it be?” 

You take a moment to realize everything. You dart your eyes from her to the TARDIS. You couldn’t believe it. Along with the excitement to have all of it back, came a pinch of anger and frustration. So you sit up rather abruptly, and Missy’s hand falls from your face. You let yourself dive into those blue eyes of hers. You could very well let yourself drown without second thoughts, despite everything. 

A pause, before taking action. “Where the bloody hell have you been?”, you push her, taken by anger and frustration. 

Missy looks at you in disbelief. She has never seen you so angry before, not at her at least, “Excuse me?” She stutters out. “Have you gone mad?” 

Your face turns red. “The truth? Maybe,” you nod bitterly. “Possibly. No, wait. Most certainly,” you’re filled with so many questions, you don’t even know where to start. Why was she looking at you as if you had grown a second head was beyond your knowledge though. “You’re the one who left me, I shouldn’t be doing the explanations.” 

Missy swallowed again, nervously. “Okay, so it’s about that,” she reasoned carefully. You flash her a glare and she lifts her hands up defensively. “Alright, fair enough, I’m aware it’s been a little more than a couple of days, but if you could just let me explain—“ you flap a hand at her again, not too hard, but enough to make her squeal, “Oi! Will you stop it?” 

You ignore that. “Do you think I’m stupid? How long do you think it’s been?” 

There’s such a fresh, raw suffering veiling your eyes that causes Missy to act. She cups your face, and when you try to jerk from her grasp, she fights and keeps you there. 

“I mean it. Stop it—“ she pleads, her voice both soft and concerned. “You’re going to make yourself sick.” 

You feel a bit dizzy if you’re honest. But you’re upset, so it’s quite normal, isn’t it? 

“What happened to you?” She urged.

“You really don’t know?” 

“No,” she deadpans. “Anyway, I must tell you you’re lucky my old ways are past me. I used to kill for much less,” she tries to lighten the mood, hoping to finally see you smile. She missed it. 

You’re tempted to hit her again, because how could she not know? She’s a Time Lady for heaven’s sake.

“Don’t make me tie your hands,” she warns you, however there’s no harshness in her voice. She sighs, when you avert your eyes from her, grumbling under your breath. “Just tell me how long it’s been. Ten days? Two weeks?” 

A pause that feels like an eternity follows, before you mutter out, “Six months, Missy.” Her face paled, and your features hardened a bit. “Six fucking months during which you just… disappeared.” 

Slightly shaking her head, Missy winced at that. “No.. that can’t be right. I left for merely six days, not six months.” When you meet her eyes again, she feels completely powerless. “I- I don’t understand. I settled the right coordinates. The TARDIS-“

“I wish you were right,” you sniffled. 

She let out a shaky breath and with the free hand, she lifts your chin towards her. Next thing you feel are her soft, plump lips pressed against your forehead.  

“I’m sorry, poppet. It was a mistake…”

You slightly pull away. A wave of conflicting emotions battle against each other. “I thought I was never going to see you again.” When she shakes shakes her head, you ask. “What happened?” 

“I was in Gallifrey like I told you,” there is no lie within her words. “All boring stuff and then, on my way back I spotted some Lupari ships in my trajectory, well they spotted me,” she clarifies with an eye roll. “I had to throw them off so that they wouldn’t follow me on Earth.” 

You frowned. “I didn’t think Lupari were dangerous. Don’t they consider humans their best friends?” Your question raises a little smile upon Missy’s face. 

Such a clever girl, you are. 

“They do,” when she pulls you closer, you nuzzle in her shoulder. She feels so warm towards you. It’s like she is reviving your aching body just by being close. Missy can’t help but graze her fingers up and down your forearm, as she holds you. “I attacked them once. I wasn’t… merciful,” she admits with a sad chuckle you don’t reciprocate. “I wasn’t scared for me but for you.” 

You bit your inner cheek. Was it her way to say it was your fault she left for six months? 

“Say something…” she uttered, breaking the silence. 

You pull away slowly. “I can’t be doing this again, Missy. I can’t live with the constant fear that one of these days you’ll leave me because you’re trying to protect me.” 

Missy felt like her whole world came crushing down upon her shoulders. “I won’t leave you again. I told you it was a mistake—“ 

You wince, slightly pulling away. “Mistakes can happen again, though”, you bow your head and fix your gaze upon your trembling fingers. 

Missy clenched her jaw. A solitary tear slid down her cheek. “You’re right,” she concedes, sadly. When you look up, she performs the best reassuring smile she can give you. “But I can promise you to always do my best not to make any. Or at least, not many of them.” 

You let out a watery chuckle as you nod. Finally that sound she missed so much comes back to her ears. 

“I missed you. I .. missed you so much.” 

“I know. I can see that,” she coos, stroking your cheeks and brushing some hair from your face. “Quite an effect I have on people, right?”

You laugh again, finally feeling yourself relax. She beams down at you, opens her arms wide in the silent request to snuggle again in her embrace. You didn’t need to be told twice. You squeeze her so tight, you become one with her. 

“Missed you too by the way,” she pipes up. 

“Oh, I know.” You mimic her tone, grinning. 

“I could go back in time. Rearrange the coordinates. Show up the day after I dropped you on Earth and prevent all this…”

But you shake your head. “It’s okay, it’s done now. We are allowed to be sad about it and start from here.” 

You can tell she isn’t convinced by your words, “are you sure?” 

You nod your head, before giving her another squeeze. She racks her fingertips through your hair so gently, you let out a pleasant hum. 

“What else happened?” Your next question came unexpected, in fact she rather abruptly stopped her cuddle. 

“What do you mean?” 

“I know you told the truth. However, you’re omitting something too.” 

It shocks her how easily you can read her like an open book. It’s like a superpower you have which more often than not leaves her stalling, unprepared. 

“I’m not,” she objects, her voice sounding  almost childishly. “I was trying to keep you safe, that’s all.”

You hummed, unimpressed. “From the only species that clearly would never harm humans?” 

Her lips twitched in an amused smile, despite everything. You were too clever for your own good. 

“I knew it wasn’t safe for me to keep a poppet with a brain…”

You chuckled, pulling on her clothes. “Come on! Tell me.” 

“Fine,” she mouthed feigning annoyance, “I was running from the Lupari at first, yes. But then… I guess, they got me thinking. All my life,” she trails off. “The decisions— questionable decisions I made throughout each regeneration of mine came haunting me like… living nightmares.”

There’s genuine interest in your gaze, fondness, more than anything, and it drives the Time Lady absolutely crazy. No judgment whatsoever. 

“Turns out, I may be good now but it doesn’t change who I was and who I will always be to those I caused pain. And the Lupari are just one of the many creatures I tried to bend to my will,” you reached out to touch her hand. She smiled at the gesture and continued. “I thought of you,” a fleeting smile caught her lips. You grin back, and when she finally meets your gaze, you blush. “Of the annoying yet brilliant ray of sunshine you are, always so nice, always so kind. You’re everything I am not and if you keep following me, my past will haunt you too. And if it comes to that, I’m not sure I could bear the thought of your light being shut down because of it.”  

Slightly shaking your head, your eyebrows knit in a frown. “Do you think I don’t know?” You argue, fondly. “Do you really think I’m clueless about your past?” She falls quiet, lips pressed in a thin line. You lean against her, your head resting right above her collarbone. She immediately wrapped an arm around your waist and you took one of her hands in yours, deciding to play with her fingers as you spoke. “I always knew what I was getting myself into when I decided to travel with you. Hell, it wasn’t for a pointless girly book club I signed for. I knew the risks of our life together. One spent in the stars is… everything but ordinary and devoid of risks.”

She tilted her head to the side. Her lips so close to your ear, “See? Since meeting me, you’re already cussing more,” she muttered matter of factly. 

“Shut it!” You nudge at her with a chuckle. “I did that before meeting you too.”

She grinned, remembering the time you stepped inside the TARDIS for the first time. Maybe you were right.

“I just don’t want to hurt you.” 

“Then don’t,” you made it sound so simple, for a moment she really considered it. You turn around, so that you could be looking at each other more easily. “Don’t shut me out. I’m here to stay for as long as you’ll have me.” 

“I left you for six months,” she grumbled, rather angry with herself. “Anything could have happened in six months…” 

“But it didn’t,” you insist, “I’m fine.” You wanted to add now, but you kept that to yourself. 

“Except that you’re not! And I caused this. The only person I never wanted to hurt,” her lip twitched in a guilty grimace as tears started wetting her cheeks like rivers of guilt. 

You looked like someone whose life had been sucked away by force. And that had been because you’re not great at dealing with sudden changes. Plus you had been worried sick about her. Missing her was only one of the many thoughts that kept you struggling. 

“Then stop wallowing in your own self pity and do something about it,” you scolded lightly. “I want to be with you, Missy. Why all of the sudden it feels like you don’t want me anymore?” 

“It’s not that!” She exclaimed, indignant. 

“Then help me understand.” 

“How can I not want you with me if you’re literally everywhere I turn? Even when I close my eyes, I see your face, I hear your voice. I couldn’t leave you behind if I wanted to!” She fought against the trembling of her voice as she spoke. 

You nodded quietly. “Feels like I’m a terrible burden.”

“Stop it-“ she warns you. You look at her confusedly and she groans. “Don’t you dare. You’re not. Never. Do not turn this around.” Her voice is firm, though her eyes are red and puffy as if she is about to cry. 

“All I’m saying is, we were fine. We had fun together, didn’t we? Have I imagined that?” 

A grimace. “No, of course not.” 

Frowning, you make another attempt. “Then what changed?” 

“Nothing,” she is quick to clarify. Too quick. “I’m just—I’m scared.” 

“Of what?” You pressed, gentler now. When she darts her eyes from you to the TARDIS, you place your hand upon her knee. “Missy, what scares you?” 

“You.” If it’s a question, a statement, a possibility, you’re not sure. You have no time to ask that she continues. “Me,” she adds. “You and I. Us. This.” 

“Are you speaking in codes?” Your attempt at being funny kind of works because she smiles, even if just for a bit. You do too, tongue peeking through your teeth. Something Missy cannot resist. 

“Just tell me what’s going on in that big head of yours,” you tease gently. She lets out a watery chuckle that you wish you could record and keep with you forever to listen anytime. 

“Okay,” she bows her head and exhales. Her eyes fall shut to keep a new trail of fresh, hot, annoying tears from clouding her vision. When it doesn’t work, she rubs her fingertips to the corner of her eyes, if possible, only making things worse. 

“Hey,” you take her hands in yours, giving her an encouraging smile.

“The truth is I think I’m in love with you and I’m terrified,” she says in one breath. 

Your eyes open wide. “Wha—?” She doesn’t see the huge grin that’s rising on your face, nor the wave of joy that just lit up your eyes. Too embarrassed, she is focusing elsewhere. 

“You heard,” she grumbled. 

“Look at me.” 

A wave of her hand. “And being laughed at. I pass.” 

You roll your eyes and poke at her arm. “Please,” your voice sounds delightful, relieved even. 

“You don’t have to say anything, really. Even less that thing, either pity or compassion, can’t tell the difference honestly— don’t use it. It’s.. eek. The sole thought makes me want to throw up.”

You snorted at her rambling. It was so cute. She was… so damn cute. “I love you too, you stupid woman.” 

Eyebrows shot up. Face turned as fast as a missile thrown in the sky. “You, w-what?” 

“You heard me,” you crossed your arms over your chest, cocking an eyebrow at her. 

What happens next feels like a shot of pure adrenaline for both. Missy grabbed your face with both delicacy and a pinch of urgency, and kissed you. How stupid had she been to run from the only thing that had been able to make her feel real emotions. 

She loved you. And you loved her. 

The kiss was slow and soft. Unpretentious. During which Missy realized your lips were like nectar to her. While her fingers grazed over your heated cheeks, your hands moved to cling onto her blouse. You feel her smirk against your mouth. Three hearts beating in pure harmony. 

When your eyes fluttered open, you were met with hers, looking at you with nothing but pure glee. You beamed, her hands clasping in your hair and sending you goosebumps over the nape of your neck. She leaned further again, eyes darkening a bit as your tongue swept over your lips. When she kissed you again, the kiss was deeper, needier, sloppier, it made you cackle in her mouth. 

“What’s so funny?” Her voice never sounded lighter. 

You scrunch up your nose adorably. “Not funny, but silly. Both you and I.”

Missy looked at you, bemused. Your lips twitched in a fleeting smile, as you propped up and kissed the crease between her brows. 

She melted. Quite literally.

“I love you, Missy,” you say in a whisper. “I’ll love you unconditionally for as long as your hearts desire.”

Her polished fingers delicately spider over your abdomen, before pushing you with a gentle push against the mattress behind you. Another chuckle. She could honestly feast on that sound, among many other things. “How does forever sound?” 

You hummed. “A reasonable amount of time.” 

She smiled and you smiled back. 

[sassenach77yle]

||COUNTDOWN || SEASON 5 EPISODE 03  || FREE WILL ||

#83daysofoutlander☆

The sound came again from the back of the house, somewhat louder; a noise midway between a squeal and a growl.[...] His eyebrows also rose in surprise, and I leaned over his arm to see.

A woman peered out from between two hillocks of goods, looking round suspiciously, like a rat peering out of a garbage dump. She was not particularly ratlike in appearance, being wavy-haired and quite stout, but she blinked at us in the calculating way of vermin, reckoning the threat. “Go away,” she said, evidently concluding that we were not the vanguard of an invading army. “Good morning to ye, ma’am,” Jamie began, “I am James Fraser, of—” “I don’t care who you are,” she replied. “Go away.” “Indeed I will not,” he said firmly. “I must speak with the man o’ the house.” An extraordinary expression crossed her plump face; concern, calculation, and what might have been amusement.

“Must you?” she said. She had a slight lisp; it came out as mutht you? “And who says that you must?” Jamie’s ears were beginning to redden slightly, but he answered calmly enough. “The Governor, madam. I am Colonel James Fraser,” he said, with emphasis, “charged with the raising of militia. All able-bodied men between the ages of sixteen and sixty are called to muster. Will ye fetch Mr. Beardsley, please?” “Mili-ish-ia, is it?” she said, handling the word with care. “Why, who will you be fighting, then?” “With luck, no one. But the call to muster is sent out; I must answer, and so must all able-bodied men within the Treaty Line.” Jamie’s hand tightened on the crosspiece of the inner frame and rattled it experimentally. It was made of flimsy pine sticks, the wood shrunken and badly weathered; he could plainly rip it out of the wall and step through the opening, if he chose to do so. He met her eyes straight on, and smiled pleasantly. She narrowed her eyes and pursed her lips, thinking. “Able-bodied men,” she said at last. “Hmp. Well, we’ve none of those. The bond lad’s run off again, but even if he were here, he’s not able; deaf as that doorpotht, and quite as dumb.” She nodded toward the door in illustration. “If you care to hunt him down, you’re welcome to keep him, though.” It didn’t look as though there would be any hue and cry after Keziah, then. I took a deep breath, in a sigh of relief, but let it out again, swiftly. Jamie wasn’t giving up easily. “Is Mr. Beardsley in the house?” he asked. “I wish to see him.” He gave an experimental tug on the frame, and the dry wood cracked with a sound like a pistol shot. “He’s thcarce fit for company,” she said, and the odd note was back in her voice; wary, but at the same time, filled with something like excitement. “Is he ill?” I asked, leaning over Jamie’s shoulder. “I might be able to help; I’m a doctor.” She shuffled forward a step or two, and peered at me, frowning under a heavy mass of wavy brown hair. She was younger than I’d thought; seen in better light, the heavy face showed no cobweb of age or slackening of flesh. “A doctor?” “My wife’s well-kent as a healer,” Jamie said. “The Indian folk call her White Raven.” “The conjure woman?” Her eyes flew wide in alarm, and she took a step back. Something struck me odd about the woman, and looking at her, I realized what it was. Despite the reek in the house, both the woman’s person and her dress were clean, and her hair was soft and fluffy—not at all the norm at this time of year, when people generally didn’t bathe for several months in the cold weather. “Who are you?” I asked bluntly. “Are you Mrs. Beardsley? Or perhaps Miss Beardsley?” No more than twenty-five, I thought, in spite of the bulk of her swaddled figure. Her shoulders swelled fatly under her shawl, and the width of her hips brushed the barrels she stood between. Evidently trade with the Cherokee was sufficiently profitable to keep Beardsley’s family in adequate food, if not his bond servants. I eyed her with some dislike, but she met my gaze coolly enough. “I am Mrs. Beardthley.”

~ The Fiery Cross

[cloudlessly-light]

From boys to men (Chapter 2/3)

A/N: This is a continuation of my fic From boys to men that was supposed to be a one-shot, but since I’m me and I love age-gap Hotchniss more than I should, this will now be a three-parter. Chapter one can be read here! Title: From boys to men (Chapter 2/3) Summary: From the moment Emily meets Aaron she knows that she has to have him, she doesn’t care that he’s older than her, doesn’t care that he’s Dave’s best friend. She wants him. Word count: 3,9k Rating: Explicit   Warnings: Smut, oral sex, dirty talk, teasing, praise kink, jealousy, feelings, age difference, (Emily is 22, Aaron is 40-ish)

They had been doing this, whatever they were calling it, for almost three months now. It was fun, sneaking around, having a secret nobody else knew about. Ever since that first afternoon with him, Emily had realized just how better an older man did… well everything. It wasn’t just the sex, but the conversation, the small gestures, the way he could make her feel like the only woman in the world. He always made time for her, something she knew was something he didn’t have much off. And she appreciated every second of it.

It wasn’t dating, she knew that, had to remind herself that a man so much older than her only saw her as something fun, as a way to blow off steam. He used her and she used him too, a twisted game that she found herself loving every second off. It was exciting, the allure in him drawing her in just as easily now as it had the first time they met. But that didn’t stop her from thinking about him more than she should. And she knew that it was dangerous.

Her eyes drift to the clock on her wall as she flips the page of the book she’s paying absolutely no attention to. He was coming over, had texted her before getting on the plane after closing a case and as time dragged on, she felt her excitement only increase. They hadn’t seen each other in almost two weeks, but when her phone had dinged with the incoming message she didn’t even pretend to hesitate before agreeing.

When he knocks on her door she quickly gets up from the couch and looks over her appearance quickly, a smile on her face at her own reflection. She opens the door and is immediately greeted by dark eyes and furrowed brows as he takes in her lack of clothes.

Aaron’s eyes sweep over her form, mouth going dry by the sight of her in dark red underwear and garters, black stockings on her legs. She was a beautiful woman. He found her just as stunning in sweats as he did in lingerie, but the fact that she had taken the time to dress in something she knew he would love, made something in his chest warm while the dull ache of arousal settled low in his stomach. He grips the doorframe tighter, has to force himself to keep his composure but knows that she catches the way his jaw clenches at the sight of her. He had missed her, a feeling he knew he shouldn’t feel.

“Hi.” She breathes as she shivers from the intensity of his gaze. When he walks inside she backs up, barely even noticing the way the door slams behind him as he pushes her up against a wall and her hands grip the lapels of his suit jacket.

“This new?” He hooks a finger under the strap of her bra, voice already dropped low in that way she loves. His eyes follow his finger as he slowly trails it lower, over the cup of her bra and further down until he’s toying with the hem of her thong. When she nods he smiles, his breath mixing with hers as he stands pressed against her, forcing her to feel the power of him.

“Yeah.” She manages, already falling under his spell, she always did. She tries to kiss him but he keeps her trapped against the wall, his lips only grazing hers when he speaks and it’s driving her insane.

“Pretty.” He dips his fingers further down her underwear and is unsurprised to find her wet already. “Too bad you won’t be wearing it for long.”

At that she smirks, dark eyes gleaming up at him.

“That was always the point.”

“Is that so?” He hums, the sound vibrating against her chest as he slowly circles her clit and when she sucks in a breath he chuckles. “I see someone’s already excited.”

“You’ve been making me wait hours.” The slight irritation in her voice does not go unnoticed by him, but before he can say anything he feels her hand cupping him through his slacks. “Besides, I’m not the only one.” She squeezes his hard cock and when he swallows harshly she feels like that’s a win in itself.

He always wanted to be in control, and she relished the few occasions when she caught him off guard. For a moment she thinks she’s winning whatever battle of wills they’re playing but then it’s like he shakes himself out of whatever trance she was still under and he claims her lips in a bruising kiss.

His tongue sweeps over her bottom lip as he swallows down her surprised moan, his fingers dipping inside of her quickly and gathering her wetness on them before breaking the kiss and pushing his fingers between her lips.

“Don’t play games with me, sweet thing.” He mumbled and watched as she sucked her slick of his fingers, a low groan sounding in his throat at the feel of her tongue against the pads of his fingers. “Now, be the good girl I know you are and bend over the couch for me.”

Her mind is still reeling when he steps away from her, body buzzing with arousal. She feels his eyes on her the entire time as she walks the short distance to the couch and slowly bends over it until she’s leaning on her forearms on the seat and her hips are perched high over the back of it. The warmth of his body against her causes her to suck in a breath, his large hands caressing the outside of her thighs and up her hips slowly.

“Fuck I missed this.” He muses as he takes in pale skin and soft curves. “Been too long.” Slowly he kneels behind her, his tongue licking over one of her ass cheeks as he does.

“Then maybe you should do something about it.” She challenges, but her words pack little punch when her voice comes out breathy and bordering on shaking. Still, he snickers behind her, and she feels the soft puffs of air against her clothed center.

“I really should.” He agrees as he pulls her thong to the side to expose her fully to him. “Stay like this.” His words are mumbled, and he isn’t sure she even hears him, but he doesn’t care and instead licks through her slowly.

The moan that erupts from her is needy and she can feel his smug smirk against her folds as his arms wrap around her thighs to keep her open and still for him. She feels his tongue dip inside of her, feels the groan vibrate against her as he tastes her and she arches higher, giving herself fully to him. He had spent many nights taking her apart like this, had memorized exactly what got her off quickly and what would keep her right at the edge.

Tonight he wanted her to come fast and hard.

His lips wrapped around her clit, his tongue flicking it and Emily whimpered his name. With her eyes squeezed shut and hands gripping the fabric of her couch she stayed still as he pushed his tongue inside of her. His fingers were gripping so hard she knew she’d have bruises on her thighs, marks that she’d press on in the morning with nothing but fondness. There was something about having his marks on her body, something about the depravity of it all, that made her crave him again.

“Fuck!” She hissed through clenched teeth when he sucked her clit again, this time not stopping even when her thighs started to tremble and she was biting down on her bottom lip to keep from screaming.

Aaron felt his cock jerk at the breathy sounds coming from her, had been feeling the dark pull of want ever since he got on the plane. He knew how wrong it was, having Emily this way, but he also knew that it was part of the attraction, part of why it seemed impossible to stay away from her. She was like a drug, ever since that first time meeting her months ago, he had been falling victim to her. He should stop, but even when he’s tried he can’t seem to stop thinking about her, and not only the sex. She was funny, incredibly intelligent and strong-willed, having spent evenings arguing with him about the smallest things, and he found himself enjoying their time outside of the bedroom just as much as time spent in it. He wanted more, had wanted more for a long time but he hadn’t dared to voice it because all the reasons why they shouldn’t work kept ringing in his ears.

But he forces those thoughts away, because right now he had her like this, and for now that would have to be enough. Her moans are getting louder, and the sound brings him back to now. He kept his hold on her, kept sucking on her clit and when her legs started to tremble and her hips moved back against his face he knew she was close.

When she comes it’s hard and intense and her knees buckle from the pleasure. She knows he’ll catch her, his hold not lessening even as she shakes and buckles as she muffles her cries into the couch. He doesn’t stop even when she jerks away, in fact his grip only tightens as he sucks her clit harshly.

“T-too much.” She whimpers and she feels him shake his head behind her.

“You can take it.” He tells her simply before licking her clit again, his tongue flicking it quickly and she sucks in a breath.

It doesn’t surprise her that he makes her come again in less than a few minutes. Her body had responded to him from the moment she met him, and he had taken his time learning just how much she could take. She knew he enjoyed taking her apart, that he loved the power of it.

She’s panting, body sweaty and still trembling when he finally stands up. The sound of his zipper is loud as she pants in the otherwise quiet room and when he slaps the tip of his cock against her folds she blushes from the obscene sound of her slick.

“Do you want it?” His hand is soft as he caresses her back, fingers warm as they trail random patterns along her skin.

“Yes.” She gasps, back already arching and pushing back against him, desperately needing to feel him inside of her.

“What do we say?” His fingers grip her hair and tugs warningly. The pain in her hairline shoots straight to her clit.

“Yes, please.” She wants to hate how quickly she gives in to him, but she finds that she can’t. Especially not when he pushes inside of her, giving her what she wants.

“Mm, that’s my good girl.” He hums, satisfaction dripping from his words. He lets go of her hair only to hold her waist, his touch softer now as he enjoys the way her tight walls flutter around his shaft.

She starts to move back against him, and he gasps behind her. She throws him a smile over her shoulder, for all his boasting, he’s just as affected by her. He lets her move back and forth, creating friction for them as he watches the way her body takes him, feels her clenching and listens to her breathless moans. He gives her a few minutes of control, but he takes it back just as easily.

“Aaron!” She whines when he suddenly pushes her back against the backrest of the couch, his hands tight and his hips moving with fast, rough strokes. He’s strong, she’s always impressed by how strong he is, how easily he flips her or carries her, and tonight was no different.

The sound of skin against skin and breathless panting and low groans fill the apartment and Emily knows that her neighbors must be able to hear them. It wouldn’t be the first time.

“You want to come again?” He gets out through gritted teeth. The spasming around his shaft is getting him close but he refused to give in until he felt Emily coming around him.

“Yes, yes, yes.” She hisses at way he forced pleasure from her, hand between her legs and rubbing her clit and cock hitting deep inside of her. She’s moving back against him the best she can, fucking him back just as eagerly as he’s fucking her and when he pinches her clit he sends her crashing into another orgasm. She comes with a strangled cry, her vision blurring from the power of it and somewhere through the blood rushing through her ears she can hear him behind her, swearing, calling her name like a prayer.

He comes with a grunt, low and breathy as he holds her tight against him as he lets himself enjoy his release. They’re still panting, barely down from their respective highs when he pulls out only to gently tug her up and turns her to face him.

She smiles up at him, happy and sated and when he presses a kiss to her lips she hums.

“I missed you.” He tells her and she knows that the flutter in her belly is something she should ignore.

“I missed you too.” She sees him smiling before kissing her again and she takes his hand and leads him towards the bedroom. “Can you stay a while?” She asks as they lay down.

“Yes. I’ll stay all night.”

When she meets his eye there’s something more there, something different.

*

It’s a week later and ever since that night Emily had found herself thinking about him even more. She caught herself smiling at her phone when he texted her and every time it rang she hoped that it was him. It was ridiculous, up until their last night together she had been fine, but that night he had stayed and when he left early the next morning it felt like something had changed. They had talked, loosely, about what they were, about the unspoken rule between them that they shouldn’t get in too deep. And yet, there they were stuck somewhere between admitting that they both wanted more and knowing that they shouldn’t.

She was going to see him today, she knew. Because it was Dave’s birthday and he had invited her over for dinner. So she picked a dress she knew made her breast look good and hugged her body. They weren’t together, but she knew what she wanted and she wasn’t going to make it easy for him to not think about her if he had decided to stop seeing her.

Somewhere in the back of her mind all the reasons why she shouldn’t do this kept ringing. He’s Dave’s best friend, he’s almost twice her age, they’re in completely different phases of life. But she ignored all of them, because those had still been the reasons why not to go there when they started this thing, nothing had really changed. Except, apparently, the way she felt.

“Happy birthday Dave!” She smiles at the older man and lets him pull her into a tight hug. He smelled safe, the same cologne he had worn her whole life enveloping her like an old friend.

“Thank you, Bella.” He kisses her cheek and when she hands him the bottle of scotch he raises an eyebrow. He knew exactly how expensive that bottle was.

“What? You’re more of a parent to me than either of my parents, and it’s your birthday!” She pushes the bottle into his hands and walks inside, quickly heading towards the kitchen. “Do you need help with anything?”

“No, go get yourself a drink. Everybody’s already here so we’ll eat in a little bit.” He ushers her out of the kitchen, intent to keep Emily away from the oven at all costs.

“I’m sorry my parents couldn’t come.” She says and she means it, they usually always spent Dave’s birthday with him. But the older man only shrugs, he knew her parents probably better than anyone, he knew that their work was the most important thing to them.

“They’re still in Paris.” He gives her a flute of champagne and winks. “Besides, my favorite Prentiss is here.”

She laughs, but the sound catches in her throat when she notices Aaron coming towards them along with a woman that’s laughing at something he says. The jealousy was instant, made no better by the fact that the woman was beautiful and kind of similar to herself. They stop right in front of her and she’s never been happier for the political training she received as a child as she schools her features.

“Ah, Aaron perfect.” Dave says as he hands both of them glasses of champagne as well. “You remember Emily?”

“Yes, of course. It’s nice to see you again.” He nods curtly and her eyebrow arches just slightly.

“You too. Thanks for helping me with my AC.” She catches the way he tenses a little and that feels like a win. “And you are?” She turns to the dark-haired woman who’s smiling kindly at her.

“I’m Beth.” She extends her hand and Emily shakes it. “I’m Dave’s publicist.”

“I’m the happy matchmaker and I have to say a good one too.” Dave laughs at the slightly embarrassed chuckle that leaves Beth while Aaron just shakes his head at his best friend. And Emily wants to kill him.

“Nice to meet you.” She forces a smile and then takes a step back. “Excuse me, I have to use the restroom before dinner, we all know how pedantic Dave can be when it comes to his cooking.” She barely hears the laughs before she turns and hurries through the house, she feels her cheeks flush and the jealousy burn like iron in her stomach. It’s jealousy she shouldn’t feel, but it’s too late. She wets some paper with cold water and presses it to her neck.

“Get it together Emily.” She tells her reflection.

By the time she comes back it’s already time for dinner and she thanks whatever lucky star she has that she’s seated between Dave and another old friend of his, Jason Gideon. It gives her more time to calm, to come up with a plan that didn’t end with her being a mess.

In the end it’s simple, if he’s going to make her jealous, she wasn’t going to make it easy for him to ignore her. 

So she spent the night making sure that she got his attention, pushed close against him when walking past or bending over as she helped clear glasses from the table. It was working, his dark eyes on her, his jaw clenching and she couldn’t help the smug smile on her face.

As the night carries on, she finds herself being one of the last people to leave. Only Aaron, Beth and Dave’s girlfriend Erin still left. She had barely spoken to Aaron, but she knew she had his attention, his dark gaze rarely leaving her.

Aaron walks into the kitchen in search of another bottle of red when he sees her. She’s leaning over the counter, her cleavage showing as she licks chocolate sauce from a spoon. Her eyes find him and she smirks at the way his eyes zero in on her when she licks her bottom lip.

“Having a good time?” She asks casually and he feels the urge to touch her, had wanted to grab on to her and not let go all night.

“It’s a dinner, much like many else I’ve been to.” He takes a couple of steps closer to her and looks around to make sure they’re alone. “Stop that.”

“Stop what?” She feigns dumb and licks more chocolate sauce from her spoon. He follows her pink tongue with his eyes, he knew exactly what she could do with that tongue and it was driving him insane.

Ever since their last night together he had wanted to be with her again. Something was different, or maybe it was just the fact that he had stopped trying to ignore that his feelings towards her were more than primal. But he wanted her, and then she showed up looking like a goddess and he could feel his brain malfunction.

“You know exactly what.” He wraps his hand around her wrist to keep her from dipping the spoon into the bowl for a third time.

“What’s your problem?” She twists out of his hold and turns to him.

“My problem is that when you do that all I can think about is how badly I want to kiss you.” He tells her lowly and she chuckles, the sound bordering on sarcastic.

“Is that right? Is that why you brought a date?” She says the words without thinking but the second she does she can see the way his mind is reeling. He’s a profiler, of course he would have caught on.

“Is that why you’ve been behaving like this? You’re jealous?” He laughs and the sound makes her furious. Her eyes narrow but she doesn’t say anything, she didn’t want to cause a scene in Dave’s home, so instead she walks away. “Emily, wait!”

“We’re done here.” She mutters as she hurries towards the patio where she knew she’d be alone. He follows her, his steps long and determined but she doesn’t stop until she’s outside breathing some fresh air. She continues further away from the house, to where they couldn’t be seen from inside with Aaron still following her closely.

“Leave me alone.” She tells him, her voice surprisingly steady even as anger flows through her veins.

“It’s not like that.” He tries to take her hand but she pulls away.

“It’s not what?” She huffs, her arms crossing over her chest. “This isn’t you using me for whatever ego boost you’re getting until someone like her comes along?”

“What? No!” His eyebrows furrow, feeling sad that she’d think he’d ever think of her that way. “I didn’t know that she would be here. Dave set me up.”

At that she faulters.

“What?” Suddenly she feels mortified, cheeks flushing in embarrassment and she looks down at the ground.

“I have no interest in her.” He gently grabs her chin and makes her look back at him. “I don’t want her, Emily.” He takes a step closer to her and smiles when she relaxes enough to uncross her arms.

“Then what do you want?” She can feel herself holding her breath as she waits for his reply. Suddenly everything felt real in a way it never had before.

“I want you.” He takes her hand and when she doesn’t pull away this time he squeezes it.

“Really?” She takes a step closer to him, breathes in his familiar scent and enjoys the heat of him as he wraps his arms around her.

“Yeah. I’m not saying it’ll be easy. We have some… obstacles.”

“Like the fact that you’re old?” She laughs when he narrows his eyes at her and he pinches her side.

“Brat.” He mutters and she smiles at him before they turn serious again. “Do you want to do this? With me?” He asks quietly.

“I do. I want you.” She pulls him into a kiss, and even though they had kissed probably 100 times before, this one felt different. It felt like a promise.

[missmaywemeetagain]

Broken Glass (Elvis/Austin!Elvis x OC Reader)

Character/Fandom: Elvis Presley - Elvis (2022)

Read More Here - Broken Glass Masterlist! (Coming Soon)

Prompt: You are Dolores Cannava, a young Italian-American nurse desperate to make her own way in the world and break free of her dysfunctional mafia-connected family and traumatic past. Elvis Presley is just returning home from his two-year stint in the Army, looking more handsome than ever, but feeling the pressure to successfully find his way back to the stratospheric career he was forced to leave behind. In a twisted turn of fate, Elvis finds himself in the hospital where your paths cross. Forced to harbor his potentially career-ending secret and needing to escape a terrifying future in New York, you are pulled into his unusual world and must endure a begrudging fake relationship with Elvis in order to protect his reputation (and his life). 

TW: Hospitals, illness, allusions to abuse. Some historical inaccuracies.

Tags: Fake relationship. Slow burn. Angst. (Sort of) enemies to lovers.

Rating: PG (ish?) (but this story will eventually be Mature/NSFW, 18+, so minors Do NOT Interact)   ||     Word Count: 4.6k

A/N: It’s good to be back, my lil’ darlin’s! I’ve missed y’all! Broken Glass has a decidedly different feel than Pink Scarf, and I really hope that you enjoy it. This will be more of a slow burn and not quite as smut heavy as PS, but we’ll get there eventually! The original character of Dolores can also be read as Reader, but her back story needed to be pretty specific so I decided to go the OC route. I’m excited to dive into some of my favorite tropes with this one, and hopefully I can do them justice.

Delicious 1960 Post-Army E has me in almost as much of a chokehold as ’69 E, so it was only right that I give him the attention he deserves! 

As always, I love and live for your reactions, comments, asks, and reblogs, so thank you in advance for both reading and giving another one of my stories a chance! 

I imagined it with Elvis in mind, but Austin!Elvis works here, too, whatever floats your boat.

Apologies in advance if there are any grammatical errors or TW that I didn't catch.

I’ve used the tag list from Pink Scarf, so please let me know if you’d like to be added or removed!

Story is cross-posted to my Wattpad and AO3, if you prefer those reading experiences! 

Bellevue Hospital

New York City, New York

March 1960

“Nurse Cannava!”

The shrill call of Charge Nurse Irma Hunt grates on your nerves like nails on a chalkboard, but you don’t dare show it on your face. Instead, you take a deep breath through your nose and hurry over to the severe woman.

“Yes, Nurse Hunt?” you say as evenly as possible. You’ve only been an official Registered Nurse for a few months and cannot afford to make a wrong step with this drill sergeant of a woman. You’d rather be extra deferential and placating than looking for a new job, no matter how much you want to run in the opposite direction any time she calls your name.

She looks at you critically, peering down over her glasses with her sharp stare. “Nurse Calhoun was pulled away to surgery before she was able to finish her other duties. I need you to change the sheets for our VIP patient while he’s upstairs for x-rays. I need you to be quick. In and out, no funny business, you understand me?”

“Of course, Nurse Hunt,” you nod frantically. It’s the middle of the night, so it is strange for the patient to be doing tests at this hour. Though if they are trying to keep his identity under wraps, it makes sense that they would choose an hour where less people were involved.

“And absolutely no telling anyone about our patient. We must uphold the strictest confidentiality, now more than ever,” she adds with a glare.

The threat is clear:

Don’t mess this up.

“I understand.” Curiosity of who it could be itches at the edge of your mind, wondering about this VIP that has the woman in more of a harsh mood than usual.

Maybe it’s Ricky Nelson or Mario Lanza or Marlon Brando, your mind titters, but it’s probably just some stuffy politician. You figure it’s better to have low expectations and be pleasantly surprised than to have high ones and be disappointed.

Ever the realist.

Regardless of who might be, you don’t have time for silly schoolgirl fantasies. There is a job to do, and you best be getting to it before getting into trouble.

You scurry away to gather fresh linens, then make your way back to one of the few private rooms on the floor. Most patients are relegated to the open wards here in Manhattan’s biggest hospital, but there are special cases, such as this, it seems, where a more private setting is needed.

There’s a large man at the door, keeping watch, and he looks you up and down with narrowed eyes longer than you’d like, sending a chill into your gut. But this is nothing new. You hold your ground, straightening your spine and lifting your chin.

“Nurse Hunt asked me to change the sheets,” you say, clipped. He smiles, as if in on a joke you’re not privy to, then opens the door.

At 20, you are the youngest nurse on the ward. People, especially men, tend to underestimate you, but you have something to prove and no time for nonsense. Graduating high school early, you were thrilled to be accepted to Bellevue School of Nursing, one of the best programs in the country. The four-year experience had been grueling, but since you had to live in the dormitory, it got you out of the house and away from your damned father and his cronies.

In the process, you discovered that helping people truly is your calling. So, while young, you are good at your job and take it seriously.

This is why you hurry in and start stripping the bed as quickly as possible. As curious as you are as to who this mysterious man might be, getting the job done is much more important than snooping around the room.

You tug and pull the sheets as taut as possible, perfect hospital corners making the bed crisp and neat. Your attention to detail and cleanliness are a sense of pride, so spending a little more time than necessary making sure the bed is perfect is worth it. The intention isn’t to linger, but if this VIP is as important as everyone is making him out to be, you want to make sure everything is done right.

Finally, after inspection, you gather up the dirty sheets and make your way around the bed, just as the door opens to the room.

Damn. You weren’t fast enough.

Your gaze cannot help but drop to the man in the wheelchair. A bandage is stuck at the edge of his thick chestnut locks. Although he is obviously ill, his sapphire eyes rimmed with dark circles and his pallor pale, there is absolutely no mistaking who the VIP is.

America’s biggest rebel-turned-G.I., the one and only Elvis Presley.

You are not a fan, but your heart unwillingly kerthunks against your ribcage anyway because he’s still one of the most famous men on the planet, and you are shocked at how pictures barely do the man justice.

Dear lord, even sick, he is wildly gorgeous in person, you catch yourself thinking. His essence seems to fill the room, pushing all the oxygen out, because suddenly you can’t catch your breath. Suddenly, you understand why millions of ladies fall faint at his feet.

Surprised to see someone in his room, his eyes rake up your body from your toes to your little white nurse’s cap. You hold back a shiver as those famous bedroom eyes finally land on yours.

“Well, hello there, little bird.”

Little bird? You know you shouldn’t let it bother you, but the pet name rankles you in its familiarity. You’ve been called all manner of things by all manner of men, both in and out of this hospital, but this is a new one, and though certainly not the worst, it bothers you all the same. Perhaps it’s because he acts as though he is owed this familiarity and expects you to be grateful for it.

His lilting Southern drawl is creaky and hoarse from illness, making him a little less mystical, which allows you to quickly recover your wits. Trying not to show annoyance on your face, you straighten your posture while moving aside to let the orderly push Elvis into the room and help him onto the bed.

“Goodnight, sir,” you say politely, as pissing off this VIP will do you no favors, but your eyes harden at the way his gaze openly lingers on you. You attempt to skirt around him as quickly as possible, but the room, though private, is not large, and the wheelchair and the two men take up much of the space.

“Hey, little bird, wait!” he calls out before you even reach the door.

Stopping in your tracks, your infernal heart continues to pound in your ears. All you want is to get out of this suffocating room, but you inhale and turn around instead. The orderly gives a wink before sliding out of the room behind you. You resist the urge to huff.

“It’s Nurse Cannava, sir,” you say firmly, trying to take the edge out of your voice, albeit unsuccessfully. “Is there something I can help you with?”

That sly, signature grin spreads almost bashfully across his face and if you weren’t so perturbed by the suggestiveness of it, you might keel over from its brilliance filling the small space.

“Call me Elvis, little birdy,” he drawls, blatantly ignoring using your given name, as requested. “Could ya be so kind as to get me some water? Please?” he asks kindly, which is far more than you expect.

“Yes, certainly, sir,” you reply, equally ignoring his request to call him Elvis. You turn on your heel and escape as quickly as possible before he can ask any more of you.

A breath shudders through you once you’re out in the hallway. You hadn’t realized you were holding it. You are as bothered by this reaction as by the fact that you must get this man water and go back in there without showing him that you are in any way affected by the fact that he’s Elvis Presley or that his behavior has you decidedly on edge.

He’s a patient, you remind myself silently, and this is part of my job. A job I desperately need to keep if I want to get out of that nightmare of a house...

This thought steadies you more than anything. You’ll do almost anything to be in a position to permanently leave home and to do so without having to marry that mook Gianni. And hell, you’ve dealt with much worse in terms of patient behavior. Getting Elvis water is objectively the easiest thing you’ve had to do all shift.

You can’t seem to help straightening your starched white apron before taking a deep breath and marching back into the room, pitcher of water and a glass in hand.

“Here you are, sir,” you say, trying not to sound terse, trying not to look directly at him. It’s almost like the feeling that you shouldn’t be looking at the sun, yet your eyes want to do it anyway. Even without looking at him, you can sense his heavy gaze lingering over you. You blush involuntarily, the blooming warmth a betrayal of your modesty. In response, you place the pitcher and water down on the table near him and turn to flee as quickly as possible without making it seem like that’s what you are doing.

“Hey, now, little bird,” Elvis says, catching the hem of your skirt, halting your exit. “Why ya tryin’ to fly away so fast?”

“Oh Madone,” you mumble under your breath, your Italian heritage making an appearance as you roll your eyes to the heavens before turning back around and pulling the fabric from his long fingers. Heat washes over you in an angry wave, turning your blush a deeper shade of red.

“I have other patients to tend to, sir.” It’s not a lie but sure feels like one with the strained way it falls off your tongue. Your lips press into a thin line of a smile, desperately trying not to glare at him but catching his eyes with your unamused ones all the same.

“Elvis,” he corrects me, maddingly, that smirk playing on his lips, a playfulness in his glassy, feverish eyes. “And I was just wonderin’ if ya could pour me a cup, since it’s all the way over d’ere?”

The water is on the table right next to the bed, and he certainly looks able to pour it himself, and you both know it, but he just smiles, playing this infuriating game, wasting your time.

Finally, you sigh and relent. It’ll be faster to just do it than to try an argue about it. He’s a patient, after all.

You still feel his eyes on you as you turn sideways and dutifully pour the water out. His presence, especially when focused on you alone, feels incredibly overwhelming, mixing a healthy dose of trepidation in with your irritation. You keep your face as neutral as possible and hand over the glass.

What you don’t expect is for him to touch you, his fingers circling over yours, blazing hot from the fever he looks to have. You loathe the way your heart flips in your chest when he looks up at you through impossibly long, feathering lashes, those gemstone eyes of his expressive beyond imagining and conveying more than just playfulness.

“Thank you, little bird,” he whispers. The sound swirls up your spine, breaking through your annoyance just enough to see the blithe, handsome boyishness of him. It promises an unfamiliar temptation, one you’ve seen only in movies and never willingly and truthfully experienced for yourself. Your mouth goes bone dry.

He is dangerous, you think, but not because you are afraid of him in a physical sense (and lord knows you’ve feared too many men already in your short lifetime). No, his is a danger of an entirely different sort. He makes you want to trust him, and in your experience, men are never, ever to be trusted.

“Nurse Cannava! What are you doing in here?” Nurse Hunt’s shrill admonishment startles you out of the hypnotizing stare of the teen idol, causing you to jump back as though he was on fire. You let go of the glass, slipping your hands out of his, but he does the same, and the glass spills water all over the newly changed sheets before tumbling to the floor where it shatters with a crash.

The tinkling of the glass explodes in your head, and a latent and all-too-familiar fear associated with the sound freezes you to the spot. Try as you might, you cannot stop the involuntary trembling that rushes through your limbs. Air attempts to fill your lungs, but the breaths are too short and shallow to do any good. The wave of panic threatens to undo you, right here, in front of both your superior and the most famous man in the world.

It's just broken glass. I’m safe. I’m at work. He can’t hurt me here. The mantra plays in your head over and over as you clasp your shaking hands in front of you, trying to pull yourself together before anyone notices anything amiss.

“I told you to be quick and quiet, not go around cavorting with our patient!” Hunt hisses harshly, glowering, but it snaps you out of the trance-like state that has overtaken you.

Now, instead of fearing things that cannot hurt you here, you are suddenly afraid for your job. Nurse Hunt is a terrifying and formidable leader and being on her bad side means a world of hurt going forward. Your heart feels like a hummingbird’s, fueled by anger, embarrassment, and lingering panic. You resist the urge to give Elvis a scathing look, knowing it will likely just result in more trouble. Instead, you quickly raise your eyes and catch a strangely curious yet concerned look from the man.

“I-I’m s-so sorry, Head Nurse,” you finally stammer out, realizing she is waiting for you to say something. “I’ll clean that up right away.” You start for the bed but are stopped by the crunching glass beneath your practical white nurse’s shoes.

“Ma’am?” Elvis croaks out suddenly, gently, capturing the older woman’s attention. “I’m sorry ma’am, I don’t mean to be a bother, but it wasn’t the young lady’s fault at all. I asked her for the water. She was just doin’ her job, and I distracted her. It’s my fault.” His bedroom eyes widen with an almost childlike deference as he looks at her through those long lashes.

Elvis oozes an effusive charm that makes the formidable woman’s hardened veneer crack. It might not be obvious to one who doesn’t know her, but her gaze softens ever so slightly.

You almost want to roll your eyes and scoff, but the strange thing is that it doesn’t feel at all like a put-on. It first strikes you as some sort of malevolent manipulation, like he wants to impress you somehow by getting you out of the mess he got you into, but he seems nothing but honest. He looks truly sorry.

You stand stock still, hands still clasped in front of your apron, needing to know your fate before moving. Nurse Hunt finally sighs, having weighed her options of denying her VIP’s puppy dog eyes or making your life miserable.

“Alright, Mr. Presley. Nurse Cannava will help you move to that chair there so she can change your sheets again and clean up this mess,” she says through pursed lips. “And you let her be and do her job, you hear? You’re not the only patient on the ward, young man.”

“Of course, ma’am. I really am sorry about the mess,” he says softly, seriously, nodding.

“Quickly, Nurse!” Nurse Hunt barks. Picking your jaw off the ground, you hustle to the other side of the bed, still amazed he was able to soften the old goat in any way.

It’s not until your arm is around his waist while the other steadies him in a well-practiced and trained move that you realize that you are holding a barely clothed Elvis Presley. A brief but decidedly improper and embarrassing thought flirts in the back of your mind as you help him into the chair in the corner. His skin is hot with fever, easily felt where your skin touches his and it radiates through his thin hospital gown. It burns into you, through you, melding with the unnerving, angry fire that already consumes you. You can feel his eyes on you but don’t dare to look at him, not with Hunt watching, making sure you don’t drop the prize patient.

You suppose you are glad for the fact that your cheeks were already on fire from humiliation, so neither can see just how uncomfortable and ashamed you feel right now. The way emotions flash rapidly through you, you’re amazed you can concentrate at all, but you manage to deposit the singer in the chair, unscathed.

Nurse Hunt huffs a little, but seems satisfied, and takes her leave, on to the next crisis.

A relieved but shuddering breath releases from you and without looking at the man in the chair that has caused so much trouble tonight, you jump to removing the sheets you made so perfectly not minutes ago.

“Hey, little b—Nurse Cannava,” Elvis catches himself, “I-I-I meant what I said—I really am sorry I made things harder on ya.”

You refuse to look at him. Instead, you grit your teeth and yank the sheets off, furious. Storming out of the room, you quickly retrieve a new set of sheets and a broom and dustpan for the glass on the floor.

“Aw, don’t be like that,” he mutters as you stomp back in the room, dutifully ignoring his presence. You busy yourself with the glass first, sweeping it into a pile, then bending over to sweep it into the dustpan. You realize too late that you’ve just effectively but unwittingly shown Elvis your rear end. You can practically hear the smirk on his face, which is confirmed once you flit your eyes over to him.

A new wave of heat flushes over your cheeks, but you pretend you don’t notice his leering. Nothing good has come tonight from you paying any sort of mind to what Elvis is doing. You go about your business as swiftly as possible, counting the seconds before you can remove yourself from his suffocating presence.

“You just gonna ignore me now, honey? Come on, I-I-I said I-I was sorry,” he stutters petulantly after another minute of silence.

Your response is to tug the sheets as tight as you can. You move around the other side, hating that your behind will be in his face while you finish the bed, but it can’t be helped. You grit your teeth and focus on smoothing the sheets instead of the hole Elvis is burning through your backside.

“Well, at least I got a nice view in the room…of the city, I mean,” he chuckles. The innuendo is crystal clear.

You whirl around and want to slap that stupid grin right off his pretty face. You’ve never felt so unprofessional or off the rails as you do with this man.

He’s a patient, he’s a patient, he’s a VIP patient, you remind yourself, trying to take calming breaths. But try as you might, you can’t seem to keep your damn mouth shut, that Italian temper flaring, boiling your blood.

“Eyes up!” you snap your fingers at him. “I have work to do and a job to keep, and talking with you only gets me in trouble, so leave me be!” Blood throbs in your ears as you attempt unsuccessfully to keep your fury at bay.

“Ooh, I heard New York cherries were feisty, but I hadn’t the occasion to see it for m’self,” he muses, thinking he’s just about the funniest thing since Lenny Bruce.

“Oh, you ain’t seen nothin’ yet,” you mutter under your breath, fuming, turning around to finish the bed. Once it’s done, you breathe a sigh of relief and make to leave.

“Hey, little bird, you want an autograph or somethin’?” Elvis asks, still vying for your attention for whatever reason.

God, the ego on this one. “I don’t want anything from you.” You can’t help but turn towards him, even though you know you should leave as fast as your legs will carry you.

“Not a fan, huh? Bet I can change your mind,” he says, his left eyebrow quirking up suggestively. The man is as gorgeous as he is infuriating.

“I prefer Ricky Nelson, so no thanks,” you shoot back at him.

He fully laughs at that, a big, hiccupping, musical sound that under any other circumstance might be attractive and endearing, but now it just seeks to make you angrier. Your seething seems to amuse him all the more, however, as he erupts into more peals of laughter.

“You’re somethin’ else, lil’ bird,” he wheezes, wiping tears from his eyes. But his face suddenly turns alarmed as he can’t seem to catch his breath, the laughter turning into gasps.

“Elvis, enough of that. Let’s get you into bed.” Your training immediately overrides whatever negative feelings you might have towards the man. “Try to take slow, deep breaths,” you say calmly, crossing the room quickly.

His face turns red and panic starts to bloom in his darkening, churning eyes as he wheezes. You help him up and out of the chair, and he shudders, leaning all his weight on you. His breathing is too labored and he’s burning up, and you’re not sure he’ll make it the short way to the bed.

Indeed, the two of you only make it a single step before his long legs give way, and it’s all you can do to brace his tall, lean body and keep him from hitting the tile floor hard. Instead, you slide down together, and you make sure to cradle his head as he collapses.

You don’t panic. In fact, you are the calmest you’ve been since meeting the superstar because this you know you can handle. This is what you were born to do.

“We need some help in here!” you shout out to the ward before turning your attention back to Elvis, now sprawled on his back on the floor. You quickly grab the oxygen mask from his bedside and turn the nozzle to get the air flowing.

“Elvis, you’re going to be okay. I need you to try and breathe deep for me, as deep as you can,” you say, fitting the mask over his mouth. He coughs, struggling to get the air in his lungs. He seems in and out of consciousness, those panicked eyes of his now a stormy, glassy gray as they try to focus on you.

“That’s it, just breathe now,” you coo at him, taking his vitals. His pulse is too fast and thready. You give him a small smile, trying to keep him calm.

An orderly, a doctor, and another nurse rush in. You quickly rattle off numbers and facts regarding his respiratory distress.

“Let’s get him on the bed,” the doctor orders, and the four of you lift him on a count of three.

Elvis flails his hand, gripping your arm. It’s certainly not the first time a patient has grabbed you out of fear, but it is the first time you’ve ever felt a jolt of electricity running through you from it. Looking in his eyes, the terror you see there gives you pause.

He’s just a man, you think. A very frightened young man.

And he wants comfort. Care. So, despite wanting to throttle him earlier, you hold his hand. He clings to you as the team tries to stabilize him. Your touch seems to settle him a little, despite the way his eyes flutter and he still gasps for breath.  

You all manage to get him breathing better, but he won’t let go of you. He starts to panic again every time you try to move away, throwing his vitals into a tailspin. As weak as he may be, that strong guitar-playing hand of his has you in a vise-like grip. The doctor looks at you judgmentally, and you make it clear that you have no idea why this is happening, that you’d rather not be relegated to hand-holding duty. But since his vitals are better holding your hand, the doctor nods his okay.

Give the VIP patient what he needs, is the clear message.

Elvis stabilizes. The room clears, and you stand at his bedside, waiting for him to fall asleep, to relax, to release you—anything that will allow you to leave and get back to work and forget the last half an hour ever happened. His eyes are closed, but every time you try to slip away, he just pulls you back. You try not to sigh audibly, to let your frustration show. You are usually much more compassionate and professional, rarely letting patients get under your skin. But Elvis…well, he seems to bring out an unwanted side of your normally mild and shy self.

He’s not consciously trying to be bothersome like he was earlier; he’s much too scared and out of it for that, you reason.

And at least this is better than cleaning bedpans, you chuckle, finally deciding to sit on the edge of the bed and make yourself a little more comfortable. You take this somewhat surreal moment to really look at him.

He is truly beautiful. There is an almost angelic innocence about him with his pale skin and high cheekbones, the way his cheeks are somehow both full and soft, but his jaw chiseled at the same time. His lips are pillowy and full, though nearly colorless now due to the lack of oxygen. His hair gleams, a deep, golden chestnut—a far cry from the rebellious black locks he was known for at the height of his fame a few years ago. With his straight nose and fanning, long lashes, it seems as though he was carved in stone by the masters and brought to life somehow.

Your heart skips, quite involuntarily.

Of course, there are imperfections. He’s got a day’s worth of dark stubble growing and you can see places where his skin is mottled from what was probably youthful acne. The circles around his eyes are too dark and…

I am really reaching here, you think. No, you are quite at a loss because even his “imperfections” add to his beauty.

Okay, so objectively, he’s pretty—when he’s quiet and sleeping. It’s just when he opens his big mouth that he becomes less attractive. This reminder makes you feel better and less like a fawning teenager.

Finally, his hand relaxes, and you slip out of his grasp without him reaching for you. As if trying not to wake a sleeping baby, you very slowly and quietly raise yourself off the bed. But curiosity gets the better of you, halting your leave, and you quietly open his chart at the end of the bed.

Your eyes scan the pages quickly, widening, hardly containing your disbelief. They glance up at the unrealistically beautiful young man in the hospital bed. Though you barely know him, and what you do know of him has already driven you mad, you can’t help but feel a sense of sadness and dread.

It’s the thing all his bravado and beauty distracted you from.

Elvis Presley is a very, very ill man.

*

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[bisexual-horror-fan]

"Ready Up." Freddy Krueger X Amber Cottrell X GN! Reader.

Hey! It's Multi-May! How exciting! It's been a whole year! I know I haven't written a lot this year, but to be honest, it's been quite a lot. I hope to write a lot this month and try to make up for some lost time! I figured why not start with a good Freddy, Amber and YOU fic! Last May we got an aftercare fic, this time, we get one of you getting ready for a date! Not super filthy, but very fun! Let's go!

---

Rating. NSFW-Ish. Length. 2.4K. Freddy Krueger X Amber Cottrell X GN! Reader. No Pronouns Or Parts Specified. Warnings: Some Sexual Content And Banter. Alcohol Consumption.

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It was Friday night. 

To most people, Friday night just meant the end of the work week, the start of the weekend, the end of stress and the beginnings of fun, and it meant that to you too, sure, but it also meant much, much more to you. Why? Well because Friday night was date night. 

You were so lucky you had more than one partner, you had two. 

The dates you had on Friday had more than one part to them as well. It stared as it always does, with a text, you get it on lunch, a simple, “Sidebar. Six P.M., see you there?”

You grin and text back quickly, “Can’t wait!” 

You get three heart emotes in a neat little row in response almost immediately, and so the plan is set. You finish up work and head home, you had packed your Friday night bag that morning, you get changed out of your work clothes, and into the outfit you already laid out. You had been counting on this and knew time was off the essence, the time you get with her isn’t as much as you’d like, you don’t want to waste a second of it. Once you were changed, you headed back out, knowing you might not be potentially back until over twenty-four hours from now. 

You’d been to this bar once, after a concert with some friends, but never with her. Once inside, you get a table, sit down, and you wait. You were early, she is right on time, six o’clock on the dot, the door opens, and she strolls in, she’s still dressed from work, must have come right from there, which is the usual for her. She looks amazing as always in a stylish blouse, tight pencil skirt that hugs her thighs, tall and polished heels, her hair is down and purse slung over her shoulder, she glances around, catches sight of you and holds up a hand, she waves with a warm smile. She starts to come over, as soon as she’s close enough she says, “Hey sweetheart, thanks for meeting me here.” 

“Of course! Date night with you? I wouldn’t miss it for the world.” She is right beside you now, her bag is put over the back of the chair, she leans over and kisses you. 

You melt into it. 

It’s been a whole week since you’d last gotten to see her, the week was too hectic, far too much going on to get to meet up, so this was needed. You return her affection, you kiss her back, and she pulls away with a light laugh, “Mmm, miss me that much?”

“Endlessly.” You sigh dreamily, and she takes her seat, she picks up the cocktail menu and opens it, “What are you in the mood for? I’m thinking something with gin.”

You tease her about branching out from scotch and bourbon and whisky, and she laughs, rolls her eyes, but it’s fond. “Am I not allowed to try something new?”

“Course not, M’ glad to see the change.” You pick out a gin based cocktail and so does she and you both share them evenly, you think the one she picked out was better, funnily enough, she thought the one you did was, weird how that works out. 

You both have two drinks and get caught up on each other’s weeks, vent frustration, tell funny stories, laugh and commiserate and of course, you express how much you missed each other, holding hands over the table-top.

“Love the new manicure, by the way, great colour.” You compliment and she preens, “Thank you! Seasonal change up, spring is coming in so the pallet must reflect that, you know?” She shows off her nails, and you look closer, the pale pink reminds you of peony flowers, it’s classy, glossy and impeccable. You make a note to yourself to get her some flowers soon rather than later.

You pick up the tab while she is in the bathroom, and she playfully scolds you over it, she pays much more often than you ever do because she makes much more than you and loves to spoil you stupid, but you try to hit her back whenever the opportunity presents itself. 

After leaving the bar, both hand in hand, you suggest the restaurant, and she grins, excitedly asking you to lead the way. Amber was big into food, she loved cooking, adored going out to eat and eating well, she’d opened your eyes in a lot of ways to different food, took you to some amazing places, so in return you’ve gotten very into looking up and researching places so you could suggest some from time to time. 

When she told you Sidebar, you had a look through the extra bookmark tab you kept, find a restaurant you looked into previously that was within walking distance, and luckily you had one that fit the bill exactly. It wasn’t a super well known place, but you’d seen it recommended in a local foodie forum, the kind of place that if you gave it another two months it was gonna have articles about it and explode and getting a reservation would become next to impossible. It was Friday, but you got in with a less than five minute wait. 

You both sit down at this quiet table for two near the window that looks out onto the street, but you don’t give a shit about the view, you are just looking at her. She had unbuttoned her blouse a few buttons, her freckled cheeks were rosy, blue eyes alight, she was looking over the wine menu and debating between two different bottles, asking which you thought sounded better. 

Dinner was good, you shared the wine, she got a pasta dish and fed you some from her fork, it was divine, you should have ordered what she did instead of the burger you’d decided on. After dinner, you forgo dessert, she tells you she hit the bakery last night, bought something so you could have something sweet back at her place. She gushes over how good the restaurant choice you made was while on your way home, you feel warm and happy. 

Her heels click on the well polished floors of the lobby of her apartment building as you walk alongside her. Her arm is looped with yours, and you can feel the anticipation, the excitement building, you were very much looking forward to the next part. You ride the elevator up to her floor, your mood rising with the altitude, after getting out and down the hall, she gets her keys out, unlocks the door and in you both go, first you, then her. 

You end up in the kitchen, she got this cute little cake, it’s fruit and cream, soft amd moist sponge cake, it's sweet but not overly so, she served you both a nightcap, you sit on stools at the kitchen island and ask, “So we having a shower after this?”

She smiles in that knowing way only she can, “What do you think?”

You know for a fact that you both would, playing the game is cute all the same. 

Drinks and dessert finished, you follow behind her to the bathroom, you close the door, she turns on the water, lets it start to heat up as she begins to strip down. She steps out of her heels as nimble fingers start to unbutton the rest of her blouse, the skirt is unzipped and shimmied out of, it pools around bare feet, she shrugs the fabric to the floor and is in just her underwear. Your own hands are lingering, stopped midway through taking your own clothes off, just looking at her. She catches you and laughs, “Come on, strip, before we take up all the hot water in the damn building.” 

You shake your head and concede, “Sorry, sorry, just never gonna get used to that view…”

Your voice trails off, you are taking off your own shirt as she is unhooking her bra, your eyes not leaving her for a second.

Under the warm spray of the shower, with her firm but gentle touch, you truly feel the last bits of the week's stress melt off of you. She loves to help you clean up, and she loves to let you do the same, she lathers and scrubs, washes and rinses, treats you very well. When you go to return the favour you linger, you take your time. Foreplay between you both feels like it starts as soon as you are in the same physical space, but now is when it truly ramps up. How can it not? As you touch ample curves and hands wander over every single inch of skin, as you kiss her and she presses nearer, touching you in return.

Her hair is up, and she is being careful not to get it wet, the long mess of curls she has takes forever to wash, forget about drying it, you express further care, tilt her head away from the water as you kiss her neck. Eventually you manage to pull yourselves apart and get out. 

Soon enough, you are wearing a silk robe that she bought you and keeps in her walk-in closet. You are sprawled on the crisp white bedspread, watching her get ready for your other partner. She is getting dressed in some new lingerie, she told you over dinner she’d picked it up on her lunch break, some boutique downtown collabing with a designer she liked to put out a new line for spring, she saw the samples online and put in an order as soon as she was able. Amber doesn’t own a lot of white lingerie, but it looks startlingly good on her, the embroidery is delicate and intricate, you love it, but you mourn how it will probably be wrecked by him before the night is out. She’s got money to burn, she loves buying new things just for him to ruin, pieces she loves too much are never worn for him, ones that only you have gotten to see her in, you focus on how fun it is to be a part of him destroying the ones she lets him and let go of the fact this particular set will never be the same again when the morning light creeps in. 

You enjoy it as you watch her fix and adjust straps, smooth out lines and make it all look just right. She strolls back in from the haven that is her closet, you reach out and touch her as she passes by, fingertips graze the exposed strip of skin between her thigh high stocking and the matching panties, she smiles and bats your hand away, “Soon, just be a little more patient.”

“Tease.” You huff out as you watch her sit down at her vanity. She is doing her evening routine now, you watch her begin, opening up a tub to start her skin care, “How am I a tease exactly?”

“Cuz you’d let him do whatever he wants whenever he wants.”

“And you want the same privilege?” She asks, meeting your gaze in the mirror, and you raise  your eyebrows, “I have eyes, a brain and a heartbeat Amber, of course I’d love to have you the way he does.” 

The conversation is light, joking, you are saying it with a smile, and she is returning it, before she clucks her tongue in mock sympathy, an overexaggerated pout, “Poor baby, so hard done by.” 

It’s quiet for a moment. 

You don’t feel any jealousy. You have more than he does in some respects, you and her hang-out in public, you get to sleep in her bed, you have the chance to see her for random lunches and so much more than he does. Your relationship works, you are secure. 

You feel soft, intimate, true she has a ton of love for him, and he gets her all prettied up, the perfect slut, happy and at the start of her weekend, but you get her all the time. He gets her on the Friday nights, you get her on the Saturday mornings, wake up to her with messy hair, help tend to the wounds he leaves, have breakfast in her balcony garden, you wouldn’t trade that for anything.

“What’s got that sweet fucking look painted all over your face?” She asked and you sighed, “You.”

She glanced over her shoulder, “Me?”

“Yeah. You, just thinking about you and about us.”

“All good things, I hope.” She muses and you confirm, “Obviously. I’m just happy. Really happy with you.” 

She looks pleased to hear that, she flicks off the lights that surround her vanity mirror, she gets up and comes over to you, “What are you doing to me?” She sighs, leaning down, she kisses your forehead, “You are getting me in the totally wrong headspace to go see that crispy fucker. I’m going to get in there all gooey and shit.” 

“Awe, heaven forbid you go in there any less than your sluttiest.” You laugh and she says, “Exactly! How am I meant to go in there mouth first when you get to my heart the way you do?” 

She nudged you, taking the hint you scoot, you get into bed after taking off your robe, and she turns off the bedside lamp, getting in next to you. She curls into you immediately, your arms open, accepting her closer, tugging her near, she cuddles into you and presses a kiss to the underside of your jaw. You say it more often than she does, she shows it more than she would ever say it, quiet and into the dark, “I love you.”

Amber hums and nuzzles her nose into your neck, there is a humming, not explicitly musical, just a rise and fall the tune of which could be read as mirroring what you said. 

Sleep doesn’t take long to claim either of you, and soon enough you wake up to the feel of different bedsheets on bare skin, a softer mattress under you and that voice cutting in from above, “Took you long enough.” 

Your eyes remain closed, but you can feel her shifting, excited voice pouring out from the woman still in your arms, “Hi Freddy, sorry to keep you waiting.”

The second part of date night starts now. 

[stevetonyweekly]

SteveTony Weekly - June 18th

I read so much this week!!! And so much was delightful I’m super excited about this list! I did re-read Bulletpoints this week which is 100% reflected in my fic reading as well. Enjoy that.  

Check out this week’s reads and be sure to leave your author a comment/kudos! 

~*~ 

Time, Space, Flesh by veryvincible 

“I’ve got a hotel room,” Tony said.

“And if we’re seen?”

Tony’s response came quick, too confident. He’d given the same spiel many times before. “Oh, you know. Good friends. Had a bit to drink. Maybe we’re French— you know how it is. Besides, we’ve been here for how long, now? If anyone was going to notice you, you’d think they’d have done it by now.”

The Day Before Tomorrow by lastdream

Less than twenty-four hours before the Iron Man's last fight, Steve Rogers gets an evening to himself.

Icebreaker by Sineala

Months after Tony is murdered on a strange, starless world, a world almost no one remembers, Steve plummets from a drone plane into the cold waters of the North Atlantic. He's fully expecting not to survive -- but instead he wakes up on another new world, where he meets a very familiar stranger. And it turns out the two of them have a lot in common.

Not Your Reality (The Time-Out Remix) by Veldeia

An unlikely visitor crash-lands at Natasha Stark and Steve Rogers' doorstep on the eve of their wedding. Just who is this alternate universe Iron Man?

Marriage and Mate Chases by NotEvenCloseToStraight

A Regency-ish AU:

Strict, stern Alpha Captain Steve Rogers is firmly in control of himself, his army, and his life and intends to marry an Omega who shares the same ideals while wild, flighty Omega!Tony loves to flaunt Howard's rules, society's expectations and has no intention of settling down.

An arranged marriage forces Alpha and Omega together, but Steve's constant disapproval and Tony's refusal to compromise leads to anger and arguments, missed heats, harsh ruts and a lack of bonding bites. Vicious rumours fly about the Omega's fidelity and the Alpha's ability to control his mate and when Steve runs away to war to distance himself from his unpredictable husband, Tony turns to new friends and illicit activities to hide his hurting heart.

Steve returns from war a changed man ready to be a good husband, dedicating every minute of every day to winning Tony's heart back, but Tony is tired of being ignored, busy with his own projects and unwilling to give the Alpha another chance.

With outside forces plotting to ruin what little happiness they have, are Steve and Tony doomed to be unbonded husbands, married but never truly mates?

Some Dragons Are Famous Dragons by Eudoxia 

Bucky's not surprised when Steve beings home stray cats, dogs, and even a raccoon once, but a dragon?

Really, Steve? A dragon?

A dragon that likes to steal tools and watch the news about missing persons, too.

Anthony and Natasha by TheCityLightShow

On Steve's sixteenth birthday, as was the norm, he woke up with a name on his wrist, etched beautifully into his skin. In blocky, scruffy handwriting now sat “Natasha Stark” on his left wrist.

It was elegant handwriting, but not in a way that anyone other than Steve would share the notion.

Now, he's out of the ice, and he lifts his wrist to his face as his vision swims for a second. Oh thank god, he thinks at the sight of the black blur that mars his wrist, and then his thought processes stutter and screech to halt because it's changed.

The handwriting is still the blocky scruffy script that he loves, that holds comfort for him in the cross of the t and the arc of the r, but it's not Natasha. It doesn't say Natasha Stark any more.

No, the name on his wrist is Anthony Stark.

This time – this new time, Director Fury explains to him, this time sixty seven years in the future – this time he will find him. Whether they're ninety like he should be, or closer to his actual age, Steve won't make the same mistake twice.

 He doesn't tell SHIELD that the name in their file is now wrong.

Emergency Protocol by navaan 

In New Avengers V1 era, Tony and Steve discuss the Avengers Protocol for Bang or Die situations. It's awkward. It gets hot - and then it gets out of hand but maybe they're getting to the heart of something that they should have discussed a long time ago.

You could have my heart, and I would break it for you by Missy_dee811

The mission they’d been on had been an abject failure. Even if the rest of the Avengers had been able to stay on task, it wouldn’t matter. Two of their own were missing: Iron Man and Captain America.

Sacrifice the Gift by hollyandvice (hiasobi_writes) 

When a biological agent nearly takes the life of Captain America, Iron Man risks everything to keep his friend alive. Now Tony Stark needs to deal with the fallout.

Sleepwalking by NotEvenCloseToStraight

Every year on Tony Stark's birthday, his soulmate Steven Grant Rogers crosses time and distance to spend the day with him...until the day the Valkyrie goes into the water in 1943.

Fifty years in the future, Tony starts a desperate search to find Steve beneath the ice, racing against time and fate to bring his soulmate into the newest century so they can finally be together.

like daylight by ohjustpeachy

Because through all of it, the slammed fists and the miscommunications, the people he invited into his bed and kicked out in the morning, he never thought that it would be Steve Rogers in the end.

Or, Tony thinks back on past relationships and why they never worked out.

Nothing Else but Miracles (An Ancient Secrets and New-born Dreams Remix) by Muccamukk

In the rough and tumble of the Lower East Side, the only constants in Steve's life are the solid black letters of the name on his wrist. Because even with the law and society against them, his world falling apart piece by piece, and his search for his soulmate taking him to stranger and wilder places, Steve has faith that finding Tony Stark is only a matter of time.

my one and only by meidui (orphan_account)

Tony has been self-conscious about his laugh lines lately, but Steve always takes his hands and kisses his face, telling him he loves them. It’s the truth. Tony looks so beautiful with them, and they remind Steve of what a privilege it is to grow old with him.

A bullet to mend our hearts by tonymystark

Tony is stuck in a time loop; he keeps getting thrown back to their fight in the quinjet before the whole invasion. He finally figures out how to end the loop.

Safe Haven by gottalovev, zappedbysnow

It's been three months since the Battle of New York. Four since Steve woke up in the future. Everything is still too fast, too bright, too glib. And then, as if it wasn't enough, Steve is dragged through a portal into an alternate universe. Other Him is happy, though, and that feels like hope.

No Good Deed by raeldaza for merelydovely 

Steve’s not happy in the future. Tony gets it in his head that he’ll be a good friend and create a time machine to send Steve back to the 40s.

But as time ticks on, and Steve and Tony grow closer, do either of them actually want Steve to use it?

I (created from fantasies) exist solely for you by Mizzy

Six years ago, without the Avengers Initiative there to save the day, scientist Dr. Eric Selvig sacrificed himself to save the world, the almighty demi-god Thor was lost to a terrible storm, and vigilante Iron Man – spotted with a nuclear weapon trying to take advantage of the situation – was forever labelled an enemy of SHIELD.

This is a comic book office AU, where Steve is defrosted a year too late, Thor has forgotten who he is, and no one knows Tony is Iron Man.

Also includes: office pranks, inappropriate post-it notes, and superheroes who like pina coladas and getting caught in the rain.

Bright Things and Fair by sheron 

The course of true love never did run smooth — and neither did time-travel to retrieve the Tesseract. When circumstances outside their control force Steve and Tony to spend more time together in the 1970, they do what two people with their history do under the circumstances: work together and try to get through it without unnecessary feelings getting in the way. Falling for each other is definitely a bad idea, isn't it?

[honeybadgercomeback]

Hello! Wishing you all the best! I was the anon that sent in the ask back on May 3 about the Lance/Popstar and Nando. I know and understand that you’re busy and have other commitments (I absolutely love Danny and Em, that’s how I found you to submit the og request) but I was just wondering if you had any idea about a time frame? I know I sent in an ask about 3ish months ago asking the same question (sorry to be a bother) but I’m not sure if tumblr ate it or if I just missed a reply. If you don’t mind just letting me know how you’re feeling about it, and no hard feelings if this is now something that you don’t have the time or interest in. Thanks again!

I’ve had this in my drafts for like a week trying to work out how to answer it and I’m just going to be super blunt.

I have around 1900 words written in a draft on my laptop. I really like them! But the problem with this kind of request is that the only way I can write it is switching POVs and messing around that way, and I can’t make it work.

I’ve tried different plots, different moments, different everything. And it all comes down to the way I write x reader. I don’t use y/n, I don’t use anything like that. I try not to use she and her in most cases because wherever possible I write it as gender neutral. But for this I need at least two segments to be Lance’s POV and that’s where it falls apart.

I’m really sorry. I love this idea and I’ve tried so hard to make it work - harder than I have on any fic for any fandom. But it won’t come. I’ve thrown the first 800-ish words that I’ve edited under the cut so you can have them. Everything after this is a bit of a mess and I’m not comfortable with it being public, but this I am.

“You’ve been invited to the Formula One race in Miami on Sunday, do you want to go? It’s Aston Martin so those rumours might keep going but it’s been good publicity.” You stopped checking your lipstick at your publicists words, turning your head slowly. The rumours had been hilarious at the start, but were turning terrible and cruel. You were apparently dating Fernando Alonso, which just made you laugh. He was cute but older than you and not your type. You were, however, a racing fan and the chance to actually attend a race was too good to pass up.

“Yeah, I do. It’ll be fun. Is it just Sunday?”

“They offered the full weekend if you wanted, but if your schedule’s too full you can just do the race.”

“The full weekend. Tell them I don’t need a chaperone or someone to show me around, just let me know what I can and can’t do.” A rare weekend off from shows meant that you should probably spend it at home resting after the Met Gala but this would be a lot more fun.

Friday morning you wore an Aston Martin hat that they’d sent across along with your paddock pass. You were excited for the practices, but even more to get to see the cars in real life. 2016 had been a long time ago when you played the Austin Grand Prix.

People tended to ignore you as you went in which was a relief, security flanking you but staying discrete. A couple of fans recognised you but it was a lot more lowkey than you’d expected. Low-key wasn’t something your life involved anymore, and you actually were able to relax as you wandered in the Miami humidity.

“Are you following me or something?” The voice made you turn and smile, Daniel Ricciardo holding out a hand. You’d half jumped him on the red carpet on Monday to introduce yourself as a fan, something you were mildly embarrassed about now you’d seen the gifs. But he grinned and reached for a hug that you returned.

“What can I say, it’s how you get the boy, right?” You winked and continued. “Aston Martin invited me as a guest. It’s my second time at a race.”

“So you and Nando?”

“Are not a thing. The internet’s the Wild West. Speaking of, I should probably go over and introduce myself.”

“Here, take my number.” He held out his hand for your phone and you gave it over, watching as he tapped in his number for you. “If you’ve a spare hour and I’m not doing media let me know. It’d be nice to chat.”

He turned to the navy Red Bull building while you went to Aston Martin. There was a green shirted crowd at the front, but someone immediately came over to introduce herself.

“Hey, I’m Pamela from Guest Relations. Welcome to the chaos! It’s so nice to meet you. We haven’t publicised you’re here and if you don’t want it to be public we’re completely fine with keeping it private. We just thought you might want to see a race with all the media buzz, that’s all.” You put your guard down around her and gave an actual smile.

“Thanks. I don’t mind little bits or getting caught on camera but I’d rather not have anything huge? I don’t want to be in the way.”

“You won’t be, don’t worry. Lance and Fernando are just finished a briefing, do you want to meet them?”

“Please, yeah. It’d be great.”

You were led past the main hospitality and into some offices where four men were sitting chatting. Pamela knocked on the door and introduced you before stepping back slightly for you to enter. An awkward wave was all you could muster but the slight tension was quickly resolved by the bearded man.

“Lawrence Stroll, it’s good to meet you! This is Flavio, Fernando’s manager. And our drivers, Lance and Fernando who I’m sure you’ve been asked enough questions about recently.”

“Just a few. It’s lovely to meet you all.” You shook hands and smiled at them, taking in Lance in particular. You knew he was handsome, but he was better looking in person. His hair was reacting the same way yours did to the Florida humidity to make you smile.

“How’re your wrists doing? Are they fully healed?” You asked Lance, ignoring the slight look of surprise on his face.

“Mostly, yeah. I don’t need bandages or supports anymore but there’s a lot of icing them after driving. Thanks for asking. What about your hand, I saw you hurt it during a show?”

It was your turn to be surprised, showing the healing pink skin on the palm of your hand to him. “Getting there. I didn’t need stitches at least but I’ll end up with a scar I think.”

[umichenginabroad]

Madrid Week 11: Basque-ing in Nature

Hola a todxs! Niko here, back again with week 11 (writing this during week 12 oops [I had a huge databases project that I grinded on all of last week, expect a double blog week soon]) of studying abroad in Madrid!! I’ve got a little over a month and a half left in Madrid. Near the beginning of the semester, I mentioned a VSauce video about time that I enjoyed a lot. Recently in my culture class, we discussed the same concepts. Upon reflection, I think that I’m experiencing time in an incredibly ideal way.

What do I mean? Time flies by fast. It feels like weeks go by in the blink of an eye. Last week, what seems like yesterday, it was March, and now we’re already halfway through April. Time flies when you’re having fun, and I think that much is true. I’m having a blast, experiencing a new world every week, and as a consequence, I’m not thinking about time as it passes. It doesn’t drag; It goes by quickly. 

But I’m still in lecture every week. And two of my classes (the engineering ones) are oftentimes unbearably boring. I feel time pass when I’m sitting in those chairs waiting for the time to go home. My life during the week is simple: go to class, cook meals, go to cafes to study. But on the weekends, I’m traveling across Spain and Europe, meeting new people, partying, the list goes on. So it’s kind of like a long-short time sandwich. I get to experience time dragging on in the moment, and I also get to experience it flying by. And, because the exciting experiences happen regularly and frequently, weekends fill up huge blocks in my memories that make it feel like I’ve been here for years. I would say that “it feels like just yesterday that I stepped foot off the plane” but no, it really doesn’t. It feels like an eternity ago, truly. 

So, I’m kind of milking time for nearly all that it’s worth, which I think is a W. We’ve only got so much of it in this life. Anyways, there goes my bi-monthly rant on time. Hopefully it didn’t drag on too much. Or hopefully it did. Or both. 🙂

Anyways, last weekend, I learned a very important lesson. Two of my roommates (Eli, Max) and a close friend (Jack) rented a car (#JeepTrailhawk) and took a trip up to Northern Spain (Please don't mind the terribly cheesy title), splitting our time between Basque cities and Spain’s best national park. The lesson? As much as I love cities — incredible amalgamations of culture, humanity and energy — I’ll never experience the same type of awe and amazement looking out over a skyline as I do gazing upon a range of staggeringly huge snow capped mountains. Let’s talk about the trip:

Gatzetelugatxwho?

We set out from Madrid late Thursday evening. After a short-lived yet intense fiasco with google maps sending us in a couple of loops around Madrid after someone (the driver) (Max) missed a couple of turns, we were on the highway headed North. We had about 4 hours of driving until we reached Bilbao, where we had rented an Airbnb for the night. It was a pretty drive — Madrid is surrounded by a beautiful Sierra not even 30 minutes outside of the center. We arrived at our Airbnb (which was situated in a weird liminal space-ish neighborhood) and crashed, ready to tackle the morning task: Gatztelugatxe.

Huh? Yes, I was as confused as you probably are the first time I read that word. Especially the tx, which is pronounced as ch in Euskera, the mysterious language of the Basque people that has no known origin or connection to any modern tongue. It looks and sounds weird, and in the Basque country you’ll see it everywhere. It almost feels like it could have been spoken in some far off kingdom in Game of Thrones. 

Speaking of, we went to Dragonstone, AKA Gatztelugatxe. Shout out whoever the location scout was for those scenes, because they absolutely killed it. The site was beautiful, and I think the pictures will speak for themselves.

After that, we drove a few more hours to San Sebastian and explored. The energy was incredible. Sunny weather, beautiful city side beach, Burnt Basque cheesecake, calming sunset and delicious food (pintxos = tapas in Euskera!). There’s not much more that I can say other than the fact that simply walking around and taking it all in was an absolute joy. 

We proceeded to drive 4 hours west that evening to our second stop of the weekend: Picos de Europa national park (driving quickly through Bilbao, which has a really cool modern architectural style). We arrived at our Airbnb in the pitch black around 12 am, stumbled our way inside, cooked a comically oversized dinner (1.5 kg of pasta is too much for 4 people btw) and prepared for our big hike the next day.

The Hike

We woke up bright and early (it was like 10am) Saturday morning, ready for the 7.5 mile, 3000 foot climb ahead of us. I’d done a 13 miler with a similar increase in elevation once before in the Texan desert (Marufo Vega trail in Big Bend, highly recommend), so I wasn’t too concerned with the difficulty — only with whether we picked a worthwhile trail. I was silly for underestimating “Lon - Río Burón - Peña de Mañimoco”.

We started by driving into a tiny town in the national park, parking on the side of the road and setting off into a dirt trail that winded shallowly up the mountain. At this point, I was unimpressed. Most of our view of the mountain ahead of us was blocked by trees, and the path felt too well kept to be the basis of the true rugged backcountry experience I desired. Jokingly, we pointed to the top of the mountain we were hiking towards when we got to a clearing, asking damn, wouldn’t it be crazy if we went up there.

Yeah, it would have been crazy, but I guess 3000 feet is not to be underestimated, especially if you start at 1000. The paved trail split off into a smaller one once we broke through the treeline, which split off into a gravel shoot winding up the ridge of the mountain we had joked about a mile or two earlier. The wind started picking up, threatening to throw us off the mountain at any second as we climbed higher and higher (it was seriously intense wind. Jumping up, we actually caught a little extra airtime).

Each switchback revealed a view of the mountain and the valley below that was more stunning than the last. We passed through a huge diversity of different terrains, each so distinct they felt like Minecraft biomes stitched together. We even happened upon a herd of domesticated cows (which we were terrified of passing out of fear that they would attempt to butt us off the face of the mountain... we thought they were wild at first). At one point, we came across a meadow that looked like it came straight out of a studio Ghibli movie. We quite literally frolicked in the grass as another hiker (the only other person we saw on the trail) watched us from behind a tree, hiding from the wind. We talked to that guy later, we called him the Wind Wizard.

On this hike, I felt something reminiscent of the feeling I got as a 6 year old playing imagination games in the basement of my childhood home — unashamedly wide-eyed excitement. Looking out over the Picos de Europa (literally, the peaks of Europe) I couldn’t help but smile. This is the feeling I mentioned at the beginning of this blog that I think I can only experience whilst totally immersed in nature. At its core, it’s rooted in mindfulness and gratitude for the present moment -- something that I try to practice as much as possible in my everyday life. 

However, the reason this trip ended up being one of my favorites I’ve taken so far wasn’t just for the things that I saw — it was for the people that I spent it with. As much as I enjoy the independence and exploration of solo-traveling, I think that experiencing new things with trusted friends will almost always be more enjoyable. Being rooted in that feeling of wonder with others makes it feel more exciting, more significant, more real — both while it’s happening, and in the memories that stay with us forever. 

We finished the hike with a steep decline down the mountain and ended up back at the car, where we drove into the larger town and got some drinks at a local cafe (where they had original craft beers on tap, and where I tasted the best Vermouth I've ever had). We left our airbnb early the next morning, but not before buying a block of cheese from the local Queseria (which was also absolutely fire). En fin, this was one of the most beautiful and rewarding hikes I've ever done, rivaled only by the aforementioned Marufo Vega. I think we chose well!

So, my key takeaways from this trip? Nature is awesome, and so is experiencing it (and life in general) with other people. At the end of the day, we’re just really smart animals who evolved (in nature) to be biased towards social behavior, so I guess that makes sense (#evolutionarypsychology?). I’ll be in the Bay Area this summer for an internship, and I’m really excited to go backpacking over the weekends in all of the epic nature that surrounds the area, meeting new people along the way.

Here's the itinerary list for this week's trip:

Basque Country Google Maps List

That’s all for this week’s blog! As always, check out the picture descriptions for a little more info. Thank you all very much for reading, and I’ll see y’all next week 🙂

Adios,

Niko Economos

Aerospace Engineering

Universidad Carlos III de Madrid

Madrid, Spain

economos@umich.edu 

[tellthemeerkatsitsfine]

I hit about eight different topics in this post. All related to various comedians. It's been a while since I've done a post in which I just start writing and then let myself go, if one thing I write reminds me of a different thing I'll start writing about that. There's no plan to this post. Adding a cut for people who (justifiably) do not want to go through something even more rambly than usual, for me. I'll say at the outset that there's nothing particularly deep or insightful here.

Just finished listening to the podcast episode to go with the new Taskmaster, and it was quite good. Solid insights from Ivo Graham, as I’d have expected. I missed this podcast, since they stopped putting stuff out every week. I realized I’ve missed hearing Ed Gamble – I do like him enough to enjoy hearing him talk for 45-ish minutes per week, which I learned from the several years he spent doing the Taskmaster podcast with very few weeks off, and I miss it now that it only airs while Taskmaster (UK) is airing.

If only I hadn’t spent years in a sport that forced me to track my weight so meticulously that I am now incapable of seeing food as entertainment, ruling out getting into Off Menu. If only I didn’t have a combination of hypochondria that mainly manifests as fear of developing cancer and/or diabetes, and fear of needles, along with a specific fear that I’ll develop diabetes and then have to have needles for the rest of my life, and the way I manage to go through life instead of being constantly paralyzed with anxiety about this is by avoiding thinking about the existence of those things as much as possible. I can think about if I’m absolutely forced to, but at the very least, I’m unable to derive enjoyment from thinking about them. So Ed Gamble’s stand-up might be great, I don’t know, I haven’t sought it out.

I have a disappointing amount of reasons to avoid listening to his stuff, given how much I enjoy hearing him talk. Maybe I should get into his radio show, I like Matthew Crosby. And every once in a while I think of how the side of Ed Gamble I like least is the way he’s a bit too TV polished sometimes, so clearly the solution to that is to get into the Peacock and Gamble stuff.

Anyway, it was a fun episode. The more I think about it, the more excited I am for Taskmaster season 16. That first episode was so good, one of those things that’s so good I just want to go over and over it, so I enjoyed hearing Ed and Ivo do that.

I remembered today that a few months ago, I was hanging out with my brother, and I told him I’d bought tickets to see Tom Ballard. He didn’t know who Tom Ballard was, I said he’s an Australian comedian, my brother said he didn’t know as much about Australian comedy as he should. Then we both started naming other Australian comedians, to see if we have any knowledge of them in common. He didn’t know any of my names, until I asked him, “Do you know Sam Campbell?” and he said yes. I asked him if he likes Sam’s comedy, and he said that actually he’s never seen Sam’s comedy.

“But you said you know him,” I said. My brother said yeah, from when he lived in Melbourne. I often forget that my brother lived in Melbourne for a year, in about 2015-ish. He also lived in London for a year, around 2011. Did some comedy in both those places. Anyway, he told me that one time when he lived in Melbourne, he was at a party, and one of his comedy friends introduced him to a guy named Sam Campbell. “I haven’t seen him perform, but he was a nice guy,” my brother said. I told him we are working with different definitions of what it means to "know" a comedian.

I think this might be the first time I’ve been two handshakes away from a Taskmaster contestant. I can get three away from plenty of them – I’ve met someone who’s met someone who’s met them. Three away from Mae Martin in plenty of ways, I think, and not even just through my brother, now that I’ve spent some time with other local comedians. A bunch of those local comedians, including my brother, have worked with some of the comedians who were on LOL Canada, a fairly bad… okay less bad than you’d expect given the premise but definitely not great… comedy-based reality show that I watched this summer entirely because it had Mae Martin on it. Mae Martin’s pretty good in that, by the way, for the information of anyone who’d like to know that. By which I mean, if you happen to just really like watching Mae Martin do anything, that is a show on Amazon Prime that features Mae Martin doing some stuff. Mainly trying not to laugh at Tom Green.

 So I can get three away, but I think Sam Campbell is the first Taskmaster contestant my brother, or anyone else I know personally, has actually met. I mean, technically I’ve now met Josie Long and Grace Petrie, and they’ve met lots of Taskmaster contestants. Technically I’ve been one handshake away from a Taskmaster contestant, as Josie Long was an original champion (well, second after Wozniak). But I think in this case, I’m defining “handshake” as working with someone or seeing them socially. It counts if you only worked with or met them once, but it has to be work or social, not just accosting them on the streets of Montreal and asking them to sign a tour poster from over ten years ago.

 Though my meeting with Grace Petrie has turned out to possibly be slightly more significant than I’d thought at the time. I haven’t been able to find my wallet this weekend, and the last time I definitely, 100% had it was when I took it out at the merch table at her concert and gave her money for a CD. I think I remember having it when I got home from the concert, but I can’t be totally sure, and I can’t find it anywhere in the house.

I was an incoherent mess when I met Grace Petrie at her merch table, I remember shaking and stuttering a bit as I spoke to her and trying to remember what I wanted to say, and I definitely don’t remember keeping track of anything. It is absolutely conceivable that my flustered state from meeting Grace Petrie led me to forget to pick up my wallet when I left the table. Again, I don’t think so – I think I would have checked for it before leaving the venue at the end of the night. But the more I search this house and don’t find it, the more likely it looks that the “too excited to meet Grace Petrie to remember to grab it” theory is exactly what happened. So basically, my current working theory is that Grace Petrie stole my wallet.

It'd be good if Sam Campbell won Taskmaster, not just because I called that the moment the cast was officially announced so now I have to back him like he’s a sports team because I like being right. But I’d enjoy being two handshakes away from a Taskmaster champion.

My brother does have a few “meeting now-famous people” stories about his time doing the comedy circuit in London, which I would like credit for not having posted here. Last year he gave me some entertaining gossip about British comedians, and I have refrained from mentioning that on my blog about British comedians, and I just want people to recognize the restraint I showed. In case anyone’s concerned, since “there’s a story about a famous person” so often means bad things, it’s nothing like that. All stories with tawdry parts in them have been entirely consensual. Though I will say that one time last year, my brother and I were in our parents’ living room and he told a story about Daniel Sloss that resulted in us having to explain the concept of dick pics to our mother. That is fine to say because it’s not putting any previously unknown gossip out there, as Daniel Sloss’ most recently released filmed special has a whole routine about how there are lots of his dick pics out there and one is bound to get leaked at some point. And I said “Yes, so I’ve heard.”

My brother told me at the time that he didn’t particularly like Daniel Sloss’ comedy, but I’m pretty sure he hadn’t actually seen it, and this was just one comedian automatically disliking another comedian who had started around the same time as him but become much, much more successful. Though to be fair, I have seen the DVD Daniel Sloss made when he was 22, and it’s fair to say he was not always the deep and complex comedian he is today. There is some bad stuff in his half man/half x-box days. And even recently, I don’t think everything he’s done is great. His latest special was fairly uneven and I do get sick hearing him call himself a dangerous an edgy comic, even though I know that’s just normal marketing. But I think he’s made some legitimately great things.

My brother told me more recently, however, that he had watched Daniel Sloss’ Jigsaw for the first time and loved it, that it’s exactly how he feels about relationships but hasn’t seen someone put it so well into words before. And he sent Jigsaw to his friend who’s in a bad relationship, saying this might encourage her to get out of it. I said I know what he means, that Jigsaw put into words a bunch of stuff that I also think about relationships but couldn’t articulate as clearly as Daniel Sloss did in that show, and I’ve also used it to show other people what I think. For example, I said, when I was early in the process of dating my most recent ex-girlfriend, it was going really really well and we were both talking about how we liked this but had agreed at the outset that neither of us were looking for a serious relationship, I sent her the Jigsaw show as a way to explain why I don’t do serious/traditional/committed relationships, but I really like her so can we keep seeing each other anyway? And of course about three weeks later we decided we had fallen in love and would therefore make an exception and use the word “girlfriend” and call this a relationship properly. I told my brother this, and he said… “No, that’s not the same thing. I sent Jigsaw to a girl I like because I hoped it would make her break up with her boyfriend. That’s what you’re supposed to do with that show, use it to break people up. You’re not supposed to send it to a girl you like who’s already dating you, as a way to start a relationship with her. Do you think it might have been a bad sign that you started a relationship by showing her that strongly anti-romance comedy show and saying this is what you think?” And I said I don’t know, fuck off, and yeah, probably.

It is nighttime and I have to get up for work tomorrow but I can't sleep, so I thought I'd just start writing some stuff and see where it takes me. Obviously it took me here. I started writing about the Taskmaster podcast, and I ended up writing about why my relationship fell apart last year. I'm doing fine. I need to go to sleep. I also need to find my fucking wallet. Just my luck, having Grace Petrie steal my wallet.

[angst-in-space]

july ‘23 writing progress

words written: 18.3k

most words written in a day: 1.8k

least words written in a day: 26

current yearly total: 103.8k

projects worked on:

- ya sci-fi book revisions - sylvix pacific rim au - matchablossom bed-sharing fic - altea rising ch 15 edits (AND I POSTED IT....AT LONG LAST...) - posted ch 9 of sylvix dreamscape fic - short story planning

works published in july:

you’re a dream (i’m never waking up) - chapter 9 (fe3h/sylvix) altea rising - chapter 15 (vld/klance)

july goals:

- write 30k for camp nano - rewrite 4-5 chapters of ya sci-fi book (up to ch 20-ish?) - post ch 9 of sylvix dreamscape fic - start editing ch 10 of dreamscape fic - start editing chs 3-4 of renga fic? - continue first draft of arctic monster book - work on various fics (sylvix pacrim, kazurei post-canon, matchablossom, red skies ch 8, etc.)

august goals:

- continue ya sci-fi book rewrites... erm... i’m way behind schedule but maybe will try to aim for like chapter 25 or so - edit/post another chapter of altea rising - finish sylvix dreamscape ch 10 edits and send to betas - continue editing renga fic if i have time??  - work on other misc fics  - maybe... work a bit on arctic monster book?? - write and submit short story

notes:

well.... this was an interesting month! because technically, in terms of word count, this was my most productive month of the year so far—but in terms of what i actually wanted to get done... well, not quite as successful LOL. but uhhh progress is progress, amiright?

i had hoped to write 30k this month and got to almost 19k so, missed my goal by about 11k lol (but still!! most words i’ve written in a month so far this year!).

i’d been hoping mainly to focus on book rewrites and get to chapter 20 or so but uhh... that did not happen either! i got Very Stuck on chapter 16 in particular so that took me most of the month. but i at least go through that and have almost finished chapter 17 as well! buuut i’ll have to rewrite... a lot more chapters this month if i want to stay on track to reach my self-appointed deadline. plus i’m having a lot of crises about my book in general lmao but guess that is all part of the process haha *gives a thumbs-up while tears roll down my face* ANYWAY. aiming for chapter 25 by the end of this month (and i’m trying to kick my own ass into rewriting like 1k words a day) so uhhh yeah. chuckles nervously.

in more positive news, i updated two whole fics in july after months of posting nothing so WOOOO!!! chapter 9 of sylvix dreamscape fic is finally posted after like 9 months, and chapter 15 of altea rising is posted after uhhh like 4.5 years lmao. with the latter, it’s been especially touching to see people so excited for it and that you were happy to see it update! honestly i had a LOT of anxiety about continuing to post it because i worried no one would care anymore, so it means a lot. :’) i definitely hope to keep working on both those fics and aim to update at least one of them by end of august!

i also planned out a short story that i’m hoping to write and submit to an anthology this month so *sweats* pray for me....i have not written a short story in ages, much less submitted short fiction anywhere lol but it’s something i’ve meant to try for a while!! 

otherwise, i’m not sure i’ll have time for much else because this month is going to be pretty busy for me on top of all the writing-related stuff i need to do. but hoping to maybe squeeze in some progress on other fics when i can (or when i’m feeling burned out on my book). sooo yeah i think that’s all for now!!