#like champagne problems is kind of like these people have been together a long time

[autumnrory]

there's a fake twitter screenshot that goes around saying taylor said champagne problems was written about rogan and i'm like other than rejecting a proposal (which rory, 22, freshly graduated, didn't want the decision made for her as to where she's going to be living next was right to do) there is nothing in that song that vibes with the two of them lmao

[reginyani]

Midnight Moments | s.reid x fem!reader

summary: rossi host's a new year's eve party at his mansion, where you and Spencer have too much to drink, and end up going home together. this leads from one thing to another, and you somehow end up on top of him.

cw: 18+, mdni, fem!bau!reader, drunk sex, vaginal sex, praise, drunk!reader, drunk!spencer, making out, unprotected sex, dom!reader

wc: 3k

authors note: this honestly is pretty lazy i haven't written smut or any kind of sex fanfiction in SOO long.. im so used to writing fluff, and i'm sorry for this monstrosity. i swear guys I USED TO BE GOOD!! but anyways, i hope you like because even though it's not as good as i wanted it, it took a while!! (reblog if u did!)

gif: reidgif

It was unreasonably warm for a New Year's Eve in Virginia, and the BAU team decided it would be fun to celebrate the holiday of transitioning to the new year at Rossi's sprawling mansion. The living room was lit by twinkling lights from a chandelier, casting a warm glow over the polished furniture. The scent of rich Italian food filled the air, mingling with the sharper tang of champagne. Laughter filled the room, and the unusual lightness of the air was noticeable tonight.

 

It wasn't too often that the team was able to unwind together. In fact, it had been months since they had been able to be in the same place without the stress of a case hanging over their heads. The new year was only a couple of hours away, and for once, nobody there was thinking about the darkness everyone had to face so often.

 

But tonight, you had been thinking about something else, rather... someone else. Spencer Reid sat on one of the plush couch cushions near the fireplace, his legs crossed with a glass of champagne in his hand. His tie was loosened, his hair a bit tousled from the evening's past activities. It had been quite some time since he had allowed himself to truly be 100% indulged in a night like this. His mind was usually full of numbers, equations, random facts, and the weight of the world's problems. But tonight, there was something oddly freeing about him tonight, and you couldn't tell if it was Garcia's laughter in the background or the sense that the world outside didn't exist.

 

Beside him, you took a seat, and you couldn't help but think how undeniably sexy you found him tonight. Maybe it was the loose tie, the way his hair was messier than usual, or maybe the way he was actively engaging in the conversations more than he normally did.

 

After a few moments of quiet conversation with Spencer, a bottle of wine appeared. You both shared laughs over something trivial—maybe the third or fourth joke of the night—but before long, both of your glasses were refilled. You didn't mean to drink so much, and you usually never did, but with the glow of the evening, it felt like such an easy thing to do. Spencer, though, seemed way more relaxed and loose tonight than you'd ever seen him.

 

"Are you sure this is a good idea?" he asks, his voice a bit slurred, but his eyes still sharp.

 

"Are you sure this is a good idea?" you question back, smirking as you raised your glass. The night was still young, and if you knew anything about the people in this room, it was that they could always handle another round of drinks. But you never had Spencer like this, and he never allowed himself to be so vulnerable with drinking alcohol. So were you really sure he could handle another round of drinks?

 

Spencer hesitated, staring at his drink like it was something from a different world. But then, a slow smile formed on his lips. "Well, I guess if we're both doing questionable things tonight, I suppose I could join you." He raises his glass to yours and slowly raises it to his lips. In what felt like seconds, the liquid disappeared.

 

The evening had quickly turned into a haze of laughter, clinking glasses, and everyone telling increasingly exaggerated stories. Spencer and Morgan's ties were long gone, and it was quite clear that everyone the night had reached its peak when Garcia decided to stand on the coffee table and dramatically recite a version of Romeo and Juliet with a very confused Reid forced to play the role of Romeo. At some point, Morgan drunkenly broke into a dance when one of his "favorite club songs" turned on, blasting from the speaker, which he received tons of criticism from Prentiss on. Rossi sat back, watching the spectacle unfold with a smirk on his face.

 

But as the night got older, the energy in the room began to wane. The champagne and wine had clearly done their work, and now basically everyone was drunk out of their minds, groaning in exhaustion. JJ was leaning against Will, slowly nodding off, while Hotch, looking slightly tired, kept checking the time on his phone. It was way past midnight, which meant the new year had already come around, and it wasn't long before the decision was made that it was time to go home.

 

"I think I'll call it a night, everyone," Hotch said, his words slow as he got up from his seat, groaning slightly.

 

"Agreed, get out of my house," Rossi replied, smirking slightly. "I'm getting way too old for this."

 

Morgan, still grinning but very clearly less steady on his feet, clapped a hand on Spencer's shoulder, clearly startling Spencer as he flinched. "You doing alright, Pretty Boy?"

 

Spencer blinked a few times, trying to completely focus on Morgan and regain his composure. "Yeah... I just need to make sure I don't forget my keys." He fumbled around in his pockets, very clearly confused about the whereabouts of his keys. "I'll be fine. It's just a very... long walk back to my place." He groans.You laugh at his comment, standing up from the couch and helping him gather some of his things.

 

Garcia was already calling an Uber, the sound of her bubbly voice ordering a ride with Morgan in the background. Clearly, the idea sounded good to Spencer, because soon he was on the app ordering himself one. His hand clutched his phone with an almost desperate intensity, his brows furrowed in concentration.

 

"Do you... need help with that?" you asked, your words just a little slower than usual. You both were beyond drunk, and Spencer's face was flushed, his eyes glassy as he stared at the Uber app.

 

"I've got it," he said, his voice more clipped than normal. "I—uh, do I just... wait, Do I need to set a destination first?"

 

You tried not to laugh, but the sight of him furiously tapping on his phone, trying to figure out how he can summon an Uber, was enough to make you let out a hearty laugh. "Spencer, you've gotten an Uber before, right? You don't need to give them a whole speech on how to get you home," you said as he started to type a long paragraph in the 'extra details' section, basically giving the driver a shorter way to get him home, forgetting they have Google Maps.

 

"Right, of course." His cheeks turned a deeper shade of red as he looked over at you. "Okay, well, it's on the way..."

 

"Good," you lean against the doorframe for support, already starting to feel the warmth of the alcohol take over your body completely and start to cloud your thoughts.

 

"Can I come with you? I don't think me going home alone with an unknown driver this late at night is a great idea," you say to him, saying your words without completely thinking them through at first. Did you seriously just ask if you could spend the night at Spencer's place?

 

"Yeah, sure... that's fine." He answered, leaning against a wall, breathing heavily. Clearly, this was his first time being as drunk as he is now.

 

The Uber arrived soon after, and after saying goodbye to everybody, you both made your way outside, barely noticing the crispness of the air against your skin as you both climbed into the back seat. You settled into the leather seats, and Spencer quickly buckled his seatbelt, though he wasn't quite as smooth with his movements as he usually was. You did the same, your fingers fumbling to find the buckle for a couple of seconds.

 

As the car started to move, a comfortable silence fell between you two, only broken by the faint hum of the engine and the occasional creak of the wheels. The lights from the city blared into the window, making you squint your eyes and turn away from the window.

 

"So..." you smirked as you began to speak quietly. "Do you always drink this much at parties?"

 

Spencer shifted in his seat at the comment. He didn't meet your gaze right away, but after a second, he shrugged. "Not usually. I don't know, I just... for some reason it felt different tonight. I didn't really want to be that guy who spends the whole night hiding in the corner, not enjoying himself."

 

"Well, you sure didn't hide tonight." You teased, your tone a little more playful than intended.

 

He chuckled, and you could tell he was relaxed—more relaxed than you'd seen him in a long time. Maybe ever, actually. It was strange seeing him act so... human. It wasn't often you witnessed that.

 

"I guess I was," he said, his smile a bit lopsided now. "I think I needed that more than I realized."

 

You nod, agreeing with him silently. "You know, you're actually quite fun when you let loose," you said, the feeling of the alcohol kicking in more with each passing second.

 

Spencer's gaze locked with yours for a quick second before he quickly looked away. "Yeah?" His cheeks flash red once again. "I've been told I'm too uptight."

 

"Don't listen to whoever says that," you replied almost too quickly. "You're just being you, and that's a nice trait to have." You faced him fully, your voice lowering as you continued to speak. "But... I do like this side of you."

 

His lips parted, a bit taken aback, but he recovered quickly, a soft laugh escaping him. "Maybe the alcohol is really taking in, but... thanks. I think I might also like this side of me too."

 

You smiled, everything feeling just a bit hazy, but the sincerity in Spencer's voice made your heart skip a beat. Before either of you could continue to speak, the car rolled to a stop in front of Spencer's apartment building.

 

You both thanked the Uber driver, then climbed out of the car. The cool night air hit both your faces, and then you realized just how unsteady you were on your feet. Spencer quickly steadied you, his hands gripping your waist to support you. "You okay?" he asked, his voice suddenly becoming serious again.

 

You nod, blushing heavily at his hand placement. Your thoughts wandered, and he raised an eyebrow, confused by your zoning out. He snapped a finger, and you snapped back to reality. "Yeah, yeah... One step at a time, right?"

 

Spencer smiles, continuing to hold onto you. "One step at a time."

 

Eventually, you both make it to his apartment door, and he's still holding you up, making sure you don't fall.

 

He leans to flick up the light switch, trying to have as minimal movement as possible. When the light hits his face, you observe his features. His cheeks were flushed, his lips plump and parted, and his eyes slightly watery. Your drunken mind was in awe, finding him completely and utterly breathtaking. Why though? You never had before...

 

He looks down at you, smiling a bit before guiding you over to his couch. You both sit down, his legs stretched out in front of him. You kick your heels off, finally feeling the freedom of what felt like bricks taken off your feet.

 

A few minutes go by, the silence becoming unnoticeable. He starts to speak; his words are still slurred but sharp. "You know... I've always found it fascinating how people underestimate the power of silence. Not just the absence of sound, but... the weight of it. Do you ever think about that?"

 

You laugh softly at his words, finding his brain process oddly fascinating. If you were sober, you generally wouldn't be interested in his new weird random topic, but this time you were.

 

"You're drunk, Spencer. You're talking about silence like it's some kind of breathtaking quantum physics thingy." You reply, looking up at him with your eyebrows raised.

 

"It is!" he argues, furrowing his eyebrows. "But you're right. I probably shouldn't try to sound profound when I've had at least, like, 1 glass of champagne and 3 glasses of wine," he says, puffing up his cheeks.

 

You glance up at him again, a warm smile spreading across your face. His eyes, the look a little too soft tonight, and it's driving you nuts, making your heart flutter like crazy.

 

"Don't worry, you're smarter than me regardless. Even when you're drunk out of your mind."

 

Spencer's gaze softens, his eyes locking with yours for a moment that felt like forever. He shifts a bit closer to you, trying not to make it noticeable. But oh... it is.

 

"You think I'm smart? and... not annoying?" He asks, his voice quieter, as if the question had more meaning than it should.

 

"Of course I do. You're literally brilliant." You say it without hesitation, almost like a reflex, and it catches him off guard for a second. But seriously, what kind of question is that? He had an IQ of 187 and could read 20,000 words per minute. He's quite literally a genius.

 

Spencer's lips curl into a smile, and he tilts his head to look at you. He studies your face, with a curious, almost vulnerable look in his eyes.

 

"You know, nobody ever really says that often unless they're teasing me. Sometimes I just wonder if I actually make sense to people, or if I just ramble everyone's ears off." You continue to smile, and for a second, Spencer feels like your eyes are literally twinkling at him.

 

"You ramble. But you make sense. You always do." You reassure him, but the atmosphere starts to feel heavier as you continue to compliment him.

 

He shifts again, and now his body is just a few inches away from yours. You feel the heat radiating off of him, and suddenly you feel hyper-aware of everything happening between you two. His hand brushes against your arm for a second, but he doesn't immediately pull back, his touch lingering. You gulp, his touch sending flutters down your chest.

 

He begins to speak again, but somehow softer than before. How is it even possible? "I'm glad you think that. Not many people allow themselves to tell me that or just think that in general." He pauses for a second, "You mean a lot to me, you know? More than I let on..."

 

After he says this, the air feels thicker, charged with unspoken tension. You look back up at him, meeting his eyes, and this time, the air feels anything but heavy and awkward. Instead, it's full of possibilities.

 

Without thinking first, you lean in just a bit, your breath starting to mingle with his. His eyes flicker down to your lips, then back up to your eyes. He brings his hand up to the side of your face, as if he's waiting for you to make the first move.

 

You whisper, "You mean a lot to me, too." And in one swift motion, his lips meet yours—soft at first. As if something inside of him shifts suddenly, the kiss deepens, the closeness overwhelming you both.

 

You pull away for a second, catching your breath. Spencer lets an overwhelmed whimper slip from his lips, and he looks at you with puppy eyes.

 

This drives you absolutely mad.

 

You lunge for his lips, grabbing his face and pulling him into it deeper. You pull him closer, shifting your body to straddle his lap, your skirt riding up your legs. He whines; feeling your body on top of him makes him feel so vulnerable, and he likes it.

 

You continue to kiss him, skillfully unbuttoning his shirt as you do so. You pull it off his arms, and you pull away from him, pulling off your shirt in one swift motion. You then go in to kiss his collarbone, and that makes him unwillingly gasp. When you start to bite on his skin, that almost makes Spencer scream.

 

The erection in his pants didn't go unnoticed anymore the more horny you got for him, and you start to shift your hips on top of him, feeling it through your underwear. And at this point, your pussy was throbbing.

 

 

"I... I need you..." He mumbles, throwing his head back.

 

"Speak up, baby. You need what?" You tease him. He looks back up at you, feeling defeated as you make him say it again.

 

"I need you!" He whines, and that makes you raise an eyebrow in amusement. You liked seeing him like this. Drunk and overwhelmed with pleasure, messy hair and slick, wet lips.

 

You lift yourself up onto your knees, quickly unzipping his pants and then pulling down his boxers. His hard cock sprung out, pre-cum already coating the tip. You look down at him, smirking as you pull your underwear to the side, your pussy throbbing, begging for touch.

 

You take his cock in hand, stroking it a few times, making him gasp in pleasure. "Ah—Y/N..." He lets out, barely able to form words, just a mess of sounds of please.

 

You smirk, groaning as you guide the tip of his cock to your pussy, rocking your hips back and forth as the tip rubs against you. You moan, throwing your own head back as much as you could.

 

Eventually, you slowly slide his cock into your pussy, slowly starting to bounce up and down. You speed up, and Spencer starts to breathe heavily, you both becoming a moaning mess.

 

He begins to rock his hips with you, "God, you're so perfect like this, Spence." You let out, your voice cracking between words as you try to praise him. Your fingers began to bury in his hair, pulling it slightly as you continued to bounce up and down on his cock.

 

"Y/N... I'm— I'm close..." He whines, holding onto your shoulders as you continue to ride him.

 

"Yes! Please, yes, Spencer... come inside me!" You moan loudly, chasing your high as well. This was enough to completely drive him over the edge.

 

Spencer came hard, his legs shaking as his hips pressed against your skin as he moaned loudly. You press your head into his chest, feeling pleasure take over your body as you also reach the edge, mingling your moans together.

 

Eventually, he pulls out, and you collapse onto the side of his couch, breathing heavily. You look over to the side, where Spencer is still breathing heavily, completely overwhelmed with the whole situation.

 

"Damn, Spencer... you're weak." You say, chuckling as you try to make it less awkward than it already was.

 

"Oh, shut up."

tags:

[iamred-iamyellow]

⋆ ˚｡⋆౨ৎ˚ Champagne Problems

♥ masterlist | request rules | 12 days of ficmas

♥ pairing: charles leclerc x fem!reader

♥ synopsis: the two of you end up at a party with different intentions

♥ wc: 2k - as always none of the pictures are mine

♥ warnings: swearing, angst, and alcohol (drink responsibly please lol) !!!

♥ a/n: TONS of angst in this fic so get ready lol <3 i've been wanting to put out this fic for SO long you don't understand. tagging bestie @theonottsbxtch

Charles was head over heels in love with you—it was a shame, really.

You sat on your shared king sized bed in a sparkly dress, observing your boyfriend as he slipped on a gold watch. 

“We need to leave soon mon amour,” he said, wandering over to you and kissing your cheek. “We don’t want to be late, do we?”

You nodded and adjusted the jewelry on your hand.

Charles folded the cuffs on his sleeve, “You alright?”

“Mhm,” you nodded with a fake smile.

You hadn’t seen Charles in months because of his work. Ironically the first place he wanted to take you was a gala... For his work.

The two of you met because of your love for F1. The narrative of Ferrari brought you together and despite his promises to be there for you, he always left them unfulfilled.

You were alone. Way too often. Left by yourself to take care of Leo and be his wag.

You and Charles wandered outside the apartment to his car. He opened the door for you—like a gentleman. But you couldn’t shake this melancholic feeling whenever you’re around him.

-

”Hey, where’s Charles?” Arthur, your boyfriend’s younger brother asked with a smile.

You shrugged, taking a sip of your drink, and gazing at the room full of talkative people. The second you got there he wandered off to find Pierre. You couldn’t even blame him. This was for business after all.

”Hm, that’s odd. I’d expect him to be with you.” he scrunched his nose. “I remember one time last year—he was so excited to come home for winter break and see you. He would talk about you all day to me on the phone,” Arthur chuckled.

You gave him a faint smile. That was the Charles you fell in love with. Alas, he was across the room talking to someone else’s girlfriend.

“Well, let me know if you see him. I’ll see you in a few weeks for Christmas, yeah?”

You swallowed hard, pausing before a response.

“Yeah, yeah of course,” you smiled with a nod.

“Great, Maman said she already got you gifts,” he laughed. “I’ll see you around Y/n.”

He nudged your shoulder with an infectious smile, wandering off with a drink in hand.

God, why did this have to hurt so fucking much.

-

“Thank you all for being here,” a man said into a microphone, commanding the room to silence. “It has been an incredible season, but now we must start planning for the next one. Thank you to all our sponsors who are able to make this happen and congratulations to all that we have done this year.”

He raised his glass of champagne, leading everyone to follow and clink theirs together. You sat at a round table with your closest friends from the industry, Pierre and Kika as Charles got up to ask the man at the front of the room something. He came back with the microphone in hand and turned it on.

He stared down at you, eyes peering lovingly into your soul.

“Y/n… you are the most beautiful, kind, intelligent woman I have ever met,” he spoke into the mic, elicting a few ‘awh’s’ from the crowd and drawing at least a hundred eyes to you.

Charles slowly bent down, grabbing something out of his suit pocket.

Your eyes widened and you tried to say something but you couldn’t. Every word was trapped in your mouth, despite your jaw being on the floor. Plenty of gasps and whispers came from the room. You could see Kika’s eyes light up, clearly ecstatic for you.

“I don’t really have a whole speech planned,” he laughed softly. “All I can really say is how much I love you… Will you marry me?”

He flicked the ring box open, revealing a gold ring with a huge diamond.

You paused, trying your best to take in everything that has happened before shaking your head.

“Charles… can we talk about this somewhere else?” you whispered.

Charles' expression dropped instantly. He knows what that really means.

More gasps. More gossip.

Clearly the whole room knew what it meant too.

“Is she fucked in the head?” you heard someone from the crowd whisper.

Followed by, “If she won’t marry him I will,” and “What a shame.”

”I’m sorry Charles, I’m gonna get a Lyft.” you whispered, squeezing his hand.

Kika looked at Pierre completely stunned. This was certainly not how the two of them thought the night was going to go. This was certainly not how you thought the night was going to go.

Kika’s heels clicked on the tile floor as she ran after you, pushing the two glass doors open to find you sprinting down the long set of stairs.

“Y/n, wait!” she shouted after you.

You sat at the bottom step, waiting for your ride to arrive.

She stopped beside you, “I can drive you home,” she mumbled.

“That’s alright, I already paid for it.”

She sat down beside you and put a warm hand on your shoulder.

“Are you okay?” she whispered.

You grabbed her hand gently, feeling the coldness of her gold rings. You shook your head no.

She wrapped an arm around your shoulder, forcing your head to rest on her shoulder.

She kissed your head sweetly, “It’s going to be okay,” she whispered in your hair.

-

You tossed your things on a table right next to the front door and kicked off your heels. You strut over to your kitchen and opened the fridge in hopes to find more alcohol. You were already probably drunk on Dom Perignon and your own tears, but with everything going on you might as well try to forget the horrendous night.

You grabbed a small glass from a cabinet and closed the fridge door, flinching when you saw Charles standing in the dark.

“Jesus Christ, Charles…” you whispered, pouring yourself some straight Vodka.

You braced your hands on the side of the marble counter, closing your eyes. Maybe if you close them tight enough he’ll disappear.

You sighed, “I don’t know how to start this conversa-“

“You said no?” he whispered. You could hear the heartbreak in his words.

You swallowed hard, looked around the room—anywhere but his eyes.

“I never said no…” you trailed off.

“But you meant no, right?”

You thought about marrying him before. A lot, actually. Racing, Traveling, Family. But there was always one thing missing from every daydream. And that thing was Charles.

You can’t follow him around the country for his job and even if you did—is that who you wanted to be? Just the wife of Charles Leclerc? 

“I don’t think you can truly be committed to this relationship. This isn’t what I need, and that’s okay.”

“I can't truly be committed?” he scoffed. “I'm not truly committed enough to get down on one knee?” 

Your relationship this past year wasn’t what you wanted. But one day it will be what someone else wants, and that’s what he deserves.

“C’mon Y/n, I love you-“ he muttered.

“Love isn't always enough,” you whispered, barely loud enough for him to hear.

Ah, the painful truth.

You watched as his face dropped, fully taking in the cruelness of your words. 

“Charles, I’m sorry…” you whispered, tears forming in your eyes. 

“Just go. Dégage de chez moi, I don’t want to see you right now.” (translation: get the fuck out of my house) he muttered harshly. 

-

It’d been a year since you last saw him. That night you packed up all your things as he slept at Arthur’s. You were gone by the time he got home.

You still spent time in the F1 scene. You had friends there too, but it still felt a little cruel. You didn’t fall out of love, at least not with someone like Charles—that doesn’t happen. 

If the circumstances were different you might have been married. You would’ve had a beautiful ring, a beautiful family, and a beautiful man. 

“Y/n,” Kika shouted through a laugh, half sprinting in her heels. Her right hand settled on your bicep and her left took your forearm, yanking you towards a group of women. 

“C’mon, I haven't seen you in months,” she said, causing you to crack a smile. You rolled your eyes and slipped off your bar stool, ready to get a little tipsy with your friends. She was right. It had been way too long since you had a girls night. The last one was before you lost your status as a wag. 

Today it was you, Kika, and Rebecca—all in elegant outfits that perfectly fit your vibes. Kika in a black long sleeve, off the shoulder neckline number, Becs in a sparkly red one that she luckily got to keep after modeling, and you in a short white satin dress with spaghetti straps and some matching white heels. 

“You look like you need a drink,” Rebecca said, looking you up and down. 

You sighed, “I haven’t been to an F1 event since you know…” 

She rolled her eyes, “That's exactly why you need a drink. Forget about him and have fun with us. Your favorite sport should not be attached to the memory of a man.” 

Great point. 

“Come here,” she dragged you back to the bar Kika pulled you from. 

She ordered three martini’s on the rocks, extra olives.

She handed you one of the glasses, “We’re going to meet up with Lily M and Carmen in about an hour alright? We’ll be out of this place in no time and you won’t even think about you know who.” 

“Where are we going?” you asked, sipping the drink with your eyebrows raised. 

“It's a surprise,” Kika said with an eye roll as if to say “duh”. 

You spent the next hour drowning in new conversations and shots. Sure you were at someone’s work party, but it’s not like you had to be professional. No one seemed to give a shit what Charles’ “Ex Wag” was doing.

“Carmen and Lily are outside, are we ready to go?” Rebecca asked, peering up from her phone. 

“Yeah, I just need to find the bathroom and then we can go,” you lied, grabbing your clutch off the circular table. 

You wanted to step outside and get a quick bit of fresh air before you returned to the group. They were doing something amazing in order for you to move on from your past relationship, but all you could think about was something you shouldn’t be. 

It's been a year, you should be over him, right? Too bad the pain didn’t stop at Charles. It was his whole family. God, you missed Arthur so much. You missed fighting with him about what Christmas movies to watch and hanging out in the Ferrari garage together. You missed Lorenzo and his older brother-like wisdom. You missed Pascale and how she welcomed you with open arms into the family. Fuck, you felt like a traitor. 

You sighed and wandered off onto the balcony, picking at the rhinestones on your purse. You leaned over the railing, letting the cool wind kiss your skin. 

“Haven’t seen you in a while,” an accented voice said from behind you. You would recognize it anywhere. 

Charles took his place beside you, avoiding eye contact. It took a good minute before you were able to respond. 

“I- uhm… I heard you and your new girlfriend broke up. I'm sorry,” you muttered. What an odd way to start this conversation. You weren’t even sure if it was true, you heard it in a tabloid. 

He hummed, “I suppose love wasn’t enough to save us.” 

Ouch. 

You scoffed, “Yeah I guess not.” 

The silence was loud. 

“Sorry,” he whispered in a change of tone. Maybe even a change of heart. “It’s good to see you again.” 

“Yeah,” you whispered back, unenthusiastic. 

“The family misses you.” 

You smiled slightly. That was good to hear. “You can tell them I miss them too.” 

“...I miss you.” 

He placed his hand on top of yours slowly, gently rubbing his thumb across yours. His cold silver rings brought flashbacks to your mind.

You looked up at him, tears begging to fall from your lashes but you kept it together; at least until he was gone. 

You squeezed his hand like you used to, “‘l’ll see you around, Charles.” 

You had to remind yourself why you said no everyday. It didn’t matter if you loved him and it didn’t matter if he loved you. You won’t settle for second in his life.

✧˖ °. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁‧₊˚ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁˖°✧

taglist; @sainzzreputaticn @theseerbetweenus @yawn-zi

[mrsdesade]

What about some Homelander x needy fem reader smut? He made her cry and then he goes soft on her? :)

Say no more anon, here's something for you! It will definitely be something long because I liked the idea so much!

Afterparty;

Pairing: Homelander x fem!super (Ophera as usual) TW: NSFW, mention of drugs, teasing, smut, fluff, aftercare Words count: 2,6k

You and Homelander are attending a night party hosted by Vought, a grand event where the company's high-profile visitors and staff gather to mingle and celebrate.

Was as extravagant as ever, with celebrities, influencers, investors, and a few lucky civilians gathered together in an opulent ballroom. Laughter and music filled the air as people mingled around, engaging in small talk and celebrating.

You've had plenty of conversations, meetings with executives and public appearances with Homelander. By the looks of it, you've both done your part to keep up the public image that Vought has made of you two.

Exausting.

As the night starts slowly to wind down, you find yourselves with a brief moment alone. Homelander looks at you with a mix of tiredness and relief, as if he can finally let his guard down now that you two are out of the spotlight.

"Goddamn, these parties are a pain. I know they're important for the image, but dealing with all those people trying to win my favor… it's starting to wear me down."

He lets out a frustrated huff, his eyes flitting over the crowd around you.

"I swear I could snap the neck of the next person who comes up to me asking for an autograph or a selfie..."

You simply let out a little laugh, but your eyes are wandering around, and your arms are crossed at your stomach, you seem distracted.

Homelander notices the hint of something amiss in your laughter, his sharp senses picking up on the fact that you're not quite comfortable.

"Hey, you alright? You're not your usual self tonight."

''I think I drank too much, I've been feeling strange ever since the party began...but I only drank two glasses of champagne, alcohol usually doesn't cause me problems.''

It's clear that something is wrong, the more he looks at you, the more the signs of your discomfort are visible. Under the beautiful make-up that has been done on you, your cheeks are red, and a few small drops of sweat slide down your temple. Quite strange, since it's December, outside is snowing.

"Two glasses of champagne shouldn't have that kind of effect on you. You're a damn superhero, and a strong one. Are you seriously getting ill from some champagne? I was waiting for a more epic weakness, you know? Something like kryptonite, I don't know."

''If you're here to make fun of me you can go back to the party. Fuck, they must have mixed some kind of drug in my drink. Maybe something that would kill a human has that effect on me. That's the only explanation I have..."

''Someone was stupid enough to drug you? I should find whoever did it and rip their damn head off."

''You're not helping me.''

Your look of disapproval is eloquent, you would like to explain the situation to him better, but you can't do it explicitly. He seems really stupid to you right now. You're holding your chest tight with your arms, your legs are shaking slightly and for the first time you're struggling to stand on your heels.

"What do you want me to do, hold your hand and comfort you? I'm not exactly known for my tender side, you know."

Despite his words, he comes closer to support you with a hands on your back, it seems like you could fall to your knees at any moment.

But immediately he can feel your skin unnaturally warm to the touch. It's at that moment that he starts to notice something unusual, a change in your demeanor. Your breathing is rapid and shallow, and your eyes have a glassy look.

Homelander's eyes widen in realization, as he finally connects the dots.

''...those bastards. They have put an aphrodisiac in your drink.''

''Wow, It took you a while to understand, men never think about these things, I honestly envy you.''

The situation is quite embarrassing for you, but you still manage to want to make fun of him. You have found a stable and comfortable position holding on to his arm, everything seems normal to the people around you, but you know that you will be able to control yourself only for a short time.

He notices the change in your behavior, feeling your hand gripping tighter onto his arm, and the proximity of your body next to his. He clears his throat, trying to maintain his composure.

"Yeah, laugh it up. But you're the one who's struggling to stand still. How the hell did they pull something like this off? I thought Vought security was supposed to prevent something like this from happening."

It's clear that you're not listening to him, you feel the warm from your legs coming up to your throat. You bite your lower lip trying to think as little as possible, but your gaze falls on his hands, causing your mind to drift to absolutely less pure thoughts.

"What are you looking so intently at my hands?''

You lean in a bit closer to him, your playful demeanor turns more tempting, and your voice lowers to a sultry tone, his right hand still holding onto your waist and your running up on his fingers.

''Can't you imagine?''

Homelander tries to maintain his cool demeanor, but he's failing miserably.

Your fingers continue to softly caress his hand, tracing circles on his knuckles, adding to the tension between you two. You take a small step closer, your body now almost pressed against his, and look up at him through your eyelashes, a sly smile on your lips.

"All the things I'm holding myself back from asking you to do to me right now."

His mind suddenly fills with images of what you're hinting at. But he remained silent, faking a smile to the guest who are still walking around the room.

''Come on Homelander, let's get away from this party. I need you. I crave your touch. On me. In me.''

Your lips ghost along his jawline, pressing the promise of a kiss near his ear. You know exactly what to say to convince him, even If your mind is not completely clear, you know what you want and how to get it.

"Please, I'm begging you."

His self-control is about to snap.

''Fine, let's get out of here before I lose my damn mind. Follow my lead and act natural."

He starts guiding you towards the exit, with a certain urgency, casually nodding to guests and saying brief goodbyes as you make your way out of the room.

As you make your way through the crowd, you try your best to act normal and compose yourself, but it's becoming increasingly difficult to keep up the facade. Finally, he finds a secluded corridor and leads you into an empty room, shutting the door behind him.

The moment the door closes, the illusion of control shatters. The tension that have been building up between you two throughout the night reach their peak, and he takes a step forward but you are the first to close the distance and kiss him. Your body wants nothing more than him, the effect of the drug is getting worse and although you haven't said anything, your body language is more than eloquent.

The sight and feel of you, craving for him so openly, is intoxicating.

"God, you're too damn beautiful, Ophera. I've never saw you so messy and needy... only for me.''

''Oh, just for one time, could you just shut up and use your hands for something useful?''

"Eager, aren't we? Don't worry, I'll gladly indulge you.''

He wastes no time in doing as you demand. Your sparkling red dress falls to the floor, but the heat you feel continues to increase, you feel his hands descend on you, and his fierce kisses forbid you to breathe.

He pushes your legs apart with one hand, then he starts caressing you, making you release a sudden moaned whimper. The feel of his leather clad fingers moving so slowly it immediately brings you closer to the edge.

Ridiculous, how is this possible? You think. Ah, yes, that's right, the aphrodisiac, this sensation is like nothing you've ever felt. But it feels so freaking good.

His two fingers slides inside of you, he's enjoying the idea of torturing you. He can feel himself hardening more with every wet sound and moan from you, but driving you insane is going to be way more fun for him than sharing a temporary pleasure.

''...look at you, so needy just for my fucking fingers. You are truly shameless.''

Back against a cold wall, hands on his shoulders, balancing precariously on your heels while your legs tremble and your mind doesn't think clearly, this time he's in control. He's the one in charge.

Time begins to pass. Half an hour, an hour, two, three.

You're whining, you're moaning, and it sounds gorgeous.

What you don't know, is that from the exact moment he saw tears appear in your eyes, he wants to see you cry in his arms. He want to see you desperate for pleasure. You're nearly scream his name.

''You're making such a good show for me, keep going. Keep going...''

He’s enjoying how you’re desperately thrusting against him. Begging him do not stop. Ah yes, sxx between superheroes, durability is the key word to having an extreme fun. Or extreme pleasure. Y'know.

At a certain point you feel his hand move away a little, perhaps his intention was to move on to something more substantial, more thicker. But you immediately block him by grabbing his wrist. Your eyes meet again, and you really are a beautiful mess.

''Don't you dare...to stop...''

''You’ve had thirty orgasms. I'm at zero. How greedy you are.''

Bastard. He’s been keeping count.

''I don't care...touch me again, only one more time. Please...''

Your mind, now overwhelmed by ecstasy, having now the most intense moment of your life. It seems like you can't get enough, and here's his chance to get what he wants. He wants to see you cry.

''Then beg for it.''

His hand that he had leaning against the wall now comes violently wrapped around your neck. Since he can't satisfy himself, he decides that he will have fun in another way. Can't have the pleasure? Then he will have violence. Both are perfect.

Your legs are shaking again and your breath becoming more shallow. You murmur his name in short moans, begging him as he ordered, eyes closed as your makeup slowly begins to run on your cheeks, accompanied by a few small tears.

He is extremely fascinated by you in that moment, you're so lost in pleasure, so desperate for his touch to the point of crying.

''Homelander...''

You cried out as your body finally release, another orgasm coming down hard from your desperate wait. Your body shudders as your walls squeeze tighter around his fingers.

Then he pause, fingers slip out, he stopped for a second looking at you, still lost in the pleasure aftershocks.

Your body is drained of energy, your breathing ragged. You are too tired to speak, the intense moments you’ve experienced leaving you breathless. Your body feels weary and heavy, the afterglow of your passionate encounter still lingering in your core. And then your legs give out, and you stumble, risking falling, but the fact that he is in front of you, saves you.

''Hey-- you feel good? It was too much?''

He asked a bit worried, his arm wrapped securely around you.

A small, weary smile curves your lips, acknowledging his unexpected concern.

''Are you serious? It was...incredible. I assure you I'm fine, more than fine. Just a bit tired.''

He holds you firmly against him, his strong arms encircling your trembling body. He notices your exhaustion and the way your legs give out, nearly toppling over.

''Don't lie to me, tell me If there's something wrong.''

''Dear, I'm being more than sincere right now, do I seem regretful or unsatisfied? I don't think so.''

You laughed, taking him off guards with your spontaneity.

''Well--uhm, yeah okay, good. Now, let's get back to my apartment. The effect of the aphrodisiac has worn off, and soon you will feel cold with only this fancy dress on.''

''Sure...let's get back to the 99 floor.''

You try to move away from him a little, just a little to walk to the door, but you feel the balance missing and you fall back with your hands resting on his shoulders. Your expression is tired but amused, you find funny even a moment like this.

''Where do you think you're going? Come here, you tired diva. You don't have to walk, I'll carry you.''

He lifts you in his arms carrying you as you weigh nothing, and then he let out a short phrase whispered with kindness.

''I'll take care of you.''

He pauses for a moment, realizing the unfamiliar words that just slipped out of his lips. He clears his throat, trying to cover up the unexpected softness in his voice.

Your reaction is one of mild surprise mixed with a hint of amusement. You look at him with a sly smile, raising an eyebrow. Knowing damn well that he's not used to doing such things.

''Oh, what happened to the tough, domineering Homelander? Suddenly, you're acting all caring and loving.''

"Listen, why do you have to be so annoying?"

Homelander rolls his eyes in response to your playful remark. He knows you caught him in a moment of unexpected tenderness.

''Don't get used to it, doll. This is a one-time exception.''

You let out a small, satisfied laugh at his response, knowing you got under his skin again, like usual.

''Oh come on, lighten up. It's quite charming, you know. You playing the concerned and gentle lover.''

''Concerned and gentle lover, that's not really my thing, if you didn't notice.''

He watches you with a hint of skepticism, waiting for your next smart answer.

''So why did you put your cloak around my shoulders when you lifted me up? It was a spontaneous gesture and you didn't even notice it.''

Homelander froze for a moment, caught off guard by your observation. It was true, he had subconsciously done that without even thinking. He lets out a defeated sigh, realizing that you know that he cares, no matter how much he tries to deny it.

''Fine, you win. I didn't like seeing you shivering. And maybe because I…care.''

"Aww, who would have thought? The great Homelander, soft? For me? How unexpected. Maybe I should thank the one who put the drugs in my drink, without his intervention I would never have discovered this side of you.''

You smile warmly, teasingly caressing his hair with your hand while he's walking outside the room, It's now late at night and there's no one one around. Only the silence and the neon lights of the big Vought tower.

You hug him, staying close to him, safe in his arms, enjoying that moment of kindness that you don't know if it will ever return. But for tonight that's fine. You give him a gentle kiss on the cheek and let him carry you to his room.

''Damn you for making me say things like that.''

He whispered, after after gently placing you on the bed, where you will sleep together that night. You sink into the soft bed, a soft smile on your lips. You look up at him in the dim light, waiting for him. That smile will be his downfall, or yours, who knows.

He's secretly pleased by all of your lovely reaction, and he adores you so damn much, but he will never admit it.

-------

Thanks again for the request, it was really entertaining to write, hope you like it! Kisses <3

[mistchievous]

9-1-1 Podfic Recs

Sharing some of my favorite 9-1-1 podfics (not by me 😂) for @loveryder and anyone else looking for some to check out. 🥰

These aren’t all of the ones out there or all of the ones I enjoy. Just a few faves for people looking for recs. 💃

Putting most of the post under a cut to spare your dashes!

Gen:

volver al punto de partida Read By: @blackestglass & @mistbornhero Written By: @extasiswings Summary: "Eddie’s jaw ticks, shame curling in his stomach as she switches over to Spanish. It’s a deliberate shift, that much is obvious from the way she’s looking at him, and he knows what she wants so he tries.

And fails."

drop your will in the bucket before you kick it (pre-Buddie) Read By: @blackestglass (w/sfx by @godoflaundrybaskets) Written By: kow2 Summary: Six years ago, Buck would have no problem with dying in a wildfire. There was a certain breath of relief he’d get, lying in his bed and dreaming of the call, the time of death, the bell ringing at his funeral, the unfortunately comforting fact that somebody would have to attend his funeral in order to ring the bell. He figured it was just a way to come to terms with that fact that his rate of dying went up ten-fold with his new job.

Dr. Copeland called it a form of passive suicidal thoughts, and the scary part about hearing that term for the first time is that he wasn’t scared of the term at all when she said it. She went on for the whole hour-long session about it, and Buck didn’t really feel anything, more like he thought he should’ve been taking notes, expecting her to tell him there was going to be a quiz over this the next time they met.

The problem now is, that heroic, suicidal dream was six years ago, and Dr. Copeland was almost two years ago. The problem with dying this way now, is that he doesn’t feel like going out this way anymore. He doesn’t feel like going out at all.

Buddie:

i did, i did, i do Read By: @mayonnaisetoffees Written By: @hattalove​ Summary: I didn’t know what it meant when you kissed me up against that counter, Buck wants to say. He wants to name every place that’s hurt to see for the past three years. Wants to remind Eddie of the way they used to be in bed together, quiet and all-consuming, the way their hands would curl together on Eddie’s stomach in their sleep. Wants to ask why Ana isn’t there anymore, why Eddie doesn’t tell him to get out when Buck’s spending the seventh consecutive night on his couch.

Buck wants, and wants, and wants.

Isn’t that the story of his life.

Tentacantata Read By: crawfishing Written By: @letmetellyouaboutmyfeels Summary:  Buck has a... kink. The kind of kink it's embarrassing to talk about. Eddie has some... special features. Features it's kind of weird to talk about. Surely those two facts aren't related.

Before the Night Fades Read By: @burnthatbridge Written By: @milenadaniels Summary: “I have a bottle of champagne, four champagne flutes, one engagement ring to go into one of those champagne flutes, and a note to deliver it all to table 34 with dessert,” Tomas explains, wide-eyed, throwing his hand back to the prep station where said champagne is waiting on ice next to four flutes and a small ring box.

“Okay?”

“Okay so there’s two men and two women and I have no idea who’s getting proposed to. I’m not even 100% on who came with who."

Or, EddieAna and BuckTaylor double date and it ruins everyone's night.

Despite it all, Because of it all Read By: @mayonnaisetoffees Written By: @kitkatpancakestack Summary: He puts the truck in park in front of Eddie’s childhood home. Christopher shifts in the back, already unbuckling his seatbelt. Eddie is frozen with his jaw set, eyes hard and unblinking as they bore holes through the windshield. Buck was here once before, after that relief trip to Texas, but he is under no illusions that this time will be similar. For one, he doesn’t have the buffer of other firefighters to hide behind. This isn’t a visit that will last a couple hours, and so the sugary, superficial niceties will eventually crumble when it’s mid-way through the week and he’s still hanging around. There is also the shadow of everything that has happened since the wildfires skulking behind them, waiting to be found out.

But, this is Eddie and Christopher, needing him to have it together, so he paints on a smile and squeezes Eddie's knee and slides out of the truck. * Eddie's dad gets sick. Buck goes with him and Christopher to El Paso.

from the ground up Read By: @thatnerdemryn Written By: @eddiesdiaz Summary: If he’s honest, Eddie gets why Buck filed the lawsuit.

He does. He understands the hopelessness, the feeling you’re losing all control, like you’re sinking, drowning, desperate for a way out. He knows because it’s the same way he felt when he enlisted.

That doesn’t mean it hurts any less when Buck leaves him, though.

or the one in which, a couple of weeks after meeting each other, buck and eddie fell in love, broke up, and then forgot to fall out of it.

rainbows have nothing to hide Read By: @burnthatbridge Written By: @hattalove Summary: “Glad to see someone is happy I’m here,” Buck yells into the house, and only gets the rustle of paper bags and a vague grunt in response. He leans down and whispers into Christopher’s ear: “Was he being a Kermit again?”

Christopher nods so hard that some of his hair ends up in Buck’s mouth.

“It’s so bad,” he whispers back. “You need to move in with us already.”

how is eddie diaz like kermit the frog? let buck and christopher count the ways.

I Didn't Know I Was Lonely 'Til I Saw Your Face Read By: Matriaya  Written By: @hmslusitania​​ Summary: After the ladder truck and the blood clot and the tsunami, Bobby makes Buck go to therapy before he does something stupid (like sue the city). Buck's not totally comfortable being alone with a therapist, but fortunately he makes a friend and ally who's willing to help him out - Eddie Diaz from the 136 who's just been caught in an illegal fight club.

OR

Total strangers Buck and Eddie go to couple's therapy together to get out of the therapy requirements their captains have placed on them.

Madney & Buddie:

Goodwill is Sent in Snapshots (You Only Get the Full Picture on Return) Read By: crawfishing Written By: @letmetellyouaboutmyfeels Summary:  When both Evan Buckley and Chimney Han are dumped at the start of December, they decide to swap houses - with each other. A nice two weeks in a different location will be a great unconventional Christmas. Certainly not anything life changing.

Then Buck meets Chim's next-door-neighbor, and Chim meets Buck's apartment-crashing sister. (An audio recording, roughly two hours)

[alittlefrenchtree]

I'd like to know your thoughts on the scene of the first time in Paris 😊

A Scene Walk-Through by yours truly, Alft 🌳

I think this post is going to be a compilation of many things from objective observations to very personal opinions and from technical points to subjective feelings. 

I’ve talked about this scene a few times here and there but most of the time through a different topic and never in great details from start to finish. Since I’m kindly asked now, it’s a pretty good time do it. I have a feeling that it’s going to be a freaking long answer, so go grab a snack and a glass of water if you feel like staying with me for a while. (This is future me speaking, this thing is 1.4K words long).

First thing first,

The scenes leading to the scene :

Last previously said, the scene in the coffee is one of my favorite. I like how warm it is, how right the energy is between them and I honestly think it should have been longer. More shots of their hands hovering above the table, searching for the other's but never touching, all the tension between them building up not only through their eyes but through their bodies as well without release. But we get another scene instead.

The first time I’ve watched the movie, I thought there was a time gap between the two scenes, and that we were getting snap shots of different dates and them getting to know each other through weeks and months. First reason to that is because the park they wander through looks nothing like Paris so obviously I thought they weren’t in Paris anymore. Second reason is because the colors are so cold, and even more in contrast with the warmth of the previous scene. I could have known with the clothes but I didn’t notice during the first time watching. I know the tone of the scene is colder because of the more serious conversation they’re having, talking about Henry’s family and life. But in the treatment of the colorimetry, it confuses me about the time and it was a bit in the nose for me I guess. Having Henry open up in the warmth of the previous scene, feeling safe in Alex’s warmth would have been so beautiful and to my eyes, a better transition to the following night scene, staying in the warm feeling of their blooming relationship.

The Actual Scene

So my first feeling of the scene was obviously confusion. I had that *oh we’re still in Paris* second, going back to the previous scene for another second to finally understand that all of this was the same day and then actually focusing on the scene. Clearly not the most ideal transition. And then the problems begin.

The Scenery

I feel like only Parisian people will understand the problem but. The golden Eiffel Tower through the golden window with the golden champagne with the golden lights and the golden wallpapers and the golden pillows and the golden…ZZZ.ZzzzzZZZzzzzzz…………………… On top of all the gold, the whole decor of the room was kind of underwhelming for me. I guess we should ask to non-french and non-parisian people if this specific aesthetic for Paris works for them and made they feel romance but for me it felt mostly cliché and outdated. And not really Paris coded all together. Which could have worked for a romcom but it doesn’t feel like it was right for this romcom that is rather fresh and modern to my eyes.

The Blocking of the Foreplay

I’m not the biggest fan of the framing of the shots for the first part of the scenes but I wouldn’t know how to phrase it so let's roll with them. Up until that moment, 

Let’s say I’m good. But then there is a time gap and we jump to this,

And the cuts feel too harsh? I do know that realistically, you have back and forth when you’re intimate with someone and not everything goes smoothly from point A to point B every time. But, I also know that sometimes it’s best to negotiate with realism for the sake of your storytelling. And there, you left them undressing each other and not being able to be an inch apart while having barely started and the next frame they’re completely naked but so far away from each other. I feel like it doesn’t make much sense. The scene is about two people making love for the "first" time with each other, there is no uncertainty (about wanting it i mean), no fight, no doubt in them so the logical thing would be for them to be closer and closer through the whole scene, which is obviously not the case here. Maybe they should have been less close in the first part and a bit closer in the second so it would feel more logical regarding of the story telling.

Plus I’m not the biggest fan of how the standing-naked part was filmed. Having shot, then reverse angle shot, then shot again, it increases how far away from each other they seem, in that case. And it isn’t really exciting as a directing choice, I guess.

But, of course, I understand why the second part is there. It’s their first time really taking their time, seeing each other completely naked, admiring each other body and feeling everything. So for me, it’s not about the writing but about the blocking and maybe a few shots that should have been added or put together differently or something.

The Main Event

Actually, I think it’s a frame from this scene that really decided me to watch the movie. Because I saw a gif of taht kiss and for a second, I thought it was a gif from Queer as Folk. And I still can’t unsee it and knowing a bit more about Matthew now and about the references he put in his movie, I’m pretty sure there is a something here? I mean come on.

So yeah, all of the first part of the bed part, I was there. Their acting is beautiful, the chemistry is there, the close up on their faces are beautiful, that hand of that lower back is beautiful so, yes, obviously, yes. Nothing was missing. Except for that key to slide between those sinful lips but who am i to ask for what the world rightfully deserves?

But then the hands.  

First time I’ve watched the movie, my first thought seeing these shots was exactly: "oh so this is the cutaway shot they probably made two days after, probably chewing on a slice of pizza at the same time". And then I’ve learned that the said shot was indeed filmed on another day (probably while chewing on a slice of pizza) and I obviously couldn’t unsee it. It’s supposed to be a beautiful shot, and in a sense it is and we all understand the symbolism of it but it’s too disembodied to my eyes? I’m not sure how the word translates in English but it feels cut off from the rest of the scene and the rest of them. Just hands and arms without the bodies they belong too.

The other hands shots are a bit more embodied but still feel a bit more catalog-y than natural. Like they had a list of shots they took from the "how to film a sex scene" manual and checked all the little boxes : hand in hand ✅, hand on shoulder ✅, hand through hair ✅. And it doesn’t feel right for this scene and it’s actually something that can be also seen through the whole movie. 

It isn’t always a bad thing but more like a characteristic that is specific to the genre, and to the targeted audience, and to the market the movie has been made in. And to this specific story as well. There are lots of cuts, not a lot of time to sit a bit in the scenes and feel and sometimes what feels like a bit of a lack of unity in the whole story. If you scroll through all the scenes, you realize that, apart from Alex’s room, Ellen’s office and Zahra’s office, they’re always in a new location or a different room. Obviously the story also asks for this but I missed how actors can own a location because they’ve been working in there for a while and how their characters grow to belong in that place. And I hope we’ll be allowed to have that. With a sequel. And a brownstone. It would change everything.

So yeah, here is that. I’ve answered the question and add some more so I hope it’s ok. I hope it’s at least half as interesting to read as it was interesting for me to write. 

Thank you for asking 💜

[ariadynamics]

Hi Aria! Are you planning on writing more of (want you) more than anyone else?

I've had this ask since April 27, so I'm not even sure you'll see this nonny.

I've been ignoring it for a bit (sorry, nonny) because honestly, I wasn't sure if I was going to be able to write more of the Galex WIP.

Uh, apparently, I've written some? This is EXTREMELY rough and also will likely be heavily edited by the time I'm done. But anon, if you ever see this tho, I hope you like it!

Chapter 5, Galex WIP

There’s something weird today about George. Obviously, weirdness and George aren’t entirely two disparate things. After all, George is weird most of the time. The kind of weirdness George is projecting tonight isn’t new or singular. This feels different, though, and Alex can’t pinpoint why. He can’t think of the exact words to describe why George feels off. Just that George does feel off.

Alex hates it.

Not that George being different is a problem. Whatever, he’s pretty sure there isn’t an iteration of George that he could ever dislike. No, the thing that grates at Alex, the thing that makes him feel itchy and restless, is the feeling of not knowing something about George. Alex can’t stop rewinding his interactions with George over the last couple of days, like a healing scab on his skin he can’t stop picking at. When did things suddenly change? 

Was there something Alex had done? Had said?

When did they become the kind of people who kept secrets from each other? 

Alex wants to know everything about George. He wants to learn every atom, every molecule, every little thought that crosses George’s huge, giant head. 

Fuck.

Maybe he’s the weird one here, not George.

After all, he’s the one who wants to be an inextricable, immovable part of George. That’s weird, right? Admittedly, he’s not the most well-versed when it comes to friends-with-benefits etiquette, but Alex is reasonably sure the thoughts he’s been having all morning about George aren’t exactly buddies. 

He can’t help it.

Alex just. Fuck. Alex just wants.

He wants a lot of things. Alex wants to tug at the curls at the base of George’s neck. He wants to beat him on the track and then kiss him stupid while they’re damp and sticky from champagne. Most of all, though, Alex wants George to turn around and look at him. He wants to handcuff George to himself and drag them both away to where they can be alone.

“We can probably spare half an hour or so, right, Alex?” George asks, taking Alex out of his head.

He blinks, hard, when he finally digests George’s words. “Uh, sure?” Alex grunts. “I missed that; what are we doing again?”

“Beach volleyball. We were hoping for a couple of extra people to join us,” the guy with dimples says, shooting them a toothy grin. Alex feels irrationally angry at how white this guy’s teeth are under the Grecian sun.

This guy’s not even that hot, Alex thinks, glum. He can’t place the guy’s accent at all. He sounds like an experimental mash-up between Sebastian and Stroll. Completely, utterly unsexy.

Even if the guy’s dimples can probably bring about world peace.

“I don’t know if it would be fair for us to join,” Alex says. If he sounds a little haughty, well, he’s just looking out for Smiley McSmiley over here. They’re athletes--it would be rather unsportsmanlike of them to play volleyball with a bunch of unsuspecting regular Joes.

The guy raises one of his thick, well-manicured brows. “Oh? Why’s that? You any good at volleyball?”

Alex shrugs. “We’re, you know. Athletic.”

George nudges their shoulders together, and the heat of George’s skin against his makes him shiver. “Way to sell our abilities, Alex,” George grins, shaking his head. “Don’t listen to him. We’re not superstars or anything, but we probably won’t be complete liabilities.”

The guy laughs, throwing his head back jovially, the long lines of his neck in full view. “Good enough for me. I’m Nico, by the way. Nice to meet you.”

“George. And this guy right here is Alex.”

Nico shakes both of their hands before pointing to a clearing close to the beach. “My friends are just over there. Shall we?”

[chippedclawclip]

Marriage in evermore

it starts, of course, with champagne problems. Two people who love each other and have reached the stage of their relationship where they have to make a choice. Do they want to get married? The song chronicles a journey where the narrator suddenly rejects her lover’s proposal. “You never know your answer until someone’s on their knees and asks you.” This line implies that the rejection was a surprise even to the narrator. She feels heartbroken that she has crushed the hopes of the other person, but more importantly it has also put an end to their relationship. The “champagne problems” imply that her own mental state was that barrier to her crossing that threshold with him. It’s a tragic story, not because the other person won’t go on and find someone else, but the person who rejected him may have just lost the love of her life due to her decision. Or indecision, depending on how you look at it.

Then we have happiness, which can be analyzed from the point of view of a bitter divorce. But even in that marriage’s ending, the truly tragic part of it is the loss of the happiness that the narrator and her husband had together. It is a profoundly hopeful song, that acknowledges that even when you’re thick in the throes of resentment and anger, you know it only hurts as much as it does because you had something worth holding onto for that long. She describes the relationship becoming fraught with past disagreements and hurt feelings, it’s almost like the narrator knows the relationship died and is looking fondly at its ghost.

Coney Island is about when a marriage perhaps doesn’t materialize, but a relationship is stagnating in a place of complacency. Both narrators are describing scenarios where they don’t prioritize each other, don’t remember each other, lose each other in the metaphorical crowd. I always view this as a cautionary tale. It seems to be screaming at you to appreciate the person who flashes across your face in a crisis. Or perhaps it’s lamenting the fact that sometimes, sometimes love just isn’t enough.

ivy, from the perspective of a cheating spouse. This married woman has found herself completely infatuated by a man who isn’t her husband. She is, day by day, becoming consumed by thoughts of him and growing increasingly alienated from her spouse as a result of it. The idea of their forbidden meetings add even more excitement to the fire and their love threatens to burn everything to the ground. The song asks the question: what happens if you marry the wrong person and then the right one finds you?

no body, no crime is obviously marriage ending in the murder of the wife. Or her disappearance. Her friend pieces together the fact that her husband was having an affair and that his paramour and him have not only murdered her friend, but have also made money off of it. The friend, in true vigilante fashion, avenges her dead friend. It’s the kind of insane nightmare scenario that, were *i* a really rich person, would keep me from ever trusting marriage as an institution. It kind of reminds of the anti-hero daughter in law scenario. Just something to slot in the noooope column.

Tolerate it, from the perspective of the neglected housewife. Just the internal monologue of a woman sitting alone night after night, her husband coming home and barely speaking two words to her. She struggles with her role as someone who is always giving herself for her love, and how she feels like that love isn’t properly reciprocated.

clearly, the ideas that marriage represent on this album are loaded with baggage. It seems to be something where you’re begging for a hand, but you’re also scared of taking it. The album ends with evermore, a song, reminiscent of cardigan, a lover returning from a prolonged break from the other. The pain retreats, but only a vague inclination that it might not return again this time. A little more cautious than betty would’ve been.

[gutsposting]

We do almost everything in an old-fashioned way on the ship. When they built it they wanted things to be familiar, for people to get comfortable. The government also had the aim of encouraging people to go outside more than they had in the years before we left Earth, they said they wanted it to be “more like the twentieth century.” I don’t think it worked. We have bars and movie theaters like they did, but sometimes the only customers are robots. They find that kind of stuff quaint, I suppose.

Technically I’m not a cop. “Community Safety Officer” was the actual name of the job, since generalized police officers had been phased out in favor of unarmed civil servants with specialized tasks. I was armed, but only due to the recent uptick in violent anti-robotic activity over the last few months.

Last night I was reprimanded for allowing two of the robots to duel one another at the ball I was running security for. One of them had offended the other, and they were both brought an ancient flit lock pistol, firing at one another the way two rich people might have done five hundred years ago. Because no one’s life was taken, since the robot who lost would simply be replaced, I didn’t think it was necessary to charge the shooter with a crime. My overseer disagreed.

It was an enjoyable assignment. They organized a dance in an old attic they renovated to resemble that of an 18th century chateau. Cramped together, a hundred robots twirled in pairs. Many more mingled together, chatting and pretending to drink champagne. An ensemble band of twenty synthetic musicians played Tchaikovsky with mathematic efficiency. The tin men wore the deep green uniform of old Russian soldiers, the women adorned in white puffy dresses typical of the period.

I know that a lot of people get really worked up about the robots, but I can’t find any reason to be bothered by them. In fact, I enjoy their company quite a lot. Of course I find displays like this to be somewhat strange, but many of the robots have taken the time to remind me of an ancient human tradition called “historical reenactment” that was popular among some older people before we left Earth. Instead of plotting out a battle from American Civil War, they preferred to spend their free time indulging in the antiquated finery that we humans chose to give up a long time ago.

Besides, they provided everything for these occasions out of their own pockets. They paid my salary, stuffed my hands with tips, and usually went out of their way to hire humans to preform any task that they were available for. The only problem was that no human wanted to be a waiter, dishwasher or janitor anymore. Yet they still complained whenever they saw a robot hire another robot for a job.

The Biological League were the silliest bunch of people I’ve ever met. They were the ones who were supposedly “standing up for my rights as a worker” when they tried to shut down events like these. I remember the day they decided to shift away from that kind of talk. I was sitting in a bar, I was a lot more stupid when I was that age, and I was watching the trial of that bot who stabbed a man. Apparently the guy was trying to steal some clothes off of the robot. The robot said he was wearing new boots and that the man demanded he take them off.

The robot was a woodcarver who made toys and figurines and statues that were fairly popular. That day he accidentally kept a tool in his pocket from the shop, something that looked like an ice pick. This became the central thesis of the prosecution’s argument. “No robot does anything on accident. It is impossible for them. We submit that the defendant simply having this item in his possession is enough to prove premeditation.”

The defense objected that their expert witness, who had testified in a hearing I hadn’t seen on TV, “provided clear evidence that the current capabilities of the machines is much more impressive than what the prosecution claims. These modern marvels develop complex personalities based on their experiences with humans, and through the consumption of human culture. This process is so refined, that were it not for legislation that demands the robots retain their current appearance, they could not be distinguished from humans without blood testing or surgical examination.”

All in all, the robot was found not guilty due to self-defense. My reaction was astonishment, I remember shouting at the TV in the bar like it was a fucking sports game. It’s embarrassing to think about those days. Eventually the League rallied behind the family of the dead man. “No robot has the right to take the life of a human.” Became their new message. A general rollback of their rights, with the outward stated goal of “limiting the role the machines play in our lives.”

Not much changed with the case, however it did reaffirm the fact that robots were legally protected in the same way as humans. This wasn’t even fully true. They paid taxes at a rate nearly double that of humans and were banned from representing themselves in Congress or any job that was political in nature. They chose to be doctors, were banned from being lawyers, were forced to become accountants and bankers, and were randomly drafted to take breaks from their normal jobs in order to preform manual labor.

But they never complained. Not publicly, and not ever to me directly. Even when humans spied on them, it could never be proven that they had some kind of rebellious intent or animosity towards humans in any private conversations they recorded. I knew this instinctively, because if even one robot could be proven to be a genuine murderer, I would see it on the news every second of every day. The government might even get up off their asses and pass a law to do something about it.

Back then I believed a lot of the things that “pro-human” organizations said. But when I went to a job center for the first time, I realized it was all bullshit. Rather than “stealing our jobs”, the bratty little man at the center explained to me that I could have my entire education funded by the state if I promised to become a doctor. “Too many people are getting into the hospital or going to their personal doctor, and they keep complaining that the nurses and sometimes even the doctors are ‘being replaced’ by robots. We can promise over 1.25 million a year in salary for your first five years, and after that you can-“

The only thing I had any interest in back then was music. I asked him if he knew any jobs that I could get playing piano, and he shrugged his shoulders. Instead of replying, he handed me a thick brochure titled “Helping us Help You” and stood before saying “just holler if you need anything.” His smile really pissed me off for some reason.

I left without taking any job. I survived off of the checks they pay everyone because of “overproduction” brought on by the robots. It’s enough for no one to ever need to work, but people get restless. Some want to just make more money, I just wanted something to do. I tried finding somewhere to at least make a few bucks playing the piano but I just found myself getting nowhere. Composition wasn’t my thing, and I’ve never been able to concentrate on playing for hours straight.

Eventually I saw a poster that said something about “helping the community” and I looked into it. “Synthetic Patrol?” I asked the guy taking down my information. “What kind of trouble can they be up to? Armed? It says these guys have guns?”

He looked like a soldier from a 1950’s movie. “Yeah, they get guns, but it’s not what you think. See, the rich robots like doing a lot of fundraisers and other B.S. stuff that they want security for.”

“But it’s not like they’re worried about a fight breaking out, right? No drunk machines getting dragged from the open bar, and kicking and screaming and shit?” I felt hot all over when I laughed a little too hard at my own joke, and saw that the other guy wasn’t laughing at all.

“Um… no. Not like that.” He turned his computer monitor around. He had pulled up an article on the screen titled “Twenty Robots Shot at Music Festival, Only One Survives.”

“Why the would anyone do that?”

“You haven’t seen this shit?”

“I don’t really read the news.”

He made a smug look and said “well, you should.”

In my training, it was all about helping the community. Keeping them safe. I agreed with everything they said. Of course it was wrong for them to have to worry about getting shot in public. They might not be alive like you and me, but they don’t want to stop existing. They treat the idea of getting “killed” as though it’s a horrifying thing, and it’s not like they have their consciousness uploaded into a new body. When they get destroyed, that’s it. One bullet to the head or the chest, and they don’t exist anymore.

But I think I’m going to retire today. I was sitting next to a flower bed. Cigarettes are illegal so I have to be careful who sees me smoking. I had a scoped rifle, and all humans were strictly banned from entering the plaza. “Any Violators Will Be SHOT.” I thought the sign was enough.

No humans showed up, but some rat bastard planted a bomb. It went off as they were all listening to a speech from one of their union organizers. Two hundred and fifty of them died, and I failed them all.

I’m done writing about it for tonight. I’m out of vodka anyways.

[invsiblestrings]

midnights plot ideas

in honor of dr. swift's latest drop, here are *13* plot ideas based off midnights - 3 a.m. edition. there are some common themes from this album (imo) like learning to love again after heartache, maturing in relationships, wondering "what if?", and manipulating people & situations for better or worse. message me if you'd like to try any of these plots & feel free to reblog.

lavender haze: muse a has always put relationships and domesticity on the backburner, feeling torn between wanting a life partner and wanting to retain their own sense of self. muse b has always loved freely and never felt that happiness and connection were mutually exclusive. when they end up together, muse a has to figure out how to not get caught up in societal labels, timelines, and expectations - while muse b never had any expectations to begin with.

maroon: muse a and muse b met when life seemed simpler - shitty apartments & cheap wine in overcrowded big city apartments. it felt inevitable & easy falling in love then. but when muse a leaves the city & muse b can't (won't?) follow, it's time to see if their connection can survive distance, timing, sobriety, growing up, real life.

you're on your own kid: coming of age in the same small town, it seemed like muse a would always be around, so muse b never thought twice about getting around to finally acting on the simmering hot & cold connection they'd harbored for years. but muse a is getting older now, finding their footing in the world, and no longer content with always coming in last. will muse b ever get it together, or will they get left behind like their hometown?

midnight rain: the golden retriever/black cat trope. muse and muse b were so different, but they always said opposites attract, right? that is, until muse a got it in their mind to propose & muse b said... no. (champagne problems?..) just like that, it was over. and now muse b gets to watch muse a move on - new spouse, new life, and they try to believe they made the right choice all those years ago, but do the "what ifs" keep muse a up at night, too?

question...?: muse a and muse b had one chaotic, silly, perfect night together. for muse a, it felt like they'd finally made it out of the friendzone, like it was really the start of something. but then muse a learned that muse b had a partner all along, and maybe that night didn't mean to muse b what it meant to muse a after all, though they've never actually talked about it.

bejeweled: muse and muse b have been together for awhile now. they've traded the honeymoon phase and butterflies for contentment and routine. but muse a is getting a little too comfortable, and muse b feels forgotten and unappreciated, unsure if they can ever get back to that initial spark. maybe muse a just needs to be reminded of what they have - that muse b has options and can still command attention.

sweet nothing: after years of heartache & insecurity & betrayal, what muse a and muse b have found feels like home & safety & peace. it's the kind of connection that defies definition and makes no sense to the rest of the world and becomes the one thing muse a and b would do anything to defend. it's sacred.

mastermind: muse a and muse b are the ultimate "meet cute" success story. everyone says so. except that it wasn't divine coincidence after all - muse a had their sights on muse b for a long time, planned it all out in painstaking detail, and didn't give up until they could call muse b theirs. and the best part? muse b knew all along - let it happen - because they wanted it just as much.

high infidelity: muse a didn't realize that none of it - the house, the marriage, the picket fence - wasn't what they wanted until it was too late. or was it? now muse a is dipping dangerously into cheating territory and muse b is growing increasingly resentful as the gulf between them grows and grows.

glitch: muse a and b met and quickly became best friends, understanding each other in a way they hadn't found with anyone else. and muse b even became a sounding board for muse a's disastrous dating life horror stories. it worked because muse b was so totally not muse a's type. except one day, it's like a switch flipped & muse b is all muse a can think about, all they want. but how do they explain that to muse b, who so clearly wants to be just friends & has had to listen to all of muse a's flaws and failures?

would've, could've, should've: would it all have been different if muse a and muse b never met? could all the heartache have been spared? and if they could go back, would they even choose to do anything differently? because for all the tears and ghosts of memories and hitting each other where it hurts, there was no other love quite like it.

[outerbankies]

You know how teenager rafe is gonna just be spiralling over reader going to prom with someone else? I’m going to cry cause like he’s a baby and he doesn’t know why he has these feeling for this one person that he’s always kind of orbited around?? And he knows she’s it for him but only deep down cause he’s trying to figure so much out and how could you know who you’re going to end up with at the age of 17 let alone 10 or 12 but he’s always known and aaaaah imagine that kind of love

an angsty little pre-series prom blurb partially inspired by this ^ ask that made me spiralll. thanks anon i hope u like this!

—

new light blurb: before we knew — rafe cameron

new light series masterlist

obv takes place pre-series in high school! referenced in part 1

warnings: underage drinking

“Top, it’s not fucking funny.”

“It’s kinda fucking funny, Y/n/n. Like, way more than a little.”

Rafe had ditched the last fifteen minutes of statistics when he finished his test early today, and he’d been messing around on his phone for ten minutes waiting for the rest of you to come and get in Topper’s Jeep so you could all go to lunch off-campus today.

Rafe stands up straight from where he’d been leaning against the hood when he hears your voice approaching, his smile matching yours once you see him. “Hey, Rafe. How did your stats test go?”

“Good, hey, Y/n. What’s not funny?” he asks, opening the passenger side door for you before sliding into the backseat behind you.

“Oh, get this, Rafe,” Topper says, laughing. You just groan again, clicking your seatbelt on. “Griffin is gonna ask Y/n to prom. Tomorrow.”

Rafe blanches. “Griffin?”

He knew Griffin thought you were hot. Certainly had to hear it enough times in the pool at practice every day. Rafe always found himself biting back a remark—well, almost always. As captain, Rafe was able to tell everyone to run another play whenever he felt like it. The extra exertion in the pool was nothing compared to having to tread water and hear his teammate talk about you like that.

But even after all of that, he still had no idea Griffin had the balls to actually make a move on you. Because Rafe could tell you’d seriously rather die than ever give Griffin the time of day. And Griffin had been pursuing you without luck for months, even though you’d been trying to gently show you weren’t interested. Half of the time, Rafe wished you'd just tell him to fuck off.

The other half of the time, Rafe was considering just doing it for you.

Rafe clears his throat after his outburst, a finger digging into a hole in his jeans. “How do you know?”

“He just told me in PE,” Topper says. “He said he has this huge banner, and speakers, and he’s gonna do it at lunch right in the middle of the quad—”

“Topper.” You cut him off a bit more seriously this time; Rafe can hear the shift in your tone. You've always hated being anywhere close to the center of attention, getting embarrassed by the smallest things others wouldn’t even think about. If Griffin actually knew anything about you the way Rafe does, he’d know you wouldn’t like something big and flashy. “Can you stop?”

“Hey, cut it out, Top,” Rafe is saying immediately. Topper just rolls his eyes, but Rafe doesn’t care. “You okay?”

“Yeah, Rafe,” you say, smiling over your shoulder at him. “M’fine.”

“Do you want me to tell Griffin to—”

Topper laughs from the driver’s seat, clearing his throat to cover it up when you look over at him. You look back at Rafe, and his heart breaks at the worry in your face. “Don’t, Rafe.”

“Are you gonna say yes?”

“No,” you immediately laugh, looking at him like the idea is preposterous.

“Oh c’mon, Y/n/n. Can’t say no to him in front of all those people,” Topper teases. “And where the fuck is Kelce? I’m starving.”

“You’re right,” you sigh. “I don’t wanna embarrass him. I’ll just find him after school today and tell him I’m going with Kelce.”

Topper’s eyes widen, Rafe catches it in the rearview mirror before he hurriedly looks away. Rafe clears his throat, settling back into his seat from where he’d been leaning into the front space to talk with you. “You—uh, are you actually going with Kelce?”

“Yeah,” you nod, distracted by your phone. “We said we’d go together if we didn’t find dates. Kelce didn’t really wanna ask anyone after what happened last summer. And after nearly being set up with Top last night, I’m about ready to throw in the towel.“

Rafe looks to his friend that sits in the driver’s seat, who's looking straight at his lap, the back of his neck bright red. “Wait, you two?”

“It was just our parents, dude. Went to dinner at the club last night and our moms brought it up,” Topper mumbles. You giggle at the idea, completely unaware of the energy in the car right now.

“Yeah, sorry, Thornton. But no thanks. You and Emily should be really cute, though,” you say earnestly, patting his shoulder.

Topper just stares straight ahead. “Thanks, Y/n/n.”

“And then this thing with Griffin—I’m just so over the idea of finding an actual date at this point,” you sigh. “Plus, I know Kelce won’t put up a fight about the color scheme. I’m thinking like, aqua. Or maybe pink? I don't think I'd look good in gold.”

You'll look good in absolutely anything, and Rafe will just have to watch you from across the floor of the Island Club, while Kelce twirls you around the dance floor or holds you close during a slow dance.

The guy in question opens the car door and slides into the backseat next to Rafe right then, sighing as he slides his backpack off. “Sorry guys, coach stopped me in the hall. Where are we eating?”

Rafe glares at him.

“I want a smoothie,” you declare from the front seat.

“Fine with me,” Topper nods, pulling out of his parking spot. “Guys?”

“Can we go to that place with the deli next door? I’m so hungry,” Kelce says.

“Yeah, I like their açaí bowls,” you say, twisting around to look at Rafe one more time. He must not be able to hide his emotions as much as he thought, because your smile drops when you see him. “Rafe? Does that sound good?”

He turns his body to look out the window, eyes flicking back to yours one last time. “Not hungry.”

—

Rafe meets Topper and Kelce at the dock later that night, the three of them intending to get drunk and maybe take Topper’s boat out if they felt like it.

Kelce is already there by the time Rafe pulls up, drinking a beer with Topper while they laugh at something on his phone.

And Rafe paces right down the dock, snatches Kelce’s phone out of his hand, and pushes him off the platform and into the water.

“Rafe, dude,” Topper says, immediately pushing him back by his chest.

“What the fuck?” Kelce sputters, spitting out water as he surfaces and climbs the ladder back up. “What is your fucking problem?”

“You couldn’t ask literally fucking anyone else? It had to be Y/n?” Rafe says, laughing indignantly. He looks down at where Topper is still keeping them separated. “And you—what the fuck—”

“I told you, man. It was just our moms. We didn’t even consider it,” Topper says, rolling his eyes.

“You both lied to me,” Rafe accuses. “Because you knew I’d be mad.”

“And why’s that, Rafe?” Kelce spits, reaching around Topper to try and push at his chest. “Why are you mad? Not like you were gonna ask her.”

“No,” Rafe says immediately. And he isn’t even lying; it’d never crossed his mind as a possibility. Which is why he can’t even begin to try and work out why he’s this upset about it. He didn’t do anything to stop this, but it’s still happening, and it’s making him crazy. “You know my dad’s making me take Reagan since we’re both on prom court.”

“That’s what I thought,” Kelce grumbles. “I was gonna tell you.”

“When?”

“Soon, I just—we made the plan so long ago, bro. Neither of us wanted to worry about dates… but I gave it time because I thought you might—I dunno,” Kelce trails off, shrugging. “I dunno.”

“Thought I might what?”

“Figure your shit out and ask her yourself,” Topper says, coming back from the boathouse with a towel that he passes to Kelce.

“Even if I could, Y/n/n would never say yes to me,” Rafe scoffs, shaking his head and reaching for the six-pack they were working through.

Topper scoffs back. “Oh, yeah ri—”

“Guess we’ll never know,” Kelce says, cutting him off while he dumps the water out of his shoes. He sighs at his soaked clothes before he looks back up at Rafe. “You know I’m not into her right? We’re just going as friends. It’s senior prom.”

“Why would I care what you’re going as?” Rafe says, shifting in discomfort, hand clutching his already-half-empty beer can a little tighter. “None of it even matters.”

“Whatever you wanna tell yourself, bro,” Kelce sighs, grabbing his phone out of Rafe’s hand and pushing past him to go change.

—

“Nice taste, Y/l/n.”

You whirl around from where you’d been adjusting Kelce’s boutonnière (you’d only pricked him twice, which was a personal record for you) at the sound of Rafe’s voice, plastering on a smile before you face him. Your eyes drop to his attire immediately. “Oh shit, Rafe. We match.”

“I know,” he laughs. “My step-mom wants a picture.”

You furrow your eyebrows, shifting in your heels, the tule of your dress suddenly itchy against your legs. “Um. Shouldn’t you take one with Reagan?”

“We already took a million. From every angle. With every possible fucking pose,” Rafe sighs. “C’mon, please? Before the limo comes.”

Rafe grabs your hand and you look back at Kelce who just nods, downing some champagne. “Take care of my date, Cameron.”

You can see Rafe just shake his head where you trail behind him, leading you back to where Rose is talking to one of the other moms. “There you are. Your dress is beautiful! I wish we'd found one like that for Reagan. It looks great with Rafe's tuxedo.”

“Uh, yeah. It's nice to see you, Mrs. Cameron,” you say politely, ignoring the last half of what she said completely. She pulls up her phone and Rafe’s bringing you into his side, his hand resting in the middle of your back.

“This okay?” he murmurs, his breath fanning over your neck as he leans down.

“Yep,” you say quickly, but you can’t help but look around and catch multiple of your friends watching you, including Reagan, who promptly rolls her eyes once you make eye contact with her.

“Y/n, sweetie, just a few pictures for the newsletter,” Rose says, reminding you of your purpose right now.

“Right, sorry,” you say.

“Hey,” Rafe whispers. You look up at him, feeling his hand bring you closer to his body. “Take this a little more seriously, Y/l/n. Don’t you know that the next issue of the Island Club newsletter will be completely ruined without this one specific photo, that will probably be squished into the corner of a terribly- edited collage?”

You laugh in surprise, hitting him on his chest for joking about his step-mom right in front of her. “Rafe. Be nice.”

He just grins down at you, before straightening up and turning back to the camera. “If I’m nice, will you save a dance for me later tonight?”

You’re glad he’s not looking at you anymore, because then he’d see the way your smile faltered before you turn back to the camera as well. “Sure.”

—

“How is my flask empty?” Kelce groans, tipping it over and shaking it out for emphasis.

“That’s what happens when you drink it all, bud,” you laugh, patting his shoulder. He rolls his eyes at you, linking his arm in yours as you both pass through the crowd to find Topper and his date, Emily. You all watch Rafe up on stage, waiting to inevitably be crowned prom king.

He was a shoo-in anyway, but you’d definitely distracted your English teacher with a conversation about the 1984 essay you just turned in while Topper and Kelce stuffed the ballot box he was meant to be guarding.

Rafe seemed like he couldn’t care less about stuff like prom court, just shaking his head when his name was announced over the speaker as a nominee three weeks ago at lunch.

And he’d dragged his feet through finding a date, just shrugging whenever you brought it up to him, prying partially for your own sake.

You couldn’t figure out why he seemed so averse to the entire event, but you supposed that was better than having to hear him go on and on about Reagan and how he asked her and what corsage he bought for her and if he was bringing her to after-prom—or anything else that would’ve dragged up some feelings you thought you’d firmly buried at this point, telling yourself for years that you never stood a chance with Rafe.

But the closer graduation got, the more you’ve been realizing that things with your friends would never be the same. Things with Rafe would never be the same.

“Kildare Academy, your prom king is Rafe Cameron,” the DJ says, snapping you out of your thoughts. Kelce and Topper cheer obnoxiously while you laugh, a little grateful they’re both drunk and distracted—so happy their plan worked (Rafe subtly flips them off behind his back as he’s crowned) that they can’t notice the way your shoulders slump as Rafe leads Reagan, just crowned queen, out to the middle of the dance floor while some Ed Sheeran song starts playing through the speakers. You’d roll your eyes at the terrible music selection if that was what you could focus on.

All you could focus on was wondering if Rafe would even remember that you promised him a dance tonight.

Kelce is dramatically bringing you into his arms as the prom court dance takes place, subtly turning you around so your back faces the stage and the court, smiling as he holds your waist. “C’mon, dance with me.”

—

Rafe’s letting go of Reagan as soon as the song ends and everybody cheers, dashing off to the DJ booth after telling her he’d be back in a bit. She merely shrugged before adjusting her crown and going off to some friends.

“Hey man, can I pull some prom king privilege right now?” he says, leaning in to speak into the guys’ ear. “I have a song request.”

“Playlist is set, approved by the school,” he says dismissively.

“Thought you might say that,” Rafe grumbles, reaching into his breast pocket before he can take the time to wonder if he’s really going to do this—if he’s really going to bribe the DJ to play a song by your favorite band before he goes to cash in on that dance together that you’d promised.

He hands him a crisp hundred.

The DJ sighs, snatching it out of his hand and pocketing it while Rafe smirks in victory. “Alright, what song, country club?”

And then it's practically a race to find you before the Kid Cudi remix currently playing ends. Rafe heads off in the direction where Topper and Kelce had been yelling when he was on stage, evening his pace when he spots you jumping around with Kelce, your dress fanning around you while you laugh, the string lights illuminating your face.

You’re smiling so big that it stops Rafe in his tracks.

Guys had always shown interest in you, and you turned most of them down. Not all of them; Rafe still had to see you with guys who absolutely did not deserve you giving them the time of day, sometimes at parties or maybe at the Club. Rafe could usually lie to himself, write off these feelings as some protectiveness over you, a nice girl who’d been a good friend to him his entire life. Rafe was protective of all the people he held close in his life, why wouldn’t he look out for you, too?

But something must have changed, because now—now Rafe’s looking at you, and he knows time is running out before you both set off on your futures. He has three weeks of school left with you, then a summer of seeing you around. And then... that's it.

And now he’s looking at you, those feelings less and less ignorable with every single second closer Rafe gets to not having you around him every day anymore.

Those feelings are crowding every corner of his mind, finally coming to the surface after all of the drama with prom dates had forced Rafe to wonder why he couldn’t stand you going with Griffin or Topper or Kelce. Couldn’t stand thinking about you ever being with someone that wasn’t him—a reality he knows he’d have to get used to you a lot quicker than it took him to even realize he’d fallen for you.

Because the future’s coming, and maybe in the future you actually end up with someone like Griffin, or Mateo, or that guy from the party that one time, or that touron from New England that your parents tried to set you up with, some hotshot you brought home from California after a semester, or Kelce—even Topper. Your parents would love that one. And one day in this future, you’re running into Rafe on the soccer field; your kids play for the same team together. Rafe ended up settling for someone he could never like half as much as he loved you, and he sees you across the field with a sweater tied around your shoulders, chatting with all of the other moms. The lucky asshole you finally chose just watches you the way Rafe always had, the way he is now as you dance with his best friend, the way Rafe will probably never be able to stop himself from doing.

Or maybe there's another future without you, where you move away to somewhere that suits you; the Outer Banks had never good enough for you, in his mind. Maybe you stay in California after school. And you bring home that hotshot that’s perfectly matched for you, who gets to hold you and kiss you and have you. Rafe only gets to see you every once in a while, when you decide to grace the Outer Banks with your presence for the holidays or for Midsummers. Maybe in this scenario, Rafe was never able to find someone else, maybe he shows up solo while you flash your engagement ring when the old crew gets together for drinks—no, you wouldn’t do that. You’d be absolutely smitten with whoever won your heart, showing the ring he got you to your girl friends with an embarrassed little smile pulling at your lips while they all gush over it. And maybe one of your friends jokes about how Rafe used to have a crush on you. You'll just laugh and shrug it off, nodding—because you knew all along. Of course you knew, everyone had to know at this point. And Rafe can picture you merely laughing at his feelings for you as the other guy gets to pull you closer on his lap.

The opening chords of your song snap him out of his reverie. He can see the exact moment you realize what song it is.

Rafe beelines for you, holding his hand out as soon as he’s in your vicinity, fully pretending he hadn’t just realized he’s fallen for one of his closest friends in the middle of prom. Like he hadn't realized that he wasn't just into you, didn't just think you were cute or like the way you made him feel when you remembered his stats tests or wore his shirt to his water polo games. Like he hadn't just realized that no matter how many times he'd told himself it didn't bother him that much that you'd never come close to giving him the time of day, that he'd never forget what it felt like to not even be on your radar.

“You promised me a dance, Y/n.”

You look at him and his outstretched hand and smile, then look back to Kelce, who's quickly letting you out of his arms, casting an accusatory glance at Rafe. But then he smiles a little. “I'm gonna hit the restrooms.”

“Too bad our one dance is gonna be to a song by a band you hate,” you laugh, accepting Rafe's hand. Rafe’s on autopilot, his hands resting on your lower back while yours move to his chest, swaying the two of you in little circles. The song is already through with the first verse.

“I don’t hate this band,” he lies. But maybe it’s not a lie—how could he hate anything you loved?

“Okay, prom king,” you laugh, fiddling with his pocket square a little, the one that matches your dress. “Still can’t believe we ended up matching.”

“Great minds, Y/l/n,” he shrugs, eyes trained on your face. Your hands slip up around his shoulders, and you nudge the plastic crown on his head before leaving your arms to rest there, fingers locked behind his neck. Rafe pulls you closer. The second chorus was already starting up. Time was running out.

“I’m not sure what the optics are of our matching and you leaving the prom queen to come dance with your friend,” you say, your small smile turning into a frown. “Reagan already seemed pissed earlier.”

“Don’t worry about her,” Rafe says. “It’s just you and me right now.”

“When we go off to college, I think I might just miss you, Cameron,” you say, smiling.

And Rafe might not ever get to tell you how he feels, or ever be with you the way he wants to, but at least he got to dance with you at his senior prom.

“I know I'm gonna miss you.”

—

@moniamaybank @downbytheouterbanks @littlementalpolaroids @fangirlvoice @chicagoblackhawkslover96 @pogueslandia @loveylangdon @oopsiedoopsie23 @sodasback @rafeseggplant @cooper8224 @rafeyybabyy @lemur46 @cameronsrafe @theepoguelandia @judayyyw @irlpadfoot @synonymforlame @tinawhynot @mildkleptomaniac @ilymarkchan @sofiatheseconf @hockeyshmockey @supersouthy @coffeeandcrimeshows @emptyloverofmine @infinitleyethereal @nerdypartytrashpsychic @mrs-cameron @tcmhollnd @nicavass @sakikos @catonthesideoftheroad @jemimah-b99 @serrendipiity @depressinq @svechnibrock @julianakawaja @ctrlcherries @lostaurorax @wildflower98 @babygirl2022 @lieswithoutfairytales @painlesslies @messagesinthesky @orrsoared @destourtereaux @sammywilscn @tylernagle @anonymousobxfan @lilacsandwhiskey @raphaelcameron @mardema @princesspogue @alwaysclassyeagle @brittlehe-art @drewswrld

[evanjinx]

alternative universe buddie fics recs :)

note: the links weren't working the first time i wrote the post but i edited and they're okay now!! if it still isn't working for you is probably because you're trying to open from a reblog from before i edit it, so try open directly from the original post on my profile.

Blind Date by @sassypopstar [complete | teen and up audiences | 3.8k words]

Buck feels a little ridiculous dressed in a jacket and a shirt. But Maddie had insisted on him dressing up for the occasion and even Chimney had quipped that it’s the right thing to do. So Buck, who never went on a blind date before in his life, listened to his big sister and her boyfriend because apparently that’s who he is now. Or the one where Buck goes on a blind date with someone called Eddie.

Buckley's Bouquets by awashleyno [complete | teen and up audiences | 23.4k words]

A world where Buck owns a flower shop and manages to develop a huge, massive, ridiculous crush on a handsome firefighter that comes in for a visit one day. Or, 5 times Eddie gives flowers to other people and the 1 time he gives them to Buck.

Call It What You Will - Fate? Destiny? (A Tsunami) by @abow123456 [complete | mature | 20k words]

Evan Buckley's day of relaxation is cut short when a tsunami hits the beach he was relaxing at. He has to fight to keep himself and a lost little boy safe from the water, as well as anyone else he finds. After, he meets the boys father and family, and it causes a snowball effect of good things for him, for once.

Capuccino with extra, extra sugar by buckbng [complete | teen and up audiences | 2.7k words]

Buck is the cute barista and Eddie is the grinch that hates coffee. Until, he doesn't. Because if Buck says he looks like the kind of person that would love a cappuccino, who's Eddie to disagree with him? OR Eddie really doesn't like coffee but pretends he does just so he has an excuse to see the cute barista at the coffee shop.

Confirmation Bias by strifechaos [complete | mature | 31k words]

After the fallout with his ex-wife, Eddie believed he could only trust his family with his son. He hadn’t imagined falling for his son’s sweet-hearted nanny, Buck. With his own family so distant, Buck never considered that he’d be lucky enough to find a home for himself, let alone people he could count on. Not until he meets the Diaz boys. AU: Buck was never a firefighter, and becomes Christopher's sitter when Shannon's job takes her away from Eddie and Chris for the summer. Eddie tries to not fall for his son's nanny, he's not very successful.

dream of some epiphany by extasiswings [complete | mature | 7.3k words]

Evan Buckley is lost. It’s happenstance that he wanders into the navy recruiting center—he’s been in San Diego for a few weeks, bartending late nights and weekends, living in a house with three other guys not because he needs the roommates but because he doesn’t want to be alone, and the military is…respectable. Stable. So Buck thinks maybe and opens the door. Buck leaves ten minutes later with a set of printed instructions for sending his first letter, assured that he can drop it off whenever he’s ready, and a name. Staff Sergeant Edmundo “Eddie” Diaz.

Frequent Flyer by red_to_black [complete | mature | 13.4k words]

In his entire time being a firefighter, Eddie has never met anyone as accident-prone as Evan Buckley. And Buck - well, he's quickly becoming the 118's best customer. (Or - the one where Eddie is a firefighter, Buck isn't, and Eddie finds himself rescuing Buck from increasingly sticky situations. Sometimes literally.)

Gave me no messages, gave me no signs... by @reallysmartladymariecurie [complete | teen and up audiences | 7.4k words]

"Buck is beyond nervous, and he’s really trying to convince himself that the familiarity of the situation is not some sort of bad omen. Just because there are parallels of the start of his relationship with Eddie to that of his relationship with Abby doesn’t mean that this new adventure is destined to end in the same miserable fashion. He hopes it won’t, has to believe it won’t. Because even with Abby, he hadn’t fallen this hard for her before their first official date. With Eddie, everything is already intensified by a thousand." Or, Buck covers a shift for a firefighter at the 136 and it leads to a budding relationship through text messages.

Gotta Find My Corner (Of the Sky) by doctornineandthreequarters [complete | general audiences | 31.3k words]

It was the last day of 2016 and two lost souls found themselves in a quiet dive bar, as the loud noises of the city celebrating New Year’s Eve buzzed around them. Most people chose loud, flashy bars with DJs and entrance fees and promises of champagne for New Year’s Eve. But both occupants of the dive bar preferred the quiet. They both didn’t need the added chaos when everything around them already felt chaotic. --- Or, Buck and Eddie meet on New Year's Eve, 2016, a meeting that sets of a series of events that changes the trajectory of both of their lives.

I Didn't Know I Was Lonely 'Till I Saw Your Face by @hmslusitania [complete | general audiences | 10.4k words]

After the ladder truck and the blood clot and the tsunami, Bobby makes Buck go to therapy before he does something stupid (like sue the city). Buck's not totally comfortable being alone with a therapist, but fortunately he makes a friend and ally who's willing to help him out - Eddie Diaz from the 136 who's just been caught in an illegal fight club. OR Total strangers Buck and Eddie go to couple's therapy together to get out of the therapy requirements their captains have placed on them.

i want your midnights by allyasavedtheday [complete | teen and up audiences | 36.3k words]

In which Eddie decides to rent out his spare room to help with mortgage repayments right around the time Buck decides to move out of Abby's place after some not so gentle prodding from Maddie. It's a coincidence. Or serendipity. Or maybe just really good timing.

i wanna be know (by you) by @starlightbuck [complete | general audiences | 12.5k words]

“I didn’t mean to do it.” Hen glances down at Eddie’s phone then back up at him in disbelief.

“How do you ‘not mean’ to download a bunch of dating apps but still have them on your phone?”

Or  In which Eddie delves into the intimidating world of online dating.

if i got locked away (would you still love me the same?) by @firefighterhan [complete | general audiences | 3.7k words]

Buck gets accidentally thrown in jail after meddling in a fight outside of a grocery store. There, he meets an unexpected guest, famous music artist Eddie Diaz, who is being suspiciously quiet about how he ended up here in the first place.

if only in my dreams by @buttercupbuck [complete | general audiences | 5.4k words]

Years before Eddie joins the 118, Buck meets him at an airport bar on Christmas day.

in a week by @buttercupbuck [complete | explicit | 78.9k]

in which Eddie joins the U.S. Forest Service and in the meadows of California, finds the things he thought he lost and the things he thought he'd never have.

It Started With A Bang And A Hostage Situation by JayJay__884 [complete | general audiences | 6.6k words]

Buck goes to the store one late night to buy food because of Maddie's pregnancy cravings. Whilst at the store, Buck accidentally gets caught in the middle of a robbery and gets knocked out. After waking up in the backroom, Buck finds himself as a hostage with a handsome and caring stranger.

Leading with the Left by @letmetellyouaboutmyfeels [complete | explicit | 84.7k]

When Buck said he was a "bartender" in "South America" what he actually meant was "stripper" in "Mexico." And when Eddie said, "What's your problem?" what he actually meant was, "Is this about the time you gave me a lap dance?" In other words, there's a few things the 118 doesn't know about Buck. Or Eddie. Or Buck and Eddie's relationship.

Lift me up by @captain--sif [complete | teen and up audiences | 5.5k words]

Buck gets stuck in his apartment building's broken elevator with his good-looking neighbor from the sixth floor.

Love and Bullets Both Shatter Hearts (But Only One Can Put You Back Together) by @letmetellyouaboutmyfeels [complete | explicit | 11.2k words]

Agent [Redacted] Diaz is the best at what he does. Usually. But lately there's this real pain in the ass* who's been ruining his missions: Code Name "Buck."

*stupidly handsome and annoyingly talented rival spy

Mr. Buckley's After Hours Detention by aresaphrodites [complete | mature | 11.4k words]

It’s not like Eddie Diaz planned on this. Really, there was no scenario in his mind where he would ever be bringing his son’s teacher a freaking goody basket to class; a homemade goody basket, no less. Then again, Christopher has never had a teacher quite like Evan Buckley.

MukbangsWithBuck by @reallysmartladymariecurie [complete | teen and up audiences | 19.3k words]

After growing tired of eating alone in his loft, Buck decides to start a YouTube channel where he records himself eating dinner and telling stories about crazy things his team has encountered on calls. He eventually gains a substantial fanbase, and he is led to the channel of another LA firefighter who uploads informational videos and also casual vlogs with his ten-year-old son. It isn't long before the two start a friendship through messages, both of them secretly hoping it will turn into something more. Or, Eddie and Buck are both firefighters/YouTubers and they end up falling in love.

Objects in the Mirror by SevenSoulmates [complete | explicit | 139.1k words]

The voice had always been around, Eddie remembers it, like a stream of consciousness that babbled incoherently to the point where Eddie just tuned it out.  But then the voice started speaking directly to him. Conversing like he was a whole person standing right in front of him. Like he could see what was happening around Eddie. Eddie shook his head. No one was talking to him, and Eddie most certainly was not talking back. He wouldn’t talk to the boy in his head ever again. There was no boy in his head. 

Passive Aggressive Flirting by @starlingbite [complete | general audiences | 4.5k words]

Buck and Eddie have never met. They both work at the 118 but just on different shifts. That's all about to change when Buck finds a sticky note message, signed E.

String of hearts... by @reallysmartladymariecurie [complete | teen and up audiences | 11.1k words]

“Now. Eddie is this incredible presence. He’s funny and smoking hot, and he has a son who sounds wonderful. And he’s serious and vulnerable at times. But so enjoyable to be around, every single second that he’s there. And how can I put myself out there when the expectation is so high? When the thing I might lose is so beautiful?”

In which Buck owns a plant shop in LA, and Eddie becomes his new favorite customer. Pining ensues.

check out my post of buddie fics with dad!buck

[heloisedaphnebrightmore]

Possibilities [Tom Hiddleston x Reader]

Title: Possibilities Pairing: Tom Hiddleston x Female!Reader Word count: 3k Published: 6 July 2021 Author: Heloise Daphne Brightmore Warnings: Mention of food and alcohol Summary: Tom and you have been friends for a long time and because of that same reason you value your friendship more than to ruin it with some silly feelings. But the event you attend together offers you some surprises that might change your relationship forever.

Tom Hiddleston and Characters Masterlist | Masterlists

Real People Masterlist

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Events, galas, award ceremonies. You weren't a popular actress nor a famous singer, or social media influencer. You had a simple 9-5 job that would hardly ever get you into these events. But regardless of your status in society, you were known and not because of any talent you possessed that could have made you famous, but because your best friend was none-other than Tom Hiddleston.

You have been friends for years, you adored everything about the man. He was sweet and kind, always polite, but just as playful. It was a friendship you felt lucky to be in, a friendship that you held so close to your heart, it would have broken every little piece of you if it ever ended. Often, you found yourself staring at him with a little smile in the corner of your lips, watching his every move, the way he joked around with his co-stars on set, the way he exercised in the gym for a role, the way he winked at you with a mischievous smile as he caught your eyes on him.

"Do you need my autograph?" he asked with a wide grin as he opened the door of the luxurious car he booked for the event. Once again you have forgotten your eyes on him— his dashing looks, the perfectly fitted suit, the playful twinkle in his eyes. He never stopped teasing you about it.

"Shove off, Tom," you nudged him as he got out of the car and held out a hand for you, waiting for you to accept his help. So, you did. Wrapping your fingers around his hand, you let him help you out of the vehicle as you rearranged your stunning dress and ran your hand down its length to remove any creasing. Cameras were flashing, reporters' loud voices filled the pathway to the entrance, a long red carpet leading your way inside the building towering over you like a modern castle.

"If I didn't know better, I would think your interest in me goes beyond friendship," he chuckled as he held his arm out to you, waiting for yours to be placed over his, his eyes following every little movement of yours. A sudden rush of heat travelled up to your cheeks, your breathing slightly laboured as you tried to calm your heavily beating heart. He was not wrong after all. It's been years since you have been harbouring these feelings, but you hadn't had the heart to confess them. Tom was more important to you than to ruin it over some silly feelings.

Sometimes, when you caught Tom's eyes on you, watching you intently, a soft smile spread across his face, it made you think if maybe, just maybe he was harbouring similar feelings towards you. But the idea was quickly swept away by your doubts, the thought of such an amazing man falling for you seeming impossible. You knew your worth, you didn't write yourself down, but Tom has always been perfect in your eyes, and you couldn't imagine him wanting you even if at times a certain silly part of your brain whispered otherwise.

"I love your healthy self-confidence," you finally gathered your ability to be able to reply, earning a comical huff from him. You have been trying hard, to deny your romantic interest in him, but rumours about the two of you have become a reoccurring news and it didn't help your case to shove your feelings in the back of your mind.

"Ready?" He asked as his gaze turned towards the red carpet. Heaving a heavy sigh, you nodded and murmured a 'yes' as a response.

As soon as the cameras started flashing, hundreds of photos of Tom and you being taken, you conjured a sweet little smile that the tabloids loved. You were always nervous when it came to these events. It was Tom's job to answer some of the questions journalists asked of him, which meant they were to ask about your relationship. It was becoming repetitive, making you feel uncomfortable. The questions themselves didn't bother you but repeating over and over again that the man you have fallen for is merely a friend, felt like a stab in your heart, each time you responded.

"Tom! Tom!" One of the reporters shouted his name and he led you to the side of the red carpet, halting right beside the metal cordons. Questions were flying around, photos had been taken, but you didn't concentrate. Your senses were heightened as Tom pulled you in his side, his arm now wrapped around your waist, gently, but firmly holding onto you. Looking up at him, you studied his face, his ice-blue eyes focusing on the reporter, an excited smile across his face. He seemed so relaxed, so collected, meanwhile even events after events you were still nervous. As though he could feel it, he turned to you with a soft, reassuring smile, giving you a nod, silently asking if you were alright. For others, the movement could have easily been missed, but to you, it was like an earthquake, shaking your heart, making you fall even deeper for him. In a reply, you nodded and offered him a smile as you squeezed his hand that rested on your waist.

"So, Tom, this might be a bit more personal, but everyone has been talking about the two of you," he started, and your eyes immediately darted towards the man. You knew the question, heard it a thousand times already, so you prepared your heart to give the same reply as always. 'We are just friends,' you repeated time after time, hoping they would finally understand and let you be, but they didn't seem to budge. "You have been friends for a long time, and your fans have been talking about how close the two of you have become. Do you think, maybe in the future, there's a possibility for romance to blossom?" He asked with an expectant expression, a sly smile in the corner of his lips.

"As we have said before," you spoke up, ready to reply as you always did, "we—"

"You never know what the future holds for you, there are many possibilities" Tom cut in with a mischievous smile, your eyes growing wide as you looked up at him. Tom chuckled at your expression as he leaned down and kissed the top of your head. "Tell me I'm wrong," he arched a brow questioningly, his words starting your heart off at a faster pace, your cheeks feeling warmer under his intent gaze, those blue eyes you often found yourself lost in.

"Well—, I mean I can't argue with that statement," you replied, feeling slightly awkward. A confused smile started growing wider on your face as Tom led you away. "Why did you do that?" You asked as you finally stepped inside the building, his arm still resting around your waist as you headed towards a large room filled with all sorts of foods and drinks, people dancing in the middle, the dim lightning offering a rather intimate mood. "You just created even more gossip," you scolded him, but seemingly he didn't mind. He led you to a table where his name was printed on a nametag and pulled the chair out for you before he took his seat beside you.

"I didn't say anything," he smiled at you as innocently as he could manage, the corner of his eyes crinkling.

"You did. Exactly because you were so secretive, people will want to read between the lines. They will think there's more to us than friendship," you huffed as you hid your face in your palm and heaved a heavy sigh.

"And is that so bad?" He frowned, earning the same expression from you.

"What?" A silent scoff left your lungs. "What are you trying to say?"

"Is that such a big problem if people think we are together?" He asked, his confident tone stunning you.

"Of course, not. I don't care what rumours are being spread about me, but I don't want them to gossip about you," you reached for his hand on the table and wrapped your fingers around it, giving it a gentle squeeze. His expression stayed emotionless; you couldn't read him entirely, but you knew he seemed off.

"I will go grab us a drink," he said as he stood up, leaving you frowning. You weren't sure what you said that made him upset, and regardless of trying to put on a straight face, you knew he wasn't happy with your response.

You watched as he walked over to a small table filled with the most delicious looking cakes and a couple of bottles of champagne, ready for the guests before they brought out the main course. Tom grabbed a battle of champagne and two glasses, filling up both halfway, before he placed the battle back into an ice bucket.

"What is it?" You asked as he returned and gave you one of the glasses.

"What do you mean?" He asked, taking a seat beside you.

"We've known each other for quite a long time. I can read you like an open book. What's bothering you?" Trying to get him to open up, you shuffled closer to him, your chair scraping the floor, turning heads in your direction. "Oops," you scratched the back of your neck awkwardly, earning a chuckle from Tom.

"Very subtle," he mocked you.

"Don't change the subject Mr. Hiddleston," you raised a questioning brow, a tiny smile hidden in the corner of your lips.

"Nothing is bothering me," he added, but your suspicious gaze didn't falter. "I'm being honest, darling," the sly little fox knew his nickname for you would make you soften up and he used every opportunity to say it when he felt cornered.

"Fine," you squinted. "But we aren't done! I'm not blind, I can see something is on your mind."

"Yes, ma'am, I can't wait for this conversation to come back around," he mocked you once again, making you huff as you gently punched his shoulder.

Throughout the night, said conversation was forgotten, the alcohol consumption rose, the amount of people dancing around the room grew, meanwhile others sat at their tables, trying to digest the previously served delicious meals. You couldn't deny that you had a good laugh with Tom and his co-stars from all sorts of movies he had been in. It felt like a little family, people coming together to just have a joyous time.

The way Tom smiled at his friends, praising each other, before turning to mock one another forced your eyes to rest on his excited features. He looked so alive, so happy and the feeling of the man you loved being in his element meant everything to you. Tom was radiating enthusiasm and you couldn't look away as you watched his ever-growing smile, his nose scrunched up at an unexpected subject, his head falling back as a loud laughter erupted from his lungs. He was always handsome, but when he was happy, it filled you up with a certain warmth that you couldn't explain. Like you always wanted to make him happy just to be able to see that cheerful smile spread across his face.

He turned to you, catching your gaze on him once again. His arm sneaked behind you, pulling you closer and leaning down to your ear. "You are staring at me again," you couldn't see it, but you could feel his smile spreading wider.

"I like to see you happy," you shrugged with a soft smile as you leaned back to be able to meet his gaze. His smile faltered, but his eyes softened.

"Dance with me," he said as he offered his palm to you, and you placed your hand in it.

"I take no responsibility for broken toes," you said with a silent chuckle as you followed him to the dancefloor.

"Don't worry, darling, it's worth the injury," he mirrored your expression as you stopped in the middle of the dance floor. A slow, romantic song started playing in the background, his arms finding their perfect position around your waist as yours sneaked around his neck.

It was a slow and peaceful dance, not requiring much knowledge and talent. You just enjoyed each other's presence, gazes meeting, smiles forming, swaying to the slow rhythm of the music. You didn't speak a word, but the silence wasn't uncomfortable. It never was with Tom. A soft smile, a quick glance, a simple gesture meant more than thousands of words when you were with him.

You laid your head against his chest, listening to his fast heartbeat, taking on a quicker pace just like yours did. "I miss you when you are not with me," he spoke for the first time as he leaned down and kissed the top of your head. You didn't move away; his embrace was too comfortable, and you couldn't care about people watching you.

"I always miss you. You are the one travelling all the time after all," you chuckled lightly, not wanting to ruin the moment.

"I could be only a mile away and I would still miss you," he replied as you pulled back a bit to meet his soft gaze, but there was no smile present across his handsome face. As the song finished, you found yourself standing in front of him, slightly confused about the conversation. "Do you want to go to the balcony? Have some fresh air?" He asked, taking on a more cheerful expression, but you knew him more than to believe it was genuine. In a response you nodded and linked your arm with his.

Following him through the sea of people, you finally arrived at the balcony, looking down to a smaller version of a park, a water fountain standing tall in its centre. You leaned against the rail as you watched the trees battling the silent wind, fallen leaves being blown across the walking path. Tom joined beside you, his eyes following the same direction as you did before they halted on your face. "You are being strange tonight," you spoke up, feeling his gaze resting on you before you turned to him, meeting his eyes.

"I'm just thinking," he added with a half-hearted smile.

"About?" You asked as you reached for his hand resting on the rail and placed yours on top of his. He turned his palm upside down and lifted your hand, hinting a small kiss on your knuckles as he heaved a heavy sigh. "Tom talk to me," you squeezed his fingers reassuringly, his eyes watching you, not leaving your gaze for a moment. "You have been rather quiet around me," you added.

His whole body turned to you, as though he was focusing his complete attention on you. Reaching towards you, he brushed your hair to the side, gently tucking it behind your ear. You leaned into the touch involuntarily, only realising your actions when he caressed your cheek with his thumb, before moving down and running it across your lips. The feeling burnt you, starting your mind off in a very dangerous territory, one that you have been avoiding. 'He is your friend' you tried to remind yourself. But once the tip of his thumb brushed along your lips once again, you couldn't stop yourself. Stepping forward, you placed your hands on his chest, steading yourself and rose on your tiptoes, pressing your lips against his.

Your own bravery surprised you, but Tom didn't seem affected. As soon as your lips met, his arms wrapped around you, pulling you closer. He didn't hesitate, he wasn't surprised. He just held you, gently running his lips along yours, tilting his head to deepen the kiss. But as much as you wanted to enjoy the moment, realisation hit you. You were kissing your best friend. You gently pushed him away, stumbling back from the force, covering your mouth with your palm. "I'm so sorry," you breathed, panic rising in your chest. "I have no idea what happened, I don't know why I did that, I'm so sorry," your words were rushed, your heartbeat loudly pulsing in your ears.

But Tom's gaze twinkled. A soft, warm smile grew wider across his face as he stepped forward and wrapped his arms around you. "I'm not," he said as he pressed his forehead against yours. "I've been wanting to kiss you," he breathed as he closed his eyes momentarily, slightly shaking his head. "I've been wanting to tell you how much I love you; I've been trying to gain the courage to say it out loud," he scoffed. "I'm a fool for dragging it out for so long, but I love you," his voice shook as he said the words, but his arms tightened around you, safely holding you against his chest. It took you a second to understand what he meant, that your feelings weren't unrequited, that he has been harbouring the same feelings you have.

A heavy sigh left your lungs, as though a weight fell off your chest. Your lips curved into a smile as you placed your hands on his cheeks, running the tip of your thumbs across his jawline. He mirrored your expression whilst leaning into your touch, planting a small kiss on your palm. "I love you too," you replied finally," the words rolling off the tip of your tongue easier than you expected. "I love you so much," you giggled, wanting to repeat the words over and over again, until you finally understood that it was real, that you weren't dreaming. "You never know what the future holds for you, huh?" You asked, repeating his words from earlier in the evening, earning a loud chuckle from him. "So, is this one of those many possibilities?" you raised a single brow.

"Could be. I have a couple more ideas," he said, his soft smile turning into a confident grin.

"You are terrible," you gently hit his chest as you grabbed his suit-jacket and pulled him down to you, meeting his lips halfway, smiling into the intimate moment you have been craving for so long.

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[arrowflier]

Can you write Mickey proposing to Ian. Like they are already married but Mickey finds himself thinking about how he would have done it if he proposed so he just does it 🥰

Mickey's hands are sweating.

So is every other part of him, but he's used to that.  The hands, though: that's a problem.

Sweaty hands make it awfully hard to hold the ring.

He feels like he's been planning this forever.  The proposal.  Trying to make it perfect, trying to make it special.  Trying to keep it them without having to punch somebody out in the middle of a crowded bar.

That seemed like the kind of thing that only worked once, anyway, and Ian had beaten him to it almost five years ago.

He looks around the room as he fingers the ring in his pocket, skin-warmed metal slipping between his clammy fingers. 

The restaurant is busy, and loud.  The Gallaghers alone are stretched over multiple tables: Fiona and Carl with Debbie and Franny at one, Lip and Tami feeding Fred at the next.  The Balls are in town, something about a kid's birthday party, and take up their own four-top.  Even a couple of the better Milkoviches have shown--Sandy and her new girlfriend, studiously avoiding Debbie's eyes, and Iggy, fresh out of lock-up.

He has Mandy on speed dial in his pocket, for after. She still hasn't gotten over missing it all the first time.

Ian is sitting at their own table, sipping at his fancy draft beer and poking at the screen of his phone as he waits for Mickey to come back from the bathroom. Liam says something next to him, and Ian laughs, tilting the screen so his brother can see. Liam looks past the phone, catches Mickey's eye, and smiles.

Mickey swallows. It's time.

He grabs a glass from the tray of a passing waiter, not caring what's in it or where it's headed. In lieu of a piece of silverware, he pulls out his pocket knife to hit against it and make it ring.

The tables nearest him quiet, but the room is still to loud. So he taps the glass again, then sets it down, and bangs his fist on a stranger's table instead.

"Yo, listen up!" he yells, and the conversations around him peter out. "I got somethin to say."

Eyes are watching him from all over the room. Eyes he knows, and eyes he doesn't. But he doesn't give a shit about them.

He only cares about the bright green eyes of his husband, wide and curious, and fixed on his.

"I'm fuckin gay," he starts out, voice catching on the curse. "Just thought you all should know that, first."

A few mutters make their way through the room, but he ignores them. Ignores the loud, "Yeah, we know," from Carl, too.

"So it shouldn't be a surprise," Mickey continues, his voice strengthening with every word, "that I'm in love with a man."

"Hell yeah he is!" Kev whoops, and Vee slaps him on the back of the head.

"Sorry, man," Kev says, just as loud. "Keep goin, you got this."

Mickey breaks to roll his eyes, and when he's done, Ian is smiling.

"Like I was sayin," Mickey pushes on, "I'm in love. With a guy." He lets his lips twitch up in A grin.

"A guy whose idea of foreplay is poking me in the back with a tire iron, who thinks a first date is banging in the cooler of a convenience store on break."

An old lady gasps off to the side, but her white-haired friend hits her with a too-large purse.

"Quiet Beth," she hisses. "Like you never screwed Daniel in the bathrooms at the corner store."

Mickey chokes on a laugh, hiding it behind the hand not clutching the ring.

"Uh," he says. "Right, anyway...turns out that guy was actually pretty fucking romantic."

He smiles, soft.

"Think he knew I couldn't deal with that back then, though," he admitted. "So we did other stuff instead."

Ian's eyes already look wet. His hand has fallen to Liam's shoulder, holding tight enough to turn his already pale knuckles white. Liam takes it like a champ, barely wincing.

"He was the first guy I kissed," Mickey says, and watches Ian bite his lip. "The first guy I let spend the night. His hand was the first one I ever held, without somebody else puttin it there."

Ian's free hand curls on top of the table, empty, searching. He grips the tablecloth, little wrinkles spiralling out from between his fingers.

"We were together for so long that even apart, I felt him there. Put him right on my skin," Mickey adds, hand over heart," so I'd never be without him."

He moves forward, past tables of strangers. Past tables of friends, of family. Stops in front of Ian, eyes never parting.

"And now I never will be," he finishes, "because he's my husband."

Liam forces Ian's hand off his shoulder, and scoots away. Ian is left clutching desperately at air.

"That's still not enough, though," Mickey says, circling the table.

Everyone is quiet, now, enraptured; Ian most of all.

"It'll never be enough," Mickey states, and slides down to one knee.

Ian is gaping at him, now. But he doesn't hesitate when Mickey reaches for him, offering his hand immediately.

Mickey takes it.

"I'd marry you a thousand times if I could, Ian," Mickey whispers. His voice still carries through the eerily silent room.

"But right now, I'll settle for twice."

He pulls his other hand from his pocket. Shows Ian the ring, the dark braided metal he placed on Ian's finger at their wedding, freshly cleaned and engraved for their anniversary.

"Ian Gallagher-Milkovich," he says, smiling so wide his cheeks hurt when Ian's breath hitches at the name, "will you do me the dubious honor of not divorcing me?"

Ian chokes of a laugh. A few others giggle across the room.

"Is that really what you came up with?" Ian asks giddily. Mickey nods.

"I mean, I figured we'd do the whole vow renewal thing too, make it official..."

Ian is still laughing, even as he starts to cry.

"Fuck you," he gasps out.

Mickey raises his eyebrows, gives them a wiggle.

"Only if you say yes."

Then Ian is falling into him, over him, chanting "Yes, of course, yes, you asshole,"; and their family is crowding around them, cheering; and strangers are clapping, shouting congratulations, offering to buy them champagne; and Ian pulls him up, and kisses him, and all of it fades to a dull roar in the back of Mickey's head.

"You're such a jerk," Ian whispers as they part, face wet with happy tears. "You made me cry, you asshole, and Lip is never gonna let me forget it."

"Think Liam took pictures," Mickey offers back, and Ian leans in and bites his bottom lip in retaliation.

"Your own fault," Mickey murmurs after Ian soothes it with his tongue. "You proposed to me in public twice, it was your fuckin turn."

Ian just smiles. The noise around them is dissipating, people going back to their meals, but they'll stay in their little bubble for as long as they can.

"Really up for doin' it all again?" Mickey asks. "Wasn't exactly easy the first time, and I ain't gonna go any easier now we can afford shit."

Ian's smile turns soft.

"Yes," Ian whispers, and kisses him.  "Always."

[lollypopsx]

Flatmate!Harry: I’ll Make It Up To You - Part 3

Please like if it’s not too shabby, re-blog for anyone who you think may enjoy this and follow if you want to see more! Any suggestions are happily taken for future writing! I love you all! be safe and be kind x

Part 1 - Part 2 

Word Count: 3.9K 

Warnings: I think slight swearing, One sentence of smutty language. 

A/N-The bold bits are a flashback! 

————————— 

 You were spending your Wednesday afternoon doing housework and cleaning up your apartment. In the last two weeks, you had been helping Harry here and there with writing some songs, but you never wanted to take any credit for his work. You were just happy to help. 

You’d both let the mess pile up a little bit, mainly paper thrown everywhere, scribbled with random lyrics and instrument chords. You had vowed to yourself that you weren’t going to write anymore or get yourself lost in your musical dream world, but Harry always seemed to manage to get you sucked in to help.

You pick up your phone to dial H, letting it ring a few times.

“Y/N? Are you okay? Everything fine?” Harry answers worriedly.

You couldn’t help but chuckle “Everything is fine, I just phoned to see if you needed any of that paper on the piano or if it can be thrown?”

“Erm, maybe just stick it in a pile in my room and I’ll go through and sort it later. What are you doing?”

“I’m cleaning our pigsty of an apartment Haz!” You laugh and smile. 

“Look at you being a wife” He teases and chuckles. 

“Shut up, or you’ll be my next victim! Do you want me to wash your bedding too?”

“Ohhh yes please! You’re an angel!”

“Someone’s got to be” You smile. “And your spare sheets are in the drawer under your bed?” You hold your phone to your ear with your shoulder as you pile the thrown papers together. 

“Yeah I think I- Erm...a-actually I can put the sheets on when I’m home!” He says quickly. You were slightly taken back by the change in his tone. “Are you sure?”

“Y-yeah....yeah I...I forgot I’d bought some new ones a while ago and they’re...they’re still in my car” He fakes a chuckle, although you soon became oblivious to his cover story.

“Did you manage to get those silky black ones?!” You gasp.

“Y-yeah...yeah I did”...fuck. “I gotta go, Jeff’s pestering me to sign some stuff. I’ll see you later”

“Okie dokie, see you later. Text me when you’re leaving the studio and I’ll start dinner.” 

“Thanks babe, laters” He sighs softly and hangs up. “I need to order black silk sheets on Amazon asap...” He groans.

“You still haven’t told her?!” Jeff sighs, his head shaking. “Harry you need to do it sooner or later...”

“I know but she might freak out!” Harry’s brows furrowed as he kicks the floor softly. “Right...let’s keep going” He sighs.

You cleaned the apartment top to toe, and you couldn’t help admit that you did feel much better. It felt cosier than before, and on this particular day, the sun was glowing, warming your skin through the window.

You promised yourself you wouldn’t do this. You promised yourself two weeks ago that you wouldn’t be doing this. You promised yourself that you wouldn’t put your mind back into your past and be sitting writing songs about old feelings and passed experiences. But here you were...

Using the back of the scraps of paper from Harry’s pile, you were spilling out every word that came to mind, like every feeling in your chest was finally released. Your fingers glided across the piano keys flawlessly with the words you had pieced together, falling perfectly from your mouth. The weight being lifted made you wish you had done this months ago.

—————————

“Come on babe, everyone’s already waiting for us at the party...your birthday party which me and all your friends have thrown for you and we’re late!” Your boyfriend Adam teased as he smiled, “You look great” He chuckles as he grabs his jacket. 

“Okay, I’m ready! Let’s go. I can’t believe you guys all managed to book out Club 21 for me!” You grin as you followed him into the taxi towards the club.

“You dropped my hand while dancing, so I left you out there standing...crestfallen on the stage with...champagne problems

You had a cheap ring for it...my picture in your wallet...but my heart was glass and you dropped it...now I have champagne problems” 

The music was pounding as you danced around happily with all your friends on the dance floor. You were having the best night of your life so far. Surrounded by all of yours and Adam’s best friends. You pant as you escape the crowded dance floor and head over to the bar, joining your friend Niall, and your best friend and flat mate Harry, who were both best friends too. 

“Hello birthday girl!” Niall grins and hugs you tightly, kissing your cheek. “It’s not my birthday yet!” You laugh and hug him tightly, then hugging Harry. “Not for another...57 minutes” Harry smiles.

“Have you guys seen Adam? He said he’d get me a drink and I haven’t seen him since!” You say over the music. “I think he’s in the toilet...I’ll go find him. H can get you a drink” Niall pats your back and heads to the men’s toilets.

“Did you tell your family the real reason? Or did you keep it in?...Your mum had splashed out on the bottle...now no ones celebrating”

“Dom  Pérignon, you brought it...but our friends never applauded...your hometown skeptics say it’s...champagne problems”

As Niall strolled into the toilets, he checked his hair in the mirror, noticing a pair of white trainers and red heels in the reflection, hidden behind a cubical door. He smirked and chuckled quietly until he heard “Ohhh fuck, Adam keep going” the female moaned softly. Surely not...there must be plenty of Adam’s in the club. “Mmm I haven’t been able to resist you since I arrived...fuck you’re so tight baby” Adam moaned. It was him. Niall felt the fury cause redness to his cheeks and it took all of his will power not the break the door down and beat Adam to a pulp. He knew where he needed to be most importantly.

His fists were clenched as he left and walked over to the bar “Y/N...” Niall couldn’t help the frown on his lips. You smile as you saw him come back “There you are, was he in there?” 

“Y/N I need to tell you something...” Niall gulped. You couldn’t help but feel like his expression said every word you had been so scared to hear. And he never had to say a word, as you saw Adam stumbling out the men’s bathroom, with an unknown female following out 10 seconds later. You had no words, everything you wanted to say...to scream. You wanted to cry. You wanted to punch something.

 “I’m going to fucking kill him” You heard a mutter from Harry. But you couldn’t react.

“Was it all for the money...or all for the show...I found out that you cheated so I had to go...I always thought I’d know the answer, ‘til you were on your knee and asked me”

You went to storm up to Adam but he was long gone. You had no clue where he had gone...was this it? Was that how he leaves us? As you turn back to Harry and Niall, their eyes were no longer on you, their dark, angry  eyes watching up at the stage. Adam appeared with a wide grin on his face.

“Where’s Y/N?” He calls out. If you hadn’t of just seen him fall out the bathroom with another girl, you would never have believed he could do something so breaking. “Adam...what are you doing?” You mumble, feeling tears in your eyes. Harry and Niall stood close behind you.

“Come up here baby” Adam grins, but before you could even attempt to run away, you were being pulled up onto stage by two of your other friends, who clearly didn’t know what had just happened. 

Was this it? Was he about to break up with you 45 minutes before your birthday...in front of all your friends? You couldn’t think of anything more embarrassing. But oh no, this was much worse.

"I was going to do this in 45 minutes...but unfortunately, one of our friends has to leave the celebrations early for work tomorrow...” Adam smiles brightly at you. You felt sick to your stomach. How could he have the audacity act like he hadn’t just cheated and broken your heart.

You were still in shock. Everything was happening so fast, that you didn’t focus until you realised Adam was on his knee. “Y/N Y/L/N...will you marry me?” He pulls out a small ring, that was clearly not going to fit you. It would definitely cut off your circulation!

The lights were bright in your eyes, as they reflected the tears threatening to spill. But they weren’t the happy tears you always dreamed you’d have at this moment. He pushed the ring up into your hand, silently begging you to take it. You don’t know why...but you held the ring in your hands loosely.

“H-how could you cheat on me...” You whisper, only loud enough for him to hear. You could see the guilt in his eyes as everyone was about to cheer, assuming you’d said yes...but the crowd quickly fell silent as you shook your head, you just wanted to run.

You rushed down the steps at the side of the stage and pushed through the crowd, your legs feeling like jelly as you crashed through the doors and ran...you just ran. The tears finally freed themselves as you let out heavy sobs.

You heard people shouting your name down the street but you couldn’t stop. You were scared to face whatever happened next. You ran and ran until you felt two arms grab you from behind “Hey...shhh c’mere it’s me” As soon as you heard Harry’s hushed tones, you stopped resisiting his grip. You turned into his chest and clutched his shirt, sobbing loudly as you wanted to fall into a pile there and then. His arms protectively tightened around you, his head resting ontop of yours.

“I got you...I’ve always got you. Niall’s getting the car and we’re taking you straight home” 

“...I could of made such a lovely wife...what a shame you fucked up my head... they said “you’ll find the real thing instead...and he’ll patch up the pieces you’ve shred.... and he’ll...hold my hand while dancing...I’ll never leave him standing, crestfallen on the stage with Champagne Problems”

The journey home was painfully silent apart from your sobs. Harry held you closely as Niall drove. “I’ll pop round tomorrow ok...text me if you need anything” Niall says to Harry, pressing a kiss to your forehead before you get out the car. “Thanks Ni” You mumble. “Anytime princess” He gives you a sweet smile before driving home. 

Harry gets you inside, you wipe your soaked cheeks with the back of your hand. You headed straight to the fridge intending to get some water, but instead you found two bottles of champagne which had been sat in the fridge since Christmas.

“Better late than never...” You mutter and take them to the sofa. You popped one open and took a large mouthful from the bottle. Harry brought in a hoodie of his for you, wrapping it around your arms as you suddenly burst into heavy sobs. “Why me?!” You scream into his chest.

“No you’re perfect...he doesn’t deserve you” He whispers, holding you close to him. “You don’t need him. You have me...and Niall”

You whimpered as you took swigs from your bottle very quickly. It tasted awful. But nothing tasted worse than heartbreak.

“Hey Y/N…happy birthday m’darling” he whispers “I’ll make sure you have the best day”

“A cheap ring in your pocket...her picture in your wallet...you won't remember all my...champagne problems

Have you forgotten all my champagne problems?

Now, his mum’s ring in his pocket...my picture in his wallet...he’ll never give me any...champagne problems

He helped to cure all of my champagne problems...”

The next morning, you woke with a heavy head. You found yourself quickly remembering the night before. You sat up slowly, feeling an arm tightly wrapped around your waist. You and Harry had fallen asleep on the sofa...you must have cried yourself to sleep after demolishing one and a half bottles of champagne.

“How are you feeling?” Harry whispers, his hand brushing your hair back gently. You stare at the ring on the table. “I...I don’t know. I never thought this would happen to me...I though this was it.” You mumble sadly. “I thought I was enough” You whisper silently. His heart broke and the ide that you felt you weren’t enough. “You will always be enough...” He frowns and holds you. Kissing your head. He’d never wished more than to have the ability to take someone’s pain away. 

“Y-you...you won’t leave me too will you Harry?” You sniffle, your head resting on his chest.

“Never...I’ll never leave you” He mutters into your hair.

“What if I’m alone forever...what if I can’t heal from this?” You whimper

“You’ll find it. I know you thought you did...but you’ll find the real thing instead, and whoever it is will patch your heart up. And you won’t ever need to leave him” He whispers reassuringly.

————————— 

 You play around with the last two versions of the chorus, completely oblivious to Harry’s presence in the doorway until you heard a small shuffle from that direction

Your head snapped up “Jesus Harry! I didn’t know you would be home yet...You scared the life out of me! What’s wrong?” You frown as you run up to him, throwing your arms up around his shoulders, noticing his furrowed brow and the sad frown on his lips.

“I...that was so beautiful Y/N...and it just reminds me of how much he hurt you...a-and you...y-you’ve grown so much” He whispers softly, his arms tightly wrapping around you. “You never deserve to be treated like that...and I still hear you crying some nights, I just couldn’t face seeing you that way and...and I-I knew you’d kill me if I barged in...” He mutters, his eyes grazing the floor, as you let out a small laugh. “And you wrote a song again...I’m so fucking proud” 

“It’s okay Harry...I’m okay now!” You whisper, holding his cheeks in your hands. “I just needed to do it. One final time, and that’s it now. I’m going to get a proper job and-”

“Y/N I need to talk to you.” Harry cuts you off. “I was planning on having this conversation with you in a much nicer setting...but I don’t think I can wait.”

This was it...you didn’t realise how much you had craved to hear those three words fall from Harry’s mouth after months of trying to convince yourself that you didn’t feel that way.

“I’ve got you a recording contract with me for the new album...I want you on it. It’s been sat under my bed for weeks ready to give to you but I was worried you’d say no-” Harry says nervously.

You almost didn’t realise what he’d said until it was too late and you already started speaking.

“Harry I love you too...I-” You gasp as your hand flies in front of your mouth. No. No. No no no. This was not happening! You had single handedly embarrassed the shit out of your self and ruined the rest of your life. You wanted the ground to swallow you whole and spit you out in Australia.

“W-what?” Harry froze, taken back by the sudden confession. He didn’t know what to say, but to say he was shocked was an understatement.

“What...” You tried to act natural. Wishing to take back the last 5 seconds. “Oh...that’s erm...that would be a good read...you can just slide it under my door and I’ll read it in 3-5 working days.” You mutter quickly. You didn’t  slipping past him, to disappear into your bedroom.

“Y/N...wait!” His hand grabs your wrist “...you love me?” His gaze fell soft into yours. You thought of every excuse to get out of this situation, as scared as you was to admit it...it was out now. 

“Y-yeah...” you whisper, staring into his eyes, praying to make some sense of how he felt towards you. You so badly wanted him to speak, but the silence hanging between the two of you was deafening. You needed to know.

“D-do...do you...Do you love me Harry?” Your voice croaked. 

Of course he did...

“I-I don’t know...” You couldn’t help but feel your heart shatter some more, the sparkle in your eye slowly fading. And at that moment, you know you had ruined the best friendship of your life. You prepared yourself for Harry to leave the room, pack a bag and go to stay at Niall’s. But he just stood there, analysing your face intensely. You began to pull your hand away from his and run quickly.

“No...wait! Y/N I didn’t mean it like that I just...Well you always had Adam...and you’ve always been my best friend...and then when you guys split up, I...I was so angry because I knew I could never do that to you, and I wanted to change that so badly, but I never wanted to my feelings to get in the way of our friendship. I don’t ever want to loose you Y/N...I always thought I just wanted what I can’t have...until I knew I wanted to protect you for the rest of my life...I love you...I’ve always loved you Y/N, I just didn’t want to ruin anything...” He whispers, his bright eyes sparking as the warm sunset glow flooded your apartment.

“H-have I ruined it all....” You whimper softly, feeling your breath getting stuck in your throat.

“Never...” He whispers, one of his hands cupping your cheek, and the other locking into the side of your neck as you felt soft tears slipping down your cheeks. You had never been so terrified of losing someone. But that worry was soon washed away when you felt Harry’s soft pink lips press against yours. Sparks were flying through your blood as you wasted no time kissing him back with every ounce of passion until you couldn’t breath.

Neither of you wanted to beak the kiss...but Harry also didn’t want the pair of you to collapse. He pulled his lips away from yours, pressing his forehead against yours, the both of you panting heavily. 

“I love you so fucking much” He whispers, tears filling his eyes.

—————————

- 3 Months Later -

"Y/N we need to get you downstairs, we don’t have time to get you mic’d up up here, Graham has already started the show, so we’ll mic you up in the wings” A runner knocked on your dressing room.

“Ok I’m ready lets go...” You get up from the chair and check yourself in the mirror quickly. You had a beautiful red dress on, the sleeves hung off the shoulders and there was a slit in the leg of the floor length material. You had sparkly silver heels on, which looked like diamonds when they caught the light. Your hair was curled in a half up, half down style, with your normal glamourous makeup. 

Harry was in the wings waiting, speaking to a few other people as you were getting mic’d up. He was in a red suit, to match the colour of your dress, with a white shirt, his shoes just white this time. He glanced up with a wide grin. “There she is...mmm look at my beauty” He smirks happily and presses a kiss to your lips, holding your hips as a runner was hiding the wire in your dress.

“And you’re on in 3...2...1...” 

“Please welcome Harry Styles and Y/N Y/L/N!”

Harry took your hand as you followed him onto the set of The Graham Norton Show, the crowd cheering happily as you are greeted with a hug and kiss on the cheek from Graham, returning happily, and sitting down beside Harry after he gave the same greeting.

“Hello hello and welcome! It’s an honour to have you both here tonight on my sofa...although you have both sort of blended in” He chuckles

“Yeah...we didn’t really think about that until we got changed...” Harry chuckles, his hand holding yours tightly as you smile, taking a sip of wine from your glass.

“So we have a lot to talk about tonight...but firstly...congratulations on your new album! It sounds incredible and I know I’m not the only one wondering this, but how did you find working together while being in a relationship? Because your relationship only came into public view after the album was released...Now you two have lived together for...4 years is that right?” Graham asks.

“Yeah so...actually we have been best friends and flat mates for years, we’ve always had such a heavy impact on each others lives but we always both sort of thought it was just friendship. Around a year ago now I went through a really difficult break up and Harry was there every step of the way. Since then I always knew I loved Harry but it wasn’t until just after we had written the first version of Fine Line that I found out he felt the same” Your eyes gleam just talking about it.

“So...you two wrote Fine Line together, was that the first song you wrote for the album?” He looks over at Harry

“Actually, I’d already written Watermelon Sugar, Golden and Adore You. Fine Line was next and I was writing it at home. Naturally every song I write, Y/N is one of the first to hear, whether it’s in the living room, or when she’s in the bath and I sit outside the door to play it. It’s always been that way, even before we got together.”

Graham nods and smiles “You can’t let the poor woman have a bath in peace!” He jokes and teases as you both laugh. “So did you decide to name the album Fine Line because it’s the first song you wrote together?”

“I know!” Harry chuckles “sort of...Fine Line actually came about after...well it was after a prank I tried to pull on Y/N which went horribly wrong, then she finally forgave me and I was talking to her in the kitchen about how I was struggling to write emotional songs at the time. And the words she said to me really stuck...that night I sat at the piano and tried to piece together our conversation in a song. Y/N came to help me and she just...she’s really the saving grace. So I think yeah...maybe that was one of the reasons we called in Fine Line.”

“That’s incredible...and Y/N you were actually going to give up music weren’t you? Thank god you didn’t” Graham smiles.

You blush softly “I was...I just as going through a rough time. I helped Harry with the song and then I said I would quit. Then a couple of weeks later, Harry declared his love for me after he’d told me he had a joint record deal contract for us, to include me in the album” you tease with a smirk.

Harry grins widely and laughs quietly “I think the details of that have been slightly twisted...” He teases as you blush.

“Well I can’t wait to hear that story later! Now are there going to be any more joint albums...?” Graham asks curiously.

“...” You both look between each other “Time will tell Graham” Harry winks.

“Well...we are goin to go to an ad break now, but stay tuned because you don’t want to miss the first ever live performance of Fine Line by Harry Styles and Y/N Y/L/N!”

The crowd cheer loudly as the cameras cut to an ad break.

“I’m not waffling too much right?...it is my first ever proper interview” You mumble slightly as Harry and Graham sat with you in conversation while you were having your makeup touched up.

“You’re doing great baby...everyone loves you. I told you I’d make it all up to you when I stole your clothes and you missed that audition...” He grins cheekily.

“Now that’s a story I definitely need to hear!” Graham laughs along with the audience

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Tag List: @harryhoney-bee - @sunandherflores - @sad-capuccino @beachwood-cafe

[acrossthewavesoftime]

Oh my, that was absolutely worth the wait. What a great chapter! And finally George made a move – he deserves Caroline and Caroline deserves him. The two of them are just too cute when they finally admit that they have feelings for each other, society be dammed. And do not get me wrong, I am happy that George got his promotion, he really deserved it after his little stunt at Trafalgar … but does he really have to go back to sea right now? He and Caroline just found each other and I have this bad feeling that Ernest still thinks he has a chance with Caroline. He was totally disgraced by Amelia’s letter and outed as the little devil he is … but I fear that that will not stop him. And what is the deal with this lovely elderly gent from Plön?

Anyway, I will wait in patience for what comes next. :-)

You really, really made it hard for me! Anyways, apologies it took so long, but was lange währt wird endlich gut, nicht wahr?

Anyway, it took me some time to figure out how this whole thing is even possible, and accidentally ended up mapping out the entire plot of a novel I’ll never write. I hope you’ll enjoy it and a fair warning, long read ahead. Warning: contains Stuart and Hanoverian family politics, naval officers and scheming siblings:

The Plot:

The Act of Settlement exists, but it is not acted upon; designed to consolidate a brittle Protestant succession suffering from a distinct lack of heirs, it is, surprisingly enough, not presently required as against all odds, Queen Anne’s sickly only surviving child William Henry, Duke of Gloucester, lives and succeeds his mother to the throne.

This of course does not go down well with the new Elector of Hannover, Georg Ludwig, who inherited the rights to the crown from his mum, Sophia. Georg Ludwig kind of wanted to be king, actually. He hates England, he hates going abroad, but he sure likes a sparkling crown, fancy new robes, and being a Very Important Person.

The cherry on top of the Hanoverian frustration is when the sickly king even fathers an heir, making it nigh improbable that an Elector of Hannover will ever sit on the throne of Great Britain. However, only time will tell if William, Prince of Wales, will succeed William IV. Riding accidents, accidental food poisoning or a beastly case of the smallpox can happen, you know?

Alas, it doesn’t.

So, all that is left for the House of Hannover to do is sit and bide their time (and secretly pray for the demise of William V).

Born into a dull life in provincial Germany and a bickering family, young Georg August Friedrich, Kurprinz von Hannover, simply feels like he doesn’t belong, and longingly looks across the sea to Britain, where everything is more worldly, fashionable and exciting. His undereducated, boring and terribly frumpy family simply annoy him, and since he has been banned from the courts of Berlin and Vienna on account of several unspecified incidents (one of which however is said to have involved a drunk pet ostrich in a full set of plate armour, though this is subject to much conjecture by historians), there is not much to do for him really, but to occasionally travel to Italy to get drunk on better wines and sleep with prettier women than are available in Hannover. One regrettable time, having always favoured women a tad older than him, he woke up next to a certain Charlotte Stuart. Tipsy on expensive champagne and merrily lamenting their fate, they had half a mind to elope together and conquer that blasted throne, the only problem being that they could not agree on who would be whose consort, a heated argument they took to the bedroom. But shh, this is all top secret, and most biographies of King George I (spoiler! J) omit this anecdote.

To his eternal chagrin, his father the Elector, called “Bauer Georg” by his people for his delightful pastoral folksiness and interest in other people’s pigsties, taking heed from his forbears after Elector Ernst August and Electress Sophie lost four sons to the wars of the tumultuous 17th century, insists Georg will stay at home and learn how to govern what little there is to govern in Hannover, while his brothers Friedrich, Wilhelm, Eduard, Ernst August, August Friedrich and Adolph Friedrich get, by the grace of their royal relations abroad, to join the Prussian or British military services and have terrific, gentlemanly adventures. He’d much rather be royal canon fodder, too, than ever have to read and be examined on another book about crop farming ever again.

And what a life is this for a prince who has found his first grey hair and is pestered about not having produced an heir yet? No, Georg cannot do this anymore. He has to leave this life behind! Screw Hannover!

Tired of watching life pass him by, measuring Age Progressing by the increase in his waistline and the cousin his parents have invited to stay at their court (and whom Georg is 100% sure his mum pays a little pocket money to cosy up to him in order to report back on him to her), Georg decides he will do what a (reasonably) young man has to do, and follow his heart: He shall to Britain! And to the sea! The vast, empty horizons will soothe his tortured soul, yet encaged at Herrenhausen palace— and those uniforms are simply too fetching to resist!

When his brother Ernst comes to visit home on shore leave from the Navy, one night, Georg steals away in Ernst’s (admittedly rather tight-fitting) uniform and is discovered by cousin Caroline, whom he has long since suspected to be his mother’s obedient creature. To his surprise however, Caroline, rather than rousing the entire house, agrees to help Georg with the cover-up and, waking Ernst, explains to him what’s going on, telling him that finally, the way is clear for him! Has he not always lived in the shadow of his older brothers, particularly the heir to the electorate? Now is the time to step into the sun! Caroline advises Ernst to pose as Georg, just like Georg is posing as Ernst. The Elector, who is stark raving mad, at least in intervals (this is what they called porphyria back in the day), won’t notice! And Electress Charlotte will know better than to make a big stink, since that would set all Europe abuzz, and potentially endanger the family.

For a time, all goes well. Georg has a rather adventurous journey to England after his belongings were stolen along the way (dancing-masters and Latin tutors don’t teach street-smarts, after all), and ends up lost and stranded in northern Germany, where a kindly man with a thick French accent picks him up in his carriage and drives him to a red brick country house in Wittmoldt near the small town of Plön, where he feeds him and provides him with a change of clean clothes. Realising that he will either be taken hostage by someone opportunistic or alternatively taken for a lunatic if he claims to be the eldest son of the Elector of Hannover, Georg decides to claim to be but the son of an impoverished family of the lesser nobility, who by the good grace of an important connexion in England have managed to buy him a commission in the Navy. The man and his family, a rather gallant son, two charming daughters and a warm-hearted wife, implore him to stay a few days and recuperate. Georg thinks the Frenchman and his family are aiding him as much as they do on account of his profession to avenge their loss of their home once he joins the Navy, but in truth, the Marquis de La Fayette and his wife, ex-courtiers, know a royal when they see one, and sensing that Georg and his fighting-spirit might provide a welcome addition in the fight against Bonaparte, help him by buying a passage from Hamburg to England for him.

Our aspiring hero thanks his noble patrons profusely before at last safely reaching the shores of his dreams, where, once aboard ship, he alas finds himself in a Hornblower-esque Hell in the beginning, yet quickly adapts to naval life. From his ship, the new lieutenant writes to Caroline every week, thanking her for her help. In a return letter, she reveals to him that she could not deny him the freedom she yearns for herself but shall never obtain, being a woman and worse, a princess, and kindly keeps him updated on the family the runaway prince suddenly realises he loves dearly after all.

Meanwhile, Ernst has gotten a taste for power. He secretly hopes Georg will never come back, because this is fun! This is what he is truly good at! He enjoys the administrative stuff, the paperwork— and the idea that one day, he will be the Elector, and maybe even King of England, if that damned asthmatic Stuart will have the good grace to kick the bucket before fathering an heir.

He is finally appreciated, people jubilantly call out to him when they see him— it is only a pity that this is happening under the name of the older brother he begins to care less and less for the more he falls in love with his new role as crown prince.

A few years pass by, and Georg, now Captain, participates in the Battle of Trafalgar, where his extreme personal bravery is noted when his ship, HMS Cerberus, intercepted the French Redoutable before she could get within firing range of HMS Victory, probably saving the flagship, and the life of Britain’s greatest naval hero, Horatio Nelson. Ernst, or rather, Georg, is a celebrated hero to the British who loudly cry for Captain Prince Ernst of Hanover to be named the prospective successor to the crown rather than his dull older brother, Prince Georg, who sits on his fat German arse and does nothing all day while his younger brother is so valiantly defending the freedom of Europe from the Corsican tyrant.

In a letter to Caroline, Georg confesses that he thinks the jig is up and the charade must end; alas, Ernst is not of the same opinion. He is fine being Prince Regent of Hannover now that the Elector has descended into such a deep state of madness that he can no longer govern his territories, and although the British toast to his name, he is not sure if a secret trading back places is even possible.

To Georg’s great misfortune, Ernst, who, since her counsel has proven so valuable to him, has taken a liking to Caroline as his chief advisor, tries to keep him from returning home. In the meantime, he proposes to Caroline, whom he thinks is his most loyal friend, but Caroline, despite knowing the mocking jibes directed at spinsters, refuses him.

A frustrated Ernst, who however thinks himself secure on his preliminary throne, takes a few weeks off to let off some steam in Venice— time Georg, informed by Caroline, uses to return home. Of course, the return of Britain’s favourite naval hero to his native land does not go unnoticed, and Ernst hurries back home only to barge into a semi-secret meeting of George and Caroline in which George who has matured in the face of battle and bloodshed, upon seeing Caroline for the first time in many years, falls to his knees and confesses his love for her, more specifically how he fell in love with her through her letters.

Ernst, hurt and betrayed, is raging— Georg is going to take everything from him! The country, the woman he loves and who has so cruelly cheated him by not discouraging George’s confession— he wants his brother dead.

Luckily for Georg and Caroline, their sister Amelia, the youngest of the Hanoverian bunch and So Over It All and sympathising with Caroline, decides to step in and publishes an anonymous letter in the local newspaper claiming to be “a person of import and close connexion to the Electoral family”. In it, she claims that “Georg” is jealous of “Ernst”, the heroic naval officer and has proposed a duel, to be had in the park at Herrenhausen at daybreak on a fixed date a week from the publication date.

Naturally, the inhabitants of Hannover, and the British delegation at court, are up in arms, and on “Ernst”’s, i.e. Georg’s side. Cracking under the public pressure, Ernst unfortunately admits in an epic shouting match with the British ambassador that he wants to be rid of his brother.

Georg meanwhile, having cultivated a sense of responsibility and duty during his years in the Navy, decides to make a public appearance and end the charade, offering a document in which he cedes his right to the succession of the Electorate, provided his remaining brothers will accept Ernst as his successor and he be allowed safe passage to England, where he intends to live with Caroline upon a meagre pension and his pay as a naval officer. Naturally, his brothers refuse to sign the document and although he is well-loved in Britain, there still is the issue that Georg is not an officer, but has impersonated one, so matters come to a standstill for a time before a cheering British public makes it politick for William V to confer upon George (this is what he calls himself now) the rank of captain in his own name.

Facing an uncertain future, with the disgraced Ernst seething at home in Hannover and George longing for some peace and quiet to meditate about his life on a starry night upon a peaceful ocean, he bids adieu to Caroline to set sail once again and follow his true calling, with a storm brewing on the horizon of European politics, and that at home: for the seething Ernst is not done yet, and attempts to hurt him by seducing Caroline in his absence, who remains absolutely impervious to his platitudes and flattery.

Escaping Ernst’s wrath becomes a lot trickier once Caroline discovers she is pregnant, and in George’s absence gives birth to a daughter, Charlotte. Fearing Ernst, she keeps the pregnancy a secret even from George, as their letters might be intercepted and read; Charlotte, raised for the first year of her life by a nurse in a village a few miles from Hannover, is to become the apple of her father’s eye.

In the end, George returns from the war, marries Caroline, becomes King of Great Britain (his nickname being the “Sailor King”) when William V, last of the Stuarts, dies and helps Ernst obtain the title of King of Hannover as a gesture of goodwill and reconciliation.

His old benefactor La Fayette receives the Order of the Garter, and Amelia a country house in England, where, before her tragic early death from tuberculosis, she is frequently visited by a certain Charles FitzRoy.

Baby Charlotte is legitimised and doted on by both her parents, who shower her with love and affection and provide her with the most stable home life of any British royal to date. The Princess succeeds her father in his titles upon his death.

This is where fiction reverts back to actual history, and we enter the Charlottian Age, named after the long-living Queen whose reign was marked by significant leaps and bounds in technology and science, as well as the largest expansion of the British Empire. But that you know already.

And here, the snippet from the story:

Georg returns home for the first time and surprises Caroline in the garden:

“Caroline?” the gentleman breathed. His face was tanned by the sun, rather unfashionably so, and his coat of blue bleached by the same; perhaps it was not the sun in the sky which had so affected his appearance, but the brightness which seemed to inhabit his heart, for he beamed at her as if before him stood Lady Jersey or another of those fashionable ladies one read of in English magazines. “Georg?”, she replied in disbelief, as much at his leaner, more muscular appearance as at the fact that his radiant smile was clearly bestowed upon her— unwed, of little stature, plump, and aging, as her aunt’s courtiers never tired of reminding her.

All ceremony was lost when Georg, tired of her surprised silence, took her unceremoniously around the waist and lifted her up until her slippers no longer touched the ground. “Fie!” she laughed, and put an admonishing finger to his chest. “You perfect beast! Are those the manners of an English gentleman? You are creasing my muslin, and you will know what your mother’s ladies shall suppose if I were to return from my walk with my gown disordered.”

“They might suppose you were swept off your feet by a sailor,” he jested, which brought a great confusion on in her mind, for she could not say if his teasing was yet as brotherly as she had always supposed his sentiments for her were, judged by his dear letters which had been her chief delight; or if he meant something else by the way in which he took her hand and kissed it before offering her his arm. “Will you not shew me the way? I scarcely remember the garden, it must have been much altered in my absence,” noted he. She gratefully continued the conversation at his suggestion, for struck by surprise as she still was, her tongue was utterly tied, and her wit quite addled by the recent confusion. “Gladly. But might I be permitted to say that you are much altered, also?” He stopped: they were stood near the little bower in which she had bid him adieu, dressed in his brother’s clothes; it seemed to her like it was only yesterday when the aging fop had disappeared to seek for a foolhardy adventure at sea. Never should she have believed that he indeed would go, and not return within the hour when his feet would hurt from carrying his excess of blubber; she had let him go for she had had some measure of compassion for him, not because she had believed in the success of his designs— and yet, there he was, freshly returned from the war. His features, though somewhat weathered, had aged rather favourably, and when he smiled, he was almost to be considered handsome.

“I am not altered,” laughed he, “and you must get me inside unseen speedily, I remind you. For you cannot think that I shall have the family see me in that—” he tugged at his coat and made a face. “Look at the lace— all rusted in the salt air— no, it shall not do. And you must change also, my dear: a feather headdress, and the pearls— you had pearls when last we met, I hope you did not lose them at cards?”

She shook her head. “Excellent. You must promise me to wear them.”

“But why?”, she replied and made him stop in his brisk step. “Am I not—”

He shook his head abruptly, understanding her meaning perfectly. “Goodness, no, never— I just remember how fine you looked— how vastly well they complimented your complexion.” His cheeks blushed crimson, as if having fallen victim to too much rouge, and he averted her eyes as in silence, they returned to the palace. I hope you liked it! :D