#imaginesandbandfiction

[imaginesandbandfiction]

Second Choices

Pairing: Cassian x Reader

Masterlist

A/N: I hope this makes sense lol. I opened my planning doc for the next part of Triad, read the three sentences I had written there, and then closed it and went back to a random drabble in my notes app that exploded into this. So… enjoy, I guess? There will be three parts of this total, so click here to be added to the taglist to be notified when those go live!

Warnings: Angst, drinking, drug use (slightly forced, if you squint?), a little hint of smut at the end but it doesn't progress very far

“Y/N is a bitch,” Braelie whined, voice echoing out from the restroom’s open door. Mor sighed, snapped the cap back onto her signature red lip gloss, then turned towards Cassian’s female-du-jour. She was pretty, in an artificial sort of way. Her foundation, a shade too light, was caked on with a thick layer of matte powder that swallowed the light when it hit her face, leaving her skin dull and sullen. The dark eye makeup and too-bright lipstick made her look like a doll, and not the kind for children.

“Listen, Brae,” Mor hoped that using a nickname would soften the major blow she was about to land. She reached out and laid a light, comforting hand onto one bony shoulder. “Y/N and Cassian have been friends for a long time. I won’t lie to you, sometimes the lines get blurred when they’re both single. She’s probably having some complicated feelings, since you’re so pretty,” Mor rushed to add that last part when Braelin’s lower lip wobbled. Then she prayed to the Mother for your forgiveness and said, lowering her voice to a whisper, “she’s probably just jealous.”

That put a spark back into Braelie’s eyes, and Mor cringed. She added Cassian to her list of prayers as Braelie flounced away in search of him.

Cassian hovered with his hand on the doorknob, ready to duck out the side door to sneak in a quick smoke break while Braelie freshened up with Mor. 

Braelie was hot, sure, but Cauldron she was dumb. If Cassian had to hear the words, “wait, really?” one more time, he might not make it long enough to get her into his bed tonight. Just a few puffs of mirthroot would dull the edges of his brain enough to find her cluelessness endearing. 

She wasn’t the most exciting company, but she was reliable, and he needed that. He’d broken things off with Skyla three weeks earlier and knew that he was dangerously close to doing the one thing he wore he’d stop doing, so he went out one night, alone, and found Braelie. 

After overhearing Mor’s words, he felt guilt roiling deep in his gut. So he smoked half a joint and headed back inside. He danced with her and thought of you. Walked her home and thought of you. She invited him in for a drink and pressed her too-pink lips against his. 

He thought of you. 

Afterward, he wrapped one arm around her shoulders and waited until her breathing slowed before sneaking out through the window. He shoved off of the sill and let his wings fully expand, catching the wind and sending him soaring into the early morning sky. 

—

You hadn’t meant for Cassian’s latest fling to overhear you calling her a “Cauldron-damned floozy,” but it had happened anyway. 

“She’s soooooo annoyingggg,” you slurred, taking another swig from the wine glass in your hand. You let your head fall back until it landed on Azriel’s shoulder. He chuckled and you felt his shadows nipping at your cheeks, lightly scolding you for being bitchy. They tickled like tiny, ice-cold kisses, but that wasn’t enough to stop you. “Seriously, Az. I dunno what Cas sees in her. She’s just another Cauldron-damned floozy, good for keeping his bed warm and not much else.” 

Mor had managed to redirect Braelie towards the restrooms after that, leaving you alone in the booth with Az, completely oblivious. 

Azriel’s shadows had alerted him to her presence, and a smirk graced his lips. He sensed some major drama brewing and relished in his position at the sidelines. 

“Why, Y/N, if I didn’t know better, I’d say you sound jealous,” he drawled. You let your head loll to the side so you could glare at him, which coaxed a bark of laughter from his lips. 

—

The first coherent thought you had the next morning was water. I need water. You dragged yourself out of bed and trudged into the bathroom, gulping mouthful after mouthful straight from the faucet. 

But water could only do so much for a hangover, so you threw a robe over your pajamas and tiptoed down the Townhouse stairs. It was nearing noon but, based on the disheveled state everyone had returned in last night, you didn’t want to risk waking anyone and incurring their hungover wrath. 

Outside the kitchen, you heard low, muffled voices and paused to listen before entering. Mother forbid you end up interrupting Cassian and Braelie’s post-coital feast. Cauldron, even her name was annoying. 

“I just don’t understand why Y/N would say something like that,” you heard Cassian say, wincing as memories from last night flooded your brain. 

“Look, Y/N’s your best friend, I’m sure she’s just feeling put out now that you’re spending so much time with Braelie,” Az said, careful to keep his tone neutral. 

“Well she doesn’t have to be such a bitch about it.” 

You turned away and snuck back up the stairs to change into real clothes, deciding that breakfast at your favorite cafe was in order. Preferably paired with a mimosa or five. 

— 

Az sighed and took a sip of tea to buy himself some time to think. He’d stayed up with Mor until sunrise, talking about their clueless friends. 

While your comments about Cassian’s love life had been funny the first few times, after more than three decades, it was getting old. They recognized a pattern repeating itself ad nauseam; Cassian gets a new girlfriend, you distance yourself from him and start grumbling about the girls’ flaws, then when Cas eventually dumped her you’d be back to being best friends like no time had passed at all. And if you both happen to be single, well, sometimes after smoking too much mirthroot you’d end up all over each other. In a friendly way, of course. 

This time, though, you’d been much more open about your hatred for Braelie despite the fact that she was one of the more tolerable ‘floozies’  they’d had to deal with over the years. She was dumb but harmless, and soon enough Cassian would tire of her, resetting the cycle once again. 

So they’d decided to divide and conquer; Mor was going to try and get it through your thick skull that you’re in love with Cas, while Az was tasked with showing the General what was right in front of him. 

Easier said than done. So he decided to go for the jugular. 

“Well, it’s not like you have the best track record with females. Maybe Y/N’s gotten tired of playing nice when you’ve got someone new on your arm every other week.”

“Last I checked that wasn’t a crime.” 

Az held his hands up, raising one eyebrow at Cas. 

“Don’t shoot the messenger. If it’s really bothering you, why don’t you talk to her? I’m sure if you asked her to lay off Braelie she would.”

Cas ducked his head to hide the heat rushing to his face and mumbled something incoherent into his chest. 

“Sorry, brother, what was that? I couldn’t hear you over the sound of my shadows laughing at your blush.”

“I broke up with her this morning,” Cas growled, tightening his grip on the mug in his fist. 

Azriel cackled, laughter only growing louder when Cas glared at him. 

“It’s not funny,” Cas insisted, launching his teaspoon over the table. Az’s shadows caught it before it could make contact, turning Cas’s glare into a downright glower.  

“Alright, alright, it’s not funny. You’re just predictable, that’s all.” 

After stewing in silence for a few minutes, Cas felt his self control crumbling. Words bubbled up from his chest, through his throat, and then he was rambling. 

“I overheard Mor telling Braelie that Y/N was jealous of her,” he pushed his chair back and started pacing back and forth across the kitchen. “And at first I thought, no way, that’s crazy, if Y/N was jealous I would know. But I couldn’t stop thinking about it. She always gets weird whenever I’m dating someone, right?”

“Maybe you should talk to her about it,” Az suggested, leaning back in his seat. Just a friend offering a casual, off-the-cuff solution to a problem he knows nothing about. 

“Yeah, maybe…”

—

Mor tracked you down later that afternoon, sprawled out on a blanket next to the Sidra and halfway through a bottle of vintage red imported from the Summer Court. 

“Heyyy,” you greeted her, pushing yourself up into a sitting position and holding the bottle out towards your friend. “Come to join the pity party?” 

Mor eyed you, curiosity and amusement sparking behind her honey brown eyes, and she accepted your offering. 

“And why are we having a pity party?” she asked, plopping down next to you and taking a long pull from the bottle. 

“Cause I fuck everything up, duh.” You flopped back down, this time onto your stomach. “Cassian hates me, but whatever. I’m sure he and Braelie are going to be very happy together.”

Mor had to force her eyes not to roll at your drunken dramatics. 

“I’m gonna find a boyfriend, that way when they break up Cas can’t come crawling back to me with his dick in his hand. See how he likes it.” You made grabby hands for the bottle but Mor shook her head, keeping it held just out of your reach. 

“Or you could try telling him how you feel?” She suggested, casually, as she took another sip. 

You scoffed, hiccuping giggles following as you struggled to keep your composure as mixed emotions ebbed and flowed through your body. 

“Tell him how I feel? Should I tell him it makes my skin itch whenever he dances with another girl? Tell him that I haven’t been able to finish with anyone else since the first time he fucked me? Or maybe I should tell him that he’s my mate, good idea, Mor. Maybe that will make him fall in love with me!” 

Mor let her eyes roll this time, patting you on the back. But when you flipped onto your back, she saw the pain and longing etched into the lines on your face and stared deep into your eyes, waiting for you to laugh and say it was just a joke. 

Unease settled in her stomach. 

“Wait, you’re serious, aren’t you?” she asked. 

“He’s my Cauldron-damned mate, and he doesn’t even know it. He’s too busy burying himself in the hordes of females fawning all over him to notice how much it hurts.” 

“Y/N…how long have you known?” 

“Four years,” you whispered, throwing an arm over your eyes to hide your tears from your oldest friend.

“Oh, babe,” she sighed, tugging you up into her arms. The dam behind your eyes broke and sobs wracked your body while the gears in Mor’s brain started turning. 

When you finally settled in her lap, tears dried up, she hauled you to your feet. “C’mon, let’s get you home.” 

All you managed to mutter was, “Not the Townhouse,” before she winnowed you away.  

—

Cassian dodged Azriel’s attempts at cheering him up in favor of sulking at the kitchen table all day, waiting for you to wake up. 

When it was nearing dinner time, he sighed and put together a tray of tea and pastries to bring up to you as a peace offering. But after knocking politely on your door for five minutes straight, worry started worming its way into his stomach and he threw open the door to reveal your bed, perfectly made and empty. 

“Fuck,” he growled, throwing the tray down the hallway where it crashed against the wall, broken bits of pottery clattering to the ground. He’d wasted all day waiting for you when you were out doing Mother knows what with Mother knows who. 

Screw apologies, he was on a warpath now.  

He trekked through the busy streets of Velaris looking for any sign of you, starting at Amren’s apartment and making his way through your favorite shops and restaurants with no success. Just when he was about to give up, assuming you were holed up with a male somewhere, he saw Mor ducking into one of the small cafes near the Sidra. 

“Mor!” he shouted, jogging to catch the door before it closed behind her. She turned around, and a look of shock flashed across her face before it smoothed into cool indifference. 

“Cassian,” she said, nodding at him before turning to the hostess stand. “I’m here to pick up a takeout order for Morrigan.” 

The hostess nodded and disappeared into the kitchen to grab the food. Cas reached out and grabbed Mor’s wrist, tugging her around to face him.  

“Where is she?” he asked, barely able to contain the rage flowing through his veins. 

“Not now, Cas,” Mor sighed, wrenching her arm from his grasp. “Trust me. Just give her some space.” 

“I can’t,” he growled, siphons glowing as if they were attempting to warn her that his magic was sizzling just beneath the surface. It felt like something was pulling him along, the desire to find you growing stronger the longer he looked. “I need to find her. Please, Mor.”

The hostess came back and handed a bag to Mor, who promptly turned around and dumped it into Cas’s arms. 

“Fine, then you can take this up to the House of Wind for me. I have some errands to run, you have an hour.” Cas’s face relaxed and he nodded, about to open his mouth to thank her when she waved a hand at him to dismiss him. 

But when they were back outside, she turned around to flash a sickly sweet smile at him. 

“Oh, and Cassian?” His eyes widened as he froze in place, wings spread and ready to take off. “If you hurt her, I will feed you to Bryaxis.” 

With that, she disappeared and Cassian took to the skies wondering what would be waiting for him when he arrived. 

— 

On the back deck of the House of Wind, you stood leaning against the railing, music swirling around you as you watched the sun sink behind the buildings of Velaris below. Lights blinked on one by one until the whole city was filled with twinkling stars.

With a joint in one hand and a glass of wine in the other, your mind was finally, blissfully, numb. Only the subtle ache deep in your core served as a reminder of your unfortunate situation, but even that was starting to dull. 

Of course, your peaceful night had to be ruined by the one male you had no desire to see. The sound of flapping wings and rushing of air past your face gave you a split-second warning, and then Cassian dropped to the ground behind you. 

You turned around and held the hand with the joint lazily balanced between two fingers at your forehead. 

“General Bloodshed, or whatever the fuck,” you said, wobbling on unsteady feet as you saluted him. Then you lowered your hand and took a long drag, holding the smoke in your lungs for as long as physically possible before letting it out in a steady stream pointed in his direction. “Come to fight for your fair maiden’s honor, or just to rub it in my face that you’re getting laid and you don’t need me anymore?”

“Y/N,” he said, all the anger draining from his body as he took in the bags under your eyes and the heavy winter clothes hanging off your frame even though Summer was right around the corner. It was like he was seeing you for the first time after a long mission away, noticing how much weight you’d lost, how tired your body looked. 

He set the food down on one of the lounge chairs and took slow, careful steps towards you. 

“Y/N,” he repeated, “What’s going on?”

“Nothin’, Cassie, nothin’ at all,” you said, pausing to hiccup before continuing. “I don’t care about Braelie, I don’t care about you, I don’t care about anything.” You thrust your arms out wide and turned to face the sunset, which was now casting a golden glow onto Velaris. “I’ve got a hot date with my fingers later, and I probably won’t even think about you.”

Cas ignored the heat flaring up low in his belly at the mental image that flashed behind his eyes. 

“Hey,” he whispered, coming up next to you and prying the joint from your hand. “Gimme that.” 

You turned to face him, lower lip stuck out in a pout. 

“Why? So you can leave me here and go get high with Braelie? I bet she’s real mouthy. You like em loud, don’t you? Like when females beg for that big Illyrian cock?”

Your voice got higher and higher, becoming breathless as you rambled on, letting all of your deepest, darkest, pent-up thoughts and feelings fall from your lips. Even though you knew you’d regret it in the morning, in the moment it felt so good to let them go. 

“Y/N, stop, just take a breath. I’m not going to leave you, okay!” Cassian stubbed out the joint and tossed it aside, putting his hands on your shoulders to force you to look at him. “I’m not going to see Braelie, I broke up with her this morning.” 

Your eyes glazed over as you looked him up and down, a lazy smirk blooming on your lips. 

“Ohhhh, I see how it is,” you drawled, waving a hand to summon the joint to you. Snapping your fingers to spark it back to life, you took another deep hit and then stuffed the unlit end into Cas’s mouth. He tried to protest but you held firm until he finally inhaled. Its effects hit immediately, and you watched as his shoulders drooped, muscles relaxing. With a wicked grin, you dropped from his loosened grip to your knees, palming his dick through his leathers. “Want me to kiss it better, put your broken heart back together?” 

A war waged behind Cas’s eyes; on the one hand, the mirthroot was clouding his judgment and lust threatened to take over at the sight of you looking up at him with wide eyes.  

On the other hand, he had set out to make things right, to talk to you and figure out the true nature of your feelings for him. Sleeping with you would send the wrong message. 

“Y/N, stop,” he grunted, pulling his hips back and shoving your hand away. 

“What?” you asked, your pout back in full force. “Want me to beg for it first, cause you know I will? Know I’ll give you anything you want?” You shoved yourself up to your feet, pushing onto your tiptoes so your narrowed eyes bore right into Cassian’s. 

He felt the tension that had been building all day melt away—the anger, the frustration, the confusion—all of it was gone with a snap of golden magic that flooded his body. 

You felt it, too, from your side of the bond, could see the moment it registered behind those hazel eyes. It felt like the bond was on your side, snapping just in time to help you prove a point.

“I’m done being your second choice, mate,” you snarled, plucking the joint from his hand before turning around and stalking into the house, leaving him stranded alone in the darkness. 

[escapingjune]

Outer Banks

Favorites - ✨

Masterlist

JJ Maybank Masterlist By: mildkleptomaniac

JJ Maybank Masterlist By: loveharlow

JJ Maybank Masterlist By: imaginesandbandfiction

Masterlist (JJ Maybank) By: sublimecatgalax

Masterlist (JJ Maybank) By: lilastrocup

JJ Maybank Recs By: elsaellaelys

Series

Learning to Love (JJ Maybank) By: jjsbank444

Someone to Stay (JJ Maybank) By: mvybanks

✨ you, the ocean, and me (JJ Maybank) By: obaex

Marmoris (JJ Maybank) By: obxone

Secrets (JJ Maybank) By: obxone

Assumptions (Rafe Cameron) By: obxone

Ghost of You (JJ Maybank) By: obxsummer

Still friends, not lovers (JJ Maybank) By: screamforyani

This me trying (JJ Maybank) By: jjsbank444

Bittersweet escape (JJ Maybank) By: loveharlow

Friends close, enemies closer (JJ Maybank) By: theanonwriter

✨Teenage Dirtbag (JJ Maybank) By: cherienymphe

The thin line (JJ Maybank) By: sweetsunflowerkisses

Ready to run (JJ Maybank) By: thatbloodymuggle

Seven (JJ Maybank) By: loveharlow

Soulmates (JJ Maybank) By: echobx

Daylight (JJ Maybank) By: featherandferns

It’s not summer without you (JJ Maybank) By: todorokies

One Shots

Intimidated (JJ Maybank) By: goldenroutledge

People Watching (JJ Maybank) By: auroragreenvale

✨ Fascinating new thing (JJ Maybank) By: featherandferns

Friends Don’t (JJ Maybank) By: baocean

✨ shut up (JJ Maybank - cont. of Fascinating new thing) By: featherandferns

for the hope of it all (JJ Maybank) By: borntobewondering

Life’s Changes (JJ Maybank) By: mclintocksdaughter

Prude (JJ Maybank) By: fantasylandloser

[sweetpeterparker]

outer banks fic recommendations ✯

jj maybank ✯

ghost of you (series) (@obxsummer )

→routledge!reader (eventually jj maybank x reader) tw: physical violence, daddy issues, death of loved ones, canon violence, guns, drugs, smoking etc one of my favs

paradise on earth (series) (@xreaderbooks)

→jj maybank x routledge!reader tw: if im not mistaken this is an (18+) fic/ has some (18+), canon violence, family problems

bejeweled (@imaginesandbandfiction )

→jj maybank x reader outer banks x taylor swift does it for me

family troubles (@maddiwrites )

→jj maybank x routledge!reader x platonic! john b x reader tw: death of loved ones, family troubles (as the title says), angst/comfort

pope heyward ✯

delivery boy (@thegreatestofheck )

→pope heyward x reader tw: physical violence, mentions of neglect/abandonment, allusion to depression

sarah cameron ✯

that's my girlfriend (@ptersparkers )

→sarah cameron x fem!reader tw: slight mentions of homophobia

(if you are not comfortable being tagged here, please message me so i can edit this<3)

[harrysfolklore]

MY FAVORITE FICS, VOL 2

here’s the second masterpost of my favorite fics ! i hope you like them <3

MY MASTERLIST | VOL 1

fluff

chiquitita by @theshyspy

so london is home? by @harrysmimi

girl by @matildashoney

somehow i just want you more by @satanhalsey

fiancé!harry by bfharry

on a scale from one to ten by @harryimaginedstories

familiar love by @crowdedimagines

two for the show by @nationalharryleague

this by @tobesolonely

harry & y/n get back together and y/n’s family is ecstatic by @and-im-okay-with-it

harry’s house zane lowe interview by @dontworrysunflower

sweet boy by @stylesmygucci

pretty by @hollywillows

marry me by @mouthfulloftoothpasterry

terrible 2’s by @sweetsbfreex

late night talking by @pancakes4two

track 5 by @harrysfinelinevol1

mission accomplished by @harryssweatcreaturee

morning activities by @harryscherrypie

bath time by @twostepstyless

miserable by @harryistheonlyoneforme

bedtime stores by @goldencherryhazz

sleepy girls by @harrysgoldenbum

heartbeat by @tinydestinybear

ice-cream by @enchantedsoulofmine

blush by @moonchildstyles

an award winning love by @finelinevogue

look how far we’ve come by @marmixedwithabitofintellect

actor!harry by @shroombloomm

when you’re sick by yours truly

angst

loss by @bfharry

his memories by @a-strange-familiar

forever hold your peace by @all-things-fic

crying in the backseat by @cherievol6

stupid dreams by @glitteredrry

need you by @in-the-name-of-styles

cloudbrust by @tuliprry

harrychella by @avatar-anna

yn doesn’t want kids by @swiftmendeshoran

traitor by @tinydeskwriter

tell the world by @storiesforallfandoms

why did you leave me by @knowiloveyoubabe

as it was by @rekiilysm

fame & its consequences by @blissfulbqrnes

series

the intimacy of little things by @meetmymouth

even when the night changes by @be-with-me-so-happily

backstage girlfriend by @astranva

babysitter!yn by @harrysfolklore (heheh da self promo)

valerie by @watchmegetobsessed

as long as you are by @mixedstyles

songs of her’s by @chaoticloving

merch girl by @imaginesandbandfiction

[be-with-me-so-happily]

This is just a list of fanfics I've personally enjoyed reading. They are in no particular order, and the more I read... or remember I've read, because adhd brain here... the more I'll update the list.

These are all related to Harry Styles but some are AU stories.

Important: I always encourage you to read any and all warnings before starting a new fic, please.

I'm currently updating and reorganizing this list to add more detailed descriptions.

[ COMPLETED SERIES ]

•• in my feelings series @harrystylescherry

completed series featuring famous Harry and Vogue journalist YN, an amazing story of enemies who end up having sex and catching super complicated feelings. It's crazy how chaotic these two are together but it's amazing.

~~~~~

•• wish upon a star series @mysweetestcreature

completed series about stepbrother Harry and stepsister YN, who have basically grown up together, with a taboo and secret love that nobody can know about, especially their parents.

~~~~~

•• spare parts series @around1302

completed series (definitely one of my top faves) about Harry and Charlie, who are put into a band together with 3 other guys (Niall, Liam, & Louis). She hates him, and maybe he hates her, but things get complicated when they make a secret sex pact.

~~~~~

•• ifall for harry series @freedomfireflies

completed series (from an amazing writer) about famous Harry and YN, who wake up from a drunken night to find out they got married. With Harry's reputation at stake, they try to figure out what the best course of action is, which becomes unclear when feelings get involved

~~~~~

•• mr. & mrs. hey soul sister series @freedomfireflies

completed series about how famous Harry and YN wake up with each other after a very drunk night out, with wedding rings drawn on their fingers. She can't stand him, but they make a deal, keeping Harry's reputation as intact as possible. Which might end up more complicated than she thought.

~~~~~

•• chapters series @writingsfromhome

completed series about non-famous Harry, and a run in with his ex YN, and her son Julian, which brings Harry back into both of their lives, and vice versa. And he is totally okay with that. But the matter of the boy's father still lingers in the air.

~~~~~

•• somebody else series @harrystylescherry

- Harry Styles x Y/N

- Friends with benefits to lovers

~~~~~

•• fine line series @imaginesandbandfiction

- Harry Styles x Tour Assistant Y/N

~~~~~

•• since forever series @satanhalsey

- Harry Styles x Y/N

- Relationship since age 15

[ ONE SHOTS & BLURBS ]

•• 42 hours / pt. 2 @sunflowervolvimp3

- Enemies to lovers

~~~~~

•• sun will rise series @watchmegetobsessed

- College LHH x Reader

~~~~~

•• gonna make you mine @gurugirl

- Mob Boss Harry x Reader

~~~~~

•• a public nuisance @gurugirl

- Coworker Harry x Reader

~~~~~

•• hurt @1d1195

- Harry x Reader

~~~~~

•• so long @harry-smiles

- College Harry x Reader

~~~~~

•• not the same as it was @babyiamperfectforyou

- Husband Harry x Wife Reader

~~~~~

•• just for you @walkingintheheartbreaksatellite

- LHH x Reader

~~~~~

•• harry on a commercial flight @freedomfireflies

- Harry Styles x Reader

~~~~~

•• complicated best friend kiss @freedomfireflies

- Harry x BFF Reader

[ ONGOING SERIES ]

•• since 2010 series @watermelonsugacry

ongoing series (another top fave from my love) about famous Harry and 1D bandmate YN who aren't allowed to have feelings for one another, but they do, unknown to each other until they have a very complicated, on and off again situationship. Amazing song inspos and so much detail!

~~~~~

•• the queen's secret series @gurugirl

ongoing series about royal Harry and Queen YN, who are forced into an arrangement to conceive a baby for YN's husband, the King. But of course, things get complicated quickly, and their secret love puts everything in jeopardy. This is probably the definition of angst and smut combined!

~~~~~

•• you're someone I just want around series @adashofniallandasprinkleoflunacy

ongoing series about vampire Harry who only goes to clubs to satisfy two needs- sex and human blood. He comes across YN and everything about her begins to change everything about him, except his immortality. This isn't as angsty as some of the others but it's so smutty and so good.

~~~~~

•• apologies series @multifandomsw

ongoing series (that I'm obsessed with) about famous Harry and how a fake number from YN's old best friend leads her to him. Well, rather it starts a friendship through text, and she is unaware of who is on the other end of those messages.

~~~~~

•• saccharine series @musicforastylesrestaurant

ongoing series about famous Harry. His wife YN gets into a terrible car accident, causing him to cancel his tour and be left to take care of their young son Alfie. It's super emotional so far so have some tissues nearby, plus a pint of ice cream and maybe a stiff drink.

~~~~~

•• the roommate series @lukesaprince

- College Roommate Harry x Reader

~~~~~

•• the morning after @oh-honey-styles

- Harry x Reader

- Sort of enemies to lovers (?)

~~~~~

•• illicit affairs @goldenbuckyyy

- Harry Styles x YN

- Exes/bffs to lovers (I hope)

~~~~~

•• just how fast the night changes @watchmegetobsessed

- Harry Styles x YN

- Reunion between high school bffs

~~~~~

•• something old @didhewinkback

- Harry Styles x BFF!yn

- BFF to lovers

~~~~~

•• flame @jarofstyles

- Harry x Y/N

- Best friends to lovers

~~~~~

•• blacking out & breaking hearts @dont-call-me-baby-posts

- Harry x Singer Reader

[ INSTAGRAMS & PHOTO BLURBS ]

These are some accounts I love that post awesome Harry Styles Instagram post blurbs. They're very creative with their stories!

@harrysfolklore

@lovecanyon

@pleasingsatelitte

@pancakes4two

@harrysblackcoat

[harrrystyles-writing]

cah, nesse perfil tem algumas histórias formato instagram @imaginesandbandfiction :))

Vou lá dar uma olhada meu amor!!! Muito obrigada pela indicação ♥️

[imaginesandbandfiction]

Second Chances

Pairing: Cassian x Reader

Masterlist

A/N: This is part 2 of Second Choices! Part 3 will be a shamelessly smutty epilogue so click here to be added to the taglist to be notified when that's live!

Warnings: Drinking, little bit of angst/alludes to a history of abuse

Rhysand returned from Windhaven just in time for dinner, rested and refreshed after a long weekend holed up in his mother’s cottage with the male he’d been casually seeing for the past few months. In addition to being pretty, Austris had a wicked tongue that kept Rhys thoroughly distracted. 

It was three days of pure bliss; of forgetting about his duties and giving into every whim and desire that struck him without thought. While he dreaded returning to work and his responsibilities, the thought of spending the evening catching up with his family put a little bounce in his step as he landed outside the House of Wind. 

The outdoor dining table was set, silver trays piled high with juicy, slow-cooked meats, a rainbow of roasted vegetables, and potatoes whose garlic-and-rosemary glaze wafted in the early evening breeze. Fae lights floated above, illuminating the feast in a soft glow. Behind it all, he saw his family sprawled out on the lounge chairs. Judging by the scattered bottles littering the ground around them, he had lots of catching up to do.  

He took one step and then Mor jumped up, waving her wine glass towards him. 

“Rhys is back!” She exclaimed, nearly tripping over her own feet as she rushed towards him. “Time to eat!” Her voice was suspiciously loud, though he supposed that happened when one drank too much on an empty stomach. 

He chuckled and accepted the one-armed hug she offered. 

“Good to see you too, cousin,” he said, guiding her towards the table. “You must be really hungry.” 

Amren stalked past, face pinched in a scowl. 

“You have no idea,” she grumbled as she plopped down in a chair. She reached for an unopened bottle of red wine and uncorked it with her teeth, filling her goblet to the brim. 

Rhys’ eyebrows skyrocketed towards his hairline, turning to throw a questioning look at Az and Cas as they made their way to the table. The Shadowsinger’s face was impenetrable, as usual, but in three centuries of friendship Rhys had never seen Cassian look so pitiful. His wings drooped dangerously close to brushing against the ground, and his hair was a loose, tangled mess that hung over his face. Beneath it, shadows lined bloodshot eyes that were cast downward, lacking their usual spark of mischief.  

Azriel shook his head as he passed; the movement was barely more than a twitch but Rhys got the meaning loud and clear. He took his seat and poured himself a hefty glass of wine; he had a feeling he was going to need it. 

Everyone settled at the table, refilling drinks and piling food onto their plates, yet there was a gaping hole between Mor and Cas where you should have been. 

“Where’s Y/N?” He asked, not thinking much of your absence although he was disappointed that he wouldn’t get to catch up with you before it was back to business as usual the next morning. 

Suddenly, everyone stilled with their forks and goblets held aloft. It was too quiet. Panic jolted his heart into a sprint as he took in the frozen faces of his Inner Circle looking like children caught sneaking sweets before supper. 

Finally, Amren spoke, glaring at Cas as she spat, “Ask Cassian.” 

The Lord of Bloodshed glared at her and pushed away from the table, chair clattering to the ground behind him. 

“I’m eating in my room,” he snarled, stabbing the fattest, rarest steak with his fork and plopping it on top of the vegetables piled on his plate. 

“Cauldron boil me, I leave you alone for three days,” Rhys muttered, downing his wine in one long gulp. 

—

Earlier that day, Amren had stopped by your room and offered to skip dinner with you, but you were looking forward to a quiet evening in the library. Alone. After storming out on Cassian, your two best (female) friends had spent the night in your room with you, drinking straight from the bottle of Illyrian moonshine you’d pilfered from Rhys’ secret stash until you passed out in a tangled mess of limbs and hair somewhere between midnight and dawn. 

They’d only agreed to leave when you threatened to show Rhys the memory of them breaking into his room using only a hairpin the night before. And even then, every two hours or so you’d get a knock and a quiet “Just checking in!” from one or the other. You suspected they drew up a schedule, and though you were grateful to have such caring friends, what you really needed was peace and quiet. 

It was hard to wrap your head around just how much things had changed within a span of twenty-four hours. But curled up amongst the stacks of old books in a plush armchair tucked away in a little alcove, you finally managed to admit to yourself that you could have handled things better. After all, you were the one that made this mess for yourself—you should have known better than to shit-talk Cassian’s girlfriend—and instead of apologizing, you’d fucked things up even further. 

With a sigh, you cracked open the stiff leather cover of your journal and flipped to a blank page, letting your pencil hover above it. Not one to pay too much attention to emotions and feelings, the little book hadn’t gotten much use in the nearly two centuries since Rhysand had gifted it to you. 

But when your brain was twisted into too many knots that not even a night of drinking with your friends could untangle, the only thing that seemed to help was spilling your guts onto paper. Seeing your thoughts laid out in graphite helped you make sense of them, so you pressed down the tip of your pencil and forced your hand to move. 

Cassian is my mate. He’s my mate and I fucked everything up and he probably wants nothing to do with me. 

I’ve been trying to ignore it, to push down these stupid feelings. I thought it was just the bond trying to force me into something more with someone who was supposed to be my best friend. Just a friend. 

But if I’m being completely honest, I think I’ve always been a little bit in love with him. After all, you don’t sleep with someone on and off for half a century if there isn’t at least some baseline of attraction. 

I don’t know, I guess I just always assumed that since my father didn’t want me and my mother only wanted me for the child support check, well, no one would ever want me. Not forever; not as a wife and definitely not as a mate. 

I’m too damaged for anyone. 

Too damaged for Cassian. 

Having him as a friend forever was more important than trying for more. It was too big of a risk, and I couldn’t lose him. Couldn’t lose my family, not when I finally got one that stuck around. 

I could sleep with him, though. It was transactional; a mutual itch-scratching made purposefully hazy by Mirthroot and alcohol. In those stolen moments, I could pretend I was someone else. Someone worth keeping. 

Mor thinks I’m insane for keeping the bond to myself for so long, but we were fucking regularly enough to take the edge off and, well. I learned to grit my teeth and take it on the chin before I got my first cycle. 

I’m good at pushing things down, at pretending to be okay. Even if he does want me, I don’t know if I can handle it. That deep, emotional intimacy without anywhere to hide. 

Your hand flew across the page as words poured out of the deepest, darkest parts of you. The things you kept hidden from everyone, including yourself. Tears swelled in the corners of your eyes which stung from the effort it took to keep them from falling. 

And then you felt a gentle knock against your mental shields. Rhys must be back. You peel them back just enough to let his voice in. 

Y/N? Can I come down and say hi to my favorite sister? 

I’m your only sister, motherfucker. I better be your favorite. 

He waited, a soft breath of a presence within your mind, swirling winds of calm smoothing out the edges of the turbulent waves crashing around in there. 

Even though, normally, you’d rather die than let anyone see you like this, you agreed. 

Fine. But only because I missed you, you stupid bat. 

Love you too, sis. 

You closed the journal and tucked it beneath one thigh, adjusting the blanket you’d brought down with you so it’s fully covering the little book. It didn’t take long before you heard his light footsteps descending the stairs. Using the back of your hand, you wiped away the lingering moisture in your eyes and then straightened in your seat. 

“Skipping my welcome home dinner?” He asked as he approached your little reading nook, a lazy grin and raised eyebrows painted on his face. 

You scoffed, careful to keep your journal hidden as you stood up to throw yourself into his open, waiting arms. His wings closed around the two of you and you’re grateful for the extra pressure against your back. 

“I missed you too,” he muttered into your hair, pulling your face tight to his chest. 

The two of you stood there for a long time; Rhys could always sense when you needed something steady to hold onto. He claims it started before he even knew he had a sister, that sometimes late at night he could hear muffled sobs echoing in the back of his mind. That a gaunt little girl trapped under the mountain haunted his dreams for years before he was allowed to visit.

His father made sure he stayed away. 

But as Rhys settled into his powers and got full control of them, he was able to establish a stable connection. It took a while before you trusted him; after all, you grew up with your mother telling you that the High Lord and his heir despised you. 

Your sire, as Mother called him, had thrown her under the Mountain as soon as he found out she was pregnant. Set her up with a place to stay and not much else; you had a new stepfather every few years, and each one was worse than the last. The Black Widow, they called her, as her husbands had a habit of dying in unfortunate accidents. 

As adults, you and Rhys were closer than most siblings, even those that grew up together. Unfortunately, that meant you had no choice but to get your shit together because running away was not an option. 

“Wanna tell me why my General looks like a kicked puppy?” Rhys murmured into your hair. You felt the bond clench, tugging on your heart, and groan against your brother’s chest. 

He ran a comforting hand up and down your back and you signed, knowing that you wouldn’t be able to keep what happened a secret for much longer, what with all the meddling busybodies you surrounded yourself with.

“We fought,” you muttered. “I’ve been avoiding him ever since.” 

“And what, pray tell, did you fight about?” 

You lifted your head, eyes glistening in the low candlelight as you blinked up at your brother. Heaving a sigh, you tell him everything that happened while he was gone. As soon as you opened your mouth, the words spilled out of you like they’d been waiting for the opportunity to escape. 

Rhys had to stifle a chuckle when you finished your story because he loved you, but Mother above, you could be so stupid sometimes. 

“Oh, Y/N,” he sighed, tugging you closer. He rested his chin on the top of your head and tugged on the ends of your hair with one hand. 

You batted it away, groaning again. 

“Listen, I’m not going to tell you what to do because I know you hate that,” he started, negating your protests before they had a chance to form. “But I think you need to talk to him. Unless you plan on avoiding him for the rest of your life, you’re going to need to work things out one way or another.” 

“I could defect to another Court, I hear Summer’s wonderful this time of year.” Rhys shoved you towards the front of the library, ruffling your hair. 

“Talk to him, you insufferable brat.” 

—

It was surprisingly easy to find Cassian. He nearly knocked you over with the force of his pacing as you rounded the corner into the hallway leading to the kitchen and dining room. 

“Oh, Y/N, hi,” he said, one arm bending to scratch the back of his neck. You could just barely make out a hint of red on the apples of his cheeks, though his tanned skin does a good job of trying to hide it. 

“Hey, Cassie,” you said. His name came out breathier than you intended. “I, uh, wanted to apologize.” Cas was quiet, clearly ready to let you say what you needed to say. He leaned against the wall, nodding at you to keep going. After a deep breath, you did. “I’m sorry for being so rude and dramatic. The bond snapped for me a while ago, and I let the pent-up jealousy and bitterness get to me. That wasn’t fair to you, and I’ll try to be better about keeping my thoughts to myself in the future. Just because we’re bonded doesn’t mean you’re obligated to be with me. Whatever you choose, I’ll respect your decision, I promise.” 

He smirked, pushed away from the wall, and disappeared into the kitchen, leaving you standing there alone and confused. 

A minute later, he was back with a giant cookie clutched in one hand; your favorite. It was a little burnt around the edges, but smells perfect. He closed the distance between the two of you in three long strides, wrapping his free arm around your waist. 

“It’s you, it’s always been you, Y/N,” he breathed, leaning in until his lips hovered over yours for a few long, deliciously agonizing seconds before he pushed forward and captured them in a searing kiss.  

You respond, startled but thrilled, and get lost in each other. He pulls away and holds the cookie to your lips, and you almost bite into it before remembering where you are then take a step back with your cheeks oozing heat, pushing his hand down to his ease the temptation rising from your core, into your chest, and up your throat. After four years of lying dormant, the bond threatened to take control of your body. 

“We should probably go somewhere a bit more.. private,” you say, wrinkling your nose at the thought of someone, Mother forbid your brother, interrupting the frenzy. 

Cassian growled. Going to the cottage, he said to Rhys, melting his mental shields down just enough to let the message flow between their minds. 

Does this mean..? Rhys’s response is hesitant but hopeful.  

Yes, Cassian’s response is gruff. Keep everyone away. I reserve the right to tear any intruders limb from limb. 

He shut the connection, cutting Rhys off mid-cackle. His threat was genuine. Even just the idea of the frenzy has him boiling through his skin. 

Cas scooped you into his arms and took off running down the hallway. As soon as you burst through the back door, he pushed off and then you were soaring through the sky towards Windhaven. 

Towards your future with your mate.

Taglist: @esahintzkanen @loving-and-dreaming @lisanna2000 @jollyflowerkitty @graciepies @evergreenlark @Maewritez @aurorab99 @pescipiccanti @elissanatok @vanserrasimp @mich0731 @juniperberriesaries @sandramalikstyles @ivy-34 @thecraziestcrayon @pey2618

[imaginesandbandfiction]

Bejeweled — JJ Maybank

An Outer Banks Imagine

Pairing: JJ Maybank x Reader

Word Count: 2.2k

Summary: After mourning the end of a two-and-a-half-year relationship, you're finally ready to get back out there. You get more than you bargained for with some guy.

Warnings: Underage drinking, brief mention of cheating

A/N: I started this wayyyy back in the fall when Midnights was first released and have just now gotten around to finishing it. I hope you like this silly little Taylor Swift-inspired fic!

Masterlist

You pat silver glitter on your eyelids, careful to keep it contained to below your crease, but it seems like your best friend doesn’t care about that because she jumps off of your bed and launches herself forward, wrapping her arms around your neck and squealing. The force of her hug makes you wobble, almost falling out of your chair. 

“Sarah!” You shriek, “You’re going to make me mess it up!”

“Sorry! I’m just so excited that you’re finally coming out again,” she gushes, pressing a kiss to the side of your head before loosening her grip so she’s just standing behind you with her arms on your shoulders, looking at you through your reflections in your vanity mirror. “We should do a shot before we go.”

“I’ve got a bottle of Grey Goose under my bed. Just let me finish this quick.” You shove her off in the direction of your bed and wrap up your makeup with some lip gloss and a spritz of setting spray. When you turn around, Sarah has a solo cup in each hand and when you take yours, you see she’s poured double shots. After downing it and chasing it with a swig from the open bottle of wine you’ve been sipping on while getting ready, you and Sarah head out for the night. 

Sarah’s boyfriend is waiting for you in the driveway, his beat-up old VW van in blatant contrast to the white brick mansion and manicured grounds surrounding it. You’ve met John B a few times, mostly in passing at parties, and once or twice at Sarah’s before everything fell apart and you had to avoid her house like the plague. But it’s been four months, and despite your underlying anxiety about seeing Rafe again, you’re excited to get drunk somewhere other than your bedroom again. 

Sarah climbs into the passenger side and leans over to give John B a quick kiss and you duck into the back, rolling your eyes at your lovesick friend. Despite the fact that they’ve been together for over a year, they’re still in the honeymoon phase and showing no signs of that stopping.

You’re not jealous - you’re not - but it does suck to be the single person in the backseat, watching your best friend lit up with love. It doesn’t help that your ex is her brother, who you had dated for two and a half years before finding out that he had cheated on you. It was a horrible, messy breakup, made even messier because Sarah got caught in the middle. 

It’s not the first party you’ve been to since the breakup (that honor goes to the one and only house party you had attempted to attend a month and a half ago before leaving after forty five minutes), but it is the first boneyard party since the breakup and that’s on a whole different level. The beach is sure to be so packed, you’ll have your pick of tourons to dance with. Maybe it’ll make Rafe jealous, or at the very least, it will help you get over him. 

Sure enough, the party is in full swing when John B pulls up to the beach. The loud, thumping music rattles his old car and you’re glad to be able to scramble out of it before the bass drops and increases the intensity of the shaking. John B leads the two of you over to the keg and pours you both a beer. 

“Thank you, sir,” you say, giving him a mock salute as he hands over the plastic cup. He just laughs and shakes his head at you, wrapping his arm around Sarah to pull her into his side. 

“I’m glad you came out with us, Y/N,” he says, voice full of sincerity. It melts your heart a little bit, because he’s just such a good guy. You’re happy for Sarah, and it dulls the sting of your own unfortunate romantic life a bit.

“Me too!” Sarah squeals, reaching out to squeeze your free hand with her own. Before you can respond, someone calls John B’s name, so you follow him and Sarah across the beach to where a campfire is set up. 

It turns out to be JJ Maybank who had called for him, sitting by the fire with Kiara Carrera and Pope Heyward. JJ stands up when he sees the three of you approaching and walks around the fire.

“Hey, man,” John B says, greeting him with that smooth high-five-fistbump combo that all boys seem to love.

“Hey, JB,” JJ says. He wraps an arm around Sarah, pulling her in for a side hug. “Sarah.”

“This is…” John B starts, gesturing towards you, but JJ puts up a hand to cut him off. In his other hand is a lit joint, which he takes a quick hit of before speaking.

“Y/N Y/L/N, I remember.” He slides his aviators down his nose and peers over the rims at you with a small smirk on his lips.

“Maybank,” you say, nodding at him. You had only met JJ once or twice in passing, but he was always nice enough. To you, at least. 

“Y’know, you’ve got this, like, aura around you. It’s like… moonstone.” He takes another hit of the joint, dropping his gaze down your body and then back up to your face.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You’re, like, shimmery.” A laugh escapes your lips, bubbling out of you like an overflowing glass of champagne. 

“Okay, buddy, I think you’ve had enough of that.” You reach over to pluck the joint out from between his fingers, raising it to your lips. Smoke fills your lungs and you inhale until it starts to burn a bit and then push it out in a steady stream. JJ’s eyebrows raise in a mixture of shock and appreciation when you repeat the action two more times. Then you feel a hand on your shoulder and turn around to find Sarah standing right behind you.

“We’re gonna go dance,” she says, raising her voice so you can hear her over the music. “You gonna be okay here?”

“Yeah, I’m good!” You assure her, glancing back at JJ out of the corner of your eyes. 

When you turn back towards the fire, Pope and Kiara have disappeared, leaving you and JJ alone. You try not to read into that too much, but it’s hard because he’s a notorious womanizer. He’s also really fucking hot, in his backwards hat and cut-off Kildare Marina t-shirt, grinning at you with the flickering light from the fire dancing across his face, so you decide to say fuck it and give it a shot, even if it’s only for tonight. 

“Wanna sit?” he asks, gesturing towards one of the logs of driftwood situated around the fire. You nod and plop down next to him, giving the joint back. He takes another hit and then turns to look at you. 

“What?” You ask through nervous laughter as something that feels like butterflies flutters in your stomach. It’s been a long time since you’ve felt the type of giddy excitement that comes from a burgeoning crush, and it feels as good as it is scary. 

“You’re pretty.” You roll your eyes at that pitiful excuse for a pick up line and take the joint back, turning to stare into the fire. He just shrugs. 

“What? It’s true. I’ve always thought so.” He’s not teasing, just stating a fact, and it shocks you so much that you nearly drop the joint. Thankfully, he has quick reflexes and is able to catch your wrist in his hand before it can fall completely. 

It’s almost gone, so the two of you pass it back and forth until it dwindles down to nearly nothing, sharing a companionable silence and soft, secret smiles. Then JJ tosses the roach into the fire and gets up, moving to stand in front of you. 

“Dance with me?” He asks with a flicker of mischief behind his eyes, holding his hand out to you. You make him sweat for a few seconds, biting your lip to keep yourself from grinning, then nod and take his hand, allowing him to pull you up and lead you over to the makeshift dance floor. 

You’re really starting to feel the impact of the weed, inhibitions lowering just enough to dull your senses to the outside world, and you let yourself sink into the pure, hedonistic pleasure of it. The feeling of the bass thumping deep in your chest, the slight press of JJ’s fingers against your hips as you move together in time to the music, the sticky, salty air that lays heavy around you. 

Time passes, though you’re not sure how much, and the more you dance together, the bolder it makes you. At some point, you spin around so your back is to JJ and grind up against him. One of his arms wraps around your waist, pulling you tight to him, and he uses the other to brush your hair off your shoulders, dropping his head down to rest his chin in the dip of your exposed collarbone. Your eyes flutter shut and you let your weight sink back into his chest a bit. It’s broad and warm, and you feel safe, tucked against a boy you barely know in the middle of a sweaty crowd full of your peers, some of whom have been flashing confused looks your way all night. 

You don’t care, though, because for once, your brain isn’t running on a constant loop of intrusive thoughts about Rafe Cameron and Bella fucking Bond. That is, of course, until the crowd parts in front of you, revealing Rafe flanked by Topper and Kelce. You take a tiny, half-step back, leaning into JJ for support. JJ’s arm tightens around your waist and he wraps his other one around your shoulders protectively. As the three Kook boys get closer, you realize that Rafe’s wearing the vintage Air Jordans you bought him for his last birthday, and you roll your eyes at his audacity to show up and accost you wearing shoes you gave him as a present.

“Hey, Y/N,” Rafe says, lips curled up in his trademark half-sneer, half-smirk. “I see your standards have lowered.” 

“Just following your example,” you tell him, shrugging as much as you can with JJ’s arms around your shoulders. 

“You’re making a big mistake, Y/N, one you won’t be able to come back from.” Rafe’s eyes are dark and his voice is low and gravely in warning. 

“Hmmm. I don’t think I am. You can try to change my mind, but you gotta wait in line. My dance card’s full at the moment.” With that, you turn around in JJ’s arms so you’re facing him and press your lips to his. It’s a quick, forceful peck that you hope conveys yes I’m doing this to mess with Rafe but I also want to really kiss you so please just go along with it. You feel him smirk against your lips and your whole body relaxes, knowing that he’s on the same page. 

When you turn around to look at Rafe, he’s spluttering, looking from you to Topper with wide eyes. You wink at him and push against JJ’s shoulders in a silent request to leave the dance floor. His arms slide down your body and he captures one of your hands in his, lacing your fingers together. 

Without a word, the two of you leave the dance floor, ignoring the fact that everyone’s eyes are following you as you cross the beach. Your heart rate skyrockets as adrenaline pumps through your veins, adding to your high. You feel powerful, unstoppable, and when you’re far enough away from everybody else, a laugh escapes your lips. 

“What’s so funny?” JJ asks, turning his head to raise his eyebrows at you.

You launch yourself into his arms and reconnect your lips, pouring your answer into the kiss. He stumbles back a few steps but then regains his balance and pulls you against him, arms tightening around your waist. After a few dizzying, breathless minutes, you pull back just enough to be able to take a deep breath. JJ’s eyes flutter open, diamonds shining behind his blue irises. He surges forward, recapturing your lips for a moment before trailing his own down your jawline.

“This okay?” He murmurs against your pulse point.

“Better than okay,” you breathe, tilting your head back slightly to give him better access. 

“Better than okay?” He pauses for a second, lips hovering above the sensitive skin between your collarbone and shoulder. 

“Yeah, it’s…nice.” You feel your cheeks heat up, embarrassed and excited and embarrassed about the excitement. 

“Nice,” he agrees, lifting his head back up so your lips meet again. And it’s not really anything yet, but the first flickers of like burn in your stomach, and for the first time since your breakup there’s something like hope inflating your chest like it’s a balloon.

It’s nice. 

[imaginesandbandfiction]

Live While We're Young — JJ Maybank

An Outer Banks Imagine

Pairing: JJ Maybank x Reader

Word Count: 2.6k

Summary: No phones, your sneaky link, and a party.

Warnings: Underage drinking

A/N: This is inspired by the One Direction song because duh. Just a lil bit of fluff to get you through the next few days before Season 4 is out!!!

Masterlist

It’s Saturday night and your phone has been eerily silent. You thought that JJ would be bugging you nonstop about the party, but he hasn’t sent any messages today. For once, it seems like he’s actually respecting your boundaries (though a part of you secretly loves that he barged his way into your life and continues to shake things up on a daily basis). You check it again (still nothing) and turn back to your chemistry textbook with a sigh. 

It’s 9:04 when a knocking sound coming from your window breaks you out of your concentration. Adrenaline spikes your heart rate, and you grab your Hydroflask from your bedside table before going to check it out. It’s mostly full, so it should be enough to knock out a kidnapper or a burglar should the need arise. 

But when you pull up the shades, it’s just a blond chaos demon wearing a mischievous smirk that makes your knees buckle. As you unlock the window and push it up, you flash him an eye roll, which only makes his smirk grow. You step back to give him room to clamber in, and he slides through with a practiced ease. 

“Hey, princess, sorry I’m late. I parked at the country club and walked over so no one would see,” he says, leaning back against the window. His eyes flicker down your body, taking in your PJ shorts and oversized Kildare Marina t-shirt. “Why aren’t you dressed?”

“I told you, I’m not going,” you answer, crossing your arms across your chest. 

“And I told you that you are.” He takes a big step forward, closing the distance between you. He grabs your wrists and pulls your arms down, swinging them. “C’mon, it’ll be fu-un.” There’s a playful glint in his eyes as he sings the last word, dragging out the ‘u.’

“I’m not stupid, JJ, I know that this party is a glorified orgy. And Rafe Cameron has been bragging about all the drugs he’s bringing for weeks now.”

“Well it just so happens that the party's at John B’s, where I conveniently have my own room. No orgy participation necessary. Unless, of course, you decide you want to join in after all.” You huff out a sigh, rolling your eyes again.

“You wish, Maybank.”

“If you’re really that afraid, I won’t force you to come. I just thought we could have this one night to be normal. Get drunk, pretend we’re in love, ignore that this has been doomed from the start.” His shoulders lift in a slight shrug as if he doesn’t care, but he looks down at you through his eyelashes and you see a hint of wistfulness underneath his carefree expression. You bite down on your lower lip as you make a quick mental pros and cons list. JJ can see the gears turning in your brain and pulls you into his chest, dropping your hands to wrap his arms around your waist instead. 

“Don’t overthink it, just let go for one night. I promise you won’t regret it.” He punctuates his sentence with a kiss, letting his tongue sweep across your bottom lip for just a moment before pulling back. The past month flashes through your mind; a highlight reel of stealing kisses behind the boat house when he’s supposed to be mowing the lawn, sneaking out to meet him at the bluffs in the middle of the night, and hooking up in the back of the Twinkie. 

It’s hard to see a future with this boy from the wrong side of the island, but there’s a part of you that longs for it. To be sucked fully into his wild vortex of a life. You let out a defeated sigh. If you don’t seize this moment, you may never get the chance to see if JJ can be more than just a summer fling. 

“Fine, just give me ten minutes and I’ll meet you at the club,” you say. His face breaks into a grin and he leans in to press a quick peck to your cheek and then he’s gone in a flash. 

“I’m gonna go before you change your mind. See you in ten minutes!” He calls over his shoulder as he climbs back out into the flat part of the roof over the garage. 

You shake your head and chuckle to yourself as you throw some clothes into your backpack. On your way out of your room, you grab your laptop and a textbook to strengthen your alibi. 

“I’m going to sleep over at Sarah’s, we’ve got a big chem test next week that we need to study for,” you tell your parents as you pass the living room. You don’t stick around to hear their response and let yourself out the front door. 

The country club is a short walk away, and the Twinkie is the only car in the lot. JJ is leaning against it, scrolling absentmindedly through his phone while he waits. As you get closer, your footsteps get louder, and he looks up at you with a smile. 

“Hang on, I just gotta change quick,” you say as you keep walking, past him and around the car until you’re mostly hidden from his view. “Don’t look.”

“It’s nothing I haven’t seen before,” he snorts. 

“We’re pretending to be in love tonight, right? That means you’re a respectful boyfriend.” You slip off your comfy clothes and into your party attire as fast as you can, wanting to get out of Figure 8 as soon as possible. 

“I never said anything about being respectful.”

Even though he can’t see your face, you roll your eyes as you get into the car. 

“A girl can dream,” you let out a fake-dramatic sigh and cross your arms as he slides in next to you. 

“Look at us, fighting like a couple already.” 

“If we were a real couple, how would you make up with me?” You ask, looking over at him with a sly smirk. 

“I’d say, c’mon, babe, don’t be like that,” he raises his voice an octave, making it sound whiny. Hearing him call you ‘babe,’ even jokingly, sends blood rushing to your core. “Then, I’d grab your hand like this,” he pulls on your left hand, carefully releasing it from where it is still crossed in front of your chest, then laces his fingers with yours. His thumb rubs slow circles against the sensitive skin on the back of your hand and your breath hitches in your throat. 

“Wow, Maybank, I’m impressed,” you say, forcing through your breathlessness to continue with the joke. “Maybe there’s secretly a rom-com heartthrob hiding beneath that whole fuckboy thing you’ve got going on.” You use your joined hands to gesture vaguely over at him, and he chuckles. 

“Nah, I’ve just seen enough movies to be able to fake it.” Your laugh is loud and wild, and with your head thrown back you don’t notice the way JJ’s eyes sparkle as he looks over at you. 

JJ pulls up in front of John B’s house, where the yard is already packed with people. Kiara and Pope are sitting in lawn chairs on the driveway next to a giant storage bin. When you reach over to open the passenger door, JJ grabs your arm and mutters “Wait.” You let your hand drop into your lap and watch as he jogs around the front of the car. In the distance behind him, his two friends share a confused look. He opens your door and holds a hand out to you, dropping his head in a mock-bow that probably looks real to everyone else who can’t see the goofy grin on his face. With another eye roll, you take his hand and let him help you out of the car. While you walk across the driveway, he keeps a firm hold on your hand and gently swings your arm with his own, which makes you laugh again. 

When you stop in front of Kie and Pope, their eyebrows furrow in tandem.

“Y/N?” Kie asks, shaking her head slightly as she looks back and forth between you and JJ. The two of you had been friends as kids, before she started pulling away from everything and everyone on Figure 8. 

“Dude, when you said you were bringing the girl you were hooking up with we thought she’d be a touron,” Pope says, looking over at you with an amused smile. 

A few heads turn at the sight of you and JJ holding hands as you battle your way through the crowd to the keg, but no one says anything. They’d be hypocrites if they did, since most of them are dancing with people they’d never be caught dead with on a normal day. 

John B’s up by the keg with your best friend Sarah, which is really the only normal thing about this party. She flashes you a knowing smile as John B claps a hand on JJ’s shoulder, whispering something that makes JJ smirk, before handing you each a plastic solo cup. You hold it up for JJ to ‘cheers’ before you take your first sip. The cheap beer leaves a bitter taste in the back of your throat which makes you wrinkle your nose. He takes a long swig from his own cup and then leans in so his mouth is next to your ear. 

“If we were really dating, I’d tell you that we have other drinks inside,” he yells over the loud music. 

“If we were really dating, I’d make you get me a vodka lemonade,” you shout back, batting your eyelashes at him as 

He leads you into the house, which he has to unlock and then relock behind you so no one sneaks in to use the beds (or the couch, or the floor…) for their fatherless behavior. 

While he digs around under the sink for the bottle, you hoist yourself up onto the counter next to him, letting your legs swing as you wait. When he’s finished making your drink, he steps up to the counter, nudging your legs to the side so he can wedge his hips between them. You reach for the glass but he pulls it out of your reach. 

“If you were really my girlfriend, I’d make you trade me a kiss for your drink,” he teases, raising his eyebrows as if to challenge you. 

“If you were really my boyfriend, I’d kiss you like this,” you whisper as you grab a fistful of his t-shirt and pull him in. You slide your lips against his in slow, languid strokes, letting your tongue flick against his bottom lip every few seconds but pulling it back before he can suck it fully into his mouth like you know he wants to. 

“If you were really my girlfriend, I’d take you back to my room and fuck you so hard that everyone at the party would know about us,” he mutters against your lips. As much as you like that idea, you actually do want to dance.

“Well, if you were really my boyfriend, I’d make you go back outside and dance with me first.” With both hands, you push against his chest to get him to take a step back and slide off the counter into the now-open space. After giving him a quick peck, you pluck the glass from his hand and strut back outside. You don’t need to turn around to know that he’s following, eager to have his hands all over you again. 

By the time you shove your way to the middle of the makeshift dance floor, your drink is half-empty and you feel the alcohol going straight to your head, blurring the edges of your thoughts and making your brain feel lighter. Finally, you turn around to face JJ and flash him a cheeky, vodka-soaked smile as you start to sway your hips to the beat of the music. He’s still for a moment, watching you through eyes heavy with lust, and then he’s there, right in front of you with his free hand gripping your hip. 

Bravery surges through your veins, aided by the alcohol and the relative safety of a phoneless party, and you slip one of your legs between JJ’s. You can feel him hardening against your thigh and lean into it, pressing your hips forward until they’re flush with his. He leans in to press hot, open-mouthed kisses against your neck, eliciting a soft moan from your lips. 

Despite your closeness, the two of you are surprisingly PG compared to the crowd around you. Out of the corner of your eye, you see Topper Thornton with one hand on Shelby Moore’s tits while the other is lost underneath her dress, two guys taking turns making out with the same girl, and at least three topless girls. So you don’t feel bad about tangling your hands in his blond hair, pulling his head up until it’s level with yours, and crashing your lips against his. 

As the alcohol continues to flow, your game of make-believe descends into madness. When the party starts looking more like an orgy, the two of you decide to take a walk along the beach to try and sober up a little bit. The cool, salt-infused air is a refreshing change from the sweaty mess of bodies you had spent most of the night in, and you close your eyes and take a deep breath, letting it cleanse your sins. 

“If I was your boyfriend I’d tackle you into the water right now,” JJ says from just behind you. He’s got one arm around your waist and his chin is resting on your shoulder. You open one eye and turn your head to the side to frown at him. 

“If I was your girlfriend, I’d kick you in the balls,” you shoot back. 

“Well then I’d kick you in the… boobs.” It takes him a second to figure out where to kick you for the same effect, and you burst out laughing when he finally finishes his sentence. “Hey! It’s not funny. Girls don’t really have anything equivalent to balls.” 

“Equivalent? That’s a big word. JJ Maybank, have you been studying?” 

“Fuck off,” he mumbles, burying his face in your neck. It feels hot against your skin and you twist in his arms so you’re facing him. 

“Oh my God, you have been! It’s a Christmas miracle!” You exclaim, amusement lifting your voice up an octave. 

“It’s not a big deal, Pope’s just been helping me with some stuff.” 

“Not for most people, but for the guy who said he’d rather die than open a textbook, it seems like a pretty big deal.”

“Well, I’d rather not spend the rest of my life in high school, so I thought I should at least try to get my shit together.” He shrugs, trying to look nonchalant, but you know he’s still a little embarrassed because he won’t make eye contact with you. 

You reach up to brush his hair off his forehead, locking your gaze with his. 

“If I was your girlfriend, I’d be proud of you,” you whisper. The words hang suspended in the space between you and suddenly it doesn’t feel like a game anymore. JJ’s eyes flicker down to your lips and back up to your eyes. They’re filled with a softness you’ve never seen before and when he leans in to kiss you, it’s slow and sweet. 

It’s not much, just a soft brushing of lips, but it feels like a possibility. You lean into it, into him, taking a leap of faith. After all, you gotta live while you’re young, right?

[imaginesandbandfiction]

Story of Our Life

A Harry Styles Imagine

Pairing: Harry Styles x Reader

Word Count: 4.1k

Warnings: None

A/N: This is something a little different that was inspired by a dream I had where I was singing Story of My Life with 1D in a car... Also, I made some cover art on procreate plz don't judge my mediocre art skills lmao. Hope you like it!!!!!

Masterlist

Excerpts from

STORY OF OUR LIFE

by 

Y/N Styles

To Louis, the best chauffeur I’ve ever had.

To Liam, who keeps us all sane. Steady on, mate.

To Zayn, who always offers a shoulder to cry on (and a cigarette).

To Niall, the king of late-night chats (and snacks).

To Harry, for everything, forever.

Introduction by Harry Styles

Before she was my wife, Y/N Styles was Y/N Y/L/N. We met in 2011, six months before we would be setting out on the Up All Night tour. Even though I had been on TV, in recording studios, and performed live on the X Factor Live Tour 2011, I was still just a shy kid from Holmes Chapel who couldn’t quite believe his luck. I think I spent that whole year in a state of disbelief, afraid that at any moment, someone would tell me that it was all a joke and I wasn’t very good at singing, actually. Every time I took a shower, I half-expected Ashton Kutcher to jump out at me from behind the shower curtain. Y/N, on the other hand, walked into the conference room at Columbia Records, sat down at the head of the table, folded her arms across her chest, and asked us each, individually, if we had read Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows and, if so, how did we feel about it? Immediately, I knew that this girl was going to be someone special.

Her dad, Greg Y/L/N, was going to be our tour manager. When it was time for the label to put a team together, he was at the top of the list: a goofy dad with a daughter around our age who had toured with some of the biggest musicians of the 90s. He was the perfect choice for a bunch of kids who didn’t really know what they were doing: industry experience to make sure the day-to-day operations went smoothly, and the paternal instinct to protect us as best he could (we called him Papa Bear, which he pretended to hate, but we all knew he secretly loved it). 

We grew up together, spent months on end traveling the world, learning algebra on private planes and sneaking out of hotel rooms to wander foreign cities in the middle of the night. Fast forward to today. While Y/N was pregnant with Willa, our second child, she spent the whole third trimester on bed rest. Eventually, she got so bored that she scrolled all the way back on iCloud. Our older daughter, Hazel, was fascinated by the pictures of me and the band, and Y/N spent hours recounting our days on tour. I told her that she should write a book, but she refused at first. We have enough money, she said. People will think I’m making a cash grab. I told her that was bollocks, but if she really felt that way, she could donate all the profits to charity. It’s perfect, really, I said. The 20-year anniversary of One Direction is coming up, and it would be cool to give the fans a peek behind the scenes. Really, there’s no one better than you, darling, because you know the real us. She agreed, but only if all five of us were okay with it, and if all of the proceeds could go to The Trevor Project. So really, it’s actually me you should be thanking for convincing her to do this in the first place.

Anyways, here it is. The Story of Our Life: Growing Up With the World’s Biggest Boy Band, written by my amazing wife, Y/N Styles. 

Chapter 5

Out of all the One Direction boys, Louis was the first one to get his driver's license in America. He spent the few months leading up to the Where We Are tour with his girlfriend in California, and wanted to buy a fancy car to drive her around in. Hence, the license. So, when the tour made its way to North America, he somehow managed to convince my dad and the security team to let him drive us from the hotel to the venue a few times. Of course, the windows were tinted (and we were not allowed to open them), we were surrounded by a security detail, and there was always a bodyguard in the backseat, but it didn’t matter. 

On the night of the second show in Detroit, we all piled into a tricked-out Toyota Sienna, the best minivan on the market in 2011. Louis and Liam sat up front, I was squished between Harry and Niall in the middle, and Zayn and the bodyguard sat in the way back. We had the radio blasting and were singing along to some absolute bangers, like Party Rock Anthem and Super Bass, when the first few notes of Story of My Life started playing. Louis groaned and reached over to change the station, but I leaned forwards and slapped his hand out of the way before he could, turning the volume up a few notches. 

“Written in these walls are the stories that I can’t explain,” I sang along with Harry’s voice, turning to look at him with a mischievous smirk. He was mouthing along but bit his lip as soon as I caught him. Liam piped up with his part and I shook my head, laughing. 

“Do you guys seriously only ever sing your parts?” I asked. Next to me, I felt Niall shrug. 

“Feels wrong to sing someone else’s, even off stage,” he said, before chiming in on the background vocals as Zayn jumped in on his part. 

“Well, you should do it anyway, just for fun.” Liam turns around and lifts his eyebrows in a silent challenge. Harry and Niall jumped in, and soon we were all belting out the words to every part.

When the final chorus came up, I turned to rest my head on Harry’s shoulder, singing his part back to him. He was usually the shameless one, but his cheeks were tinted pink and he stopped singing for a few seconds. His green eyes were wide, but they never once left my own. I felt his chest rise and fall in a deep, steadying breath before he began singing again. 

From that moment on, Story of My Life was our song. Every time they performed it, he turned towards the side of the stage during the last chorus, where I sang along. On the rare occasions that I sat in the audience, his eyes always managed to find mine. We sang lines to each other all the time. Our favorite thing to do, much to everyone else’s dismay, was yell Zayn’s pre-chorus to each other from across a room. 

“And I’ll be gone, gone, tonight,” one of us would start. 

“The ground beneath my feet is open wide,” the other would respond. 

“The way that I’ve been holding on too tight,” the first person would say, before we both shouted, “With nothing in betweeeeeeeen!” That line was always the loudest, and we always dragged out the last syllable until we couldn’t breathe anymore. 

Chapter 9

When Harry’s solo album dropped, I was in class, taking my Algebra 101 final. My test-taking nerves were multiplied tenfold by the fact that I knew people were listening to it right now, and I wasn’t. We had kept in touch after One Direction broke up, mostly over text but occasionally, when he was in LA, he came to my house to have dinner with me and my Grandma (and Dad, if he was home).

I listened to it all the way through on the drive back home to Pasadena after I finished my exam, and as soon as I pulled into the driveway, I texted him. 

I signed up for a presale code, and refreshed my laptop continuously for five straight minutes in order to get tickets for his LA show. Harry was furious with me. When I texted him that I was officially coming to the show, he called me in the middle of a meeting with his tour team to yell at me. Something along the lines of, “I put you on the VIP list, you dumbass! And invites to the afterparty were just sent out yesterday!”

To be fair, I just wanted to support my friend, and to this day I still feel uncomfortable asking for free tickets from anyone when I have the means to pay for them. I think it’s all the guilt from five years of attending One Direction concerts for free. But anyways, that next fall, I found myself backstage at the Greek Theater with a VIP badge around my neck, feeling intense deja vu as security led me to Harry’s dressing room. 

“Y/N!” He yelled as soon as the door opened. I had no time to react; I was nearly knocked over by the force of his hug. His mom and sister were there, too, and I was passed around for more hugs before settling next to Harry on the couch. 

“So, how’s it going? How’s school?” he asked, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. That’s one of the things I love most about Harry; no matter how long it’s been since he’s seen someone, he always picks back up like no time has passed. He is scary good at keeping up with what everyone else is doing, even when his own life 

“Kicking my ass already and it’s only been three weeks,” I said with a chuckle. “But better than last year, that’s for sure!” Harry’s brows furrowed and he waited expectantly. “Did I not tell you that my original roommate was psycho?”

“No, I don’t think that’s come up before.” I pulled up a photo on my phone and handed it over to him without a word, and I don’t think I’ve ever seen his eyes wider than they were in that moment. 

“Holy shit,” she said.

“I wanna see!” Gemma whined, leaning across the coffee table to snatch the phone from him. “Oh my god, Mum, look!” She handed the phone to Anne, who frowned down at it. 

“This was your dorm?”

“For all of three days, yes,” you answered. “I’m not sure what creeped me out more, the life-sized cardboard cutout of Harry watching my every move, or the fact that she threatened to blackmail me if I didn’t introduce her to you.” Harry was doubled over with laughter with tears welling up in the corners of his eyes. 

“What are the chances of you, of all people, rooming with a crazy One Direction fan in college?” he asked, struggling to breathe enough to support his vocal chords. 

“The school investigated and they found an invoice for a private investigator on her computer in a folder with a bunch of my personal information and photos of me that looked like they were taken from behind bushes and trash cans. Apparently, she gave him that paparazzi photo from the week we were in London during On the Road Again and he was able to track me down.”

“He was able to figure out your identity from that photo?” I nodded, and Harry looked impressed, yet mildly disturbed. “She must’ve paid a fortune.” The photo in question features all five members of One Direction on their way into the O2 arena, and in the background, you can see the blurry back of my head as I slipped into the back door ahead of them.

When it was time for Harry to get ready, a security guard led Anne, Gemma, and I to the VIP section and we settled in for the show. He killed it on stage, and it was great to see him back in his element, joking with the fans between songs and waving to everyone he made eye contact with. He performed What Makes You Beautiful and the cheers were so loud, even in the small-theater setting, that I knew I would probably have trouble hearing tomorrow. 

“Alright, now normally I’d go straight into Kiwi, but there’s someone special in the audience today and this next song means a lot to the both of us, and she was the one who told me to sing all of the parts even though it feels weird, I hope you’ll forgive me for making you wait a few more minutes,” he said with a smirk, knowing that no one was going to complain about an extra song. My smile widened and Anne wrapped an arm around me, squeezing my shoulder, to acknowledge how special this moment was about to be. Just like old times, Harry looked straight at me as the intro music started to play. 

“Written in these walls are the stories that I can’t explain,” he began, and immediately tears started welling up behind my eyes. I joined in, leaning my head on Anne’s shoulder for support. When he got to the second pre-chorus, he yelled out “And I’ll be gone, gone, tonight!” and held out his mic for the audience to sing the next line, but I caught an almost-imperceptible wink as he smiled up at me and I knew that he could care less if anyone else chimed in.

“The fire beneath my feet is burning bright,” Anne, Gemma, and I screamed, hoping that we were loud enough for him to pick our voices out of the crowd. 

He sang the next line, and so did the audience, but I kept my mouth shut and joined in on the last line. He dragged out “between” so long that he had to jump back in on “I take her home.” I was the only one still singing along with him at that point, and the audience let out confused laughter, looking back and forth trying to figure out why he wasn’t moving on yet. 

Chapter 11

We’ve never talked about how we got together, and once the gossip magazines found out that I was the daughter of One Direction’s former tour manager, they just filled in the blanks themselves. I try not to read those things, but I do remember seeing a few headlines like “CHILDHOOD SWEETHEARTS RECONNECTED!” over that grainy paparazzi photo of us in Holmes Chapel before the Manchester Love on Tour stops. Others spun the fact that I was doing PR on the tour into a fake “HARRY STYLES KISSES EMPLOYEE” scandal, and it just spiraled out of control from there. But I’m getting ahead of myself. 

When the pandemic hit, I was at home in Pasadena with my dad and grandma. We had no other “bubble” because my grandma was immunocompromised. Needless to say, I got very bored very quickly. It got to the point that I would cycle through the contacts on my phone, Facetiming everyone in alphabetical order by last name until someone picked up. Harry was one of the only people who answered every single time. We ended up calling each other almost every day, sometimes to chat, or just to have someone there, in the background, while we went about our days. He was with his band, working on what would eventually become Harry’s House, and I spent many days listening to them work through different lyric and melody combinations while curled up in my childhood bedroom with my work laptop. He even interrupted a Zoom meeting I was in, once, excited to play part of “Music for a Sushi Restaurant” for me.

I was working remotely for a PR firm, after graduating college in 2020, my options were limited and, in the end, the place only gave me an offer because they worked with Columbia Records and knew my dad. I mostly wrote copy about movies to be put on Wikipedia or IMDB, which was super boring, so Harry seriously saved my life by letting me listen in on his studio sessions, or to the audio of whatever show he was watching and his commentary. 

By the time he was able to start prepping for Love on Tour, I was working at the firm’s office building on Sunset,  just about ready to quit my job and sell foot pics online. 

“Come on tour with me,” he said, (seemingly) impulsively, during one of our Facetime sessions in which he patiently listened to me complain about how Mark from accounting wouldn’t stop coming over to my desk to “chat” every hour on the hour. 

“What?” I answered, laughing a little. 

“Seriously, Y/N, it’ll be just like old times! We can race on the dolleys they use to bring the speakers in, and I’ll even let you win this time.” I rolled my eyes.

“It’s not really winning, then, is it?”

“Okay, fine, I won’t let you win. But I am serious, Y/N. You should join me on tour.”

“What am I supposed to do, just follow you around the world like some sad, desperate groupie?”

“I mean, you are a bit sad and desperate.” I flipped him off, to which he responded by cackling with laughter. 

“I’m sad because my job sucks, and desperate to get away from Mark, not to get into your pants.”

“Well, you wouldn’t be my mistress, you’d be doing PR for the tour, obviously.” Harry’s cheeks flushed with the slightest hint of pink, 

“Well, maybe you should have led with that!” I started laughing, too, and it took a while for either of us to be able to speak again. 

“Okay, sorry, I’ll start over.” He took a deep breath to calm his giggles, but still couldn’t manage to keep a straight face. “Y/N Y/L/N, I would like to formally request that you join me as my PR Manager for Love on Tour. My publicist is about to give birth, like, any day now so she obviously can’t go gallivanting around the world. Really, you’d be doing me a favor, and who better than someone who already has my dressing room requests memorized since half of them are actually yours.” 

“You still have the same dressing room requests?” I gave him a skeptical look. 

“Old habits die hard.” He shrugged. “And even though I don’t drink Diet Coke, having it in the fridge makes it feel like you’re there with me.” The pink was now red and I bit my lip to keep myself from smiling too wide. 

“Alright, Mr. Styles, you have a deal.”

Like he said, old habits die hard, so even though we were now adults and my dad wasn’t on tour with us, we still fell into our old routines. Back in the day, I was never allowed to be alone in a room with one of the boys, but we had our ways around it. Usually by walking through the hallways of the floor of the hotel everyone was staying on, checking in with the guards stationed at either side on every loop. So while we could have hung out in our rooms, more often than not, we walked through the hotel hallways in circles just like we used to. 

The night before the Pittsburgh show, Harry showed up at my door at 10pm with a bag of sour gummy worms. 

“It’s not Haribo, but it’s close enough,” he said with a shrug, flashing me his trademark “Harry Styles” grin. And just like that, we were off to wear a hole in the carpet, or so I thought. We hadn’t even made it through one full loop before he pulled me through a random door marked “Employees Only” and dragged me up three flights of stairs. 

“Are you taking me somewhere private so you can murder me?” I asked as we trudged through the dirty stairwell. 

“Something like that,” he answered. But when we reached the top, he opened another door and we were on the roof. 

The view was gorgeous, the moon was bright and cast a cool glow on the Pittsburgh skyline. I turned to Harry with wide eyes.

“Scoped it out earlier,” he said with a sheepish smile on his lips. “Just thought we could use a change of scenery.”

“It’s perfect,” I said, reaching out to squeeze his hand in thanks. “As much as I love hotel hallways, this is better.”

We sat on the edge of the roof, dangling our legs over the top of the building next door, and passed the bag of gummy worms back and forth as we talked. We were out there for so long that my eyelids started to get heavy and our conversation slowed down. I leaned my head on his shoulder and he wrapped his arm around me, huddling closer for warmth (or so I thought). 

“Wanna listen to some music?” He asked. I nodded and he pulled his Airpods out, sticking one in my ear and the other in his own. 

Story of My Life started playing and my heart rate sped up, pulsing adrenaline through my body. Suddenly, I was wide awake and hyper aware of every place our bodies were touching (thighs, hips, my shoulder to his chest, his shoulder to my head, his arm on my bicep). 

I lifted my head up and turned to look at him.

“Do you ever get sick of this song?” I asked. My voice was quiet because I wasn’t sure I actually wanted to know the answer. 

“No,” he replied. His voice was low and raspy and it made my stomach flutter. I felt myself leaning in, unconsciously, as he continued. “It reminds me of you, and I could never get sick of you.” 

He brought his free hand up to my face and rubbed his thumb in soft circles on my cheekbone, and his eyes flickered down to my lips. The distance between us closed as if we were replaying something that had already happened in slow motion. Eventually, I could just barely feel the soft brush of his lips against mine. My mouth fell open just a bit in anticipation of what was to come, but Harry paused. 

“It’s you, Y/N,” he whispered.”It’s always been you.”

Feel free to cross my name out and write in your own, I won’t be mad. I get it; what really happened was better than any self-insert fanfiction.

Chapter 17

I’m going to keep most of the details of our wedding private, but I will tell you about our first dance, because it ties into a lot of the other stories that I’ve written about. If you haven’t noticed by now, Story of My Life is sort of the underlying theme of this book, and that’s because it’s been the underlying theme of my life, the soundtrack to my relationship with Harry. 

After dinner, and some absolutely mental toasts, Harry and I were eager to get the party started. Even though he’s not the best dancer, I have never met anyone who dances with as much joy as Harry does, and I love getting pulled into his wild, spontaneous routines. But our first dance was different. The fairy lights surrounding the garden were twinkling in the moonlight, and Niall, Liam, Louis, and Zayn stood on the sidelines to sing, you guessed it, Story of My Life. We swayed in circles, gently, without trying to put on a show or impress anyone else. It was a beautiful, full circle moment, and the boys even dragged out “between” just a little bit to tease us. 

Life is funny. One minute, you’re sixteen and screaming “The fire beneath my feet is burning bright,” at your best friend and you think that this is it, you will be touring the world with your friends forever, and the next you’re twenty-seven and in a wedding dress, leaving mascara stains on the shoulder of his suit. But I wouldn’t change a thing, because I think it was written in the walls all along. 

[imaginesandbandfiction]

Vigilante Shit

An Outer Banks Imagine

Pairing: Topper Thornton x female!reader

Word Count: 6.1k

Warnings: Very vague mentions of domestic violence that didn't actually happen, having sex for money (slightly dubious consent bc of that at one point)

Summary: You're hired to investigate a rich pretty boy and team up with his wife to nail him for his crimes.

A/N: Enjoy this Taylor Swift-inspired fic, this is what I imagined happening all throughout the song so I wrote about it! Hope you like it!!!

Masterlist

The taxi pulls up in front of a small bungalow and you hand a wad of cash to the driver, thanking him as you get out of the car. You try the front door and it swings open, left unlocked just like the client had said it would be. It’s fully furnished inside, with a simple, neutral color scheme that complements the beach visible out of the windows that line the back of the house. There’s a small, cozy living room off to one side and an eat-in kitchen on the other. Down the hall are two bedrooms and a bathroom. You drop your backpack in the bigger room and then circle back to the kitchen with just your laptop. 

There’s an iPhone on the kitchen table, three generations old, next to a charging cord wrapped in a neat circle. You plug it into your laptop and retrieve the iCloud backup you had prepared last week, dragging it over to the ‘New iPhone’ file.

As everything downloads, you run through the mental copy of the file you received last month. It was too dangerous to bring it along with you, so you had committed it to memory and burned the physical copy before you left. Your waitressing job at the Kildare Island Country Club was starting tomorrow, and you were to report there at 2 pm, between the brunch and dinner rushes, for training. The client and her husband had reservations at 7, and she assured you that they would be seated in your section. From there, a few simple steps will position you to carry out the rest of the job, tie any loose ends into a neat bow, and get the hell out. The phone dings when the download is complete, so you add a simple passcode and change the name of the phone to ‘Y/N’s Phone,’ wrapping up the final details before heading to bed.

The next morning, you make a cup of coffee and settle in at the kitchen table to answer some emails from potential future clients before you have to leave for work. In the bedroom you slept in, the closet is fully stocked with a carefully-curated wardrobe. Everything is second-hand and leans towards casual with small details that will elevate the outfits from simple to elegant, like cardigans with pearl buttons and soft, satin camisoles. You put on a short black tennis skirt and a white sleeveless polo cropped just enough to show a small strip of skin and accessorize with a thin gold chain around your neck. It’s enough to spark interest without being over the top, and natural eye makeup paired with a shimmery, peach-colored lip gloss compliments the look perfectly.

At the Country Club, you meet with the Restaurant Manager, Darcy, who gives you a tour around the grounds and then walks you through what a typical shift will look like. You meet the rest of the staff and Darcy leaves you with Karen to train. She’s been waitressing at the club for twenty years and lets you follow her around as the dinner crowd starts to trickle in. 

Seven o’clock grows nearer and your nerves melt into confidence. The adrenaline starts to kick in and you get a burst of energy, which Karen takes full advantage of. She has you do most of the work while she supervises, interjecting here and there to answer a question you don’t know the answer to or to give you slight corrections. You’re so caught up in the whirlwind of the dinner rush that you don’t realize the client has arrived until Karen leads you up to a couple in their late 20s, looking glamorous in designer clothes and seated by the windows that overlook the ocean. To be fair, though, you hadn’t even spoken to the client on the phone and didn’t even know her real name, she went by ‘SC’ in her emails. All you had was a general description; strawberry-blonde hair and big brown eyes, and the woman in front of you fit that description perfectly. Her husband also matched his description, with slicked-back blonde hair and dark blue eyes that sparkle with interest as he takes you in.

“Good evening, Mr. and Mrs. Thornton,” Karen greets them. “This is Y/N, she’s my trainee. 

“So lovely to meet you,” you say, flashing a shy smile at the husband. His gaze drops down your body and then back up to your face, and he smiles back. 

“The pleasure is all ours, Y/N,” he says. “I’m sure you’ll take great care of us.”

The woman flips her long, shiny hair over one shoulder and holds a manicured hand out to you, interrupting his husband’s thinly-veiled flirting. 

“I’m Sarah,” she drawls, “It’s nice to meet you.” You take her hand and shake it gently. She squeezes your hand three times in quick succession, too light to be noticeable to anyone but you, and relief floods your body at this confirmation. Sarah is SC. 

“Are you staying in the old Routledge place?” Mr. Thornton asks.

“How did you know?” You ask in response, furrowing your brows in faux confusion. 

“My husband owns most of the rental properties on this island,” Sarah interjects, “so when someone new shows up, it’s not hard to figure out where they’re living.”

“So when you’re ready to move on from that hovel, just let me know and I’ll set you up with something nicer. A girl like you deserves a home as pretty as she is.” Mr. Thornton reaches into his pocket and hands over a business card as he speaks. You tuck it into the side of your bra without a second glance, catching his eye and biting your lip as you feel your cheeks heat up. There’s something dark behind the smirk he gives you; like he’s a predator and you're his prey. 

“Thank you,” you respond, infusing your voice with the innocent earnestness that you had perfected over the years. “Right now it’s all I can afford. I had to leave a bit of a shitty situation back home so…” You shrug as you trail off, leaving it up to him to fill in the blanks.  

“That’s enough of an introduction,” Karen interrupts, taking a step closer to the table and pulling out her notepad. “Could I get the two of you a bottle of wine to start?” With that, the conversation is derailed but the groundwork has been laid, so you feel good about it. 

For the rest of the night, you give their table extra attention. Karen had told you after your initial conversation that they are some of the most important members of the club so she isn’t suspicious, and actually encourages you to flirt with him a little bit. (“He likes to feel important and wanted,” she said. “The wife will pretend to be upset about it, but between you and me, I don’t think there’s much love there.”)

He pays with a credit card and leaves a hefty tip, so when you find an envelope resting on the chair he had been sitting in, you don’t expect it to be filled with hundred-dollar bills. There’s a note scrawled on the inside of the flap: I meant what I said. Call me if you need anything. He wrote a phone number underneath, and you don’t have to check the business card to know that this isn’t a business number. Before anyone has the chance to notice it, you shove it in the waistband of your skirt and adjust your apron so it’s hidden from view, and finish flipping the table. It’s not your first rodeo, so you know that you’ve really sold it, but no other job has gone this well this quickly. Karen’s right, this guy really does crave attention. 

The rest of your shift passes in a blur and by the time you make it back to the house, you’re exhausted. You collapse on the bed and pull out the business card. It’s sleek and sexy, with TOPPER THORNTON in all capital letters at the top in a sans-serif, wide-spaced font. Sure enough, the number on the bottom is different from the number on the inside of the envelope, so you toss the card to the side and put the envelope number into your phone. Before you start getting ready for bed, you shoot him a quick text. 

Hey, it’s Y/N from the country club. Thanks for your note, I really appreciate it. Guess I’ll have to take you up on your offer to look at some other places ;)

His response is instant. 

Don’t thank me yet, we’re only just getting started

You roll your eyes and decide to leave him on read for a few minutes while you take your makeup off and do your skincare routine. 

I work tomorrow and Saturday, but Sunday I’m free!

I’ll pick you up at 6

This is clearly a man who has never been told no in his life, but you can work with that. With phase two of your plan already underway, you don’t feel bad about tossing your phone to the side and falling asleep without responding.

Part of you is shocked that he doesn’t show up to the club while you’re working over the next two days, but then again, he’s probably smart enough to know to keep his distance from you in public. People who run successful real estate dynasties usually aren’t stupid no matter how rich they were growing up. He hasn’t texted or called, either. But the asshole is true to his word, and punctual, you’ll give him that, because he pulls up in a dark blue G-Wagen at five fifty-five on the dot. The windows are rolled down and he slides his Ray-Ban aviators down his nose to stare at you as he puts the car in park.

“Ready, sweetheart?” He asks, peering over the tops of his sunglasses. You get up from your spot on the front steps and slide into the passenger seat, adjusting your jean shorts so they don’t ride up. After buckling in, you look up and see that his gaze is stuck on the exposed skin of your thighs.

“So, where are we going?” You ask, getting his attention without calling him out. After all, if this is going to work out, you need him to be distracted. 

“I thought I’d show you a place a little further down the beach,” he says, clearing his throat. “It’s still on this side of the island, but it’s closer to the boardwalk and within walking distance of the club,” he answers. You nod and sit quietly for the rest of the short drive, observing him out of the corner of your eye. He drives with one hand on the steering wheel, the other resting on the windowsill, tapping along to some invisible rhythm. The slight breeze blows his hair around, and when he pulls up in front of a small but cute beach bungalow with blue siding and white shutters, it’s wild and messy. He runs a hand through the front to tame it as he gets out of the car. You start to open the passenger door but suddenly it swings open and he’s standing there, holding a hand out to help you down. 

“Thanks,” you say as you brush past him, keeping his hand in yours for just a few seconds longer than necessary. You turn towards the house and pause in front of it to take it in. “This is really cute!” 

“Thought you’d like it,” he says with a smirk. “Now c’mon, you gotta see the inside. The last tenants moved out three months ago so I’ve gotten a few things updated in the meantime - Floors, countertops…” He rattles off a few more things as he leads you inside, unlocking the front door with one of several keys on a keychain he dug out of his pocket. None of them are labeled, but you make a mental note that the one for this house is small and silver with a circular hole through which the chain is looped. 

The door swings open and he holds it for you, letting you take in the small entryway. 

“The kitchen and living room are just down the hall,” he tells you, pointing to where a short hallway extends from the entrance. “Bedrooms are upstairs, and there’s one bedroom up there, the other is off of the kitchen, next to the garage.” He sneaks around you and grabs your hand to lead you down the hallway. There’s a large, open room with tall windows along the back of the house. The living room has a large gray sectional and two matching armchairs set up around a fireplace, with a large TV mounted above it. On the other side is the kitchen. It’s bigger than the one you have now, all white with marble counters. An island separates the two spaces, with three stools set up on the living room side. Off of the kitchen, there’s a half wall that gives the dining room a little bit of privacy even though it’s still technically part of the larger space. 

The dining table is set for two, and there’s a covered pan in the middle. You turn to Topper, eyes filled with questions, and he chuckles as he leads you toward it. 

“I thought you’d be hungry, y’know, since I’m stealing you over dinnertime,” his grin is cheeky as he speaks.

“That is so sweet, thank you,” you gush. He pulls your chair out for you and loads up your plate before he sits across from you. 

“So, Y/N, tell me about yourself.”

“There’s not much to tell, to be honest.” You shrug as you start eating. He’s quiet as you eat, giving you the space to continue. “I’m from Massachusetts,” lie, “I went to school for history education but ended up dropping out halfway through when I met this older guy,” another lie. “He kind of swept me off my feet so I ran away with him. We were in the city, New York, that is, and things were good.”

“But?”

“But…. he liked things his way, and even though I was fine with playing my part in the beginning, it was hard to keep it up long-term. And he would get angry.” You pause there, letting all of the things you haven’t said wash over him. His face is soft and it’s so uncharacteristic that it looks awkward on him.

“So that’s why you moved to Kildare? To get away?” You bite your lip and nod, lowering your head to look at the table as if you’re ashamed. 

“Hey,” his voice is quiet and gentle, and he reaches across the table to tip your chin up so you’re looking at him again. “It’s okay, you don’t have to be embarrassed with me. I’m just glad you were able to get out of there.”

“Thanks.” He pulls his hand away and pushes away from the table, coming around to stand next to you instead. His hands find your chin again, tilting your head up towards him. As he leans down, you let your chin tip back even further, inviting his advance. 

“What about your wife?” You whisper, forcing your face into a worried expression. He strokes your cheekbone with his thumb to soothe you. 

“She won’t leave me. She likes my money too much.” From his tone, you get that he’s sort of joking, but the sentiment rubs you the wrong way and at that moment, you fully understand why she had come to you. But you keep any trace of dislike from your face as he captures your lips with his. He’s greedy, opening his mouth against yours right away. The angle is a bit odd since he’s towering above you and you have to lean your head really far back in order to make it work, but he uses that to his advantage, leaning some of his weight on you as if to make a point that if he wanted to, he could force you to do anything. You run through a mental list of attractive celebrities to take yourself out of your body as you kiss him back.

When his hand grazes your boob, you pull back and hug your knees to your chest, putting a physical barrier between the two of you, playing up the helpless victim card. 

“Sorry,” you breathe, “It’s just, I haven’t… Not since him. Do you mind if we leave it there, just for today? I promise I’ll be more ready next time.”

“Of course,” Topper says, reaching out to smooth a hand down your hair. “I don’t want to do anything you’re not comfortable with. I’m okay with taking it slow.” You knew he wasn’t, that he was the kind of guy who would take what he thought he deserved, but he was probably turned on by the whole scared and innocent thing. Willing to play the long game and savor dismantling your defenses until you melted for him like butter.

He drops you off with one final kiss, short and searing, and you disappear into the house and immediately draw a hot bath. While you wait for the tub to fill up, you shoot an email to your client, Sarah.

To: SC@hotmail.com

From: revengeseekers@protonmail.com

Subject: Status Update [ENCRYPTED]

Hey SC,

It feels kinda weird to call you that now that we’ve actually met in person, but I’ll keep it up for privacy’s sake. You were right - he fell right into the ‘broken and innocent’ trap that I laid for him. I plan to give a little more next time and really make him feel like he’s fixing me; the bigger his ego gets, the likelihood of my success skyrockets. Thanks for sending over those additional leads! I’ve been able to make a few possible connections but will hold off on the details until I can gather enough evidence to prove them. Plausible deniability will get you far in life, darling. 

Anyways, keep pushing his buttons at home. We want him distracted in as many ways as possible, and if you’re holding him at arms’ length, he’ll be more likely to come running straight to me. 

RS

After a long, hot soak, you return to your computer and find a response already waiting in your inbox.

To: revengeseekers@protonmail.com 

From: SC@hotmail.com

RE: Status Update [ENCRYPTED]

RS,

It is sort of weird being secret pen pals now that we’ve officially met, but I appreciate your discretion and dedication to the job. I knew it would be easy to get my husband to pursue you, but I didn’t think it would happen this quickly! I shouldn’t be surprised, he’s been cheating on me since high school. I’m sure you probably think I’m an idiot for marrying him, but I was young and I thought (stupidly) that he would mature as he got older. That’s the power of first love, I guess. 

Thanks for the update!

SC

You smile to yourself at her response, if you weren’t working for her (and starting a pre-planned affair with her husband), you could see yourself being friends with the woman. 

***

After another few days of shifts at the country club and keeping a just-flirty-enough text chain going with Topper, he shows up while you’re working on purpose, for the first time. Sarah’s not with him this time; instead, he’s with a group of similar-looking guys, all wearing khaki shorts and pastel-colored polos. They must have just finished golfing because they take a caddy to the bar with them and buy him a shot before they settle in at a table in your section.

Over the course of your very short tenure as a country club waitress, you’ve learned a lot. Most of it came from Karen, who loved to gossip and seemed to know everything about everyone on the island, but rich people tended to think that the staff wasn’t real people, so they were surprisingly loose-lipped about a lot of things. 

You learn that the Routledge house, where you’re staying, belongs to a John B Routledge who has made quite a name for himself as a travel vlogger on YouTube. He rents his childhood home to tourists and people needing somewhere to stay for a few months while he’s out traveling the world. You also learn, courtesy of Karen, that John B is Sarah Thornton’s ex. Apparently, she broke up with Topper and dated John B during a tumultuous and confusing time that you don’t fully understand. There was some drama with her family and she ended up breaking up with him and taking Topper back. This is valuable information that you can use to get Topper even more invested in you. He still has a deep-seated hatred for the man that stole his girlfriend in high school, and you have no doubt that part of your charm, to Topper, is the fact that you’re living in John B’s house. 

Before you head over to their table, you duck into the bathroom to reapply your lip gloss and pull your top down a bit, showing an additional inch or so of cleavage. Sure enough, he can’t keep his eyes off of your chest as you make small talk with the rest of the group and take their drink orders. Two of the men, Rafe and Kelce, have been his best friends since childhood. The fourth guy, who introduced himself as PJ, is a mystery, but he fits seamlessly into their boys-club dynamic, flirting with you while simultaneously making fun of the rest of the guys for doing the same thing. 

Topper is actually the tamest of the group, probably because he has something to hide, but when you drop off their food, he hits you with a wink and a quiet “thanks, babe.” He pays for the whole group, and you notice a note scribbled on the back of the customer’s copy of the receipt. I’ll pick you up after your shift. You tuck the note into your bra and let him catch you smiling to yourself as you start to clean off the table.

Sure enough, his Mercedes is parked out front when you leave a few hours later. He’s leaning against it, scrolling through his phone, but he stops abruptly when he notices you standing a few feet away from him.

“Good shift?” he asks, raising one eyebrow at you.

“Eh, it was alright,” you joke with a shrug. “Some weirdo left me a note, though.”

“You gotta be careful when talking to strangers, Y/N.” He takes a step forward and grabs your hand, tugging you closer to him. “They might get the wrong idea.” He whispers his second sentence against the corner of your mouth, pressing a hard kiss there to really drive his point home. Within seconds, though, he’s gone. When you turn around, he’s holding the passenger door open for you with a little smirk on his lips. 

“C’mon, I’ve got something to show you,” he says. With a shy smile on your face, you climb inside and let him shut the door behind you. He’s quiet during the drive, again, but this time, his free hand is wrapped around your thigh, just below the hem of your skirt. It’s another short drive, and he pulls into a palm-tree-lined driveway. A large, beachfront mansion slowly comes into view as he makes his way down the driveway. He parks right out front, between a large fountain and the stairs up to the front door, and leaves the keys on the seat. 

“What do you think?” He asks you as he helps you out of the car with one hand and gestures to the house with the other. 

“It’s gorgeous,” you breathe. “Is it one of your rental properties?” You play dumb, like it hadn’t even occurred to you that he’d bring you to his house. 

“Nope, this one’s mine. And Sarah’s away for the weekend…” He trails off with a shit-eating grin and holds the door open for you. As he shows you around the first floor, you oooh and ahhh in all the right places, all wide-eyed innocence and fuck me eyes. The tour ends in the kitchen, where he pops a bottle of Dom Perignon and pours you each a glass. You accept it gratefully and take a long sip, letting the cold bubbles dance on your tongue for a moment before you swallow. Both of you lean against the counter as you sip, chatting about some of the small details of the house that he was the proudest of. 

The champagne is just a pretense, something to make it seem like you weren’t just here to hook up. But when the glasses are empty, that changes. Topper reaches across your chest to take the empty glass from your hand. Instead of pulling it back towards him, he just leans forward further to set it on the counter on your other side and then side-steps so he’s standing in front of you with his arms caging you between him and the counter. 

“This okay?” He mutters as he leans in, stopping just as his lips brush against yours. You nod and look up at him through your eyelashes, lifting your lips in a shy smile. That’s all the permission he needs and his lips are pressed against yours within seconds. His hips press into yours, pushing your back into the edge of the counter, so you wriggle a bit to give him the hint to knock it off. Instead, he hooks his hands under your thighs and lifts you up onto the countertop. This causes your skirt to bunch up a bit and Topper takes advantage of the newly-exposed skin. To his credit, he doesn’t push your limits, seeming content to stick to exposed skin only. But you know he won’t stay patient for long if the hardness against your thigh is any indication.

You hear the tell-tale sign of a lawn mower starting up somewhere outside and freeze, clutching onto Topper’s shoulders as if staying still will somehow make you invisible. 

“Can we go somewhere more… private?” You ask, shooting a nervous glance at the large window above the sink to your right. 

“Absolutely,” he says, taking a quick nip at your bottom lip. Instead of stepping back to let you off the counter, he just hoists you up into his arms. You cling on for dear life as he takes you up the grand staircase in the entryway. He opens the first door on the left and doesn’t even bother turning the lights on before he sets you down and his lips are on yours again. His back is facing the door and you take advantage of that, pushing forward until he’s pressed flat against it. You swallow his grunt of surprise and then trail your lips down his neck as you drop to your knees in front of him.

***

The next time, you invite Topper to your place and let him return the favor. Then, he takes you to two more of his rental properties where you do everything but penetrative sex before Sarah leaves town and he finally brings you back to his house again. 

This time, you let him go all the way. It’s not bad, but it could definitely be better. You keep him occupied for a while, and when he’s facedown on the bed recovering, you offer to go make him a cup of coffee. 

“That would be great, thanks babe,” he groans, voice slightly muffled by the pillow underneath him. You throw on his abandoned button-down and pad down the stairs to start the coffee maker. That gives you just a few minutes of unsupervised time in his house, so you sneak down the hall to his study. The door’s unlocked, but when you try the desk drawers, they won’t budge. There are keyholes at the top of each drawer, and from your inspection, it looks like the same key would open them all. His computer’s asleep, and it’s password-protected, which doesn’t surprise you. For good measure, you run your hands alongside the bottom of the wood just in case there’s anything hidden there, but no such luck. The coffee maker beeps and interrupts your search, but you’re content with the intel you’ve gathered. As you pour two mugs of coffee, you start to devise a plan. A quick detour to the bathroom on your way back upstairs proves fruitful, you find a bottle of Trazodone prescribed to Sarah, and crush up three pills, stirring them into Topper’s coffee. 

He’s out like a light forty-five minutes later, but you wait another hour just to make sure. Then, you sneak back downstairs with your backpack. A USB drive with password-cracking software downloaded goes straight into the computer, and while the program runs, you manage to pick the locks on three of the five drawers. 

Four hours later, you slip back upstairs with two USB drives full of information, and photos of the most incriminating documents saved on your burner phone. Everything is zipped into the hidden pocket inside the lining of your backpack and you curl up next to Topper to sleep as if nothing has happened.

The next morning, you wake up before he does and decide to give him a little wake-up surprise. It serves its purpose and distracts him long enough for you to make your exit, smuggling the evidence out with you, leaving him none the wiser. 

You get into work and take a moment to let out the tension you had been holding in all night. Slumping against the wall in the staff break room, you pull out your phone and type out another message to Sarah.

To: SC@hotmail.com

From: revengeseekers@protonmail.com

RE: RE: Status Update [ENCRYPTED]

I GOT IT!!!!!! Evidence is in hand. I know the hearing’s not for another two weeks, so I can hold onto it until then if you want me to. Also, sorry, I stole a few of your Trazodones. Hopefully getting the evidence makes up for that, haha. 

RS

By the time your day shift is over, she’s responded, so you take a second to answer her before you head home for the night. 

To: revengeseekers@protonmail.com 

From: SC@hotmail.com

RE: RE: RE: Status Update [ENCRYPTED]

THANK YOU SO MUCH!!!! I knew you could do it! I’ll stop by in the morning on my way to the courthouse, if that’s okay?

SC

To: SC@hotmail.com

From: revengeseekers@protonmail.com

RE: RE: Status Update [ENCRYPTED]

Works for me! I’m just glad I was able to get it in time. 

RS

The next two weeks pass by in a blur of work and secret meetups with Topper, who suspects absolutely nothing. You’re still his shiny new toy, dressed up like a present for him to unwrap. The only time he mentions the impending divorce hearing is late one night when he shows up at your place unannounced. His kisses taste like whiskey and the smell of cigarette smoke lingers on his jacket. You lead him to the bedroom right away, knowing that he’s looking for a way to get out some of his drunken frustrations, and sure enough, his lips loosen as he’s pounding you into the mattress with one hand pressed against your stomach to hold you in place.

“I can’t fuckin believe she’s taking me to court,” he growls into your neck. “Bitch is trying to take half my shit. Thinks she can get our prenup annulled, ha! My lawyers will fuckin ruin her.”

You coo sweet nothings into his ear and brush his hair back from his forehead, which seems to calm him down a bit. Other than that one night, though, he’s been pretty much silent on the whole situation.

The morning of the hearing is here in no time, and headlights shine through your windows as Sarah pulls into your driveway. She’s behind the wheel of Topper’s Mercedes and her hair is pulled back into a low bun with a black and white silk head scarf wrapped around it. Topper’s signature aviators cover half of her face, and somehow she makes it look elegant. A black kitten heel is the first thing you see as she steps out of the car, followed by a tight-fitting yet modest black dress. 

“Hey girl,” she says as she approaches the front door that you’re holding open for her. 

“Hi! You look incredible,” you tell her. “Topper’s gonna lose his shit.” She giggles and lets you lead her into the kitchen. 

“That’s the plan.” She notices the manila envelope sitting on the kitchen counter and runs her fingers along its edge. “Is this it?” 

“Yep, it’s all there.”

“Perfect.” The grin on her face is positively wicked as she picks it up and slides it into her oversized leather bag. “Are you going to the courthouse?”

‘I’m gonna try and sneak into the back row right before it starts. That way, he won’t notice me, at least not until after it’s too late.”

“Well, then I’ll see you there!” Sarah sounds genuinely excited about that prospect, and she reaches out to squeeze your hand. “Seriously, Y/N, thank you. I couldn’t have done this without you.” You squeeze her hand back. 

“Feels kind of weird for you to thank me when you literally paid me to sleep with your husband.” You chuckle. “ But you’re welcome. And good luck today!” With one final, soft smile, she’s out the door and on her way. 

You change into your own revenge dress; it shows off more skin than Sarah’s, which seems fitting for playing the part of the mistress who betrayed him. Black platform sandals and your own pair of oversized sunglasses complete the look, and you manage to make it into the courtroom just as the judge is swearing everyone in. 

The proceedings are tedious at first; it’s mostly just both lawyers establishing the facts of the case, but when Sarah is called up to the stand to make her statement, things take a dramatic turn. 

“I’m Sarah Thornton, and I have new evidence to submit,” she says as she reaches into her bag and hands the envelope over to the judge. He flips through the papers quickly, then calls the lawyers back into his chambers to go over this new information. 

“What the fuck?” Topper yells, lunging forwards as Sarah passes his seat. His lawyer is fast, though, and holds Topper back, whispering a stern warning. She just flashes a sweet smile and heads back to her seat, sitting with her head held high, a calm statue in the face of his messy outrage. 

It’s nearly an hour before the judge and lawyers reemerge and things move quickly after that. The judge nullifies the prenup, stating that Topper violated one of its clauses and therefore it is no longer valid. His face is burning with rage but he bites his tongue because his lawyer’s got a death grip on his arm. Sarah is awarded the house and all material possessions, with Topper retaining only a small fraction of the cash assets they shared as a couple. It doesn’t really matter, though, because then two cops burst through the doors and make a beeline for a seething Topper.

“Topper Thornton, you are under arrest for insider trading and money laundering. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you…” the officer on the right recites as his partner puts Topper in cuffs. The man is wild-eyed, turning his head back and forth between Sarah and his lawyer, trying to put the pieces together. 

As the police are leading him out of the courtroom, his eyes lock onto yours and his eyes blaze with fury.

“You fucking bitch!” he spits at you, poison dripping from his lips. 

“Bye, Topper,” you say, voice light and airy as you waggle your fingers at him in a little wave. You hear him grunting and struggling to break free, but the cops have a good grip on him so he’s not able to escape. Once he’s been escorted off the premises, the judge smacks his gavel against his podium.

“Case dismissed!” He says, and the hearing is officially over. Sarah rushes over to you, squealing, and loops her arm through yours. The two of you walk down the steps, out of the courthouse, and onto the street, into a better and brighter future.

[imaginesandbandfiction]

Summer in July

An Outer Banks Imagine

Pairing: JJ Maybank x Reader

Word Count: 3.4k

Summary: JJ goes to pick up a friend in need and gets more than he bargained for.

Warnings: Depression, anxiety, self harm, abusive families (verbal abuse), very vague mentions of SA. Please read with caution and take care of yourself <3

A/N: This is very angsty but ends on a positive note, I promise! It was inspired by the song Summer in July by Yukon Blonde because apparently I can’t listen to anything without wanting to write about it.

Masterlist

:readmore:

“FUCK,” you scream as soon as your bedroom door slams shut behind you. You lean your head against it and let go of the tears that had been building up behind your eyes all day. The force of your sobs shakes your body until your legs give out from under you and you fall to the ground, slamming your head against the door on the way down. That only makes the tears flow harder and the shaking grows more violent until you’re practically vibrating. You cry so hard that your sobs are silent, like your body knows that the anger and sadness within you are so powerful that if you ever felt the full extent, it would destroy you.

You scratch at your arms, trying to claw your way out of your skin, out of your life, but it’s not enough to calm the pounding in your head or your racing heart. Your hands seek out the dips made by your hip bones and pick at the scabbed-over scars there. The feeling of the familiar raised lines helps ground you, and as a dark red spot starts to pool on the front of your dress, relief floods your body, and your sobs fade into hiccupy cries as you try and take in a full breath of air.

Then the door behind you rattles as someone pounds on it three times in quick succession.

“Shut the fuck up, you fucking psychopath,” your brother yells through it.

“Fuck you, Topper!” You shout back and his cruel cackles fade away along with his heavy footsteps. Now that your brother is home, your need to escape overrules everything else and you wipe at your face

JJ’s phone buzzes in his pocket, and at first, he ignores it. Everyone that he could possibly want to talk to is already here around the bonfire on the beach behind the Chateau, well, not everyone, but she’s supposed to be at some charity thing with her parents until late. When it buzzes a second, and then a third time, he pulls it out and sees three unread messages.

Y/N: can you come pick me up

Y/N: please, J

Y/N: i can’t be alone right now

JJ sets his beer on the ground and types out a quick reply, already on his feet by the time he hits ‘send.’

JJ: sure, are you still at the club?

Y/N: no i’m home

Y/N: hurry

Y/N: please

JJ: be there in 10, just hang in there ok?

He shoves his phone back into his pocket and turns to John B, ignoring the rest of the group’s questioning stares.

“Can I borrow the Twinkie?” he asks, desperation in his voice.

“Why?” John B questions him, and JJ bounces on his heels, already prepared to make a run for the car.

“Please, JB.” He tries to convey the gravity of the situation with his eyes to avoid saying her name in front of Sarah, and thankfully John B gets the message.

“Yeah, sure, dude.” John B pulls the keys from his pocket and tosses them to JJ, who takes off as soon as he catches them.

“Thanks, man!” he calls over his shoulder as he jogs back up to the Chateau.

“What’s that about?” He hears Sarah ask before he’s out of earshot, and he hopes John B has the sense to make something up because the last thing they need right now is Sarah Cameron getting involved.

He speeds over to Figure 8 and pulls up in front of your house, already typing out a text to you before he’s even put the car in park.

JJ: i’m here

You smile a little as your phone lights up with the notification, and you slip your feet into the pair of old, worn Birkenstocks next to your bedroom door. In the hallway, the glint of a picture frame catches the corner of your eye, and you spin around so you’re facing it. It’s a photo of you and Topper at the Fourth of July parade in town, back when you were four. His shirt matches your blue-and-white-striped dress and you’re both mid-giggle as you try to pop the bubbles that surround you. Seeing the two of you looking like the perfect Kook twins you were supposed to be makes your anger bubble back up to the surface. Your heart clenches with nostalgia as you remember how close you used to be before Rafe poisoned Topper’s mind and your parents drove a wedge so deep between the two of you that it would take an honest-to-God miracle to make things right again.

Before you realize what’s happening, you reach out and tear the photo off of the wall and hurl it down the hallway towards Topper’s bedroom. It hits the wall and shatters into thousands of tiny shards, and just for a moment, you feel at peace, like you’re floating outside of your body, but then you hear a familiar creak as Topper opens his door and you’re slammed back into reality. Not wanting to deal with him, you race down the stairs and out the door. You don’t stop until you’re in the safety of the Twinkie. JJ’s blue eyes glow in the dark, full of questions that you’d rather not answer. You wave your hand to brush him off.

“Just go,” you instruct, buckling your seatbelt and glancing back, searching for any sign of your brother. “My brother’s home.” You don’t need to say anything else. JJ turns to face forward again and pulls the car out of the driveway, speeding off back towards the Cut.

Things were moving so fast, and it was so dark, that JJ didn’t get a good look at you until he was confident that Topper wasn’t following and slowed the car down. He turns onto a side road and sneaks a glance over at you. He slams on the brakes at the sight of your mascara-stained cheeks and puffy, bloodshot eyes, slowing the Twinkie down to barely more than a crawl.

“What happened?” He asks, flicking his eyes to the road and then back over to you every few seconds.

“I don’t wanna talk about it,” you mutter, breaking away from the intensity of his gaze to stare out the window. You don’t know how to tell him that your brain feels like it’s too big for your head, like it’s pressing against your skull, looking for a weak spot to burst through. You don’t know how to tell him about all the men your parents introduced you to, how their hands slid just a little bit too low on your back as they leaned in to kiss you on both cheeks, how their beady eyes swallowed you whole even from across a crowded room, how your mother told you to suck it up and let them do whatever they wanted because the only way anyone is ever going to want you is if you’re easy. So you stay quiet and watch the ocean roll past as JJ circles the outer edge of the island.

“Okay, no talking, got it. I can take you back to the Chateau and we can just, like, watch a movie or something.” Your throat shrinks. Sarah Cameron hadn’t been at the party, so you assumed she was there with John B, taking your place within the Pogues as the token Kook, living through all of the things you had experienced with them last summer. The things that were yours. The things that were supposed to be separate from Figure 8 and your family.

“Is Sarah there?”

“Well, yeah, but everyone’s out on the beach. I can sneak you into my room, no one has to know you’re there.” Your head starts to shake back and forth, and then your whole body joins in and you’re rocking in your seat. You had just barely managed to stop crying before, so the tears are in free-fall again and you’ve lost all control; you’re in survival mode. The memories hit you out of nowhere, like a train barreling through your head.

The late-summer sun illuminated JJ’s hair, creating a halo of light behind his head. You giggled as he shifted his weight from one foot to the other, keeping himself balanced on the railing at the front of the boat while he shotguns a beer. The Pogues cheered him on, surrounding you with their excited shouts and laughter. Even with the wind blowing past as John B speeds across the water, you feel warm. When JJ finished the last of the beer, he crushed the can and threw it to the ground before hopping down off the railing. His smile was a shining star directed straight at you. You laughed as he pretended to trip and fall into your lap, accepting his familiar weight with open arms.

“Did you see that, baby?” He asked, sounding like a kid who had just landed a flip on the trampoline for the first time.

“Yeah, it was awesome,” you said. When he leaned in to press his beer-soaked lips against yours, you giggled into them and let yourself bask in the perfect moment.

Then the scene morphs from summer into winter, shoving you back into the New Year’s kegger the Pogues had thrown. Where it had really started to sink in that whatever you had during the summer had slowly started to pull apart at the seams. There were inside jokes you didn’t understand, teachers and kids in their classes that you didn’t know, parties you had missed because your parents had been parading you around to their friends, doing whatever they could to keep you from the only real friends you had ever known. And they were winning.

“No, no, no,” you repeat to yourself over and over as you rock back and forth in your seat. You’re trying to manifest it. Maybe if you say it enough, it will be true.

JJ slows the car again and reaches out to rest his right hand on your thigh to comfort you. He feels something damp and looks down at where he can just barely make out the dark red splotches littering the front of your otherwise light blue dress.

“Y/N…” he says, trailing off because he doesn’t have the right words for this moment. His voice is heavy, loaded with the confusing combination of love and frustration that has defined the past year for him.

“Don’t look at me like that!” You snap, pulling yourself away from his grasp and tucking yourself against the car door to get as far away from his pity as possible. “You can’t… I can’t… I want to fucking die, JJ.” A sob catches in your throat, forcing you to pause for a moment to let it pass. “I can’t do this anymore. I can’t be their perfect little Barbie doll, the collector’s edition, ready to be sold off to the highest bidder and kept on a shelf for the rest of my life. No matter what I do, it’s not enough, and I’m tired of trying. I just want to die.” The longer you speak, the louder and more frantic your voice gets, and JJ’s taking deep breaths to try and keep himself calm because it’s not very helpful if he starts panicking, too. But you’re scaring him. He knew things at home were bad and getting worse, he had been there through so many panic attacks and always dropped everything to come and get you when the walls of your house started to close in on you. But he didn’t know things had gotten this bad, and he wanted to beat himself up for not noticing, for taking you at your word when you said you weren’t hurting yourself.

He should have known.

Your heart is pounding in your chest, it feels like it’s beating way too fast and you’re pretty sure it’s about to grow wings and fly out from underneath your skin, and there’s a snake crawling up your throat and a chorus of voices in your head screaming at you that you’re not enough, you’re too fat, too ugly, too stupid, too fucked up to be loved and you can’t take it anymore. You unbuckle your seatbelt and grab the door handle, pushing it against the wind resistance to try and open it enough for you to throw your body through.

“Hey, hey, hey, whoa,” JJ yells, and he slams on the breaks, throwing his right arm out over your chest to prevent you from flying through the windshield. You crash into his arm and then you’re flung back against the seat. The car door slams shut and you deflate into the worn leather beneath you. Tears continue to stream down your cheek, but they’re no longer sad tears or even angry tears. They’re tears of defeat.

JJ pulls over and reaches across the center console once the car is fully stopped. He takes both of your hands in his. Your eyes are dark and empty when you look up at him, and his heart shatters; it’s the same look he sees in the mirror after a fight with his dad.

“Y/N… fuck, I’m so sorry,” his voice is thick and it cracks a little at the end of his sentence, forcing him to stop talking and take a deep breath.

“‘S not your fault,” you mutter, squeezing his hands to try and comfort him. The action makes the lump in his throat double in size, because here you are comforting him even when your own pain is so strong.

“I should have known something was wrong.” When you shake your head at him, he clarifies. “Like really wrong. I shouldn’t have let your psychotic brother scare me off. I should’ve kept fighting for you, for us.”

“I don’t blame you, JJ, not for any of this. When my family wants something, they’ll do anything to get it. I never expected you to save me from that. You’ve got your own shit to deal with and I’ve got mine.”

There’s a long pause as JJ tries to swallow his sadness and you take deep breaths to steady yourself.

“Fuck, Y/N, you probably know this already but I love you, and I know I should’ve said something sooner, but then all the sudden summer was over and it felt like you were drifting further away from me, from everyone, and I thought that maybe I got it wrong, maybe it was just a summer fling, but Y/N Thornton, I’m fucking in love with you. You make me feel like it’s summer in July and, fuck, I miss it.” He drops one of your hands in order to push his bangs back off of his forehead, and you rest your palm against his cheek, absorbing the warmth that had collected just under his skin.

You don’t say anything, just slide forward until your knees are squished against the center console and press your lips to his. It’s wet and salty, and you’re both crying but also laughing which makes your teeth knock together and your lips slip away from each other. It’s the least romantic kiss you’ve ever shared, but also the most romantic, because it's full of such raw emotion. When you pull back to catch your breath, you rest your forehead against his and keep your eyes squeezed shut to savor every last second of this momentary bliss.

“I love you too,” you whisper into the open space between you. JJ squeezes your hand and then brings it up to press his lips to your knuckles. Your eyes flutter open and you give him a small, shy smile to reassure him that you’re okay.

“Summer in July, JJ? What the fuck does that mean?” You tease when your breathing finally returns to normal, and JJ’s cheeks flush with a hint of pink.

“You’re just, like, warm and bright like the height of summer, when everything’s sticky and sweet and time slows down so every day feels endless and full of infinite possibilities. Last summer was the best summer of my life, and when I’m with you, it feels like I traveled back into every happy memory I’ve ever had.”

You smile at him and brush your thumb across his cheekbone, trying to convey what you’re feeling with touch instead of words because you’re scared that if you try to say them, you’ll start crying again. He watches you like he’s waiting for you to tell him what to do next.

“Can we just, like, drive around for a little bit?” You ask, voice quiet. “I don’t wanna… I can’t go home.” JJ nods and leans in to press a quick peck to your lips before he pulls the car back into the street. He turns on the radio and lets it play softly in the background, and the events of the day finally catch up to you. Exhaustion settles deep within your bones, and the gentle movements of the car paired with the soft circles JJ’s pressing into the back of your hand with his thumb lull to sleep.

When JJ’s made a full loop of the island, he turns to look at your sleeping form as he slows to a stop at a traffic light. He can’t take you to the Chateau, not like this, and it’s not safe to bring you back to your own house, so he makes a quick decision and shifts over to the right-turn lane, pressing down on the lever to activate the turn signal. He shoves his doubts to the back of his mind and tightens his grip on the steering wheel to keep himself steady as he drives across the bridge to the mainland.

***

A steady beeping pulls you out of your dream and back to the real world, and when you blink your eyes open, you’re nearly blinded by a bright light.

“‘S it morning already?” You mumble, blindly flailing your left arm in search of JJ. Your hand makes contact with something soft and smooth. Before you can identify the source, a familiar blonde head pops up and blocks the light from your eyes.

“Please don’t hate me,” JJ pleads. You turn your head to look past his shoulder and notice the tell-tale signs of a hospital room: a sleek white counter with a built-in metal sink, an outdated TV mounted to the wall, the various monitors and pieces of scary-looking medical equipment… you take it all in as JJ babbles. “I just didn’t know what to do, I couldn’t take you back to the Chateau and it’s not safe at your house and you tried to jump out of a moving car and I got scared that if I left you alone you’d try to hurt yourself again so I drove here instead. The nurse had to call your parents but since I told her that they were the cause of all of this they won’t be allowed to visit you until your 72 hour hold is up and they can get you into some sort of treatment program, and even then I don’t think they’re allowed to visit unless you say it’s okay… I can get the doctor to come and explain things to you, but then they’ll make me leave. They only let me stay so that you’d have a friendly face to wake up to, and…”

“Shhh, JJ, it’s okay,” you assure him, interrupting his rambling and reaching up to take his head in both of your hands. He closes his eyes and lets out a shaky breath. “Thank you.”

His eyes are shining when he finally opens them and you lean up to press your lips to his, trying to pour every ounce of love from your body into the beautiful boy in front of you. Even with the itchy fabric of the hospital gown rubbing against your skin and the incessant beeping echoing throughout the small room, it felt like coming home.

***

If the nurse on the night shift happened to notice that the girl on a 5585 in room 408 was awake, well, nobody could prove it because she conveniently ‘forgot’ to note it on the chart clipped to the door. That girl was in for a rough couple of weeks, and she deserved to spend one last night in the arms of the cute boy that had brought her in.

[imaginesandbandfiction]

she calls me daddy

A Euphoria Imagine

Pairing: Maddy Perez x female!reader

Word Count: 4.6k

Summary: You’re new to East Highland and Maddy Perez takes you under her wing.

Warnings: NSFW, dom!Maddy, sub!reader, daddy kink

A/N: Under 18 dni!!! This is mostly porn with, like, a lil bit of plot just for fun because fuck Nate Jacobs, based on the song she calls me daddy by KiNG MALA. If you know me irl proceed with caution lmao bc this is literally pure filth. Also this is unedited so there’s probably some errors.

Masterlist

You moved to East Highland a week before starting your senior year of high school and became fast friends with Maddy Perez after complimenting her on her vintage Pucci pumps on the first day of school. She was the one who invited you to your first EHHS party where, for better or worse, you caught Nate Jacobs’ eye. 

The smug smile on his face as he walked through the halls with one arm slung over your shoulders was enough to deter any of the other boys from shooting their shots. By the beginning of October, the whole school knew that the two of you would be homecoming king and queen; it was practically set in stone. 

You and Maddy crushed the first four days of Spirit Week, and suddenly it was Friday and you were wearing Nate’s football jersey tied up around your waist, leaving just a sliver of skin visible above the waistband of your plaid miniskirt. The day passed by quickly since all classes were cut short to leave enough time for the pep rally at the end of the day, which would officially kick off the homecoming weekend. 

Nate drove you home after the game, even though the rest of the team was going out to celebrate. He pulls into the driveway half an hour before your curfew and follows you inside to make the most of them. You lead him up the stairs to your bedroom, shouting a quick ‘hello’ to your parents as you pass the living room. 

“Why can’t you just go to homecoming with me?” he asks

“I told you, my parents won’t let me,” you say, trying your hardest not to roll your eyes as you repeat yourself for what seems like the millionth time. 

“But --” You press a finger to his lips, shushing him and cutting him off.

“I gotta go with a group of girls so they won’t get suspicious. But if you’re a good sport, afterward at Maddy’s house,” you slow down and exaggerate those last two words to get your point across, and you flick your eyes to the open door, making sure your parents aren’t eavesdropping before sliding your hand down to his chest and leaning in until your lips are almost touching his to whisper, “I’ll make it up to you.” He hisses as he sucks in a deep breath, and you pull your head away a split second before he leans in to try and capture your lips. 

“Tomorrow, I promise,” you say, drizzling your voice in regret. A quiet, frustrated grunt escapes his lips as he leans his head back and closes his eyes and you giggle at the familiar action. Power rushes through your veins; it feels good to have someone 

“Tell me why I thought it would be a good idea to date a girl with religious parents,” he groans, running a hand through his thick hair.

“‘Cause I’m irresistible,” you say with a wink. “Speaking of religious parents, you should probably go before they decide that I can’t go to the dance tomorrow.” You walk an unenthusiastic Nate out the front door, giving his bicep a quick squeeze before shutting the door. He hesitates outside the door and leans his back against the solid wood, imagining you on the other side doing the same, but in reality, you’ve already made it back up to your room and are shimmying the screen on your window up. With practiced ease, you swing your legs out and slip through the opening. With three steps to the left, you’re able to wrap your legs around one of the pillars on the front porch, and you clamber down like an expert mountain climber. 

It takes ten minutes to bike to your destination, and when you arrive, you let your bike fall to the ground and pull off your sweatpants and Nate’s jersey, shoving them under one of the wheels. You ring the doorbell and adjust the hem of your skirt as you wait for the door to open. It takes a few minutes, during which you’ve rearranged your very minimal clothing at least fifteen times, but then the door is swinging open to reveal Maddy standing in the doorway wearing a pair of black high-waisted bike shorts with a matching sports bra and a shit-eating smirk.

“You can head upstairs, I’m just gonna grab us something to drink,” she says as you step inside. You nod and follow the familiar path to her bedroom. The lights are off, but the fairy lights on the walls cast a pretty pink glow around the room. You kick off your platform sneakers and sit on the edge of the bed with your ankles crossed and hands folded in your lap, waiting for Maddy. She brings two glasses of red wine with her and hands one to you without a word. The liquid is bitter on your tongue and you feel a familiar warmth spreading through your body as soon as it hits your stomach. 

“Were you with Nate?” Maddy asks. Her voice is clear and her tone is neutral, but her eyes darken with just the slightest hint of anger. 

“Yeah,” you answer

“Did he touch you?” She asks this question a little bit louder and raises an eyebrow as she waits for your response. You shake your head and lower your head to stare into your wineglass, avoiding her intense stare. When you lift your head again, Maddy is towering over you. She takes the glass from your hand and sets it on the floor, off to the side next to her own. Using two fingers, she tips your chin up until your gaze locks on her eyes. Her pupils are so large that only a sliver of dark brown is visible.

“I said: did he touch you?” She repeats, pausing for a second in between each word.

“No,” you whisper, shaking your head again. 

“Good.” A smile breaks out on her face and she leans forwards, pushing your shoulders down until your back hits the bed behind you. She crawls over your body, careful not to touch any part of you except your wrists, which she pins to the bed above your head. Then she leans down until you can feel her breath on your ear.

“Do you love him?” Her voice is a husky whisper against the delicate skin of your neck, and a shiver travels up your spine, making your body convulse.

“No,” you repeat, and it morphs into a squeal as she lowers her mouth and pulls your earlobe between her teeth. 

“Who do you love?” Maddy starts a trail of kisses down your jaw.

“You.” The answer is a shaky breath leaving your lips.

“What was that? I couldn’t quite hear you.” Her lips ghost over yours and your hips buck upwards, searching for some sort of friction, but they can’t quite get high enough 

“You. I love you, daddy.” As soon as the words leave you, her lips are crashing against yours and you can taste the strawberry sweetness of her lip gloss. 

When she pulls back to catch her breath, you let out a needy whine, struggling against her firm grasp to free your hands, desperate to touch her. A stern glare stops you in your tracks and you deflate into the comforter.

“Do you want something?” 

“I--” You start to answer, but she cuts you off. 

“Because if you do, you have to ask for it.” She shifts her weight so there’s even more pressure against your wrists, and you moan at the sensation. 

“Wanna touch you,” you manage to mumble. “Please, can I touch you?”

In the seconds before she releases your hands, you’re hyper-aware of how fast your heart is beating against your chest, working overtime to pump blood where you need it most. You immediately grab at her hips to pull them down onto your own to alleviate some of the pressure thrumming in your core. She keeps one hand above her head to support her weight but uses the other one to slip the straps of your tank top off your shoulders. You reluctantly take your hands off of her, one at a time, to pull them off completely. From there, it’s easy for her to slide the slip of fabric down until your boobs burst free. 

“You’re so beautiful, baby,” she breathes, pausing to admire your small but perky chest and the hard peaks of your nipples. Your cheeks burn under her adoring gaze and you tilt your head back in a silent request for a kiss which she is eager to answer. This kiss is dirtier than the ones before; she sucks your bottom lip into her mouth and then releases it with a small pop, taking advantage of the way your jaw drops in pleasure to slip her tongue in its place. With slow strokes, she licks the roof of your mouth and seems to absorb your soft mewls before they can leave your throat. You open your mouth even wider, wanting more, needing more, but she slides down to press hot, open-mouthed kisses underneath your chin and down your neck. Your head drops back onto the mattress to give her more room and you arch your back to encourage her to move lower. Her hips follow yours as they drop down a little bit and she grinds down on you. You try to spread your legs but she squeezes her thighs tighter around yours to hold you in place which causes you to whine. 

She ghosts a hand over each of your breasts, just barely grazing your nipples, and then trails her fingers lower, over the scrunched-up fabric of your tank top and down to the waistband of your skirt. Her mouth replaces her hand on your breast and sucks on the skin just below your collarbone hard enough to leave a hickey. You lift your hips and wriggle to try and slip your skirt off, but she presses her palm against your hipbone to stop you. The disappointment you feel is short-lived because soon enough her hand is on your exposed thigh and she’s kneading slow circles into the soft flesh with her thumb. It feels like it takes forever for her hands to get close enough to where you want them, but in reality, it’s only a few minutes. She widens her legs and nudges your thighs open with one hand so she has more room to work, and captures your lips in another kiss. It tickles a bit as she drags a finger down the hem of your thong from your waist to your pussy where it glides easily against the silk of your panties.

“Fuck,” she groans against your lips, and you feel her smile. “So wet for me, aren’t you, baby?”

“All for you,” you breathe. You whimper as she presses the tip of her finger against the wet fabric. 

“You like that?” Your brain is so far gone that you can’t answer with your words, too focused on the rush of pleasure the action causes, so you nod instead. She rubs slow circles around your clit through your panties, and you feel yourself gushing in response. Heat gathers deep in your belly and you push up, grinding your hips in time with her fingers, trying to get her to speed up. 

“Uh, uh, uh,” she scolds, pulling her lips off of yours. “Patience.” Your lower lip juts out in a pout, but then she pulls your panties to the side and you bury your face in her neck, gasping as the sensitive skin is exposed to the cool air of her bedroom. She doesn’t give you any time to recover; her fingers are back on your clit in no time. They circle it one, two, three times before she slides down through your drenched lips. She teases your entrance with her middle finger and your moans are muffled by her neck as you press your face against it even harder. 

“Please,” you whimper, and it’s just barely audible. 

“Please what?” She asks as her pointer finger joins the middle at the edge of your hole. 

“Please fuck me, daddy.” As soon as you finish talking, her fingers are pushing against your tightness, easing you open until they are able to slip in. Your walls clench down and your brain sings with happiness when she finds your G-spot. She presses her thumb against your clit in time with the thrust of her fingers inside you, and your hips buck against her wildly, your pussy seeking every bit of stimulation it can get. 

“Fuck, daddy,” you groan. “‘M gonna cum.”

“Not yet,” she hums, slowing down her fingers just a bit. 

“Please, please, please.” Your voice is a prayer against her skin. She holds you on the edge for a few seconds as your breathing speeds up and your body starts to shake from the effort of holding back your orgasm. 

“Okay, you can cum for me, princess.” Your lips flutter around her fingers as all of the tension leaves your body. Her fingers continue their actions as you ride out your high, shuddering against her. When she’s coaxed every last bit of cum out of you, you whimper at the overstimulation and she pulls her fingers out and drags them up your neck, trailing your juices up to your mouth. You part your lips and obediently suck them clean. She buries her face in your hair and murmurs “You did so good for me.” 

You release her fingers from your mouth and wrap your legs around her waist and she pulls you close, holding you still for a few minutes as you recover.

“Do you think you can do that again?” She asks with a wicked grin. “You haven’t taken my cock yet.” 

“Yeah, but I need a minute,” you answer honestly. Your breathing is still heavy and your heart hasn’t returned to an acceptable resting rate. 

“I can work with that.” Maddy climbs off of you and pulls off her shorts and the black lacy thong underneath them. You can see her own wetness shimmering between her thighs and you lick your lips, eager to feel them against you. Before she gets back on the bed, she pulls you into a half-sitting position so she can slip your shirt over your head. You fall back against the bed when she releases your hand, too worn out to hold yourself up. She crawls back over you slowly, pressing her pussy against your pelvis and then dragging it up your stomach, over your breasts, and up until she’s hovering over your mouth. 

“Are you going to be a good girl and make daddy feel good?” she asks, holding her hips just out of your reach. 

“Yes,” you say, taking a deep breath in and then releasing it so the hot air tickles the sensitive skin of her inner thighs. You can smell her musky scent and your clit twitches with excitement. She shivers and lowers herself down onto your eager mouth, and moans when you press a kiss to her clit. You push your tongue out and she grinds down as it brushes against her opening, but you’re not ready to give her exactly what she wants yet, so you lick your way up to her clit, instead and suck it between your lips, holding it in place to make it easier for your tongue to tease the flesh around it. One of your hands grabs the soft flesh of her ass while you guide the other to massage her lips, and her moans get louder and more frequent as you speed up your actions. 

“Stop teasing,” she demands, and you oblige, dragging your tongue back down to her hole. You circle it a few times and then let it slip inside, moving your hand up so you can rub your middle finger against her clit. She bucks her hips against your mouth, pressing down harder until your tongue is fully buried inside. You lap at her G-spot and massage her clit as she rides your face faster and faster until her thighs clench and she stills as her orgasm hits. 

“Fuck, Y/N,” she moans as she rubs her pussy against you a few more times to ride out her peak before collapsing on the bed next to you. 

“Good?” You ask, turning to face her. 

“So good, baby.” She leans in and sucks your lips into her mouth, humming as she tastes herself on them. One of her hands finds its way down to your pussy, and you gasp as the tip of her finger brushes against your swollen clit. You were so focused on making her cum that you didn’t realize that your own excitement had picked back up again until her fingers slipped on the wetness that had pooled there. “Looks like eating me out got you excited.” You feel her smirk against your lips and she slips one finger halfway inside you. “Do you want to ride me?”

“Yes, please,” you say, nodding eagerly. 

“I think I’m gonna need to stretch you out a bit first, so I’m going to put another finger in, okay?” Before you can respond, she adds another finger and pushes them in deeper, keeping her pace slow and steady for a few thrusts before pulling them back out. You whine at the loss of contact and grind your hips against her thigh to get the feeling back, but she rolls away from you and gets off the bed to dig out the box of sex toys from the back of her closet. While she’s busy, you pull yourself up to a sitting position and scoot to the edge of the bed to wait for her. When she returns, she’s got a large dildo strapped that matches the color of her skin strapped to her hips, and your mouth waters at the sight in front of you. 

“Like what you see?” She asks, teasing you as she pulls her shoulders back and juts her hips forward, showing off the cock between her legs. 

“Yes, daddy,” you say, looking up at her with wide, eager eyes. She grabs your hand and pulls you up only to shove you down onto your knees in front of her. The thick tip of the dildo brushes against your lip and you obey the silent command and let your jaw drop to accommodate it. You push forwards until it hits the back of your throat and then pull back again. There’s still a good three inches at the base that you aren’t able to reach, but you do your best to take just a little bit more every time you bob your head. 

“That’s it, babygirl, I love it when you suck my cock,” Maddy coos, reaching down to lace her fingers through your hair. She tugs on it to get you to move faster, until you’re gagging, and then she drops her hand and pulls back until the dildo falls from your lips. A trail of saliva is still connected to it, and Maddy hums in pleasure at the sight. She pulls you back up and then moves past you to lay down on the bed, motioning for you to follow. You climb on top of her, your pussy aching to be spread, and you let your lips drag against the dildo as you get into position, sending a shock of pleasure through your body. Your body hovers just above the tip of the dildo as you wait for Maddy to speak.

“Are you ready?” She asks. There’s a wicked glint in her eyes that tells you she knows that you are, but she just wants to make you wait a little bit longer. 

 “Yes, daddy, please,” you whine, working hard to keep your hips from bucking. 

“Okay.” As soon as you have permission, you let your knees slide further apart on the bed so you can lower yourself down. It takes a second for your lips to open wide enough for the tip, but then it slips in easily. When you’ve made it halfway down it starts to meet some resistance and Maddy locks her elbows, digging her nails into the flesh of your hips so hard there’ll be bruises when you wake up tomorrow. An indignant huff escapes your lips at the abrupt interruption of your journey, but Maddy lifts her head up to capture your lips in a slow, sweet kiss to make up for it. 

“Don’t want you to get hurt,” she mutters against your lips. “Gotta take it slow, okay?” You nod and lower your head, trailing kisses down her jaw and onto her neck where you bury your face. She loosens her grip on your hands and you feel yourself slowly sliding lower, lower, lower, until you’ve almost made it to the base. 

Maddy’s breath is hot on your ear as she whispers, “Can you take it all, baby?” 

“Yes, daddy,” you murmur against her skin. There’s a little bit of pain as your pussy stretches to accommodate the rest of the toy, but the pain morphs into pleasure once you’ve adjusted enough. “Oh fuck.” Your breathing quickens alongside your heartbeat, and you press your hips down even more until you feel your clit brush against Maddy’s. You know you’ve hit the right spot when she lets out a guttural moan. After a few seconds, she’s pushing your hips back up and you oblige, moving your hips back and forth as you ride her. With every stroke, you grind your clit down against hers for just a moment before she’s pushing you away, delaying your orgasm for as long as possible. You pull yourself up a little to be able to kiss her again, and her breathing gets shakier, letting you know that her own orgasm is close. As the pleasure builds up in your core your thrusts speed up and get sloppier, desperate for every bit of stimulation against your clit. Her grip on your hips loosens and eventually, she lets go, sliding her hands up your sides and to your tits instead, giving you full control. You slow down and focus more on grinding your hips down, pressing your clit to hers. The two of you are making so many noises you aren’t sure which ones are coming from you and which ones are coming from her. She bucks her hips up with increasing speed as she comes undone underneath you. 

“Fuck, baby, right there,” she breathes just before her orgasm overtakes her and she shakes beneath you. You don’t slow down, just continue climbing to your own peak. 

“‘M gonna come soon,” you mumble against her lips as you feel the first crest of pleasure.

“No, not yet, hold it, baby.” You let out a garbled whine but squeeze your eyes shut and pull your hips up to prevent yourself from falling further off the cliff. “Hold it… hold it… hold it… Good girl, okay, you can come for daddy.” As soon as the words have left her lips, you’re swallowing them with a moan, and your orgasm slams into you with full force. You feel yourself gushing all over the cock inside you, and you thrust your hips one last time, grinding down on her as you ride out every last drop of your orgasm before you collapse on top of Maddy. She giggles and wraps her arms around you, holding you tight to her chest. 

“Good?” She asks, rubbing your back as you take deep breaths to try and calm your racing heart. You just nod and nuzzle your head into her chest even further, inhaling the sweet scent of her perfume mixed with sweat. She lets you lay there for a few minutes before she pushes you off, pulling the toy out and taking it off, letting it fall to the floor next to her bed. You hate the empty feeling you get when she pulls out, but she distracts you by sliding a finger up through your pussy lips, collecting the wetness pooled there. She pops her finger in her mouth and hums around the digit as she tastes you. When you finally drift off to sleep with her arms wrapped tightly around you, that moment replays in a loop in your dreams. 

You’re back at Maddy’s the next day to get ready for homecoming and then take photos, and your pussy tightens at the sight of the bed where, not twenty-four hours earlier, she had fucked your brains out. Thank God the others are too distracted with doing their hair and makeup to notice the blush that creeps up your neck and onto your cheeks when Maddy winks at you. 

At the dance, you alternate between dancing with your girls and dancing with Nate, but when Kat announces that after one more song she’ll crown the homecoming king and queen, you make sure you’re with him. His grip is tight on your hips, digging into the bruises Maddy had made, making them ache. He buries his head in your neck as the song slows down.

“Can’t wait for later,” he whispers, and even though you can’t see his face, you can hear the smirk on his lips. You just hum in acknowledgment as your eyes seek out Maddy over his shoulder. She’s standing by the stage, whispering with Kat. Your heart clenches in your chest at the sight; Kat gets to be with Maddy while you have to dance with Nate-fucking-Jacobs, but you remind yourself that it’s not for much longer. 

Soon enough, the music stops, and then everyone is looking at you as Kat says your name. You forget to breathe as you make your way to the stage with slow, controlled steps. The whole room is screaming and cheering, and it rings in your ears. Kat hands you a bouquet of flowers and places a delicate tiara atop your head, and you feel like you’re underwater, seeing things at a slight delay. 

“And now it’s time to announce our homecoming king,” Kat says, and the room cheers again. Nate’s football friends are shoving him and laughing, and his bright-white smile flashes at you from the back of the room. He’s on top of the world for the ten-second pause Kat takes to build suspension. 

Then, she yells, “Maddy Perez!” and everybody cheers for a second before falling into a confused silence. Nate doesn’t seem to have heard her and he’s making a beeline for the stage, but Maddy is closer, and by the time he’s made it to the stairs, she’s already been crowned. He lifts his head up and the smile on his face drops into a grimace as he notices what has happened. 

“What the FUCK!” He screams. He jumps up the stairs two at a time and lunges for Maddy. She grabs your hand and pulls you to the side as security grabs him from behind before he can touch either one of you, and he kicks at them, shouting profanities as they drag him out a side door. While everyone is distracted, Maddy pulls a necklace from her bra and fastens it around your neck, letting her fingertips linger on the delicate skin on the back of your neck, causing a shiver to travel down your spine. 

“Congratulations, guys,” Kat says to you and Maddy once the commotion has settled down, and you thank her before leaving the stage. The diamonds on the ‘M’ on your chest sparkle under the spotlights as you and Maddy take your spot in the center of the dance floor. 

At school on Monday, it’s Maddy’s arm around you in the hallway and Nate Jacobs is nowhere to be found. All is as it should be. 

[imaginesandbandfiction]

Fezco's House Part 2 — Satellite

A Euphoria Imagine

Pairing: Fezco x Reader, a teeny hint of Fezco x Lexi

Word Count: 4k

Warnings: Brief mention of attempted SA,

Summary: Even though Fez was the one to break things off, he can't stay away.

A/N: Part 2 is finally here!!! Sorry, it took forever but in better news, Part 3 (an epilogue) is already done so that will be up next week. Shoot me a message to be added to the taglist! This is based on Satellite, my personal fave Harry's House song.

Masterlist

Things with Lexi were good. She was sweet, funny, and awkward in the most adorable way, but the fluttering in his stomach never blossomed into anything more. She drank Diet Pepsi and leaned against the counter, and he couldn’t stop comparing her to Y/N. He missed the way she had draped herself over every aspect of his life; the store, the back room, the couch, his bed, his mind… the only thing she hadn’t managed to infiltrate was his pants, though it had taken a lot of self-control on his part to stop that from happening.

When things went down with the cops and he missed her play, his world was turned upside-down and his budding relationship with Lexi fizzled out. Ash was rushed to the hospital, and when Fez tried to follow the paramedics out the door, it took two officers to hold him back. 

“That’s my brother!” He yelled through the knot in his throat, thrashing to try and escape their grip. When he realized he was stuck, he deflated and whispered, “That’s my fucking brother.” 

When they got to the police station, he was so desperate he would do anything to get to the hospital and see Ash. He almost confessed to everything, but thankfully, they had left him in a holding cell for nearly six hours before letting him make his phone call, which gave him enough time to work through his anger and frustration and develop a more rational plan. As soon as the cuffs were off, he took a swing at the wall. The crack of his knuckles against the brick was satisfying, and for a minute, the pain drowned out all of his other emotions, but when the pain faded away, they came flooding back with a vengeance. He collapsed on the metal bench attached to the back wall and dropped his head into his hands.

“Fuck!” he screamed, trying to release all the tension that had been building up since the police busted his door. Everything was falling apart. Trusting Custer had been a mistake, and it had ruined the business his grandmother had built. His family legacy. He had failed to protect Ash and Faye, and he was so fucking stupid because he let things with Lexi go further than a few minutes of flirting at a party. He hadn’t wanted Y/N involved, why was Lexi any different? (Because you don’t love Lexi, his subconscious supplied helpfully). For the first time in fifteen years, sobs wracked his body. When he stood up twenty minutes later, the concrete floor was stained with blood and tears. He paced up and down the cell, pushing through the guilt and his fears for Ash, and came up with both a short-term plan to make it out of the station as quickly as possible and a long-term plan to get out of dealing for good. By the time the guards brought him his phone, the bleeding had stopped and he had calmed down enough to be able to talk without his voice shaking. 

He called Laurie and traded her three of his top clients so that she’d use her resources to get him off clean, and within the hour he was released from the cell. 

“Defending a domestic violence victim, my ass,” the officer had said with a frustrated grunt as he opened the cell doors. Faye was waiting for him in the lobby of the station with her knees pulled up to her chest and tear-stained cheeks. 

“What should I do now?” She asked him. 

“I don’t fucking know, Faye,” he snapped. Her startled look and wide, innocent eyes softened him, and he rubbed a hand down his face. “Sorry, I just can’t think straight right now. Just… I’ll have an officer drive you home, ‘kay? Stay there ‘til I tell you it’s safe. I gotta go see Ash.” Her head perked up at that, but a furious glare from Fez was enough to stop that request in its tracks. 

When he burst through the emergency room doors half an hour later, the nurses tried to patch up his bloody knuckles, but he waved them off. His hands had been in worse shape before, and he was more concerned about his brother.

“He’s stable,” the doctor said as he led Fez up to the ICU. “For now, at least.”

He spent four days at Ash’s bedside, refusing to answer his phone unless it was business-related. Late on the fourth night, Ash’s eyes fluttered open, and Fez was so relieved he climbed into the hospital bed and held his brother like he used to when they were kids. 

After three weeks in the pediatric ward, Ash was released on strict bed rest. Faye took his recovery seriously, driving him to his physical therapy appointments and following the doctor’s outpatient care instructions to a T. Fez knew she felt bad about Custer betraying them, and even though he had forgiven her, he couldn’t blame her for wanting to feel useful.

Even though Custer was dead and Ash was predicted to make a full recovery, the pressure in Fez’s chest remained. Logically, he knew that the worst was behind them and he had plans to ensure that the future would be brighter, but he still felt a strange sense of dread, like the universe wasn’t entirely done fucking with him.

As winter melted into spring, he got a copy of the Girl's Lacrosse schedule from Jules and snuck into the back row of every game. Although he couldn’t keep an eye on Y/N 24/7 without it seeming suspicious, it was pretty easy to blend in with the crowd. Seeing her every week was enough to keep his anxiety in check. If she was out on the lacrosse field, that meant she was safe and healthy.

The first time he saw her in her lacrosse uniform, his heart nearly stopped. Her black shorts had gold trim that stopped just an inch above her knees, and she had a white, long-sleeved t-shirt on under the matching tank top. Black and gold ribbons were braided into her hair and tied in little bows at the ends, and there were two black rectangles painted under her eyes on her otherwise makeup-free face. She looked so athletic, and even though he knew nothing about lacrosse, he knew from the way the crowd cheered as she darted back and forth across the field that she was good. 

So he watched from afar, telling himself that it was for her protection and not because he physically could not stay away. He hovered in her orbit, out of sight but never out of reach, and life went on. 

Until prom night.

Fez closed the store early. He’d made enough by 3 pm to pay the rent on his apartment for a full year and was eager to go home, check on Ash, and smoke a blunt with Faye. When the dance was over, Jules and Rue showed up, giggly from the booze they had snuck in (and, in Rue’s case, whatever pills she had taken), and joined the smoke sesh. 

During the third episode of Meerkat Manor, Jules’ phone rang.

“Hey, Y/N!” She answered, her tone bright and happy. When she spoke again just a few seconds later, her voice dropped an octave. “Wait, what? Hold on, slow down, where are you?” Rue sat up and stared at Jules with wide eyes. “Stay there, okay babe? We’re coming to get you.” Jules turned to look at Fez to confirm that he could drive, but he wasn’t on the couch anymore. She turned around, scanning the room until she found him by the front door with his shoes on and keys in his hands. “Stay on the phone with me, just so I know you’re safe, okay?” 

Rue climbed into the backseat and Jules sat up front, directing Fez to the rich neighborhood on the other side of town. Eventually, they found Y/N standing on the side of the road, barefoot and still in her prom dress. The tires squealed as Fez pulled over, and he was the first one out of the car. 

“Where the fuck is he? I’ll fucking kill him,” he growled, pacing back and forth in front of the car as he turned his head from side to side looking for that goddamn football player. 

Jules was the first one to notice the blood dripping down Y/N’s leg, visible through a giant rip in her dress. 

“Did he…?” she asked as she approached her friend.  

“Tried to, but no,” Y/N answered, shaking her head. “When he started to… well, it doesn’t matter what he was doing. I managed to kick him a few times so he’d get off of me, but he tried to grab me when I started to run, and his nails did that when I shook him off.”

“Oh, sweetie,” Jules cooed, leaning in to wrap Y/N in a tight hug. Y/N melted into the embrace, letting the weight of what had just happened to her fully sink in. Fez stood by the car, squeezing the key fob in his hand until he could feel its indentation branded into his skin.

Rue dug around for something that could be used as a makeshift bandage and emerged triumphant with an old T-shirt. Once it was tied securely around Y/N’s thigh to stop the bleeding, Jules and Rue helped her get settled into the passenger’s seat before Fez drove slowly, carefully, his knuckles white around the steering wheel. The girls chatted as he drove to Rue’s house, but he couldn’t unclench his jaw for long enough to speak.

Once Jules and Rue were gone, an eerie silence settled over the car. 

“Guess drug dealers and gangbangers aren’t the only people who can hurt me,” Y/N said after a few minutes, turning to look at Fez with a wry smile.

“‘M sorry, I--” Fez started, but Y/N continued, cutting him off mid-sentence.

“You wanted me to be normal, so I tried it, and I almost got raped. So can we stop pretending that this is working for either of us and go back to being friends?” Fez’s eyes flicked off of the road and locked on hers for just a fraction of a second, but she recognized the shock in his wide eyes. “I know you’ve been coming to all my games, Fezco.”

“What? Nah…” Fez’s voice was unnaturally high as he responded. 

“I can see you, dude. I’m not blind. The lights on the field aren’t that bright.” He pulled one of his hands off of the steering wheel and scratched the back of his neck, which was slowly turning red. “I think it’s sweet.”

“It’s just… y’know, after everything with Ash… I dunno.”  He trailed off, wishing for once that he was better with words so he could give her the answer she deserved. She reached over the center console and grabbed his hand, squeezing it to let him know that she understood.

“I know, Fezzy.” The silence that filled the car for the rest of the short drive was comfortable and Y/N didn't let go until Fez pulled into her driveway. 

On the Saturday after prom, Fez’s heart nearly stopped again when Y/N pushed open the door and sauntered into the store. He was transported back to last summer, and adrenaline started pumping through his veins as he remembered feeling the wind on his face as he chased after her on his bike, the softness of her t-shirt when he got close enough to grab it, and the sweet sound of her laughter ringing in his ears as she sped up to escape his grasp.

Y/N made a beeline for the counter and raised her eyebrows when she saw the bottle of Coke sweating droplets of water onto the linoleum. 

“For me?” She asked, flashing a wicked grin and holding a hand to her chest. “I’m touched.” In one swift movement, she scooped up the soda and hoisted herself onto the counter, swiveling so she faced Fez instead of the door. 

“Shut up,” Fez mumbled into his chest, trying to hide the bashful smile on his face. Y/N pulled her knees to her chest and rested her chin on them, looking up at him with adoration shining in her eyes. “I sent Ash to your house ‘lready.”

“I’m not here for drugs.” Y/N’s face softened into a shy smile. 

“Oh yeah? Why you here, then?” Fez crossed his arms and peered down at her, faking confidence that he did not feel.

“‘Cause I fucking missed you, dude.” Her shoulders lifted in a shrug, playing at nonchalance, but her teasing tone and the slight blush tinting her cheeks gave her away. 

“Missed you too.” He reached out and poked at the haphazard bun her wet hair was twisted into. “Didn’t miss your wet hair drippin’ all over my store, though.” She giggled and felt all of the tension leave her body; his joke cut through the heady air between them and loosened up the uncharacteristic sincerity. 

The bell above the door jingled and they both turned their gazes toward the sound. Ash stopped in his tracks, rolled his eyes at them, and then made a beeline for the back room, shaking his head and mumbling under his breath as he went. 

Fez started sitting in the front row of the bleachers at all of Y/N’s lacrosse games with whoever was there that day; a permanent rotation of friends swapped in and out depending on the day, but Fez was a constant, and sometimes Ash tagged along, too. But everyone showed up for the state championship match against San Diego High School. It’s a close game, and everyone is on edge, feeling responsible for whether the team wins or loses. The coach pulls Y/N out for a water break towards the end of the second half, and Cassie and Maddy cheer as she walks by, waving their glitter-covered sign. Fez is distracted by the blush creeping up Y/N’s cheeks at all of the attention but manages to throw thumbs up her way before she sits down on the bench, turning to face the field instead of the audience. 

When there are only four minutes left on the clock, and East Highland is down by one point, the coach calls a time-out and pulls one of the girls off the field.

“Y/L/N, you’re in,” he shouts, waving a hand towards Y/N as the other girl exits the field. Y/N doesn’t have time to look back at her friends before the ref is blowing his whistle and the game resumes. She can hear them, though; Jules is wolf-whistling so loud that the rest of the audience’s ears keep ringing even after she stops. Y/N’s adrenaline spikes as she chases after the ball alongside her teammates. A girl from SDHS gets possession, and Y/N’s heart clenches as the girl takes a shot, but the East Highland goalkeeper manages to block it, and cheers erupt from the home-team side of the field. There’s less than a minute left in the game and no time for errors. The goalkeeper passes it to one of Y/N’s teammates, who fumbles it, but Y/N is right behind her and manages to scoop up the fallen ball before anyone from the other team can. East Highland’s fan section roars with excitement, somehow they’re even louder than they were before as she takes possession. She pauses for a split-second, debating whether or not to get closer to shoot an easier shot to tie up the game or go for the two-pointer from where she’s standing. 

“Why doesn’t she just throw the fuckin’ ball?” Ash mutters, looking between Y/N and the clock with uncharacteristic, frantic energy. 

“‘Cause shootin’ from where she at is risky, but the shot’s worth 2 points. If she moves closer, it’ll only be worth one, so she gotta decide what to do,” Fez answers, having picked up a thing or two after a whole semester of attending the games. He refuses to take his eyes off Y/N, so he misses Ash’s look of confusion. 

Y/N glances at the clock, which decides for her, and she flings the ball at the opposite end of the field. It soars into the top-left corner of the goal just as the ref blows the whistle to signal the end of the game. 

Time slows down, and she thinks she’s hallucinating, that there’s no way she made the goal, but then it speeds back up again as her teammates crowd around her, crushing her in a group hug. 

“You did it!” Her best friend on the team, Holly, screams as she wraps her arms around Y/N and starts jumping wildly. 

“We did it!” Y/N yells back, letting herself get swooped up into the mob of sweaty, pulsing bodies dancing in the middle of the field. The audience holds back for a few minutes, watching the team celebrate with broad smiles, and the coach approaches the group of girls with the Gatorade dispenser in his arms. He pops off the top and dumps it over the girls in a bizarre school tradition, and Fez and Ash share a confused look, but shrug it off as Y/N is in the middle of the circle, shaking her wet braids back and forth, shrieking with excited laughter. 

The girls disperse a bit, making room for their families and friends, and Y/N turns to her friends but her eyes skim over their happy faces to lock on Fez’s slightly watery eyes (seeing her shoot the game-winning goal had him tearing up, though he’d never admit it later). Her face lit up and her lips spread into the biggest grin he’d ever seen, and suddenly the crowd parts around him. He runs, though Fezco O’Neill doesn’t run, as a rule (unless he’s running for his life), and nearly knocks Y/N over as he skids to a stop in front of her. Before he realizes what he’s doing, he’s got his arms wrapped around her waist and he throws her into the air above him, spinning her in a few lazy circles before letting her body slide down his until her tippy-toes touch the ground. She’s dizzy from the spinning and high off of her win, so her brain’s lagging a bit, but then his lips crash against hers and she’s giggling against them. Fez’s eyes flutter shut and he pushes against her back to bring her even closer. He has to stifle a moan as the sweet-and-salty taste of sweat mixed with orange Gatorade hits his lips. 

“I’m literally drenched in Gatorade right now,” Y/N mutters between kisses. “It’s gonna ruin your shirt.”

“Don’t care,” Fez breathes into her mouth, and he feels her lips twitch upwards into a smile as he presses his own against them, harder this time. They’re only vaguely aware of the world around them, everything is distorted as faceless voices sound like the adults in Charlie Brown (“Please tell me somebody got that on video,” Cassie squeals as the rest of the group approaches. “Yep, caught the whole thing,” Jules says with a giggle, still pointing her phone at them), but when someone clears their throat and taps Y/N on the shoulder they break apart, albeit reluctantly. 

“Not to interrupt this heartwarming moment, but, uh, Y/N, Coach Carrolson from Stanford wants to talk to you,” her assistant coach says, scratching the back of his neck and flashing an apologetic smile at Fez.Y/N nods and leans in to give Fez a quick peck. 

“Don’t move!” She tells him, pointing a finger at him before turning and sprinting over to an official-looking lady wearing a black pantsuit and holding a clipboard. 

Rue nudges him with her shoulder, and when he turns to look at her, his face is bright red underneath his freckles. She wiggles her eyebrows at him and he shoves her lightly, too frazzled to think of any other response, but the blissful smile on his lips as he watches Y/N chatting with the Stanford coach tells Rue everything she needs to know.

“Somebody’s in love,” Jules sings, leaning her head on Rue’s shoulder and poking Fez in the shoulder. 

“Shut up,” he mutters. He’s never been in love before, so he’s not exactly sure what it’s supposed to feel like, but if it’s anything like the pure, sugar-sweet happiness swelling in his chest, he thinks he’s going to like it.

There’s going to be an after-party, of course, because there’s never been a party that the students of East Highland didn’t like. After talking to the Stanford coach, Y/N gets swept up by the rest of her teammates. But before they leave the field, she jogs back over to her friends and 

“I gotta go, but Ashley’s having a party later to celebrate,” she says, squeezing Fez’s hand to reassure him that she hadn’t forgotten about the moment they just had. “I’ll text you the address, okay? It starts at nine.” 

“‘Aight, we’ll be there,” Fez agrees. He doesn’t try to hide the dopey smile on his lips and Y/N smiles back. 

“Good. See you later!” She pressed a quick kiss to Fez’s lips and waved at the rest of the group before disappearing back into the crowd of uniformed girls. 

Later that night, Fez, Rue, and Jules walk in just as the party is starting to get wild. Their eyes are immediately drawn to the living room, where Y/N is standing on the coffee table, gesturing wildly with a bottle of vodka as she explains the rules of some drinking game to the small crowd gathered around her. Loud music is pumping through the speakers, so they can’t hear what she was saying, but Fez can tell that it’s bossy, and heat flares up in his stomach.

She turns to glare at someone on the other side of the circle and catches Fez’s eye. A smile explodes from her frown and she hops off of the table, pushing her way through the crowd until she’s in front of him. 

“Fezzy!” She exclaims when she is close enough for him to hear. “You came!” After setting the bottle of vodka down on the floor, she throws her arms around his neck in a quick hug, then settles at his side. He keeps one arm loosely draped around her shoulders.

“‘Course I did, ma,” he says through a chuckle. “You think I’d miss this after comin’ to every game this year?” Y/N shrugs, ducking her head to hide her embarrassed smile. “You’re a fuckin’ superstar, dude.” Fez uses his free hand to poke her cheek, coaxing a giggle from her. 

“We’re gonna go grab a drink,” Jules says, giving the two of you a cheeky grin and wiggling her eyebrows before pulling Rue into the kitchen.

“But I wanna know what happens next!” Rue whines

“They’re our friends, Rue, not a sitcom!”

Y/N turns to look at Fez and they make brief eye contact before looking away, trading nervous smiles. Rue, always so eloquent, had brought the elephant into the room, front and center. After a few moments of quiet, Y/N turns to look at Fez again.

“Dance with me?” She asks, looking up at him with a hint of uncertainty behind her usually-sparkling eyes. Fez turns to look at the mass of sweaty bodies and then back at Y/N with a defeated sigh.

“Only ‘cause it’s you askin’,” he answers, shaking his head. With an excited squeal, she leads him into the living room but stops at the edge of the makeshift dance floor. She loops her arms around his neck and takes a step closer, leaving a few inches of space between their bodies. 

“This okay?” Fez shrugs in response, letting his lips twitch up into a smirk. 

“Could be better.” He wraps his arms around her waist, letting them cross behind her back so the distance between them shrinks. Her excited giggle is like music to his ears and he makes a vow to himself

They sway to the music for a few songs, letting the beat guide their bodies. She rests her cheek on his shoulder and he tucks the top of her head under his chin

“I think we should have a redo of Halloween,” Fez says eventually. 

“Yeah?” Y/N asks, forcing herself to keep her face neutral as she pulls back to look at Fez. He nods.

“But, like, properly this time. I’mma take you on a real date. Buy you flowers, all that shit.”

“You don’t have to do that, Fez. I like you for you, not because I want a boyfriend.”

“Yeah, but I want to. You’re more than just some girl, y’know? Wanna make sure you always feel special.” A flush creeps up Fez’s neck and onto his face. 

“Yeah?” Y/N’s eyes are shining as she smiles up at him. 

“Yeah.” Y/N reaches up to cup one of Fez’s pink-tinted cheeks and the heat from his body melts into her skin, leaving a glittering tingle in its wake. This time, when their lips meet, it’s soft, sweet, and full of promises. Knowing that no matter where life’s ups and downs will take them, gravity will always be there, tethering them together. 

Taglist: @kittygreen16

[imaginesandbandfiction]

Night Changes

An Outer Banks Imagine

Pairing: JJ Maybank x Reader

Word Count: 3.6K

Summary: Past, present, and future collide in a conversation with your childhood best friend.

Warnings: Very (very) brief mention of teen pregnancy and abuse.

A/N: I have been listening to a lot of One Direction lately and this idea came to me fully formed so I had to get it out and share it with you all! Obviously, it's inspired by the song Night Changes.

Masterlist

You adjust the strap of your red slip dress with a sigh, staring with dead eyes at your reflection in the mirror. You look good; by now you could take yourself from PJs to full glam in forty-five minutes like a lipstick-wielding robot. The process of getting ready, slathering thick creams and brushing soft powders against your skin, really soothes you but the end result is underwhelming. You end up looking like every other girl on Figure Eight, copy-and-pasted into a frothy pink bedroom with silk sheets and a light-up vanity. 

“Y/N! The driver’s here!” Your mom yells up the stairs at you. Her voice echoes through the wide hallway outside your door and it makes your ears ring. 

“Coming!” You call back. Shaking your head to bring yourself back to reality, you spring into action, slipping into a pair of heels and grabbing your purse on your way out the door. 

At the bottom of the stairs, your mom is waiting. She’s wearing an elegant, pale gold, floor-length gown and your stepdad's tie matches it exactly. When your mom catches sight of you coming down, she frowns. 

“What happened to the white Oscar de la Renta dress I bought you?” She asks, fluttering over to meet you as you step into the foyer. Before you have the chance to answer, she continues, looking you up and down as she speaks. “Well, we don’t have time for you to change, and you’d have to swap out your lipstick to something lighter, so I suppose this will have to do.” Her frown smoothes into a straight line and you can see the muscles in her jaw as they clench. “You look like I did back in high school. A cheap hooker.” 

You bite your lip to hide the smile that was threatening to break across your face. The dress was from the thrift store in the Cut where you did all your shopping back in the before times. Before your mom married Chaz Anderson, an investment banker with a private jet and a grown-up son from his first marriage. Before you were forced to change schools and leave your best friend behind. So, yeah, maybe you had picked it because it reminds you of where you came from. Your mom had worn something similar to homecoming in her senior year of high school just a few months before she got pregnant with you. It didn’t hurt that JJ Maybank, your aforementioned best friend, had been rendered speechless when you had tried it on.  

“It’s okay, honey,” Chaz says as he leads your mom outside. He rubs her shoulders and leans in to kiss the exposed skin behind her ear. “She looks beautiful. The boys won’t be able to take their eyes off her.” She lets out a “hmmph” in return, placated by that fact. Pairing you up with one of the Chubby short-wearing Kook boys is her main goal in life now that she has secured a rich husband for herself. You roll your eyes and follow them out to the town car waiting in the driveway. Even though the country club is only a few blocks away, you used to walk further to elementary school, your mom insisted on driving (“Appearances are everything, darling,” she had said when you asked her about it, which had been her signature catchphrase since the moment the marriage license was signed).

When you arrive, the party is in full swing in the club’s ballroom. Immediately, you’re swept up in a stream of heavily-perfumed women and men wearing Rolexes. You follow your mother as she greets everyone she knows, kissing cheeks and shaking hands like she was born with a silver spoon in her mouth. For all her flaws, you had to admire the way she was able to meld seamlessly into this new world and make everyone forget she used to be poor. The other kids your age were in similar situations as you, standing silently to the side while the adults talked. When you end up near the girls from school that you don’t hate, you catch their gaze and roll your eyes at the tedium of it all. 

That was one of the things that caught you off guard the first time you’d attended one of these things. In the Cut, parties were laid back, usually taking place in someone’s backyard or on the beach, and all of the kids banded together immediately to get a game of kickball going or see who could chug a soda the fastest. Kook parties, on the other hand, are a delicate dance of social niceties, and children, no matter how old, are expected to stay with their parents until after dinner is served. 

After your mom has properly greeted everyone, she takes you over to the Camerons and your chest tightens, squeezing your lungs until you can’t take in a full breath. 

“Ward, so good to see you,” your mom gushes, leaning in to give the man a kiss on the cheek. Then she turns to the blonde woman at his side, grasping her hands. “And Rose! You look stunning, as always.”

“Y/M/N, lovely to see you as well,” Rose says, kissing your mother on both cheeks. 

“I was just telling Chaz that we should get together soon! You know how the kids get along so well.” You share a look with Sarah, rolling your eyes. She’s your best friend in Figure Eight, but both of you know that your mom isn’t talking about your friendship with her. 

“Rafe, how is your internship going? Y/N is thinking about studying finance in college, and I’m sure she’d love to hear more about it,” your mother addresses the boy standing to his father’s right. Yep, there it is. The ulterior motive. She gives you a pointed look and you straighten up, turning towards Rafe. 

“Well, you know how it is, I need to keep all my options open,” you say with a chuckle, eliciting a frown from your mom. Rafe flashes his wolfish grin at you and launches into an in-depth description of his internship at a fancy capital investment firm on the mainland that you only half listen to. Your eyes wander around the room until you catch a glimpse of a shock of blond hair emerging from the swinging doors leading to the kitchen. The boy lifts his head up and his blue eyes scan the crowd before locking on you. His annoyed grimace, probably from something his manager said, melts into a grin. He’s got a tray of bacon-wrapped dates in his hands, but you see him wiggle the ring and pinky fingers on one hand in an attempt to wave and have to bite your lip to keep yourself from laughing. You nod at Rafe to make him think you’re listening, but at the sight of the familiar face of your best friend, your mind is spinning down memory lane, back through the first fourteen years of your life. 

That same blond head is bobbing up and down in front of you. At age eight, he’s hyperactive and bounces with each step. His little legs speed up as you near the boardwalk, and you practically have to run to keep up with him. 

“JJ!” His mom yells from behind you with laughter in her voice. “Stay where I can see you!” His steps halt for a split second, and then he slows back down to fall in step with you. 

“I’m not a baby,” he mumbles, quiet enough so that only you can hear. You nudge his shoulder and send him stumbling to the side of the path. He nudges you back, lighter than you did, when he regains his balance. 

“Bet I can win more prizes than you,” you taunt as you enter the boardwalk, which has been turned into a carnival for the end of the summer. Both of your eyes are shining under the blinking lights of games and rides, and JJ breaks out into a grin. 

“Loser has to buy the other ice cream!” 

Then, he’s ten and you see the top of his head sink down as his legs collapse, sending him tumbling into the sand. His beat-up old flip phone falls out of his hand and bounces close to the rising tide. You scramble to grab it before the water can claim it, and settle in next to JJ with a hand on his back. His body shakes with the force of his sobs and you pull him in for a hug, pushing his head into your shoulder. 

“JJ? What happened? Is it your mom?” You ask, a spike of adrenaline rising within you. His parents had been fighting a lot lately, and he’d been taking refuge on your couch most nights. He always went back home in the morning, though, to make sure his mom ate breakfast. There were bruises on her skin and bags under her eyes, but one day, he came home to find her collapsed and bleeding on the floor, and JJ stopped spending the night at your house after that. He was afraid that his dad was going to kill her one day. You had wiped the blood off his lips more times than you could count, since then, and stolen your mom’s concealer to cover up his bruises. 

“She’s gone, Y/N,” he cries, burying his face into your neck. You feel stinging behind your own eyes but blink them back. You have to be strong for your friend. The two of you stay there, kneeling in the sand and clutching onto each other for dear life until the tide comes in and nearly sweeps you out to sea. 

John B, from your class at school, starts coming over more often, and the three of you form an unofficial “absent parent society.” Your mom had already taken JJ under her wing and she welcomes John B into the fold without question, sending you to school with three PB&Js in your lunch box instead of two. Though those years were blanketed in a heavy layer of sadness, as John B’s mom had only just died and JJ was a little bit of a wreck after his mom left, they were also some of the most fun. The three of you roamed the Cut like a pack of stray dogs, stopping in to visit your friend Pope at his dad’s restaurant where Heyward would set you up with sodas and a basket of fries, or heading to the Chateau where John B’s dad would take you out in his fishing boat. Most nights were spent watching movies on your couch with a bowl of popcorn and 99-cent Slurpees from the gas station a few blocks away. Your mom bought middle school boy-sized pajamas and extra toothbrushes to keep at the house. Though you only had two decent parents between the three of you, the Cut provided everything else you needed. 

When your mom met Chaz, however, everything changed. It was a whirlwind romance, and in just eight months, they were engaged. He was twenty years older than her, with a son ten years older than you in college on the mainland, and after their courthouse wedding, the two of you slipped quietly into Figure Eight. 

The next year, you were sent to the Kook Academy and told to keep your friendship with JJ and John B on the down low, lest someone figure out that you had grown up on the other side of the island. It felt like your mom had made a 180-degree turn, caring more about designer clothes than the boys she had practically raised. But you still got glimpses of who she had been before; she gave you two hundred dollars in cash for “pizza” whenever you went over to the Chateau, and when Chaz was out of town for work, she’d fill the fridge with their favorite snacks and let them spend the night on the plush couches in the theater room. 

But things were spiraling out of control the longer you were separated from your childhood best friends. They have inside jokes you don’t understand and have even started hanging out with the Kook girl whose parents own The Wreck. Kiara is nice, but whenever you and the boys talk about your childhood, she gives you this look, like you’re betraying her.

The now-familiar sound of her laugh pulls you from your thoughts and you whip your head around. Kiara is in the corner by the kitchen doors, throwing bacon-wrapped dates into JJ’s mouth. He lets out an excited yell when he catches one, and your heart squeezes in what feels like fear. When his manager comes out and yells at him, you feel bad, but the horrible person deep down inside of you is grateful that he interrupted. Kiara slips back into the crowd with a frown, and you see JJ’s jaw tighten as he grinds his teeth. He mumbles something to his boss and shoves the platter into the older man’s hands before storming out the back door. Rafe is still prattling on as your mother listens intently, so you slip away and yell “Bathroom!” over your shoulder so she doesn’t panic. 

A wall of heat engulfs you as soon as you open the sliding door, and you shut it behind you as quietly as you can. You can see JJ’s silhouette on the far end of the patio, leaning over the railing. A plume of smoke rises above him, dissipating in the salty air. 

You stand still for a minute, feeling the beat of your heart speed up with every second that passes. The blood rushes through your ears and you’re half-convinced that JJ can hear it. Part of you wants him to hear it, wants to believe that the two of you are connected by some invisible string of fate that will keep the two of you close no matter where life takes you. 

After taking a deep breath, you walk up to JJ and lean on the railing next to him. He nods at you from behind the safety of his cigarette and takes a deep drag. You wait a few minutes, settling into a familiar, comfortable silence, letting him just be for a while. After helping him through his emotions for nearly sixteen years, you know that he’ll talk to you when he’s ready. But there’s something else bothering you, a stray thought in the back of your mind that won’t go away. You feel it radiate off your skin, causing a shift in the air between you and your oldest friend. It makes you feel itchy and you fidget with your necklace to distract yourself. It doesn’t work, and eventually, you pluck the cigarette out from between JJ’s lips and take your own hit. 

“How did we get here, JJ?” You ask, letting the burn of the harsh smoke entering your lungs distract you from your thoughts. 

“Well, when a mommy and a daddy love each other very much,” JJ starts. You send a cloud of smoke his way in a huff of laughter. 

“I don’t mean here on earth, I mean here here. Smoking a cigarette outside of a Kook party.”

“Well, I was always destined to serve the more fortunate. You on the other hand…” He trails off and shakes his head, stealing the cigarette back from you and taking a long drag. 

“I know, I know. Mommy seduced a rich man and now I’m a Pogue in Kook clothing. But seriously, I’ve been thinking a lot lately, and sometimes it drives me crazy just how much my life has changed.”

You elaborate at the sight of the wrinkle of confusion between JJ’s eyebrows.  

“It’s just… I’ve been having this recurring dream since I was a kid, where we’re all grown up, in our thirties or whatever, and we’re at the beach with a little blonde boy who acts just like you did as a kid, diving into the waves, completely fearless, and a girl with my eyes who chases after him like he’s the center of the universe. It’s not really clear if they’re our kids together or with other people but it doesn’t really matter because we’re happy. Sometimes we’re teaching them to surf, other times building a sandcastle, a few times we’ve taken them to get ice cream or to Heyward’s Seafood and it’s just…nice.” You pause to take a breath and sneak a look over at JJ to gauge his reaction. His lips are turned up in a slight smile and his eyes are glossy and unfocused as he stares at the ocean in the distance. The cigarette is dangling in his left hand, forgotten and spitting ashes onto the sand.

“It’s always made me happy, like no matter what else changes, it will never change things between me and you. But lately, my mom’s been super pushy, trying to set me up with Rafe Cameron, and I feel that dream slipping away. I don’t want a marriage like hers, but it’s starting to look like I won’t have a choice in the matter. I just don’t want to get to that point in my life and have regrets, you know?” 

You take a deep breath and let your confession hang in the air between you and JJ. He’s quiet for a few minutes and you can feel him thinking. He’s got a reputation for acting on his impulses, but when he stops to think something through, he really thinks it through. His eyes are narrowed in just the hint of a glare, nearly imperceptible if you don’t know what to look for. The wrinkle on his forehead has deepened into a crater and he’s got his bottom lip tucked up under his top teeth. Around you, the night air is still humid, and yet you can still feel the heat radiating off of his body, seeming to grow hotter by the minute. 

“Would it really be that bad if things changed between us?” He asks finally, his voice just a step above a whisper. That sends you into a full panic spiral; the familiar prickling sensation builds up behind your eyes, your breaths are heaving in your chest, and you turn your head away from JJ so he can’t see the effect his words are having on you. It was a mistake, opening up to him like that. Clearly, things have already changed, and he thinks of you as a full Kook, with no turning back. You take a few deep breaths to steady yourself enough to make your exit.

“No, sorry, I shouldn’t have…”  You mumble, turning to look at him one last time. You’re shocked at how close he is to you, having scooted closer when you weren’t looking, and before you can get a full sentence out, his lips are pressed against yours. He grabs your hips and pulls you closer, and it’s like there’s something in his touch that sets off a chain reaction in your body, traveling from your lips down to your toes in a wave of pleasure. It settles deep into your bones, satisfying an ache that you hadn’t known was there until now.

You’ve seen JJ kiss Tourons countless times, but this is nothing like his usual strategy. He’s soft and gentle, and his tongue remains securely inside his own mouth, even when your lips fall apart in a quiet “oh!” You try to use this to your advantage, but he pulls back, leaving just an inch or two between you that feels like a chasm. Your eyes blink open and you stare up at him through your eyelashes with your lower lip stuck out in a slight pout. 

“Was that okay?” He asks, rubbing the back of his neck with one hand, uncharacteristically nervous. You respond by sliding your hand up his chest and around the back of his neck to squeeze his hand in your own. 

“Do it again,” you say, “but don’t hold back this time.” His serious face cracks and he flashes you his signature shit-eating grin as he leans in again. 

“Be careful what you wish for,” he mutters as his lips linger in the empty space between you. They brush against yours, just barely, yet it’s enough to send a shiver up your spine. He slips one hand around your waist to steady you, pressing his palm against your lower back. There’s just a thin layer of satin between you, yet it feels like a brick wall blocking the full extent of your desire. A soft sigh escapes your lips and you feel JJ smirk as he leans in to capture it, finally pressing his lips to yours again. This time, he’s more aggressive, and he scrapes his teeth against your bottom lip before sucking it into his mouth. You can’t help but moan a little bit, and after it happens, you can feel a shift in his actions. He takes a step forward, slotting one of his legs between your thighs as his hands slide down to your ass. Your fingers find his hair easily, tugging lightly to encourage him. 

Before you can take things any further, you hear your mom’s voice yelling out for you from the doorway. You’re thankful to the darkness for shielding you from her sight and let your lips linger against JJ’s for a few seconds before pulling back. As you turn to head back inside, his arms tighten around you, holding you in place, and he whispers a promise into the night air between you. 

“Nothing will ever change me and you.”

[imaginesandbandfiction]

Fezco’s House Part 3 — Matilda

A Euphoria Imagine

Pairing: Fezco x female!reader

Word Count: 2.1k

Warnings: Pregnancy

Summary: Fezco finally has everything he’s ever dreamed of.

A/N: This is the final part of my Fezco’s House trilogy, an epilogue of sorts, but it can be read as a stand-alone fic, too! Based on the song Matilda by Harry Styles, but I swear it isn’t as sad as the song — it’s basically pure fluff!

Masterlist

: readmore:

Fez walks through the back door of his house, letting out a sigh of relief as the cool air conditioning washed over him. He heads into the kitchen to grab a beer from the fridge and leans against the counter as he takes a long sip. His wife flutters into the room and wipes at an invisible stain on the countertop, humming to herself as she does so.

“Whoa, chill out, ma, everything looks perfect,” he says with a chuckle, and reaches out to grab her wrist, stopping her mid-wipe. He pulls her to his chest and pries the sponge out of her hands, tossing it into the sink before wrapping his arms around her waist. “What’s up?”

“I’m just worried that Cassie and Maddy won’t like our little farmhouse,” she answers with a sigh.

“Rue and Jules love it, ‘m sure Cassie and Maddy will too.” Fez leans in and kisses her on the forehead.

“Yeah, but Rue and Jules live in a cottage on the beach, not a sleek New York high-rise.” Before Fez can respond, soft cries erupt from the baby monitor on top of the fridge. Y/N moves towards the stairs, but Fez holds her back.

“I’ll get ‘im,” he says and points his wife to the fridge. “Grab a Sprite and put your feet up for a bit, ‘kay? Don’t want ya to be all riled up when they get here.” Y/N nods and grabs a soda, but instead of sitting down, she steals Fez’s spot on the counter so she can watch through the video monitor as he picks up their son and rocks him gently to get him to settle down.

“‘S okay buddy, ‘M here,” he whispers against the boy’s soft forehead. “You don’t gotta cry no more.” The baby sniffles a few times before finally quieting down, and then he burrows himself into Fez’s chest, making his dad laugh. “You hungry?” The boy makes a quiet cooing sound. “‘Let’s go see mama and I’ll get you a bottle, alright?” They disappear off of the screen, and reappear in the kitchen a minute later. Fez hands off the kid and pulls a bag of breast milk from the freezer, getting a bottle ready with world-record breaking speed.

“Hi, baby, did you have a good nap?” Y/N mutters, smiling down at her son. He giggles and lifts a hand up to grab a fistful of her hair, which makes her laugh.

“Unca Ass?” he asks, looking around the room with wide eyes.

“He’ll be back soon, baby, he’s picking your aunties up from the airport.” The boy frowns, and Y/N is worried he’s going to start crying again, but Fez swoops in with a bottle and scoops him back up.

“I’mma let you hold this, G, but don’t drop it, ‘kay?” Fez says, a stern look on his face as he hands the bottle over.

“‘Kay,” the boy responds with a serious nod. It’s one of the only words he knows, but Fez’s heart still swells each time he hears it.

A few minutes later, the front door slams open and they hear a familiar clinking sound as Ash drops his keys on the table in the entryway.

“We’re back,” he yells into the house as he races up the stairs, presumably to get away from the four loud women he had to pick up.

“Where’s my nephew?” Jules’ excited voice travels through the hallway and into the kitchen.

“We’re in here!” Y/N calls, excitement bubbling out of her and into her voice. Jules squeals and pulls Rue by the hand to the kitchen. Cassie and Maddy follow at a slower pace, taking in the framed photos on the walls as they go.

As soon as Jules is visible, the baby tries to break free. Fez notices his son’s grip loosening on the bottle and squats down a bit to catch it before it hits the floor.

“What’d I say about the bottle?” he says, giving his son a fake-glare. When the boy just giggles in return, he cracks a smile.

“Holy fuck,” Maddy says as she enters the room. “You’re, like, a dad.” Her stunned gaze is stuck on Fez and the small child squirming in his arms.

“Yeah, that’s what happens when you have a kid,” Fez says as he hands the boy to Jules.

“Did you miss your Auntie Jules?” She coos at him and he nods, burying his shy smile in her neck.

“Hey, kid,” Rue says, reaching out to ruffle his hair.

Cassie runs straight to Y/N, nearly knocking her over in a hug.

“Bitch, you live on a literal farm,” she squeals. Y/N laughs and nods with a sheepish smile.

“Careful,” Fez warns, reaching a hand out behind his wife’s back to steady her. The blonde gives him a confused look, but before she can say anything about it, Maddy’s squeal interrupts.

“What the fuck is this?” Maddy shrieks as she snatches something off of the fridge. “Y/N, holy shit!” She turns to look at the woman in question, who is blushing slightly, and holds up the sonogram photos for everyone else to see.

“Oh my god, I can’t believe you didn’t tell me,” Jules squeals, reaching out with her free hand to squeeze Y/N on the shoulder.

“I’m only fifteen weeks along,” she says, shrugging Cassie off, who immediately runs to Maddy’s side to look at the pictures. “We were gonna tell you at twelve, but figured since you were coming up for Henry’s birthday, anyways, we’d just tell you in person.”

“Is Henry getting a baby brother or a baby sister?” At the sound of his name, Henry’s head pops up and he looks around the room with his eyebrows furrowed.

“Sis-er!” Henry exclaims. Though he doesn’t actually understand what a sister is, he’s heard his parents talk about it enough to know to be excited. The adults in the room laugh

“Damn, Fez, you’re going to have a daughter?” Rue says, flashing a grin at her friend.

“I can barely believe it,” he answers honestly. “We just found out last week.”

***

The next morning, Fez and Y/N wake up early with Henry while the rest of their friends sleep in. Henry nibbles happily on the Cheerios and cut-up strawberries on his high-chair tray, while Fez and Y/N sit at the table with coffee and tea, respectively. Y/N’s phone buzzes and she flips it over to reveal a text from her dad. ‘Tell Henry happy birthday for me.’ She slides the phone across the table to her husband.

“Should I have invited him?” she asks, voice soft as she looks up at him with watery eyes. “I feel bad. He just got out of rehab and he’s making an effort.”

“You don’t owe him nothing,” Fez answers, pushing the phone to the side and reaching across the table to grab her hand.

“I know, I just feel like Henry should have his grandpa in his life. And I haven’t seen him since I graduated, and…” She trails off and gestures vaguely around them, at their nice farmhouse and large plot of land.

“This ain’t got shit to do with him. We built this life together. Just ‘cause he decided to get clean don’t mean he’s changed. He’s still the asshole who sent his teenage daughter to buy drugs for him, who ignored you for years after your sister died. You don’t gotta feel sorry for leaving him behind. He left you first.” Y/N nods, and a single tear falls onto the wooden table, leaving a small water mark.

“Yeah, mommy,” Henry echoes, though he has no idea what his parents are talking about. She lets out a watery giggle and wipes at her eyes.

“You’re right,” she tells Fez through a shaky breath. “Henry’s got a whole town full of people who love him. He’ll be okay.”

“We’ll be okay,” Fez says, smiling softly at her. “Now c’mon, chin up mama, it’s not every day that your son turns one. We got a party to get ready for!”

“Party!” Henry yells, throwing his hands up in the air and flinging a Cheerio across the room.

“Yeah, buddy, it’s your party day!” Y/N exclaims, reaching over to tickle his tummy. She cocks her head at Fez. “D’you think Ash will pick up the cake for me?”

“M not your errand boy,” Ash grumbles as he shuffles into the kitchen.

“Bro, shut up, you always been my errand boy,” Fez teases, ruffling his brother’s hair as he stands up and crosses the room to make Ash a cup of coffee.

“Fine, I’ll do it. But only ‘cause Y/N shouldn’t be carrying heavy shit in her condition.” Ash plops down in Fez’s seat and crosses his arms.

“‘Her condition,’” Fez barks out a laugh. “This isn’t Victorian England, dude, you can say the word ‘pregnant.’”

“I know, it’s just weird.” A blush creeps up Ash’s cheeks as he looks down at the table in front of him. Fez sets a mug down in front of him and then pulls Ash into a headlock.

“It’s weird that she’s pregnant with my baby? That I impregnated her?” Fez yells straight into Ash’s ear. Henry giggles as he watches his dad and his uncle play-flight, and claps his hands when Fez tackles Ash to the ground and pins him there.

“Get the fuck off me, bro,” Ash shouts, thrashing to try and throw his brother off. Fez holds him there for another minute before rolling off of him in a fit of laughter. “When did you get so fucking strong, jeez.”

“Good ol’ fashioned manual labor’ll do that to you.”

“Fez? Doing manual labor? I’d pay to see that,” Maddy jokes as she emerges down the stairs.

“Hey! Who’d you think built that chicken coop? Or the fence for the goats?” Fez whines. Maddy shoots a stunned look at Y/N.

“It’s true,” Y/N confirms with a giggle. “He’s gotten really into woodworking since we’ve moved here.”

“And someone needs to take care of the fuckin’ animals.” He shoots a fake glare at his wife.

“You’re the one who wanted a farm so badly, buddy. Speaking of which, could you go pick some vegetables for the salad?”

“Yes, dear.” Fez’s tone is sarcastic and he gives his wife a mock-salute before grabbing a basket from the stack next to the back door and disappearing into the yard.

“Okay, who the fuck is that and what did you do with the real Fez?” Maddy asks, sitting down next to Y/N with a cup of coffee in her hands.

Once everyone was awake, party prep began in earnest. Much to her dismay, Y/N’s friends didn't let her help. She directed them like she was a general and they were her soldiers, and had to begrudgingly admit that everything turned out perfect. When the doorbell rang, signaling the arrival of the first guests, she was just putting the finishing touches on her makeup.

“Coming, coming!” she calls out as she races down the stairs. Behind the door, their neighbors Nancy and Greg are standing on the porch, holding a giant stuffed goat with a blue bow tied around its neck. “Hi, guys! Oh my gosh, that is so cute, Henry’s going to love it. C’mon in, everyone’s out back.” She ushers them through the kitchen and out into the backyard.

Once all of the guests have arrived, Fez starts up the grill and waits for it to heat up so he can start making dinner. Y/N sneaks up behind him and wraps her arms around his waist. He turns in her arms, smiling down at her. They watch as the party continues. Henry is toddling after the three year old girl and six year old boy from three doors down. When he stumbles and falls to the ground, they both lurch forwards, but Cassie beats them to it and scoops the boy up into her arms. His lower lip wobbles, but tears don’t fall; she spins around with him on her hip and the sweet late-summer air is filled with toddler giggles instead. Fez leans down to press a kiss to the top of his wife’s head and smiles into her hair.

“We did good, huh?” he mutters so only she can hear. She leans into his chest and nods, smiling as Cassie and Henry are swarmed by their friends.

“Yeah, Fezzy, we did good.”

Taglist: @kittygreen16