#oh wait i guess bass would work | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

kaliforniahigh · 1 month

Note

Being neighbors with the guys, knowing who they are just not caring because they're just people. Eventually becoming friends but also dismissing Noah's flirting because you're older (4/5yrs), on the chubby side, and just feeling like he's definitely out of your league. He loves that you are just able to be yourself (no makeup, messy hair, etc) and that you're a nerd like he is.

Thank you so much for the request!!! I hope you like it, nonny <3

Warnings: reader mentions that her dad has passed away, insecurity, a little bit of angst, comfort, mentions of weed, parties, probably some innacuracies regarding animes and mangas. I think that's it.

WC: 3.3k (I'll proofread this later!)

Requests are closed for now.

You didn't know the people that just moved in and were now living in the house next to yours, but you were about to find out. You could only guess they were young adults or fresh out of college and unemployed. Ok, maybe that was you passing jugdment before even meeting these people, but who throws parties on Sundays? Obviously someone who doesn't have to work on Monday, that's for sure.

You've been trying to ignore the bass thumping through the walls for the past couple of hours, as you were not ready to sleep yet. You just hoped they would quiet down by the time you went to bed. But as you laid there, the clock reading just past midnight and the music and chatter not giving signs of slowing down, you decided that a trip next door was in order. The music wasn't actually bad, as you were a fan of metal yourself. But your days of staying up late on a work night ended long ago.

You didn't bother putting any effort into your appearance, thinking your new neighbour - or neighbours - would already dislike you for complaining about their party.

Putting your hair up in a half-assed bun, wrapping your fluffy robe around your body that was clad in a less than decent pajama, you put on your slippers and made your way downstairs and out of the house.

You rang the doorbell a couple of times, standing there and waiting for someone to answer the door, pulling your robe tighter on your body, feet tapping on the ground. You assumed you must look like a grumpy cat.

The door opened and you actually had to look up to meet the person on the other side in the eyes. And as soon as you do, realization takes over you. But you didn't have the time to mull over the fact that Noah Sebastian - and the whole of Bad Omens, probably - is your neighbour, because he was greeting you.

"Hello", he said, leaning on the door frame, eyes going over you and a curious look takes over his face.

"Hey. We haven't met yet, but I'm your next door neighbour", you extend a hand for him to take, and his enveloped yours entirely. But his handshake is firm and his hand is warm.

"Oh, I'm sorry we haven't had the time to introduce ourselves yet, with moving and everything", you were actually glad he didn't have the time, you don't know what you'd do if Noah just casually knocked on your door.

"Well, I'm sorry we're meeting like this, but I actually came here to see if you could turn the volume down a little?" you pointed past him towards the house and the music playing on the speakers. "It's just that it's past midnight and I have work tomorrow morning", you explained.

His face changed into one of shock and a little embarrassment.

"Oh my God, I didn't realize it was so late already or we would've turned it down a lot sooner. I'm really sorry", he disappeared behind the door for a few seconds and you heard voices before the music cut off entirely.

"You don't have to turn it off, turning it down is enough really, I don't want to ruin your party", you told him, feeling a little guilty.

"No, it's ok, the other neighbours were probably bothered as well. Thank you for coming here and letting me know about the noise", he sounded sincere. "I would invite you in for a drink, but I take it you're already headed to bed?", he pointed out, reffering to your choice of clothes. You laughed a little at this.

"You're definitely right. It's already way past my bedtime", you joked, pointing to an imaginary watch on your wrist.

"Well, I guess we'll leave it for another time, right?", he crossed his arms over his chest, a smirk playing on his lips. You tried not to focus on the way his arms bulged at the motion.

"Yeah, of course" you didn't know what to say. You didn't even know this man for more than fifteen minutes probably, and he was already inviting you into his house.

"I'll hold you to it", the smirk never left his lips and you were beginning to wonder if he was flirting with you? It couldn't be, because you just came here in the most stupid clothes and completely crashed his party.

"Well, I better head home, I got an early start tomorrow. Thank you for turning down the noise", you said and started to back away from his front door.

"Anytime, sweetheart. Sleep well", he said, but made no move to get inside the house. Did he just call you sweetheart?

"You too", and with that, you finally turned away from him and walked to your front door. As you unlocked it, you looked over at his house and saw that he was still watching you, making sure you arrived at your house in one piece. Waving at you, he waited until you waved back and got inside to retreat into his home.

Noah saw you in passing for the next couple of days, when he was leaving the house and you were just arriving or the other way around. It was currently Saturday afternoon and he had just arrived from a studio session with the guys.

Parking in the driveway, he noticed your garage was open, but you were nowhere in sight. He didn't even know you had a car since your garage was always closed. Worrying a little, he decided to stop by and check what was going on.

Walking the few steps to your house, he noticed a beautiful Cutlass parked in your garage, and your feet clad with a pair of boots peeking out from underneath.

You must have noticed him arriving, because you slid your way out from underneath the car, a wrench in your hand, that were dirty with oil. That's when he noticed the overalls covering your body. You stood up, greeting him, but decided to not shake hands this time.

"Hey, Noah. What's up? I would shake your hand, but, you know", you trailed off, mentioning to your messy hands.

"Hi", he greeted back. His eyes going over your frame, noticing how your overalls were tight around your hips, highlighting the shape of your body, as well as your full breasts, that were being hugged by a white t-shirt underneath. The robe you wore that day definetely didn't do you justice. "Nothing, I just... I arrived and noticed your garage was open and....", fuck, he was stammering like an idiot and you totally noticed. "I decided to check on you", he finally said what he wanted to say.

"All good here. Just taking care of this beauty and making sure it's still running", your hands ran over the side of the car.

"It's a beautiful car. Is it yours?" he asked, wanting to facepalm himself. It was inside your garage, of course it's yours.

"It was my dad's, it got passed down to me after he passed away. My brother is not really a car person and he lives far away", you explained.

There was a lull in conversation after your statement, so he decided to say the first thing that came to his mind.

"I was actually meaning to tell you", he started, your eyes paying close attention to him. "We're having a party next Saturday and I was wondering if you wanted to come? To make up for last time?"

They were totally not having a party next Saturday and he didn't even know if he had something planned already. But if he has, it was now cancelled.

"I would love to come", you said, voice excited.

"Amazing. I'll see you around then?", he was slowly making his way out of your garage. Not wanting to say anymore dumb things.

"Sure", you sat back down to go back to work and watched his back as he left.

You decided that if this man was actually flirting with you, you would let yourself have this one, enjoy it and get whatever he was willing to give you. And if it went nowhere, you would go back to just being friendly neighbours.

You were never one to dress up for parties, so you standing in front of your mirror on Saturday with not too much time to spare before you had to head to Noah's house wasn't a surprise for you. You probably tried on five or six outfits by now, and none of them seemed party appropriate.

Ultimately, you settled for an oversized t-shirt and some biker shorts. You guess that's what the cool girls were wearing nowadays. Since you spent too much time on your outfit, you didn't realy have time to put any makeup on - not that you even applied much anyways, the feeling of stuff on your face made you extremely anxious. So you put on your shoes and headed outside.

The door opened just a few seconds after you knocked, Ruffilo standing on the other side. You still never mentioned it to Noah that you knew the band before he moved in. You kind of felt scared he would lose interest in you.

"Hey! You must be Y/N", he greeted you, moving sideways so you could come in the house.

"That's me", you made your way inside. The place wasn't that packed, but there was music playing in the background, and you felt a distinct smell of weed in the air.

"Noah has been mentioning you a lot lately. Sorry I haven't been around to introduce myself yet", you made a dismisse wave with your hand.

"We're all busy, I get it. I'm here anyways, so I'll get to know all of you"

You looked around and noticed a few people scattered about. You couldn't help but notice how young these people seemed. You know 34 isn't that old, but you couldn't help but feel a little out of place in the middle of so many people in their 20s. Did you even know how to interact with them anymore?

Being the older sibling in your household, you always felt like you had to act older than you really were, in order to take care of your brothers, that you often forgot to live your own life. Noah didn't have to worry about that, his life was a dream to anyone his age. Getting to travel around the world doing what you love. You suddently weren't so sure about encouraging his advances.

Nick showed you where the drinks were and told you he would let Noah know you had arrived. Picking a beer to sip on for now, you heard someone calling your name from behind you.

Noah stood tall as always, dressed in black from head to toe, somehow the color made his tattoos stand out even more. He wore a loose tank, so most of them were on display.

He made his way closer to you and you registered he was coming in for a hug. You wrapped the arm that wasn't holding your drink around his neck as best as you could with your height difference, and you felt the warmth of his hands going to your waist.

The hug lasted maybe a tad longer than it was supposed to, and when you parted, he kept himself close to you. You leaned your back against the kitchen cabinets behind you.

"I'm sorry our parties are a little lame. No one dancing on top of the tables or anything", he looked around as he said it.

"That's perfect, actually. I don't know if I could handle that", you said with a little laugh.

"C'mon, let's sit down on the couch. I'm not gonna have you just standing here", he took your hand and led you towards the living room.

"Wow, is that Attack on Titan playing on the TV?", you said, in a little shock. The parties here were different indeed. You sat on the couch and he sat beside you.

"Yeah, just in case someone wants to watch something. You a fan?", he asked.

"I love it. I'm a big manga fan overall", you seemed to catch his attention even more now.

"What's your favorite?", he moved more towards you.

"I mean, it has to be Naruto. It's the one that got me into it after all"

You slipped into an easy conversation with Noah, talking about your favorite mangas and animes. He introduced you to his friends whenever they approached the two of you, but mostly you kept close to each other, neither one of you considering doing anything else at the moment.

The conversation drifted to other topics, like music, movies and random stuff. Regular things you talk about when you're just getting to know someone. You watched him talk about the things he's passionate about with so much admiration in you eyes, you hoped it wasn't too obvious.

You got up to get another drink from time to time, choosing to switch from the beer to non-alcoholic beverages. Noah didnt drink anything alcoholic thoughout the night, and when you asked him if he wanted a beer, he told you he stopped drinking a while ago.

You noticed the party was slowly fizzling out. There weren't nearly as many people around now compared to when you arrived. You looked at the watch on your wrist and noticed it was already past midnight. You would have to leave soon. You didn't want to be those people who overstayed their welcome.

There was only you and Noah in the living room right now, and you looked over to see everyone hanging out on the outside patio.

"We can go out there if you want to", you told him, not wanting to keep him from enjoying time with his friends.

"Nah, I'm good here. I would actually prefer to stay here", he was honest and you could see it in his eyes.

You were facing each other, knees touching and one of his hands were resting on the back of the couch, close to your face. He took advantage in the lull of the conversation to move his hand to rest on the side of your face, gathering some of your hair and putting it behind your ear, thumb grazing your cheek ever so slightly.

You couldn't look away from his beautiful, dark eyes. And his gaze drifted from your eyes to your lips and you felt tingles run all over your body. He leaned in closer and you could tell he was going to kiss you anytime now. But the thoughts in your head ran rampant and you conjured up a million scenarios in just a millisecond.

He doesn't even know how old you are.

He is famous and everyone is going to call you a cougar and make fun of him for dating someone so much older.

He is going to trade you for someone younger soon enough

You didn't want to, your body was contradicting your mind and telling you to just kiss him, but you put your hand on his chest and it made him stop in his tracks.

"Noah...", you said, not wanting to look into his eyes, but knowing you had to. You saw his face change from confusion, to embarrassment and horror all at once.

"I'm so sorry, I should've asked you first. I guess I misread the signs", he moved his body away from you, creating a distance that became unbearable to you. You hated that you made him feel like this.

"No, you didn't. I just....", you stumbled over your words, not knowing how to broach the subject with him.

"It's ok that you don't want to kiss me. I promise you won't hurt my ego if you say so", he gave you a half smile, trying to reassure you.

"Noah, I'm 34 years old. Have I told you that?", you just came out with it. But his face remained the same.

"No, you haven't. Thanks for telling me, though. I'm 28, by the way", he told you, as if the information was completely irrelevant.

"I know, and that's the problem. I'm way too old to be kissing people your age", you saw his eyebrows furrow at this.

"Are you telling me you're too old to kiss me?", he asked and you nodded. "I'm a big boy, I think I can decide who I want to kiss", he informed you and you went to respond that it wasn't about that, but he beat you to it.

"No, listen to me", he closed the distance once again. "I'm attracted to you. You've been driving me insane with just your existence ever since you showed up on my doorstep, looking the cutest I've ever seen and asking me to turn down the music. I've literally not been able to get you out of my head. If you don't want to kiss me, that's fine, but that won't change the way I feel about you or the way I think about tasting your lips everytime I look at them"

"Noah, your life is very different from mine. One day, you're gonna find a 25 year old and realize she has so much more life in her than I do", you pointed out.

"That's impossible, because I've met many 25 year olds and none of them made me feel the way you do. I'm afraid this isn't an age thing, love, it's about how I so desperately want to stay in watching anime with you on Friday nights, show you places that I like, figure out what makes you tick and hear you complain about work to me at the end of the day"

You couldn't deny all those things souded amazing, and that you also wanted all of it with Noah.

"I'm afraid that if we do this, I might never get enough of you", you whispered to him.

"I might never get enough of you either. Good thing I have an infinite amount of kisses to give you"

The voice from the day in the garage, telling you to just enjoy this, came back in full force now, overpowering any other nagging thought that is sabotaging you and making you think that you can't have this. You can. You can enjoy your life and you can kiss the boy in front of you, who is pleading to be kissed.

So that's what you did, closing the distance between you, touching your lips to his, tentative at first. Noah was letting you set the pace of the kiss, and soon enough, your hand was on his hair and he used both of his to cup your face.

You couldn't imagine a word where you didn't get to kiss Noah Sebastian. His lips felt like heaven on yours, his hands so delicate on you, conveying all the emotions he talked about earlier. And you could feel every single one of them.

"Why don't you get some clothes from your house and we make good on the watching animes until late thing I told you about?", he asked you, lips still lightly pressed to yours, barely leaving space for the words to leave his mouth.

"I don't know, I think I live too far away", you joked, but you didn't want the night to end either. Other than kissing you for the first time, he also got to see your house for the first time that night, as you invited him in, grabbing a backpack and stuffing it with things you would need for the night. As you looked at him, sat on your bed, eyes looking over your room, you thought that you could get used to the sight of him in your house, your bedroom, your life.

Fun fact: the reader's car is a Cutlass because Son's of Anarchy is one my favorite series, and my queen Tara owns a Cutlass <3

109 notes · View notes

soft-and-bitter · 1 year

Text

We Can Last Forever

Mafia!Bucky x Ex!Reader

You turn to an old flame in a moment of desperation. Bucky takes full advantage of the situation to bargain for something he's wanted as soon as he set eyes on you.

Word Count: 1853

Warning(s): swearing, descriptions drug use and sexual situations

If you enjoyed this, please consider reblogging or leaving some feedback, thanks! ❤

M A S T E R L I S T

"Look who we have here," he murmured, smirking. There wasn't a trace of worry in his tone, nor on his handsome face. And for reasons you couldn't quite grasp, these facts only served to elevate your own stress, the urgency of the situation now clearer than ever.

Bucky was your last resort.

"Hi," you greeted. Despite the sheer brevity involved, even you could hear how unsure you sounded, but it was just as well; you were winging this after all, what with all your options up in flames. On the other hand, you also couldn't fuck this up either, because what else would you come up with if this didn't work out?

With a deep breath, you tried again. "Hi, Bucky. I'm sorry this is so last minute."

He tilted his head, the black turtleneck he wore accentuating the steep line of his jaw. "It wouldn't have been if you'd called ahead of time. Oh, wait," he said, lip curling, "you got rid of my number from your phone. How could I have ever forgotten?"

You looked away, both hands gripping your phone behind your purse. Rather than place it next to you on the plush sofa, you'd opted to set it on your lap. Maybe you saw it as a barrier, however meagre, just something other than the distance that separated you from Bucky. For protection? But it was you who had sought him out, not the other way around.

There was no stilling your frantic thoughts, all those contradictions and uncertainties colliding against each other to form some ugly kaleidoscope of confusion in your head. Several stories below, the club was at the height of its frenzy, the bass throbbing faintly against the walls of Bucky's office, a cursed soundtrack to score the situation you were in, with no promise it was ending anytime soon.

"I . . . it felt like the right thing to do at the time," you tried explaining, still clutching your phone tightly. "I wasn`t ready to deal with the truth."

He chuckled softly. "Yet here you are," he said, each word sliding past his lips in a slow drawl. "I guess there's no keeping me out of your life after all, despite that text of yours."

You turned your head to look back up at him again. Bucky was leaning against his expansive chrome and glass desk, long fingers curled around the edges. His jet-black suit was tailored within an inch of its life; one of his cufflinks winking at you playfully, as if amused by your discomfort and panic.

"You're right, I guess I can't."

He clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth. "Well, it is what it is. Now tell me why you're here."

Here was your moment, your golden opportunity. You didn't shy away from the details. Why would you when everything you described was all part of his sordid world, the drugs and the money owed, the nefarious parties involved? And so you laid it all out before him like a spread made up of your family's suffering: stressed and overworked, David had gone back to an old habit his dirt bag of an uncle had first introduced him to more than a decade ago. One hit after another, then another, and now your brother—the smarter of the two, in your opinion, and certainly the more successful—was now in so much debt he'd brought up the possibility of selling your mom's home for cash.

Bucky didn't react when you told him how much you needed to borrow. That soothed your nerves somewhat; if he wasn't fazed by the amount, then maybe he'd be more willing to part with his money.

You hoped.

"We'll have the money back in your hands before you even get a chance to miss it," you assured with a smile you hoped was blinding enough for Bucky. "David just has to get through this hump, but once he does, everything will be fine."

Just for a moment you wondered whose worries you were really trying to assuage—Bucky's or yours? Because paying off David's dealer was one thing, but your brother had also promised to check into rehab asap. Yet even with his high-paying FAANG job in Silicon Valley, he had already blown through his savings, together with any credit he'd been approved for. To top it all off, the massive bonus he kept harping on about wouldn't get paid out until the end of the year. You yourself had funnelled whatever money you could spare to help his cause. Where the hell would the money come from until then?

Bucky sighed audibly, pulling you out of your thoughts. "You haven't exactly explained why I should help you in the first place," he said.

He wasn't wrong, you realized. And really, it was what you`d hoped to avoid all along. "Listen, I know you probably won't believe me when I say this, but . . . I guess I thought we had something special going on between us. Special enough that I felt I could turn to you."

"You're right, I don't believe you," he confirmed, shaking his head. "Try harder, won't you?"

You stared up at him, a furrow between your brows. "It's the truth, Bucky. I was scared, okay? And let's face it: you knew I'd be, didn't you? Otherwise you would've told me from the start what the hell you really were."

He didn't respond to that right away. In the silence that ensued, with the club's bass pounding at the same speed as your heartbeat, you began to doubt yourself. Couldn't you have handled that with a little more finesse? What if Bucky was offended by your response that he decided he was going to turn you away?

When he finally spoke, it was with an edge of mockery and triumph in his voice. "Just so we're clear: you've come to ask a crime lord to help you when the very fact of me being one had you running off in the first place."

"I couldn't think of anyone else to go to."

Bucky scoffed. "I sure hope the irony's not lost on you."

The smile you offered him was sardonic at best. "Believe me, it's not."

Just when you were convinced that you'd screwed this up entirely, Bucky pushed himself off the edge of his desk and moved towards you, closing the distance. Neon blue strobe lights flashed through the floor-to-ceiling window that looked out over the club, casting otherworldly shadows across his face as he stalked nearer. You didn't turn your head to watch when he dropped into the sofa next to you, stretching his arms wide across the headrest. His fingers feathered against one of your shoulder blades.

From the corner of your eye you watched as he tilted his head back to look at the ceiling, sighing once again. "If you want my help, you'll comply with whatever I set out for you," he said.

"Like what?"

You could feel his gaze on you. "For starters, I'd like a kiss."

"Are you serious? Now?"

"Now," he echoed.

"And that's it?"

He gave a light shrug. "The night's still young. We'll just have to see how things go."

"But why?"

"Why not?" he countered, fingers drumming against the headrest. "Besides, you're the one who thought there was something special between us. Let's see what's left."

For a moment, you hesitated. Bucky's request was simple, but that was where the uncertainty lay. There was something between the two of you, even now, even after you left him in the lurch, that it was enough for you to reach out to him. You were doubtful a kiss would prove that to him, though.

There had been so much more you'd done with him, after all.

"Well?"

You studied his face. His expression was still passive, but curiosity shone bright in his eyes. What choice did you have? David was counting on you now, his own fear and panic elevating your own. With a tilt of your head you leaned forward, eyes falling closed, as you caught Bucky's lips with yours.

Bucky didn't react at first, and you nearly stopped, too shy and uncertain to entertain the possibility of being unwanted, that this was just a cheap way for him to get back at you. But then his lips moved against yours, bold and intentional; when he coaxed your mouth opened and his tongue slid past your teeth, you realized.

He still wanted you.

Both your phone and your purse dropped somewhere below you as one of his arms wrapped around your shoulders tightly. Bucky drew you in deeper, his hold fierce, lips desperate and bruising, pulling you into a well of memories: his naked body against yours, mouth lingering on intimate spots that made you cry out in ecstasy, the sweet words he'd whispered in your ear while you came down from your high. Let me give you more. Let me give you everything. You just have to stay. Can you do that? For me?

His lips latched onto the side of your neck as you lost yourself further in his touch, fingers tangled in his dark hair, while his large hand fanned across your breast—

Your phone was like a grenade going off. You jerked back in panic, gasping for breath while the familiar melody on your device blared throughout the room. It was Bucky who got to it first.

"How fitting," he said, turning your phone around so you could see the screen. "It's your brother."

Heart hammering in your chest, you didn't move at first.

"Go ahead, answer it," he ordered, holding out your phone to you. "Tell David the money will be wired to his account in less than thirty and he's got you to thank for this."

His words were like a bucket of cold water flung at your face. With sudden clarity you remembered why you'd come here in the first place, and it wasn't to re-ignite things with an old flame. You needed Bucky's help, and, to your immense relief, he was giving it to you.

When you accepted your brother's call you cut straight to the chase, telling him of the lifeline Bucky was throwing his way. The only one, you emphasized, hanging up before he could profess any gratitude. David had work to do, but you'd done your part. Your mom would get to keep her house, just like she deserved to.

You looked at Bucky. "Thank you. You don't know how much this means to my family."

He smirked at you, his hair now tousled thanks to your doing. "Don't thank me just yet, sweetheart. We're not quite done, are we?"

During the call one of his hands had crept along the inside of your thigh. It remained there, his hold entirely too tight and too hot, even through the fabric of your slacks. When Bucky spoke, you didn't miss the raw desire in his voice, the predatory anticipation that lingered on his smirk.

"We'll finally finish what we started, sweetheart. Just like we were always meant to."

Jimin's "Like Crazy" had me in such a chokehold when I first listened to it that it inspired this whole damn story; it's the song I imagined blasting down in the club while Reader haggles with Bucky. Hope you guys enjoyed it!

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes fanfiction #mafia!bucky barnes x reader #mafia!bucky barnes #dark bucky barnes #sebastian stan x you #sebastian stan x reader #sebastian stan x y/n #bucky barnes au #james buchanan bucky barnes

847 notes · View notes

lanaslovelyletters · 8 months

Note

Anakin is roommates with reader and has an addiction to smoking. Reader tries to help him with it and Anakin decided it’s not enough and wants something stronger. He thinks sex will help.

𝐋𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐀 𝐃𝐫𝐮𝐠

Roommate!Anakin x Fem!Reader

Warnings: 18+ content (general smut), swearing, mentions of substance abuse (nicotine)

Summary: You’ve never had a great relationship with your roommate… one night you get home late and see him smoking. You remind him that smoking kills and although you hate him, you want to help him… it goes to rather drastic measures.

Word count: 3.2K+

Author’s note: Where did you get this idea??? I love it. Also, there are psychological terms being used here— I’m a Polisci and not a psych student and will be using terms I learned when I took AP Psychology sorry lol. Also, read the prompt as if it should be on the shorter side? So I made it as short as I could, hope it's good enough<3 (Btw this is def not beta read. We die like Padme on the table)

You never really got along with your roommate. He blasted loud music and often came home at odd hours of the night. God, you hated the careless way he lived his life. Hell, you didn’t even know what he did for work. He always paid his part of the rent on time, so you kept him around. Besides, there weren’t many other offers and he was willing to pay half.

On a particular night, you came back from an evening shift at the local mental health clinic. The bag that was lazily slung over your shoulder was dropped to the ground as you walked into the living room. There he was. His lips held a cigarette between them, as he strummed his bass. It was loud and obnoxious.

“Okay, Slipknot, could you turn that down a little?” You let out a heavy sigh and crossed your arms over your chest. He rolled his eyes at you, and took a drag of his cigarette, blowing rings in your face. It caused you to cough and waft it away immediately before you took it out of his mouth and put it out in his ashtray.

“What the hell! That was my last one!” He threw his arms up in the air as the smoke subtly settled in the glass.

“This stuff is a slow death, y’know?” You said with a tone that screamed ‘as a matter of fact’. He was clearly pissed at your actions.

“—and? Does it look like I care?”

“Look, I get that we don’t see eye-to-eye on things, and we’d both rather not be living together… but the only reason I’m willing to live alone without you is if you move out. Not if you die on this fucking carpet.” You clicked your tongue and pointed at the scruffy rug beneath your feet.

“Why do you even care?” He raised an eyebrow and scoffed at you. Yeah… why did you care anyway? The question stumped you for a brief moment before you finally thought of the perfect response.

“Who else is going to pay half the rent? Besides… I don’t want to clean up a cancerous body in my house.” You were still standing there in front of him with arms covering your chest.

“Whatever… I’ll try.” Wait. It was that easy?

“Wait, are you serious?” You were a bit surprised to see him nodding along and agreeing.

“Yeah, I guess. My mother would hate to bury her own son… or whatever…” He trailed off as he stared at the worn cigarette bud in the ashtray.

“I knew you had some sense in there.” You joked as you poked his forehead before leaving for the kitchen to make yourself a late dinner. Anakin followed you like a lost puppy, as you pulled out some fruits and readied a blender. He watched as you cut up the fruits neatly before you added them to the blender.

“Hey so—” he didn’t get to finish, because the blender started going.

“Oh sorry about that. What were you saying?” You stopped the blender for a second.

“What could—” The noise dialed back up again,

“Oh, sorry,” you chuckled and poured the mixture into a bowl with some yoghurt.

“Very funny,” he said with a roll of his eyes as he leaned forward in the barstool he sat in,

“No, but really— how am I supposed to beat the cig cravings?”

“Via Pavlovian psychology, of course.” You gave him a curt smile.

“I’m not a dog.”

“Didn’t say you were. Look, the hypothalamus controls cravings… sex and food mainly. This means— you can try replacing it with chocolate. Maybe carrots?” You mentioned and took a bite of your yoghurt mix.

“Yawn. Don’t like the sound of that.” He rested his face against his palm.

“There’s a thing we do down at the clinic… for alcoholics mainly. We slip something disgusting or nauseating into their drink and they’ll associate drinking with this icky feeling… works like… most of the time… sorta…” You shrugged and took another bite.

“Right… well there’s just the problem of— I’m not an alcoholic and you also said that only works some of the time,” he said. His elbow dug into the table as it supported his heavy head.

“Why do you smoke anyway?”

“Stress. Smoking calms me down after a long day.” His sigh was heavy and rough.

“Well then, something to destress whilst also eliminating your addiction… I really think something like chocolate would work.” By now, you’d finished your bowl and you put it aside to wash later.

“Yeah… whatever. I guess it’s better than nothing.” He got up from his stool and went straight into his room. Something told you he wouldn’t survive the first week without a cigarette…

A week had gone by fairly quickly and he hadn’t smoked since the night you lectured him. However, he ate chocolate in unreal masses. Even then, as he was sitting on the couch this afternoon, he had bought a pack of cigarettes. Referred to them as ‘emergency cigs’. Just in case. He stared at the packaging, letting his thumb trace over the ‘M’ in ‘Marlboro’. Oh, he was so tempted. Just one drag and he’d feel the relaxation settling in his shoulders and the sounds of birds chirping and children laughing in the streets. Just one won’t hurt. He peeled the plastic film off and opened the lid. He could already feel it against his lips. Just one—

“What the fuck, Anakin.” You came up from behind him and took the pack out of his hands. He groaned as you did so, desperately grasping for it.

“You were doing so great with the chocolate, why the hell did you buy these?!” You spat and hid them in your back pocket.

“The chocolates didn’t work well enough. I need more. I need something better.” He complained and sighed, leaning back on the couch.

“Fine. I’ll go out and buy you some nicotine patches. Just promise me you’ll kick this habit, okay?” You rolled your eyes and went outside to the garbage bins. You threw the brand new pack of cigarettes in there and wheeled it out front.

When you got back inside, Anakin had already left for his room. The two of you had an established set of rules, one of which was to not enter each other's rooms unwarranted. If any of the patients at the clinic taught you anything, it was that addiction was hard to beat. No matter what kind it was. As much as you despised having to live with him, he didn’t deserve to die an early death because of something he couldn’t control.

“Anakin?” You knocked on the door gently, but there was no response.

“Come on, man.” The knocking became a little more frantic, but there was still no answer.

“Whatever.” You walked away and found your purse before heading back outside to uphold what you said you’d do earlier.

After you got back, you heard him watching something on the TV. It was a car commercial for a new Ford model.

“Catch.” You got in front of the screen and threw him the packs of nicotine patches you’d bought. He peered up at you with lazy eyes and slowly unpacked one. You hadn’t really taken note of it before, but he was fucking hot. His hair was messy and his body was chiselled. He was shirtless and only in a pair of very unforgiving sweatpants.

“Thanks…” he mumbled and stuck a patch on his chest.

“Feel better?”

“Don’t know yet.” You took a seat beside him and cast Netflix to the screen,

“Anything you wanna watch?”

“Nah… I’m good.” He seemed as if he was giving up. He was all sluggish from not having had a cigarette.

“Okay…” you turned off the TV to sit and soak in the uncomfortable silence. Nobody said a word for at least a few minutes before Anakin finally spoke up,

“It feels okay… just… doesn’t beat the real thing.” Your head turned to look at him as he said that.

“I’ve tried everything, okay? I have tried to help you. For some reason, you always need more. What more could you possibly want?” You sighed and brought your knees to your chest.

“You said… the hyper something? was responsible for sex and food cravings, right?”

“The hypothalamus, yeah. That’s why we tried chocolate.”

“That’s food… what about… sex?” He took a gander at you with those intoxicating tired and beat eyes.

“Like… jerking off? I mean, maybe?” You shrugged.

“No, sex,” he said, staring right at you.

“Oh… well… knock yourself out, I guess? You have a girlfriend?”

“What about you?” He moved closer, still staring deeply into your eyes. His velvety blue ones captured your very soul with just their existence.

“I’m… um… I don’t have a boyfriend…” you swallowed harshly as he leaned into your neck. His breath hit your ear,

“I’d say that’s pretty convenient, no?” He grinned, letting you feel the electricity surging through your spine. You shuddered before swallowing hard,

“What are you insinuating, Anakin?”

“Isn’t it obvious? I need something better than chocolate. Something better than nicotine patches. I can’t just sleep with random girls every day and hope I won’t get an STD. You are single, and I’m guessing you don’t have any weird illness.” His smirk was evident, even if he was practically buried in your neck.

“You have no idea what you’re talking about, Anakin.” You sighed but didn’t resist his antics.

“Mmm ‘don’t think so. I have a pretty great plan mapped out in my head.” He began to nibble away at your skin, several sighs escaped your lips as he did so,

“Anakin…”

“Yeah, that’s right. Say my name just like that.” He ravaged your neck now, littering it with bruises and marks. He pulled away briefly and got up from the couch, taking your hand in his as he helped you up. Almost immediately, his lips crashed onto yours. He pushed you up against the cold wall, clawing at your waist,

“Jump.” You did and he grabbed your legs, wrapping them around his waist. He then carried you to his room, where he roughly threw you on the bed. Your breaths were heavy and he swallowed up every single one with his mouth. His tongue massaged yours as his hands massaged your clothed tits.

“Anakin—“

“Ani. Just Ani.” He captured your lips again. He loved those pretty little whimpers and gasps you’d make. It drove him wild. The way your hands were pulling at his hair as your lips desperately reached out for his… It was like a drug.

He pulled off his shirt and helped you get yours off too. You unclasped your bra, and he revelled in the sight. They were fucking perfect in his eyes. The embarrassment on your face as he stared only made him more hungry. He unbuckled his pants, pulled them down and discarded them somewhere in a corner. Shortly after, he got yours off too. Your panties were damp and when his two fingers went to investigate, he just had to point it out to you— essentially mocking you.

“Look who’s getting so worked up when I’ve barely even done anything?” He scoffed. The mocking only worked to turn you on even more, and the face you made gave it away almost immediately. Dumb mistake or was it served on a silver platter?

“Don’t tell me you get off on that,” he snickered and massaged your hips, one hand worked its way further down and ripped your panties off.

“Hey, those were expensive…” you mumbled, but he didn’t care. The whole house could catch on fire and he wouldn’t give a fuck, because he was here with you.

“I’ll buy you new ones.” He placed his thumb on your clit, slowly rubbing circles. You clenched the sheets with whatever little power you had left. Even with gestures as small as stroking your sopping cunt, you were at his disposal. Through and through.

As it got more intense, he added a finger, then two then went ahead and added a third— finger fucking you until you went cross-eyed, flicking as hard as he could. Your cries and moans were like music to him. Better than whatever garbage he played anyway.

“All for me? You spoil me, darling.” Fuck, that sent you toppling over the edge, clamping down eagerly on his fingers. With a final moan of his name, he felt your essence coat his fingers. After pulling them out, he licked and sucked them clean,

“You taste fucking heavenly. Better than the chocolate, that’s for sure.” He pulled you by the hips and kneaded them nicely, listening to how you panted like the needy little thing you were. One hand slowly travelled up to take a squeeze at your nipple before travelling back down. His hand grabbed the base of his cock as it rubbed against your sensitive folds. Fuck, he was good, but you were growing impatient. Surely bucking your hips would work?

“Fuck, you’re desperate, aren’t you?” He mocked you and snickered. It was embarrassing. Downright humiliating. Yet you relished in it. Oh, you needed him so bad your ovaries were going to explode.

“Come on… Anakin,” you mewled and arched your back.

“It’s Ani, darling.” He leaned down to kiss your forehead gently, still teasing your needy folds,

“Now, let me hear you again.”

“You’re embarrassing me…” you diverted your gaze and turned her head to the side. It was clear as day to see that your face was completely flushed.

“That’s the point,” he scoffed and grabbed your chin roughly,

“Come on, you can do it, can’t you? Be a good girl, tell me what you want.” Good girl. You folded almost immediately.

“Please… just do it.”

“Come on now, you can do better than that,” he snickered. His relentless teasing just egged you on even more.

“Please, Ani. Please fuck… fuck me,” you sighed with exceptional need, as you arched your back.

“Don’t think I heard that… a little louder?”

“Fuck me, Ani! Fucking take me!” Your desperation was clear in your tone and the way your brows were furrowed. You were pathetic to look at, and oh how he loved it.

“That’s my girl.” He leaned down to capture your lips in a sloppy kiss, as you felt him finally intrude your walls. He swallowed every moan you made and even drowned them with his tongue. His size was unthinkably big. There was one protruding vein in particular. The way your walls clamped around it, allowed you to feel it from its start to its end. He wasn’t completely uncivilized though. He allowed you to adjust to his size before moving even a millimetre. In the meantime, he sucked at your skin, twisted your nipples, and moulded your breasts. By now, there wasn’t one spot on your neck that wasn’t bruised. As these appeared one after the other, the pain from his cock invading your insides slowly mingled with pleasure.

“You can move…” He did exactly that. As if it were a command typed into a computer. He almost pulled all the way out, before slamming himself against your hips roughly and sighing out your name.

“You’re so fucking tight, princess,” he groaned as he wasted no time bringing your knees up against your chest, as he began to pound into you. His pace wasn’t too fast, but rough enough to earn those ethereal moans of yours.

“Fuck, scream for me. Scream my name. Let the whole block hear you,” he sighed, speeding up his pace, rutting against you like a heathen. It was fucking filthy. He watched as every inch of himself disappeared inside you, massacring your insides with no mercy. Every pant and every moan contributed to his head falling back in pleasure, as he drove his hips vigorously against yours.

“Ani!” His name left your lips repeatedly like a broken record. He was fucking you completely stupid. What day was it? What time was it? What was your own name? Your cock-drunk self had only one thing in mind: Anakin Skywalker.

“Fuck, I’m close!” You panted as he thrust with even greater speed and strength. He was relentless and unforgiving.

“That’s right. Cum for me. Cum on this cock, baby,” he groaned as you started clenching down on him. He was struggling to move with the tightness but didn’t give up that easily. His tip hit your cervix repeatedly and you felt like your guts were being rearranged.

Finally, you couldn’t handle it anymore and you tipped over the edge,

“Ani!” You fell limp, but Anakin was far from done. He pulled out, only to get next to you and pull you into his lap. His face was flushed. His eyes were hooded and his lips parted. His hands were kneading your hips,

“Ride me.” What? You had no means. You were limp and tired from the pounding you just got. Now he’s trying to go for another round? But oh, how you wanted it. You wanted so badly to feel him again. To feel a new angle of him. Quite literally speaking.

With whatever strength you could muster, you slowly sank down on him, taking him by each delicious inch. It was far too much for you though, your arms immediately gave out and you fell on top of him. That was no issue though; he helped you. He grabbed your hips tightly and thrust upwards. Your eyes rolled to the back of your head with pleasure. You’d never been fucked that food before. Anakin let his face get buried in the soft mounds in front of him, as he arched your back for you. He was determined to make you finish for the third time in the evening, before finishing himself.

“Doing so good for me, baby, you’re doing such a good job.” He continued to drag your hips down upon his, but with one hand, he slowly let go and pressed it against your abdomen,

“You feel that? That’s my cock ruining you.” This man… your words were illegible by now. He removed his hand from your stomach and stretched the corner of your mouth with two of his fingers,

“You’re so pathetic like this. Where’s the smartass now?” He was right. He was fucking you into oblivion. You couldn’t even fully comprehend what he was saying anymore. You just whined and moaned at him. Just like the good girl, you were being for him. The overstimulation didn’t help. In fact, you were already getting close again. Your pussy was suffocating him and his drags were getting sloppier and sloppier— until he finally got you to release on top of him. He pulled you for a few more thrusts before pulling you off, having you fall backwards on the bed so that he could paint your stomach white.

The two of you both panted heavily as he fell back. It felt like you were going to pass out from the exhaustion.

“Beats the nicotine and cigarettes,” he sighed with a snicker. His eyes were fixated on the white ceiling above,

“So does tomorrow work too?”

Find the Anakin masterlist here

Find the Star Wars taglist here

Find the rules for requesting here and the fandoms I write for here

277 notes · View notes

thecynthh · 8 months

Text

STARSTURNS - M.S

summery - going out to a concert with one of y/n friends, a weird turn is taken when matt makes a move.

notes - SMUT, ROCKSTAR MATTY POOOOO, guys im a virgin idk how sex works MADE FOR MY GIRLY @ihrtchris love u girl hope the wait was worth it <3 NOT PROOFREAD

a/n - guys it looked longer than it is i promise

also the bolded parts during the concert means its the song lyrics, also i love this song

-----------------------------------

the bustling noises of a busy kitchen fill my ears as i hear people shout and flames crackle. “so i think i'll have a sweet tea and a number 6 please.” i ask the waiter as she takes my order.

“of course ma’am and for you?” cadence’s eyes swept over the whole menu again before speaking.

“lemonade and a number 2 please!” the waiter nodded towards us and walked off to the kitchen.

“hey are you busy tonight? i’m free and have nowhere to go, was hoping you knew about a party or something later.” i knew cay would know about any parties happening tonight, she was an epic journalist and worked for the editorial company i was at.

“hm, come to think of it, no, i don’t think so. didn’t get an invite, i guess all the famous people are taking a break from being bitchy and petty.” i laugh at her statement about the rich and famous, we’ve met countless celebrities and models and almost all of them were like cay said, bitchy and petty.

“come onnnn the one night i'm free from work and there’s nothing happening.” i drop my head dramatically on the table, careful not to hit the ketchup and mustard.

“well….” cadence trailed off.

“well what???” i almost break my neck looking up at her.

“i mean i saw a poster for this band, and they are playing at pacific square if you wanna go watch it, im down if you are.” cadence offered.

“a concert? im not sure, i mean if the guys are cute” i joked.

“ouh girl, i sure can tell you they are so hot.” she pulls out her phone looking through her photos. she taps on it and shows it to me. oh shit. they were really hot.

the one thing that cay forgot to mention was that the band that was playing in our home town was starsturns. “WAIT! you mean starsturns is playing here??”

“okay, im convinced, i think i just found my husband.” i practically threw cay’s phone back to her, feeling a small piece of drool develop on the corner of my mouth looking at the drummer.

“show starts at 8 i’ll be at your house with the uber.” cay says slipping her phone back into her pocket

“holy shit i can’t believe we are going to see starsturns!!!”

the ding of a bell goes off and we see the waiter sway towards us with our plates of food. i guess i have plans tonight.

------------------------------

getting to the venue was a little troubling due to the death inducing trafic we were stuck in but cay is very much a hardass so when we did get to the venue she shoved her way to the front.

“move your asses, two super fans over here!!!” cay’s enthusiasm scares people which lets us pass through sort of easily.

being right at the rails that has to be only a metre away from the stage gets me riled up, we hear the curtains draw and and the stage lights get low.

the sun just started to set and the neon flashes of their large stage lights flicker at the audience. the leader singer and lead guitarist chris looks behind him peering over his shoulder to the audience. the girls yelled and shouted, he was definitely a lady killer.

chris began strumming his guitar in a steady pace as his brother nick, on the bass, keeps a steady beat emerging from the shadows.

a slow rhythm on the drums begin to build up, slowly getting faster and with each tap of the snare the lights get brighter, and brighter.

matt is revealed to the fans in such an epic way as the fans, including me and cadence goes crazy.

the crash of matt’s cymbals begins their set list as their first song begins.

time seemed to have lasted forever as they now have moved to a couple of slower songs that are more lyric focused. i throw my head back as i belt the lyrics living in pure harmony. this was my favourite song and i wanted to soak up every moment.

chris noticed and waved a hand towards cadence and i letting security know to let us onto the stage. i shake cadence to snap her out of her little trance and yank her to the small stairs that lead up the stairs, a smile graces chris’ face as we run up to him.

cay takes his hand as he spins her around, i stand back trying not to get hit by her long hair. i try to cover my mouth as i giggle a little seeing her have her moment with her favourite group member. i start skipping around the stage still keeping up with the song soon coming up to nick as he keeps his eyes on me as his bass still continues strumming.

i lock eyes with matt, coming over to the back of his drum kit and wrapping my arms around his neck,

“i dont wanna lose you now,

im looking right at the other half of me”

i sang my heart out as i hug matt while he kept his hand and foot trained on the instrument. he detaches the mic that was for his vocals and passes it to me, im a little shocked by his action but understand what he wants from me.

i take the mic and start to sing.

“show me how to fight for now,

and i tell you baby it was easy”

i felt alive. my idols and i sing this song with our hearts. i belt and add accents to my voice and really feel myself in the song. i bring the mic down to matt as we both sing into the mic as chris and matt begin to chant “you are, you are the love of my life” underneath my vocals letting me take the lead on the song.

“you are my reflection, and all i see is you”

the song ends and i’m panting from using an excessive amount of air for singing and from prancing around. matt and my eyes never leave each other caught up in the moment.

“give it up to y/n and cadence for singing this song with us!” chris yells into the mic. he holds up his signature rock n’ roll sign showing it to the fans, “thank you guys for coming out here tonight! love you all, have a good night!” with the last echo of his message to the fans the curtains move down and everything but the crowd lights turn off, still providing light for those going home.

i hop down from matt’s little stage leaving the microphone i’ve been using on a table that was next to matt and meet up with cay at the front of the stage.

cay was engaged in a conversation with nick and chris, talking to them like they’ve been friends since forever.

“oh my gosh, thank you for letting us up on stage like that chris!” i knew cay was fangirling underneath her cool calm and collected front.

don’t get me wrong, chris is very attractive, but simply not my type. i didn’t feel as strongly about him as i did with matt.

“oh come on you guys are great singers! especially you y/n.” chris says as i walk over, i feel a wave of embarrassment wash over me with that compliment.

“ah- thank you but it’s getting late, cay call an uber i’ll meet you by the gates in a second, just gotta run to the bathroom.

i pat my pockets checking for my phone that wasn’t there. i make a quick run to matt checking his whole set up for it. when i pick it up i immediately get caught in someone’s hand.

matt’s muscular hand grips my bare arm causing all my attention to look up to the man above me. “hey,” his voice is lower so his brothers don’t hear. “we are staying at a hotel tonight then sightseeing tomorrow, we’ll be in town for a night or two. we thought we’d visit our parents and take in the home town scene again before we travel again. was wondering if you wanted to come with me to our hotel.”

“you can come to my house-“ i blurt out. “m-more privacy and it’s not that far from here or whatever your hotel is. i can get you back there just in time for your brothers to wake up…”

“ah, sounds like a plan, we just gotta take our equipment to our bus then i’ll meet you there, how does twelve sound?” he nods understanding my intentions.

“uh yeah! sounds good, wait lemme give you my numb-“

“oh doll, don’t worry about that, gotta be a little careful with who you leave your phone around,” he winks as his grip on me loosens and falls.

i almost ran out of the venue, finding cadence and the uber waiting outside on the street. “girl come on!” she waves me in letting the uber driver know where we were going.

i close the door behind me gripping my hands very hard on my phone. cay rests and hand atop mine and looks at me with concern. “hey, what’s up?”

“matt just- matt- matt invited me to their hotel.. but now we are meeting at my house at twelve.” my eyes are trained on the headrest in front of me.

“YOU WHAT, HE- HE WHAT????” cay starts freaking out as much as i would’ve if i hadn’t been in such a state of shock.

“yuuuup,” the uber slows down getting stopped close to my house. “i have his number in my phone, he said he was going to come when i text him my address.” i open my car door seeing as we’ve stopped right in front of my house.

“all the details tomorrow morning at work !!” she yells as i exit the car, waving thank you to the driver from outside the car i walk to my house to finally freak out.

WHAT THE FLYING FUCK was i doing?? no way am i about to have a one night stand with the drummer of sturnstars, one of my favourite bands

i pull my phone out of my pocket to see a new contact that was put in named “hot drummer” with a new number.

y/n

you shared your location with “hot drummer”

hot drummer (matt s)

otw!

not too long after i hear the doorbell ring throughout my house and i quickly rush to my front door. taking a deep breath in and out i push down on the large handle seeing matt on the other side of the door.

matt leans on the side of my door frame looking as delicious as ever. “hey” a smirk grows on his face as he scans my body. the black cropped long sleeve i was wearing was getting clawed at by my long done up nails. my skirt was barely covering my ass and showed a lot of my legs.

he looked at me like i was his last meal. he launches himself off the door frame as i take him by the hand, leading him to my bedroom.

he looks around at the posters on the wall, one including their old tour one. his finger glides across the arctic monkeys and slipknot ones.

“so you're a fan?” he asks coming to sit next to me.

“yeah you could say that, i’m not crazy tho, some girls are worse. if i’m being honest i didn’t even know you guys were coming here.” i say truthfully

“so if i do this,” he leans and kisses me, sparks fly in my stomach. “you’ll be okay with it.”

“and if this happens,” his hand undoes the clasp and zipper on my mini skirt, “you’ll be okay with it?”

his lips touch mine as i help him moves my skirt down to the floor as i hold the hem of his shirt pulling to take it off. my long sleeve and bra meet the floor not too far after matt’s shirt.

he manoeuvres on top of me now pressing his raging hard on top of my heat. “please matt,” i say in a whiny voice, feeling more anxious and excited.

“please what princess?” he teases.

“please fuck me,” my hand snakes to the nape of his neck as i pull him in for a kiss. his fingers clad with rings, slip into my panties as he makes cold contact with his thumb onto my clit, my eyes roll back feeling him circle around my hole before plunging in.

“oh- god matt please don’t stop,” i moan feeling him pump in and out of me. a familiar knot builds and snaps quickly due to the constant stimulation.

“mhh, come on babe, give it to me” i squeeze around his fingers hard before i cum all over his fingers. “good job baby, you did so well, you ready for me?” i nod frantically as he sticks his fingers into my mouth for me to taste myself, letting me such on his two fingers while he tugs on my panties making the small fabric keeping the whole thing together come unloose.

he's quick to undo his cargo pants letting the baggy material fall, and he tugs down his boxers letting his length spring out. i

“what the fuck, that is not going to fit in me?!?” he laughs at my surprise, pumping up and down on his monster dick.

“hey, i’ll take it slow, tonights ‘bout you.” he says hovering over me, “just tell me if it’s too much, alright?” he lines himself up and just puts the tip in, i arch my back in ecstasy feeling so full already.

“fuck, matt keep going.” he takes this as an invitation to push all the way in. my moans only become more airy as he gets deeper and deeper.

he gets more confident in his movement and keeps a steady pace, he lifts my leg, folding it by my knee, letting him hit a new spot.

“mhhh, matt don’t stop.” his pace is steady with him constantly hitting my g-spot, “i-i-”

i couldn’t even get my sentence out before i completely collapsed underneath his arms, letting myself go. “you did such a good job pretty girl, can i cum in you?”

“YES, yes matt please!” a slight feeling of overstimulation washes over me as matt grunts and shoots his load into me, falling onto my bed next to me.

“ah, come on, let's get cleaned up. nick and chris are gonna be wondering where i am.”

who knew, maybe dating a drummer isn’t that bad.

taglist - @westwiing13 @comet235 @mayhem-72 @pepsiimaxx @strniolosworld

taglist is open !

#sturniolo triplets #syn speaks #matt sturniolo #matthew sturniolo #matt sturniolo smut #matt sturniolo x reader #sturniolo #matt sturniolo x you #matt sturniolo fanfic #nick sturniolo #sturniolo fanfic #sturniolo smut #sturniolo x reader #sturniolo imagine #Spotify

333 notes · View notes

mackeydoodledoo · 1 month

Text

She Wears Short Skirts, I Wear T-Shirts: Chapter 3

Pairing: Bridget (Cheerleader AU) x (Fem!)Reader

Chapter Summary: Continuing on hanging out with Bridget, she invites you to one of her Cheer competitions, however, you have a band competition the same day...

Chapter Warnings: Anxiety, Swearing

Chapter Key: Italics = Thoughts, +*+ = Time Skip, F/n = Friend's name, B/n = Band Name, Bold/Italic = Flashback

Chapter Theme: Aftertaste - Katie Gavin

A/n: n/a

------------------------------------------------------------------------

*Y/n's POV* You walk into school Monday, everything going back to its bleak, bland self...

"Hi Y/n," Bridget comes up to greet you

"Hey you," You smile

The both of you walk around the school...

"Your Sunday go okay?" She asks

"Yeah, I just went to work and finished any homework I had yet to get to," You say, "You?"

"Yeah, I got to sleep in," She says

"That must be nice," You say

"Hey so I have a question," She says

"Yeah?" You ask back, "Shoot."

"This Saturday, I have a cheer competition with the town's independent competitive cheer team," She begins, "It'd mean a lot to me if you came."

Wait...

"This... Saturday?" You ask

"Yeah, why?" She asks

"Band has a competition," You explain, "The competition that determines whether our and goes to State Finals..."

"Oh," Bridget puts on a smile, trying to hide that she was sad

But, she was terrible at hiding her sadness emotion.

"I'll try," You say

"You will?" She asks

"Of course," You smile, "I've never been to a cheer competition before. So it's bound to be an interesting time."

The both of you stop at her first period.

"Okay, I'll text you the details in like... the next few days," She says, "Hopefully I'll see you there..."

She disappears into the classroom.

+*+

You sit at the front desk at the record store...

Man.... Working some weeknights sucks...

But, you were able to make a few extra bucks whilst being in high school.

But the entire place was dead, other than your manager who was in the back, doing god-knows-what.

Hey whatcha doing? I'm at work... So bored... You? Laying in bed, where do you work? The local record store. Oh! I didn't know you worked there. Guess I'll have to come visit ;) It would sure beat being in here by myself. Don't you have a manager with you? I do, but he's always in the office. Part of me believes he only goes back there to sleep and let me do all of the work. Do you want me to come in and keep you company? I'm off soon, so it wouldn't be worth it. 'Preciate it though :) Always. Anyway, I just wanted to text you the information

You watch as your phone dings with the address to the high school Bridget was going to compete at.

Epic, well, I'm going to head out of here and then to bed. Goodnight Pinky. Night Emo ;)

+*+

You walk into the band room, coffee in hand.. You couldn't wait to be done with outdoor band...

"Captain! There she is!" Your bass 5 member greets you

You sigh as you go grab your drum for a sectional.

"You're lucky your drumline instructor likes you all enough to get breakfast," He says, gesturing to boxed up food behind him

"I can take over until you're done eating Y/n," f/n says

*Bridget's POV* You wake up to your alarm and get changed into some simple sweats, but packing your independent cheer team outfit into your backpack.

"I'm heading out," You say to your parents who were at the table

"Okay, we'll see you there," Your dad says

You exit the door and plug in your music as you approach the car parked at the curb of your house.

"Morning Bridge," F/n greets you

"Morning," You yawn

"Want to get coffee before we head to practice?" She asks

"Sure," You sigh

"Hey, you're not your usual chipper self in the morning, spill," She says

"I invited someone I like... And she said she had something very important to do," You begin, "I'm worried she'll miss it."

"First, it'll be her loss," f/n chuckles, "Second, don't let it get to your head today. It's another big day."

You nod.

+*+

You sit with your girls as you all much on catered food.

Hey you, rehearsals going good? Yeah, how about you? We finished, we're packing our equipment into our truck, and then heading to the competition site.

"Okay girls, let's run the routine one more time before heading out!" Your coach yells

You all get up and follow each other to the padded floor for another routine run.

Good luck at your competition. Good luck at yours :)

You board the bus and sit in your own seat as you drive to the competition.

+*+

You step off the bus and follow the coach to check-in. You look at your phone, hoping to see a text from Y/n...

Nothing...

Must be at her competition by now... Or even out on that field...

You set your belongings in the designated area and begin to stretch your body.

+*+

*Y/n's POV* You quickly, but efficiently put your drum away and quickly change into presentable sweats and quickly make your way to your car.

*Bridget's POV* Anxiety runs through you as you travel throughout the school, heading to warm up areas and then to the competition floor.

You've competed in the little Regional class competitions before, and finally earned your wya up to Independent class....

Why am I so nervous?...

As you get into place you look up one more time, hoping to see Y/n in the crowd. Last second, you see someone rushing to the stands. You weren't able to wait any second longer before the music began.

+*+

Your friends split off after they hand you the first place trophy.

"Oh Sweety that was amazing!" Your mom hugs you

"Thanks mom," You sigh into a smile, "I just wish Y/n was able to make it..."

"Oh, you didn't see her as you walked off the floor?" She asks

You blink at your parents in confusion... However, your dad points over your shoulder. Y/n leans against the wall.

"If you're going to hang out with her, go on," Your mom tells you

"We'll see you at home," Your dad says

Without a second thought, you run down the hall.

"You made it!" You practically jump into Y/n's arms

"I said I'd try," She says, "I made it just before you started performing."

So... That person running to the stands was her...

"Do you want to grab a bite to eat?" She offers, "I drove straight here as soon as we got back to the school and I'm kinda starving, and with a routine like that, I'm sure you are too."

Your stomach grumbles...

"You read my mind," You smile

"Come on," She says, "By the way, where's the rest of your team?"

"They all left," You say

"What a shame," She sighs, "I'd wonder if your independent cheer girls would have liked me too..."

"Do you wish for every girl to gawk over you?" You ask

"No!" She says, "Not at all. But, it'd be nice if your friends I have yet to meet would like me."

"I didn't know you cared about first impressions," You smile

"I don't but... Your prized drummer shows up at a Cheer competition," She chuckles, "She's out of her element here!"

You giggle, "Come on, let's get you out of it then."

+*+

Y/n drives to the same diner, and the both of you sit in a booth.

"What's it with you and this place?" You ask

"Could never go wrong with a good burger," They say, "And it's basically the only place I know how to get to by heart."

"Also, how did the band do?" You ask

"We're going to state finals," She smiles

"That's amazing!" You smile back, "I didn't have ant doubts the band wouldn't. They have the greatest drumline."

"Well, not to toot my own horn but we did win the award for best percussion," She says, sounding full of herself

"The town's united Cheer team also took first," You brag

"With a cheer routine like that, I wouldn't doubt it a single second," She says

"When's state finals?" You ask

"Next week," She answers

"That soon?!" You ask

*Y/n's POV* "Well, yeah," You say, "It's beginning to get too cold to do band things. Even if the state finals venue is indoors."

"How will you be able to revise the show on time?" Bridget asks

"You underestimate the ability to change a show with less than a week," You chuckle

"I'm serious!" She says

"I am too," You say, nonchalantly, "There have been times where we have changed a drill set the day before a competition. We all had it nailed in like... Thirty minutes."

"Thirty?!" Her eyes widen

You nod, "You know, if you joined marching band, you'd fit right in with the color guard."

"Really?" She looks at you

You nod again, "They're graceful, badass, and beautiful. They're also scary at times, but that's mostly when we're crossing between them as they spin their props. Did I tell you that they also spin more than just flags."

"I've seen it," She says, "They're awesome."

"Maybe, you should consider giving winter guard a try," You suggest, "I won't force you, but I'll send you some videos from my guard friends. I do winter percussion... As the drum set player."

"Oh, I wonder how you got that part," She smiles

"Well, I started out doing auxiliary percussion, then moved my way up to drum set," You explain, "Drumset is simply an extension of percussion."

"I'd totally come to one of your winter shows," She says

"Well... The ensemble I'm with is out of state...." You sigh, "One of the top 5 groups in the entire country."

"I'll make the drive," She says

"There's a lot of car mileage and gas involved," You attempt to deter her away from making the drive you do

"I don't care, I want to see whatever show you do," She says

"Well then I will keep you updated on my indoor drumline endeavors," You chuckle

+*+

After dinner, you drive her home...

"Hope I didn't take you from family stuff," You say

"They didn't mind," Bridget says, "As always, thank you for driving me home."

"Anytime pinky," You reply, "I shall see you on Monday."

Chapter 4

#bridget x reader #bridget descendants #female reader #descendants #ruby rose turner

57 notes · View notes

bad268 · 11 months

Text

Waking Up in Vegas (Max Verstappen X Reader)

Fandom: RPF/Formula 1

Requested: Nope, Vegas inspired

Warnings: Hungover, alcohol, brief joke about cheating

Pronouns: You/your

W.C. 1762

Summary: Chaotic wins mean forgotten proposals and spontaneous marriages.

As always, my requests are OPEN

MASTERLIST // HITLIST

~~(@/Max's insta from April 14, 2022)

“Did we get hitched last night?” Was not the question you thought to be asking yourself after you woke up hungover from the grand prix after-party. The Las Vegas Grand Prix after-party, that is.

Your head was still pounding to the point you could still feel the bass and vibrations from the music the night before. It was an unexpected win for Max since he started on the third row (rare), but when the silver arrows collided (replay 2016) and Ferarri fucked up Charles’s strategy, it only took a few laps to get in front of Lando. The raw speed of Max’s Red Bull was still not comparable to the McLaren. That’s what led to you both getting fucked at a popular nightclub on the strip. In all honesty, you were not even sure how you made it back to your hotel room, but you were not going to question it.

“I don’t think so, but I don’t remember,” Max groaned, turning to hide his face in your neck. “I bet Daniel would know. He’s probably the one who got us back. Either him or Charles.”

“I ask because I’m wearing a ring,” you chuckled as you looked at your left hand. Max’s head shot out of your neck to see the ring. His eyes widened immediately, causing you to get concerned. “Do you remember anything from last night? It’s all blank for me.”

“No,” he trailed off. He hesitated for a minute as he looked up to meet your eyes before dropping his head again with a shy smile as his face heated up. “I just…”

“You can be honest, Max,” you gently pushed. You moved down on the bed, so you were leaning on your side, face to face with Max. “Unless it was cheating. In that case, I would rather remain blissfully unaware.”

“No, it’s not that,” he laughed nervously.

“Then, it cannot be as bad as you think,” you reassured. “Trust me. You can tell me anything. Nothing could top walking in on Daniel singing, ‘She Keeps Me Up,’ in Austin last year. That was awkward.”

“No, it’s not that bad,” he laughed sincerely this time as he finally brought himself to look into your eyes. “I recognize the ring.”

“Oh, is it yours?” You asked back immediately, moving to take the jewelry off. “You can have it back.”

“No! I mean yes!” He rushed, grabbing your hand to stop you from removing the ring. “What I’m saying is I bought the ring for you, schat (darling).” He stopped to give you a minute to register the information. Your eyes grew wide as the gears in your head started to turn.

“You bought it for me?” You whispered back, looking back at your hand which is still being held by Max.

“I mean, I would have wanted to remember if I proposed, but I guess it worked out either way,” he chuckled, becoming shy again.

“Then ask me again,” you replied, pulling back to sit up in bed. You realized that you were wearing one of Max’s shirts, yet you still could not remember anything from the night before. You pushed that from your mind as you continued reassuring Max. “If you’re so pressed about it, ask me again. Right now.”

“I had a whole day planned out,” He jokingly whined, moving to sit up as well. This is when you noticed that Max was wearing grey sweatpants while shirtless.

“Well, now I’ll be expecting it,” You joked back, reaching out to hold both of his hands. “I don’t need anything extravagant. I just want you, Max.”

“If I ask you to marry me now, we’d need to either plan the wedding quickly to do it over the winter break or wait a year,” Max pointed out with a sigh.

“Max, you're forgetting where we are,“ You laughed, “We’re in Vegas!”

“Our families will go crazy if they find out we got married in Vegas, and they weren’t here for it, liefde (love),” Max chuckled as he shook his head. He wrapped his arms around your torso to pull you onto his lap, leaning his head onto your shoulder as he held you.

“I highly doubt your dad will care,” You retorted quickly, placing your hands on his cheeks to make him look at you. “And it’s not like we will not have a ceremony eventually. I don’t really want to have a whole wedding, but we could host a party during the summer break with all of our friends and family. We could make vows for it too. We wouldn’t be rushed to plan a wedding or wait a whole year for it. Plus, I want your last name as soon as possible.”

“Why didn’t you say that earlier?” Max joked as he leaned in to place a short kiss on your lips. “I would have proposed a lot sooner if I knew.”

“I thought I was dropping enough hints! It’s been seven years, Max!” You chuckled, leaning back a little. “You know, in some of the States, we are technically considered married already.”

“Then I see no other reason to wait,” Max chuckled, leaning in to press his forehead to yours. “Can’t wait to make you Mx. Verstappen.”

Just as you both started leaning in, the moment was interrupted by knocking at the door. You both got out of bed, throwing on a pair of sweatpants and a shirt in the process. Max moved toward the door as you started making tea/coffee and grabbed out meds to calm the still-raging hangover you had. As soon as Max opened the door, what felt like half of the grid fell into the room. In reality, it was just Charles, Daniel, Lando, and Liam.

“What the hell?” Max laughed as he helped Charles stand up after Daniel, Lando, and Liam practically threw themselves into the room, and accidentally tripped the Monegasque in the process. They all just walked in and piled on the sofa, leaving Max to sarcastically say, “Why don't you come in?”

“Is there a reason you all flooded our room?” You asked as you walked toward where Max was sitting to give him his mug. Instead of letting you move to sit in another seat, Max pulls you to sit on his lap. “Not that we don’t love hanging out with you lot, but we have plans for later.” You really should have expected them to all start talking at the same time, but you did not

“Someone dared us to jump into the fountains,” Lando chuckled.

“I did not agree to be the chaperone last night,” Liam sighed.

“I saw a video of Max proposing last night,” Charles said.

“Honestly thought one of us was gonna get alcohol poisoning,” Daniel admitted.

“Woah, woah, woah,” You shouted over the group. “Back up. Take a breath. Who remembers last night?”

“You guys made me the chaperone because I didn’t race, so I didn’t drink anything,” Liam complained. “You all got piss drunk like I’m talking 5 drinks each minimum. Oscar jokingly told Lando to jump into the fountain, but he pulled you and Max with him. That was pretty funny honestly. Max also told his entire plan of proposing to you to Alex, completely forgetting you were there until you suggested getting married in Vegas. Max said something about in the morning, and then we got kicked out of the club.”

“Not who I expected to have been the responsible one, but okay,” Max whispered into his mug as he took a drink.

“Thanks for being responsible, Liam. I’ll cover you next time,” You said to the Kiwi. “Speaking of last night, though, the plans for today were to go get married before our flight out, and we need at least one witness. Do you guys want to come?”

“That’s a dumb question,” Lando replied quickly. “I call dibs on being the photographer!”

“No, I’m a much better photographer than him!” Daniel protested, “Plus, I've known them longer.”

“I mean Lando you can be the photographer for the ceremony and Daniel can do the actual wedding if you want,” You offered.

“No, I want to do the real thing!” Lando complained.

“Then I’ll do today, deal?” Daniel compromised.

“Deal,” Lando agreed.

“Good, because photographers can't get drunk at the wedding or be part of the wedding party,” Daniel boasted with a smug look toward the McLaren driver.

“Wait, that’s not fair! Max!” Lando looked to you and Max for help.

“You agreed to it,” Max laughed. “There’s nothing we can really do, Lando.”

“We could also just hire a photographer, so you’re both included in the wedding?” You suggested the obvious. “Either way, we should probably get ready to head out now. Our flight leaves at like 7 right? You guys also probably have debriefs too.” Receiving nods in response, you stood up to make your way to the bathroom. “Then we better get ready.”

Las Vegas was not as enhancing as it was the night before. It was missing the infamous Vegas lights as all the glitz and glam was replaced with normal street lights and normal activities. There was still the occasional impersonator on the corner, but nothing seemed too extravagant. It was like Las Vegas had an on-off switch.

When you all walked out of the hotel, it was still 2 PM, and everything just seemed too normal for what you were about to do. The drivers met up with their teams for the debrief as you explored around the strip and had a little spree. By the time the debrief finished up, those Vegas lights were appearing and the city was livening up. It was nearing 5 o'clock as your group made its way to one of the (surprisingly) many chapels on the strip.

“This is the most un-serious thing we have ever done,” Max laughed as you both stood at the small alter, separated by an Elvis impersonator. Neither of you had packed anything super fancy, so you were wearing white and red feather boas provided by the chapel. “My mom is going to be so mad.”

“I mean, I’m not complaining about it. Isn’t that what matters?” You laughed with him. “As long as we get a real party after this, I think it’ll be a funny story. Plus, we were never ones to follow the rules.”

The ceremony went on filled with laughs. In the end, it did not matter if it was serious or not because all that mattered was you were pronounced as Mr. and Mx. Verstappen.

~~~~~

#max verstappen x reader #max verstappen #mv1 #mv33 #max x reader #formula 1 x reader #f1 x reader #red bull f1 #f1 imagine #f1 #formula 1 #bad268 #ship268 #thing268 #formula one #vegas gp 2023 #las vegas gp 2023

327 notes · View notes

campingwiththecharmings · 2 years

Note

omg please do “You got a cute butt.” with Poe

All About That Bass

AN: Thank you for your request, mon cher 😘 I'm sorry it took so long! I hope this is worth the wait lol

(Un-beta'd)

Rated: T Words: 700 Pairing: Poe Dameron x GN!Reader Warnings: mild cursing, a little but o' smooching, butt smacking, fluff (i guess lol??), possibly terrible writing. AO3

——————

Your ship’s been acting up for weeks and, despite your many attempts to fix her, she’d finally died this morning when you’d tried to run through your morning check. So now, instead of flying drills with your squad, you’re here in the hangar, waist deep in your ship’s belly, covered in engine grease, and frustrated beyond belief.

You curse under your breath again as you shock yourself for the umpteenth time, your fingers tangled in the wires. It’s midday and the hangar is sweltering, your sweat pooling in crevices you didn’t even realize it could. Your fingers slip on the tool in your hand and you curse again. You need a break. A break, some food, and maybe even a shower. As you consider these tantalizing options, you feel a sudden, sharp slap on your ass.

You yelp, jolting upward in surprise and knocking your head against a piece of the engine you’ve been working on. The sound of muffled laughter reaches your ears and aggravation burns under your skin. After carefully extricating yourself, you stand to your full height and turn to face your attacker.

“What the hell, Poe?” you growl, pushing him with all the strength you can muster.

“What?” he chuckles, shrugging as he eyes you with appreciation. “You’ve got a cute butt, I couldn’t help myself.”

You glare at him, cheeks heating now for a completely different reason. “You’re gonna pay for that.”

Amusement sparks in his eyes at your words, his smile teasing as he steps closer, invading your personal space. “Promise?”

You scoff, ignoring the way your stomach flips when he gazes at you from beneath his lashes. If he thinks he can distract you just by making eyes at you, he’s got another thing coming.

Without another word, you step into his space, your smile challenging. “Oh, I promise.”

—

All day you’ve been watching, waiting, and finally the perfect opportunity has presented itself.

It’s evening, the hangar is flooded with everyone from all over the base doing various tasks as they work to close out their shifts.

Everyone including one Poe Dameron.

You smile to yourself, watching from behind a rack of scrap as he types something into his datapad. He’s facing away from you, his bright orange flight suit tight over his ample backside. You chew your lip as you allow yourself a moment to admire him (this isn’t an angle you generally get to see him from, after all). He continues typing, halting every now and then to call something out to various personnel meandering about.

Slipping from your hiding spot, you begin your trek over, trying to look as nonchalant as possible. The closer you get, the harder it is to contain your glee—who knew slapping your boyfriend’s ass in public would bring you so much joy?

He’s finishing a conversation with a mechanic when you make it to him and you waste no time. With a gleeful smile, you swing your arms back, gaining as much momentum as you can as you bring both of your hands down across his backside.

He shouts in surprise, jumping away from you as he automatically shields his ass with his datapad. Your laugh is loud and you slap a hand over your mouth at the sound, cackling shamelessly into your palm. Poe turns around, a mild flush on his cheeks, his mouth open in shock—until his eyes meet yours.

He bites back the smile threatening to stretch across his lips as he raises an eyebrow at you. You shrug in response, your laughter subsiding.

“What?” you shrug, smile teasing as you lean against a nearby workbench. “You’ve got a cute butt, too.”

He shakes his head as he makes his way over to you, trying to look stern despite his eyes shining with barely repressed mirth. When he makes it to you, he smirks, arms on either side of your body, caging you against him.

“You’re gonna pay for that,” he rasps, breath fanning over your lips as he hovers, nudging your nose with his.

You chew your lip, hands grasping at his flight suit so can you pull him toward you. “Promise?”

He smiles, answering you with a kiss.

Review (pretty please)?

🌟 Masterlist 🌟

i am no longer doing a taglist. please follow @charmingupdates for updates and turn on notifications.

#poe dameron x you #poe dameron x reader #poe dameron fic #poe dameron fanfiction #poe dameron reader insert #my fic

233 notes · View notes

just-call-mefr1es · 5 months

Text

lil infodump bout that band camp tbp au i made within my head because @staggersz is keeping me hostage🫶🏽 /j

so, im not all that familiar with band camps in general, i just know its like summer camp,,,,,, but instruments,,, so yeah really interesting. i’m pretyyyy sure that band camp becomes available when honour band becomes available because they handed out scholarships for band camp (or whatever) when i was in honour band so yeah. not sure if its different in the states but oh well (im canadian)

alright alrigth,, so i dont have a deadset outlook on the au yet (just silly thoughts and ideas) womp womp for me. i mostly have down the instruments from that post i made about guessing what instrument they would play, if you wanna know what instruments they have but dont wanna scroll thru my blog to find the post (dont blame you) just send an ask xx

what i have so far: bruce definitely got a scholarship. not sure if they do that in U S and an A but whatever if they dont. making this up as i go along, dont judge. anygays, if band camps are still following ‘typical summer camp culture’, with the bunks, cabins and shit (ill do research later sjsjsj) then boom. all basement boys™️ (or should i say,, BANDboys.. haha im so funny) are sharing a bunk. yipee. theyre also probably separated by gender so gwen n amy’ll share a cabin^^

just realized i forgot donna (IM SO SORRY) bass clarinet. no arguments? no arguments.

kk, so bruce has definitely been going to band camp for a while, perhaps vance as well. OOO what if they bickered. haha mutual-dislike-towards-one-another to okay-we-can-work-together-for-the-sake-of-our-cabin to hey-you’re-actually-kinda-cool to friends to wait-a-damn-minute, so on and so forth???? hell yeah actually

AAAAA THE IDEAS ARE FLOODING INNNxkmskddmmddmd what if,, because band camp open to everyone n shit (i caANT WORD UGH),, what if finney n robin were childhood friends, one moved (idk which one) then they reunited at band camp⁉️⁉️⁉️ rinney enthusiasts better take that and run idk what else to do

as much as i love griffin, i have no idea- wait nevermind i do and im too lazy to rewrite thst sentence. cause i gave him an older sister (ocs, they are old yes, but i dont care. will talk about them later) no doubt she joined, he just wanted to be with his sister for the summer. okay yeah that works. same could go for billy, since i reduced him to middle child status (sorry my guy) but i feel like he just joined for funsies.

okay thats all my brain can think about for now, im gonna create an animatic in my head then cry about it for an hour now byeee

17 notes · View notes

baenyth · 3 months

Text

Bethany's Bizarre Miraculous Reviews Episode 4-12: Crocoduel (Plus an OC!)

Oh baby, another Juleka episode! And with her as a hero instead of an insult to Clownkind! I think Luka's a big part of this episode as well!

I think I've seen those animations before.

Julerose in the first few seconds! Yippee!!!

That was one of the worst lies I've ever heard.

Lovers, ideally, not buddies. I refuse the Adrienette gravy train. It's like if gravy was bad.

I refuse to believe Luka and Juleka are twins. You cannot convince me. I can barely buy them as siblings, honestly. Luka has to be two years older than Juleka and they're half siblings because I doubt Deadbeat Stone would wait even a year to ditch Anarka for fame. My father and his father shared the same birthday, so Luka and Juleka can too!

As always, Juleka is being disrespected.

Oh my god, Marinette is using her braincells outside of Ladybug!

Fuck. Marinette is cooking. She knows she can only be down bad for Adrien. She knows she'll only hurt Luka.

"Talking garbage can? Awesome." Alright, that's the best line of season 4, if not the entire show.

How is Marinette hiding in that garbage can anyways? Is she just noclipping in and out of it or something?

Jagged doesn't even seem aware of Juleka's existence. I can feel myself growing more right. He only seems to acknowledge Luka as his child.

"Hey Juleka, can you make sure your brother isn't at his own birthday party? Thanks."

Oh baby! People apologizing for doing crappy stuff!

Japed

Roblox Flamethrower noise

Oh hey. Woman with Mylene's VA.

You have the space powerup. Which is being forgotten for plot reasons.

Alright, after three and a half seasons of being disrespected with akumatizations, Juleka finally becomes Purple Tigress. I think it's my favorite design and powerset. The ability to generate energy is surprisingly versatile. She can jumpstart cars. She can make ludicrous amounts of heat.

Have Hawkmoth's quips been weaker lately? It feels like they have.

Bellissimo. Juleka is now my favorite character.

Aaaand they had to end the episode with absolute and utter friendzoning. I will rage about this until the end of time or when I write a fic or two about it. Lukanette disrespect.

So yeah. If you noticed in the title, I have an OC to talk about. A Miraculous OC. That goes against the canon in this episode because I refuse to believe it.

His name is Gregory Steel. I think he changed his last name to not be associated with his old family. He has a black 2000s boycut covering his left eye and a goatee that shouldn't look too bad on him. I imagine his default outfit being some jeans and a black T-shirt for the Seattle grunge band he plays bass for, Screaming Crow. He's also a music teacher.

In 2000-2001, he met a French-Canadian woman named Anarka Couffaine, who was tired of big celebrities and wanted to settle down with her infant child. The two hit it off, going inbetween raising a child and working smaller gigs for cash. They even had a child together. However, on that new child's first birthday, the two had a falling-out, albeit one with good communication and the two are still friends to this day. Anarka moved to France to live on a boat in freedom while in the modern day of 2016 Gregory now is married and has two nine-year-old twins: a boy and a girl. Still, he does pay child support and give birthday and Christmas gifts to his other two children, Luka and Juleka. He also does come to visit but infrequently. He doesn't have that much money.

In a hypothetical rewrite, instead of this episode, Gregory decides to come over to Paris on his kids' birthdays, only to see Jagged the deadbeat trot on over and act like he's ever been a loving dad, even worse is the bias he's giving for Luka while ignoring his little darling Juleka. You can probably guess where this goes: Hawkmoth akumatizes him into Screaming Crow, a giant one-eyed crow that screams and attacks Jagged, Purple Tigress still gets introduced because she's the best and I love her and I want her to be the third permanent holder, and so on. I'm pretty sure Marinette and Luka have broken up by now but at the same time Marinette is starting to date Kagami. Or maybe they're still dating.

#miraculous ladybug #miraculoustalesofladybugandcatnoir #miraculous #marinette dupain cheng #miraculous marinette #ml ladybug #juleka couffaine #miraculous juleka #julerose #luka couffaine #miraculous luka #lukanette #original character #gregory steel

12 notes · View notes

rodentgoth · 1 year

Text

-Murdoc x GN!Reader

Done for 🖤✨anony (They did reveal themselves but I didn't know if they wanted to be tagged in this)

An alternate title for this fic:: I cannot write a British accent to save my life and I am so sorry!

Not gonna lie the minute I saw this was a Gorillaz request I flipped my shit!

I didn't have a specific Phase in mind while writing this, but I would like to think this is happening around phase 2 or very late in phase 1.

... Also I would like the court to Know that I have a dark!selfship for a playlist for Murdoc! So, if you wanna listen to that while you read you cannnnnnn!

Rating:: 18+ // Explicit

Fandom:: Gorillaz

Themes/Kinks:: Noncon

This Fic contains and Implies themes of::

Drug Use

Alcohol Use

Non-con

If these themes trigger or offend you, you probably shouldn’t read this!

Please take care of ya self!

It was your first concert and you were as excited as ever!

Your favorite band was playing, plus you also got an exclusive backstage pass! It would allow you to meet and hang out with whatever member you wanted for the rest of the night, and you already knew who you wanted to meet. It was a rare opportunity, and you had your eyes set on the band’s Bassist, Murdoc Niccals. Everything about him intrigued you. His skills with the bass, raunchy personality, and less-than-natural skin color all added to your interest in him.

The concert soon came to an end, the lights dimmed, the music was replaced with chattering voices, and people started to grab their things to leave. Pushing against the dwindling crowd you find the closest stagehand, and present them with your pass. They kindly asked you to follow them, and you happily oblige with a skip in your step.

Backstage there are a million roadies working hastily to get everything cleared out and cleaned up. You bump into a few of them, causing them to drop a long microphone cable. Despite your best efforts to apologize and help, they still gave you dirty looks as they gathered the wire again. In all honesty, you really didn't care what they thought about you. You were here for one reason, to meet your idol…and maybe get an autograph or two.

After a bit of walking, you found yourself in a mostly clear hall with one door.

"Wait here please." The stagehand said, before unlocking the door and heading in.

You obeyed and stood looking around the hall. Equipment and costume racks were scattered everywhere. Although the hall still felt weirdly empty. You started to wonder, 'Were you the ONLY one to get this pass?'. They were a huge band with plenty of fans, so you'd think at least a few people would've gotten it. Maybe they only made one? Guess you were just lucky enough to actually get it.

After another minute or so, the loud creaking of the door broke the awkward silence. The stagehand returned, inviting you in.

Behind the door was a small chamber with four different doors, each labeled with a name.

'Russel', '2D', 'Noodle', and last but not least 'Murdoc'.

Your heart was pounding out of your chest. This was it, this is what you've been waiting for! Your mind was racing like crazy.

They asked which member you'd like to meet.

"O-oh, M-Murdoc!"

You said cheerfully as you pointed at the door near the end of the hall.

They guided you to the door and gave it a gentle knock. A few footsteps, moans, and the sound of glass shattering echoed from behind the wooden plank, followed by a click of the lock. The door swung open to reveal the man of the hour.

He had a smirk plastered on his face, showing his jagged teeth.

“I can take ‘em from here!” He said, his voice rough, yet weirdly calming.

The stagehand nodded, before wandering off.

Murdoc stepped out of the doorway before extending his arm in a welcoming gesture.

You stood there staring for a minute, in awe of the fact that this was actually happening!

Looking over at him, you could see his face slowly starting to get annoyed with you just standing there. You step into the room, and he slammed the door behind you, causing you to jump a bit. The green man audibly laughed at the sight, so loud in fact, you couldn’t hear the click of the door locking again.

The room was cluttered to no end, booze bottles, cigarettes, pills, and various gifts and other trinkets covered up the floor. The walls were also covered in various things from Pin-up posters to photos and letters from fans, there were even a few rather lewd photos up as well. The smell of smoke and cheap liquor filled every breath you took.

“Make yer’self at home!”

He said walking over to a busted-up fridge.

You looked over at the couch. It was covered in stains of god knows what, and was torn up beyond belief. You sat on the least messed up spot you could find, and just…Watched him. You had a million things you wanted to say, but you kept holding yourself back. He already seemed annoyed cause of you standing at the door gawking, and you didn’t wanna push it further. The clang of the fridge door closing broke you out of your self-deprecation, and cause you to vault a bit. He once again laughed at how fidgety you were, as he placed two glasses on the table in front of you.

“Yer’ a bit jumpy there, aren’t cha’?” He said sitting down next to you.

“So-Sorry…” you began to fidget with the pass in your hand.

“Just…nervous to be actually meeting you!” You said doing your best not to crack under pressure.

He chuckled a bit, as he popped open another bottle of liquor.

“Well, this otta help you loosen up a bit!”

He poured the bottle out into the two glasses, sliding one of them over to you. You had never drunk before, nervously you reach for the glass and hold it. You look over at him, expecting some form of prompt or validation to begin drinking. Only to see him digging around in his Pocket for…something.

“Come on…Come on…Ah!” He exclaimed, pulling out what looked to be two small pink tablets. He dumped one into his drink, and immediately it began to fizz for a few seconds, before returning to being completely still. He looked over at you, meeting your gaze. He tried to do the same with your drink, but you pulled it away quickly. Drinking with a stranger was one thing. Drinking and doing hard, probably illegal, drugs with a stranger was another. He scoffed a bit, as his face became slightly irritated.

“It ain’t gonna hurt you, or nothin’.” He took a swig of his own drink, to prove a point.

“You might be a wee bit lightheaded, but it’ll pass!”

Your mind was bouncing back and forth before you caved, handing your drink to him. It went through the same process of fizzing before returning to normal. You nervously gulped it down to feel…nothing. He wasn’t lying, you were a bit lightheaded but it wasn’t too bad.

“So, You gonna actually talk to me, or just sit there gawkin’?”

“Well…I just love you and your music! Your skills are unmatched!” You start gushing, noticing a smirk reappear on his face.

“Thank you! You know if it wasn’t for me the rest of ‘em would fall to rubbish. Just wouldn’t be complete ya know?”

He began to ramble a bit, you were half listening, your concentration slowly leaving you.

You nod your head a bit too to give the illusion of full attention. A wave of dizziness hits you as you decide to rest your head against, what you can only assume is, a dried beer stain.

“But how about you, love? Gotta girlfriend? Boyfriend? Or whatever?”

You blink a couple of times as you process what was asked, it was taking longer than usual to think of something.

“N-nuh uh.” You replied with a slight slur.

“I-I was never much for dating…I mean, I’ve had a few lovers here, and there, but none of them stayed for long.” You slurred out, not really caring if it was too much information.

He shrugged, finishing off what was left in his glass.

“That’s a damn shame, you’re bloody gorgeous!” He complimented as he scooted closer to you.

You chuckled, before responding.

“No, I'm not, You jus-just saying that. ” You responded with the goofiest smile on your face.

His hand slowly made its way to your thigh, but you didn’t seem to notice.

“I’m serious, even the hottest raunchiest birds in hell, would be jealous of you!”

He slipped his hand into your pants, prodding and rubbing wherever he could reach. Despite the movements being slightly erratic, they still managed to get a few moans and groans out of you.

“You know, we're gonna be performing here for a month or so,”

He sped up a bit, and you went from small moans to wailing howls. You could feel his nails ripping through the fabric, the tips of his fingers just barely entering you.

“And I’m gonna need someone to keep me company, on these lonely nights.”

He pushed his fingers in further, making you tremble. You grabbed onto his arm, maybe for comfort, maybe to stop him. He kept going though, digging his fingers deeper and deeper.

And soon your wailing turned into whines as you came closer and closer to release. You felt something long and slimy against your neck. You looked down to see his tongue dragging along your skin. Eventually, you couldn’t hold back, you tightened your grip on his arm as you came. He stopped and removed his hand slowly, wiping off your fluids on the cushion.

He looked up at your face, your pupils were wide, completely zoned out. With one swift movement, he bit your neck, leaving a bloody and noticeable mark.

“You’ll be my personal backstage bird! ”

He began petting your head.

“How does that sound?”

You nodded your head up and down, leaning into his touch. You did it…you met your idol.

#fanfic #mine #fanfiction #fic #murdoc niccals #gorillaz murdoc #cw drugs #drugs cw #cw noncon #cw// drug use #cw// noncon #cw// Alcohol #murdoc x reader #Murdoc Niccals is a bitch ass motherfucker // Lovingly~

35 notes · View notes

simonlynch · 9 months

Text

drabblecember day #21 - a walk down memory lane

ship: dewmav

word count: 1097

summary: dewey and maverick reminisce.

“‘Member when we met?”

“Course I do.”

The bar is loud, crowded, but clearing out quickly after the show. Dewey shoves his guitar into the back of the van, playing his own roadie as he fits everything with pedantic precision into its place, drumkit, bass, shit he was sure the band hadn't even used in five years, all loaded up and raring to go.

Go home, that is. He sighs, leaning against the doors as he slams them shut, closes his eyes, imagines a future where people are begging, pleading to be able to shove all this shit back into the tour bus for him, “Sign my guitar! Sign me!” and a crowd cheering his name as he walks off stage…

But when he opens his eyes to the back of an empty lot of a dive bar, his smile becomes longing. Everyone else had already hiked it out, either with their one-night stand, or just so they wouldn't have to assist him, he figures.

A drink would be more help than them, anyways.

He trudges back into the bar, pulling the hoodie he'd changed into closer to his shoulders. He walks the clear path to the counter, and slides onto one of the peeling leather stools; He turns his head towards one of the mounted TVs, a replay of some college football game that he couldn't care less about being still the most interesting thing in the room.

A voice draws his attention. It's smooth, calm, even over the ambient chatter and blown out jukebox speakers, quiet somehow above it all. That's the first thing he notices, and not them asking him if “Hey, you're the guitarist that played tonight, right?”

When he turns his head, then it's their eyes. The way their makeup emphasizes them, dark eyeliner making the pale green pop, jet black hair and vibrant ombré mesmerizing him for the moment before they speak again.

“You looked pretty cute on stage, earlier.”

“Uhh…” he trails off, pauses, blinks slowly. He tries very hard not to notice the tight leather and lace that hugs the bartender's skin so tight, surely they weren't talking to him? He realizes then he has to say something, anything -- No way they were talking to him, right? His brain’s a scrambled mess of panic and awe as he dumbfoundedly stares back at them, and what a sight he probably was, mouth slightly agape as whoever they were began to worry. Just ask them if they liked the show! Ask them if they really noticed you! Literally anything!

One thought in his head screams out over the other clutter, "For fuck’s sake, Finn, answer them!"

His words come out in a jumbled mess, some mangled combination of every question he actually wanted to ask, but before he could stop it he was already speaking:

“Do you like me?”

Well that's not what he meant to say. Holy shit, you dumbass.

They tilt their head, unsure if they'd heard him right. Probably not over the crowd.

“What?” they ask with a laugh.

“Did you like the show?” Dewey quickly corrects his tongue-tied thoughts, and confidently raises his voice to beat the noise.

“Oh! Yeah, I did.”

Dewey tries to hide his chuckle in a cough, playing it cool as he crosses his arms and leans into the bartop. He looks them over again, and as his eyes meet their gaze he realizes their stare -- it's a hard kind of stare, analyzing him, squinting in contemplation.

“I know you!” they finally relent, pointing towards him with the hand they weren't leaning on across from him, “You work at the record shop down on Barrett, don't you?”

He nods, “Just a dayjob. I prefer this to that any day.”

“Playing a show? Or chatting up the wait staff after?”

“Well, if they were all as hot as you, I guess it'd be hard to say.”

They share a laugh, and Dewey takes in the way they toss their hair gently over their shoulder, eyes flicking up towards him after.

“But...I did mean playing. Nothing beats it.”

“Well, you look good doing it, too.”

They crack open a drink behind the bar, and pass it over, “On me, for putting on such a great show.”

Dewey grins, lingering his hand over theirs on the bottle before pulling it towards himself, “Do I get a name to go along with that pretty face?”

“Maverick.”

“Maverick…Different. I like that.”

“And what can I call you, Rockstar?”

“Dewey.”

“Mm, fits you, I think.”

He takes a sip from his beer, watching carefully as they wipe down the metal countertop. In a rushed urge to keep the conversation going, he clears his throat. Maverick beats him to it.

“What happened to the rest of the band?”

“Probably all headed home…Or, out.”

“Left you behind, huh?”

“Nah, I mean -- you know how it is. Play a show, go home with a groupie…”

“And leave you behind to clean up the mess. I get the feeling.”

Dewey takes a glance around the bar, and notices the distinct lack of servers. Maybe they weren't so different. There was something comforting about the idea.

“I’d, uh, ask if you come here often, but I think I know the answer already.”

Maverick giggles, tossing the towel they hold over their (bare, as Dewey was very much aware of now) shoulder.

“Too much, maybe.”

“I know a couple different gigs we can hit. Real lowkey places, maybe I can show you around sometime, if you like.”

“I’d like that,” Maverick grabs two small glasses next, pouring a shot for either of them.

“To a great show?”

“I’ve played better, but…” Dewey shrugs coolly, “Sure. What the hell.”

They both take the drink, both of them taking it in stride, despite the strong stinging flavor of the tequila.

“Can't do too many of those, or else my ass will never make it down the sidewalk.”

“No way you're walking home,” Dewey states matter-of-factly.

“I do every night.”

“Not today.”

“I’m off in thirty,” Maverick replies without hesitation, “If that's an offer.”

Dewey panics for a second, exhaling slowly to calm his anxiety. He feels the warmth of the alcohol dull his nerves well enough despite being clear-headed still, and he takes another drink to hide the way his lips curl into a smile.

Well, that was certainly one way to get a pretty girl to agree to go home with you.

“I made you breakfast the next day, too.”

“Mhm,” Dewey presses a kiss to their forehead, “Think I fell in love with you right then.”

#.writing #.dewey #drabblecember2023

12 notes · View notes

alonetogether · 1 year

Note

andy am i allowed to yell about peterick brainrot in your askbox? im not waiting for an answer.

i. am so not. normsl about patrick showing pete the bass notes. how did he know pete was lost?? could he hear it? the way he turns towards pete, shakes the neck of his guitar a little to get his attention, but he doesn't even need to, because the minute he turns pete's coming over, the way pete knows patrick is showing him. they've must have done it a million times during rehearsals. like this is such a little thing that's nbd but it's driving me literally insane???

BFHJUIDKJNG love that you didnt wait for an answer cause like if you HAD i would have resorted to begging on my knees for you to yell at me about peterick. its what i enjoy oh so the most

BUT YEAH THATS EXACTLYYYYY why that moment makes me insane, not just the act of patrick showing him the chords but the fact patrick Knew he either wasnt playing and/or wasnt playing correct AND obviously struggling enough that patrick called him over :,-))) PLUS also patrick smile afterwards... he's just been so happy this tour and pete is Definitely a factor in that !!!

also i will exchange with you a peterick meltdown ive been having like all day cause i was rewatching some of the stardust like promotional interviews etc and i was watching the siriusxm mini game they did where they had to guess what songs of theirs were playing backwards and theresss sooooo much in there, like when pete guesses thnks fr th mmrs and then is discussing how babyface worked on it with them, he is trying to remember a movie they saw when they found out about babyface and he turns to patrick while trying to remember the movie like. oh so you guys went to see it together or at least watched it with just each other otherwise andy wouldve been able to help too. inchresting. like i initially thought maybe they went as a group to the premier but the movie is from 2001... so x AND THEN theres the "pep in your answer" thing and its just. so good to see this silly flirty energy continued with literally every riff with patrick on the tour. i wuv them. AND THEN!!! theres a moment of cryptophasia i swear no one talked about!!!! where patricks talking about other side and he says "i wanted something that spelled out the kind of journey that people are gonna go on with this album and then pete jumps in "of SIGHT" and then patrick AND pete both say in the same fucking inflection at the exact same time "and SOUND" like. you both are crazy and fruity. fuck off NHJIOGLKSJM

#anyway. i love that siriusxm mini game i know that was long ago in comparison to tourdust moments but. theres so much in it

19 notes · View notes

spreadyovrwings · 1 year

Text

64 Oslo Square

"Companion'. Middle English. From Old French ‘compaignon', literally 'one who breaks bread with another.

Strapped for cash, John gets a job at a bakery as their new delivery boy. Juggling school and Queen and work is exhausting, but it's more than worth it. It's worth it because of you.

Warnings for this chapter: i guess vague peril?? some very minor injury description? mostly just a lot of flirting

Chapter Six

“D’you reckon I could get this stuck in his hair?”

John looked up to find Roger with his arm raised, moving his hand back and forth as he lined up the shot. He had one of Freddie’s guitar picks between his fingers and was aiming it at Brian’s cloud of hair.

It had been a long night. The boys arrived at the recording studio sometime around nine, each of them exhausted already from work or uni, and started off strong. A few good ideas had been tossed around but Freddie and Brian had been discussing one single refrain for almost 25 minutes now, and the fantasy of the rock and roll lifestyle had rather lost its sheen.

“You could probably lose the whole guitar in there,” John said.

“Don’t tempt me.”

John exhaled sharply, shaking his head.

He liked Roger a lot. They were the closest in age and liked a lot of the same things. When he had an idea, John would quietly run it by Roger, who would either grin and enthusiastically tell him to tell the others too, or twist his mouth and suggest something better. It wasn’t a system John enjoyed, he had faith in himself and his ideas, but it was certainly helping him find a voice in the group, slowly but surely.

Roger leaned back, his chin raised like an Olympian primed to throw a javelin, and sent the pick soaring across the room. It would have found its target had Brian not turned his head at the last moment. The pick hit him square in the centre of his forehead.

“Ow! Oh, for f-” Brian rubbed his forehead with the tips of his fingers. “Why don’t you fucking grow up?”

When he only mimicked him, Brian threw the pick back at him so hard, Roger almost fell off his stool trying to dodge it.

John hid his smile behind his hair.

They called it a day after that.

Wrapping his coat around his thin frame, John grimaced at the thought of the long journey home. He couldn’t afford the luxury of the bus, even if it happened to be running at this hour, which he seriously doubted it would be. Thankfully, he still had the bike.

John slipped his aching hands into his faux fur-lined pockets. The coat was warm and soft, even if it had definitely seen better days. He’d plucked it from a hanger on Roger and Freddie’s stall last weekend. The weather simply refused to get any warmer, despite the fact they were almost in the middle of spring, and he couldn’t go on wearing two jumpers and a moth-eaten scarf.

Curling his fingers into fists, John dug his blunt fingernails into the softer flesh of his palms. His fingertips no longer stung from tugging at the thick bass strings, but the tingling feeling never really went away. It was nice, comforting, familiar in an uncertain world that seemed to be changing day by day.

Freddie hugged him at the door, which was nice. Freddie gave good hugs, proper ones. He wrapped his strong arms around you and pulled you into his broad chest, squeezing you tight as he told you how lovely it was to see you and how he couldn’t wait until your paths crossed again.

Still, it left John’s skin smarting as he awkwardly pulled away and offered a feeble reply. Physical touch still felt alien to him, though he couldn’t begin to decipher why. It was getting easier though, thanks to you.

John was so often alone in his university digs, sometimes a day or two could pass without him speaking to anyone, even the other students who shared his floor. He supposed he should try and be more sociable but between the band, his job and his studies, it wasn’t often that John had the energy.

He could hear them, though, hear their music blaring through the thin walls and their laughter ringing out behind his closed door when they went out at night. He would simply pause whatever he was doing until they went away, like a fox caught in the headlights of a passing car.

He sometimes toyed with the idea of joining them but never got up from his desk, his bed, the soft blue rug his mum had found for him in a charity shop in town. John never knew what to say. He never knew what to do with his body, how to stand, how to appear relaxed when his stomach was wrapping itself up in knots.

Maybe if you were there, he might feel braver. John never felt more himself than when he was talking to you. He’d never met anyone who made him feel so calm yet so excited at the same time. He wondered if you would come dancing with him. If he asked, would you say yes?

Alone now, John wheeled his bike onto Holland Road. He still didn’t know the city all that well but this little patch was becoming more and more familiar. Every so often, he would recognise a spot where he’d almost or completely fallen off his bike. With an odd feeling of fondness, he smiled at them as he passed them by.

Rainwater spattered his face, falling thick and fast now. It cooled his skin, sending a shiver down John’s back.

A man suddenly appeared in front of him, rushing to get out of the rain. John recoiled when one of his hurried footsteps fell right in the middle of a puddle and sprayed water all over his favourite pair of jeans. Grumbling under his breath, John kept going.

It wasn’t long before his mind drifted back to thoughts of asking you out. There were a few places he knew, dark little clubs with just enough room to dance, and music that made you want to let your body move, even if you hated to in the world outside.

As John’s boots clomped against the paving stones, he pictured you in the outfit you wore the other night to his gig, a tight skirt and a low top that almost had him skipping a few notes. He thought about pulling you closer as you moved together, the music pounding in his ears as he felt your soft, warm body press into his.

John felt his face heat up. That was decided then. He’d ask you out, he’d take you dancing, he’d take charge and make a decision and not let you slip through his fingers.

The night was black and cold. There was no one around. Perhaps if he’d been paying more attention to where he was going, it wouldn’t have happened.

With his head bowed against the rain, John couldn’t see much more than a few paces in front of him, but he could hear footsteps approaching him again. Fast.

Thinking someone else was just rushing to get out of the rain, he tried to wheel his bike out of the way. The next thing he knew, his feet had left the ground.

Oddly, his only thought as he fell was of how embarrassing it was that he’d tripped over his own feet, and he could only hope that no one would notice his mortifying tumble.

In the split second he was in the air, John tried to right himself. It meant he landed awkwardly on his wrist. John hissed through his teeth and tried to sit up, but his hand slipped on the wet paving slabs and he slumped to the ground.

He tried again, and was vaguely aware of someone speaking, a harsh voice that he knew he ought to be listening to, but all John could focus on was the pain gnawing at his body and the horrible, cold rainwater seeping through his clothes.

Aching and disorientated, he pulled his hands into his chest. One palm was grazed from the rough pavement. His other wrist was unnaturally warm, as if blood was blooming beneath his skin. John clutched his wrist as he carefully twisted it from side to side. Not broken, he was relieved to find, just smarting badly.

Someone grabbed the front of his jacket. John thought they were helping him up and tried to catch their hand in his, but they batted him away.

Confused, he tried to speak, but then he felt a cold hand push inside his jacket, searching his inside pockets.

John froze. His breathing stopped. He was being mugged. Someone had hit him, shoved him to the ground, and now they were rooting through his pockets.

He felt fingers wrap around his wallet and reflexively pressed his hand against theirs through his jacket, but they just shook him off again.

“Wait-” He meekly tried to get them to stop. “Wait-”

His voice didn’t sound like his. John barely recognised the wavering, broken sounds coming from his own mouth.

“Don’t- Wait, please-”

He watched the hand pull his wallet from his pocket and feebly tried to grab it back, but they swung round their other fist. It collided with the space just above his cheekbone, narrowly avoiding his eye. They must’ve been wearing a ring because John thought he felt something come dangerously close to puncturing his skin.

Disorientated and frightened, John instinctively pressed his palm against his eye socket. He closed his mouth and resigned himself to the ordeal, hoping it would all be over soon.

He supposed he was lucky. After that, they were gone.

When John finally regained sense of his body, of himself, he prised his hand away from his eye. There was a bright smear of scarlet on his palm, though he wasn’t sure if that was from the deep graze that ran along the heel of his hand, or if their ringed fist had managed to cut him.

“Oh, God,” He ran his other thumb over his bloodied palm, then winced when his wrist throbbed. “Oh, God. Oh, shit. Fuck.”

John wasn’t sure how long it took to gather himself and stumble to his feet. It could have been minutes, it could have been hours. By the way his body ached and swayed when he finally righted himself, he wouldn’t be surprised if it had been days.

To his dismay, he realised his wallet wasn’t all they’d taken from him. Your bike was gone. He hadn’t even noticed them wheel it away.

Numb from what had happened and from the cold, John wandered in a direction that looked vaguely familiar. His heels kept catching on the uneven streets, and every time he stumbled, it pushed the sob sitting in his chest higher and higher up his throat, until John had to bite down on his lip to keep it from wobbling pathetically.

At last, the narrow, empty street opened up into a wide road, and John realised he was in Kensington. Through the fog in his brain, the notion that there was a phone box nearby rose to greet him. Who he would call, he had no idea. The police? Roger? The only person he really wanted was you but he didn’t have your number.

Still trying to decide what to do, John stepped out to cross the road, his mind dull and his body sluggish.

“Woah woah hey!”

He felt someone yank the back of his jacket, hard. A car horn blared as it roared by. John stumbled back onto the pavement, his arms windmilling. Another second and he would’ve been a goner.

He wheeled around, hands raised to defend himself, his heart hammering in his chest.

You beamed up at him, shaking your head.

“What’s the ma’er with you, New Boy? You never ‘eard of The Green Cross Code?”

You looked him up and down, up and down. As you took in his soaked clothes, his thin, shivering limbs, and the red mark, blooming like a rose over his left eye, your expression slowly sank into confusion, then fear.

“John?”

He didn’t know how to explain all that had happened. He didn’t know how to express everything he was feeling. A thousand beginnings rushed to the tip of his tongue but none seemed right.

Before he could speak, John felt his body crumple, like someone had cut all his strings. He stumbled, his hands finding your shoulders, then the tops of your arms. He was too exhausted to be embarrassed.

Close now, so close he could feel your warm breath on his stinging cheeks, he heard himself say,

“Help me.”

He didn’t remember much after that. When John cast his mind back, tried to recall what you had said next, how his hand had ended up in yours, or even just the expression on your face, he came up blank.

The next thing he did remember was you guiding him through the doors to 64 Olso Square. He remembered because you had to walk in backwards to keep his hand in yours and to make sure he didn’t trip over the small step at the entranceway. The sight had made him smile, until that horrible chill settled over him again like a cloak, and John was yanked back to the present.

He was in the silent kitchen before he knew it. Where were you taking him? Why did you care so much? Did you have a plan? John hoped so. He could hardly string two thoughts together, let alone two words.

He noted, through the fog in his head, that together you passed the phone hanging on the wall. So you weren’t going to call for help. You weren’t going to shirk the responsibility onto someone else. John wasn’t sure what was more surprising, that you seemed to want to look after him or that you were guiding him towards the door to the flat above the bakery.

That ripped him from his haze. He didn’t want to be a bother. It was bad enough he’d troubled you. It was the middle of the night, or at least, John thought it was. He didn’t know the people who lived above 64 Olso Square and this certainly wouldn’t be a good first impression.

He tugged your hand, pulling you to a stop.

“Nononononono,” John shook his head, eyes wide. “Don’t disturb them. I’m fine.”

“You’re not fine.”

You pushed through the first door to a tall staircase, covered with a thick brown carpet.

“And they won’t mind. Trust me.”

Shakily, slowly, you led him up the stairs to a second door. The brass numbers, stark against the bright white paint behind them, proclaimed the flat 64b.

John watched you pull a keyring from your pocket, then slot a silver key into the lock.

“You know them fairly well, then.”

A tiny smile crossed your lips.

“You could say that.”

It wasn’t until he was standing in the middle of the living room that he put two and two together. The cogs of his brain had finally started to turn again, and realisation chimed like a bell when he saw a photo of you, Mickey and Gladys, looking a few years younger, on the mantelpiece.

“Oh,” John said.

He felt your hand slip up his arm, then your fingertips press softly into his shoulder.

“Sit down. I’ll be right back.”

John was faintly aware of you disappearing into the next room but he couldn’t seem to bring his eyes to follow you. He couldn’t move, the slow rise and fall of his chest was the only sign that he was still alive at all.

Still, the numbness that had enveloped him was finally beginning to fade, but a hyperawareness of his surroundings had swept in to take its place. The artificial light seemed too bright. The clicking of the radiators as they hummed into life, their sharp metallic smell, it set his teeth on edge.

Then you were back, and everything felt alright again. Or at least, he knew it would be, eventually. It was perhaps his favourite thing about you, that you made him feel safe for the first time in a long while. And even if John felt so shaken, so afraid and so lost that he couldn’t imagine ever feeling like himself again, you were a warm constant, a reminder that feelings were fleeting and nebulous, and he would feel alive again soon.

He flinched when he felt your hand rest on his shoulder again.

“Oh, dear… Oh, my dear…”

You spoke so softly, John didn’t know what to do with himself.

He looked down at his feet. He’d left a small puddle of rainwater on your faded blue carpet. It was dripping off the hem of his jeans, the ends of his fingers, his hair.

“I’m…”

His apology died in his throat.

He kept thinking about what you said. ‘Oh, dear…’ It reminded him of his mother. It reminded him of his Year One teacher, who was so kind to him when he fell and scraped his knee. It reminded him of Freddie, of every time his new friend had been gentle with him.

He thought about those words, ‘oh, dear…’ and the ones that followed, ‘oh, my dear…’. One simple word and an ocean of difference.

“You’re all soggy,” You smiled gently as your hand drifted down to rest against his chest. “I brought you a towel. And a cuppa. And a biscuit.”

“Thank you,” John said, or at least he thought he did. The words didn’t seem to come from him, they just floated past his ears.

He raised his gaze to the mantelpiece again. You were smiling in the photo. You were maybe two or three years younger than you were now and had your arm around Gladys’ shoulders. On your other side, Mickey was beaming, a fag in his mouth and one hand pointed upwards towards the bakery’s gleaming scarlet sign.

“I moved in the same day I took the job,” you said, following his gaze. “Gladys knocked some money off the rent. It means I don’t get ou’ much but you can’t argue with the commute.”

John didn’t say anything. He just focused on your hand over his heart, warm and steady, like a lighthouse in a storm. Then your fingertips tucked into the front of his shirt, between two of the buttons, and tugged gently.

“C’mon. Sit.”

You slipped your hand into his again, gently guiding him towards the small dining table that sat in the corner of the room. Together, you peeled off his soaked jacket, carefully threading his arms through the sleeves, then you were gone again to hang it over the radiator.

While you busied yourself, John cast his eyes around the room.

Your flat was small, though after living in uni digs for so long, it seemed almost palatial to him.

There was the living room, with its small, square television and a low coffee table covered in magazines, books, and two empty mugs. He couldn’t see into the kitchen from his seat at your two-person dining table, but John could just make out pale yellow wallpaper and patchwork tiles that ran along the circumference of the room.

There was another door leading off from the living room. John supposed it must be your bedroom. He wondered momentarily what it looked like, if you had posters on the walls, what colour your bedspread might be.

He must still be in shock, John decided. Only a man who’d suffered a serious trauma would be curious about another person’s duvet cover.

He felt your eyes on him and looked away from your bedroom door, hoping you wouldn’t think he was getting any ideas.

John’s gaze landed on a pile of wool on the sofa, creamy white with two needles haphazardly stuffed through its heart.

You followed his gaze. Obviously feeling sheepish, you grimaced.

“I thought I’d make a blanket for Mickey’s baby.”

John’s mother knitted. And crocheted. She could knock up a blanket or a jumper in mere days. Nothing she’d made had ever looked like that, though.

“I didn’t know…” He paused, treading carefully. “You could knit.”

“I can’t.”

You glanced back at your pitiful, threadbare creation, then pressed a chocolate Digestive into his hand.

“You should eat somethin’.”

John finally cracked a smile. It stretched his cold skin, making his muscles ache, but it was real.

Slowly, carefully, though without trepidation, you stepped between his knees.

As he munched on his biscuit, John didn’t even notice how his body opened up to you. His gaze was fixed on your failed knitting project, though he wasn’t seeing anything.

“You just need to work on your tension,” he said, the ghost of something his mother would say.

John didn’t notice your curious glance. He only came back to the present when he felt your fingers settle along the length of his jaw.

John let you turn his face towards you and tried to resist a shiver when your other hand came to rest under his chin, ever so gently tilting his head up.

Your eyes were dark and restless, crossing his face, back and forth, up and down, taking him all in, while John just let his head sink into your touch.

You were so warm. How was it that you were always so warm?

“What happened?”

Your voice was gentle but firm. John wondered if he was imagining it, or if you were trying to hide a simmering anger.

“I was walking home from the studio.”

“On your own?”

“The others all go the opposite way.” John frowned. “Why were you out so late?”

“I took your advice and met up with me mates.” You brushed your thumb over his cheek. “I have had a couple drinks so tell me if I’m bandagin’ up the wrong bit.”

John started to laugh but didn’t get far. Now that everything was quiet and calm, the memory of what had happened to him was coming back to him in sharp flashes. Suddenly, his whole body felt sore. His wet clothes had chilled him through to the bone.

“It’s my fault,” he said quietly.

Too quietly. You frowned.

“Sorry, darlin?”

If he hadn’t felt quite so awful, John was sure that would’ve made him blush.

“It’s… It was my fault. I wasn’t paying attention. I shouldn’t have taken that shortcut.”

“It’s not your fault, John.”

Your thumb ghosted over the aching skin around his eye, finding the pockmark left by his mugger’s ring. You pressed down with the pad of your thumb and John jumped, hissing through his teeth.

You apologised, then asked,

“Someone attacked you? Did you know ‘em?”

When John shook his head, a few strands of his hair stuck to his clammy, wet cheek and he had to brush them away.

“No. No. I don’t think so. They took my wallet. Jokes on them, I don’t have any money.”

“Did they take your bass?”

“I left it at the studio. But they…” John closed his eyes when he felt hot tears start to well. “I’m really sorry. They took your bike.”

He heard you sigh and feared the worst, but you spoke his name so softly, it was enough to make his chest clench.

“It’s okay. It’s alright.”

He felt you step even closer, your hands so warm against his aching skin.

“It’s just a bike, darlin’.”

“But it was-”

You lifted his chin again. John opened his eyes to find you looking at him so softly, he thought he must be dreaming.

“Just a bike,” you said firmly, and brushed a hand over his hair.

The gesture practically made him melt into your touch. If your sweet voice and gentle hands were enough to slow his racing heart, your next words sent it tripping over itself again.

Smiling, you bowed your head and pressed your lips to his forehead.

“You’re the sweetest boy I’ve ever met.”

John didn’t know how to respond. He wasn’t sure he could even speak. But you just smiled down at him. Silhouetted against the low yellow light, you looked practically angelic.

You lifted his hands, holding his palms up so that you could inspect them. Your hands were so much smaller than his, your fingers could barely wrap around his wrists, but you moved him around with ease.

John watched your face as you surveyed the damage, how your mouth twisted and your forehead creased, making him feel truly seen for the first time in his life.

“Alrigh’,” you said, and gently placed his hands back in his lap. “Don’ move.”

Then you were gone again, back into the small kitchen.

John watched you walk away, his mind humming, ticking over, just waiting for you to come back. His eyes felt heavy, even moving his head was a sluggish, awful task.

When you did come back, it was with no small amount of relief that you immediately stepped back between his knees. He thought he could happily stay in that position forever.

Your thighs brushed his as you leaned closer, and John jumped at the contact.

“Stay still.”

You were smiling faintly as you dabbed a warm, damp cloth against his skin.

It smarted at first, but soon John found himself sinking into your touch again. It felt good. John hadn’t expected you to be so gentle, although he couldn’t for the life of him figure out why. You’d been nothing but kind to him since the day you met.

He was just starting to let his heavy eyelids droop when he felt your forearm bump his nose. John raised his head.

You huffed, your mouth twisted.

“Sorry.”

You couldn’t seem to get the right angle. Even seated, John was tall enough to cause you problems. Manoeuvring around him meant either awkwardly crouching, leaning into him, or asking John to look up at you in a way that put pressure on his aching muscles.

It seemed to have knocked your confidence. Keeping your bottom lip caught firmly between your teeth in concentration, you quietly apologised again and again.

After a few minutes of awkward dithering and nervous touches, John sighed.

“For God’s sake. Just c’mere.”

Frustrated and annoyed at himself for ending up in this mess, John had very little room left for shyness. He wrapped his hands around your hips and pulled you into his lap, shifting his thighs apart so that you could sit there comfortably without fear of falling.

You were tense against him, clearly surprised, though not half as surprised as John. He just kept his eyes fixed on the wall behind you, his hands firm on your hips. To keep you steady, he told himself, though he didn’t believe it for a second.

You didn’t move at first. You just stared at him. Even if John could speak, he wouldn’t have been able to think of a single thing to say.

Something unspoken moved between you, then you returned your attention to his face, now at a much more accessible angle.

You smelt incredible. Was that an okay thing to notice about someone? Would it be weird if he told you? John wasn’t sure. You smelt of cinnamon and warm bread and sweat and the rain. It clung to your clothes, as he clung to you. Maybe it was better to just keep quiet.

As hard as he tried to ignore it, John had to admit your new position had other advantages. Although he was sure his wet jeans and bony thighs must have been uncomfortable for you, you were certainly doing a marvellous job of warming him up.

You thighs were rounded and full, and so much softer than his own. He could feel your muscles tensing and relaxing in tandem with his own as you both worked to keep you balanced in his lap. It was comforting to feel your body moving with his, almost like you were one being.

How strange, John thought, as you dabbed the warm cloth down his neck, that he’d become so starved of contact that touch often made his skin crawl. But you…

John always found his body aching for yours, like it was always reaching out to touch you without him asking it to, mentally and emotionally, as well as physically. You were the only one that made him feel peaceful. You were like dozing off in the fields behind his childhood home on an August afternoon.

For the sake of his own heart, John tried to zone out as best he could.

He ended up honing in on the steady tick tick tick of the wall clock, though it was barely enough to keep his mind away from your warm body, the gentle touch of your hands, and your dark eyes crossing over his face.

It was only when you moved to grab something from the table behind him that he gave any sign that he was still in the room. Your chest pressed into his as you leaned over him, your hand on his shoulder, and John had to fight the whimper sitting in his throat.

As you settled back down, your eyes were firmly fixed on his, and John realised his fingers were now pressed into your soft hips. He licked his lips.

Looking up at you like this, he felt so small, and vulnerable in a way that normally would have made him completely shut down, but something in the way you looked at him set his heart racing for an entirely different reason.

You shifted again. It meant you inadvertently rolled your hips against his. At least, he thought it was an accident. John was too busy trying to keep his lonely body in check to be sure.

He pressed his lips together, trying to keep his breathing steady. Hopefully you wouldn’t notice how he shifted beneath you, his trousers suddenly uncomfortably tight.

“Stay still,” you said again.

Shit.

John did as he was told.

You raised a cold compress to his face. He flinched away from you instinctively. This was going to hurt. But you offered him a soft smile, whispering that it would help

John sighed. He closed his eyes and let you take care of him.

Minutes tucked by in silence. The only sounds were the ticking of the clock and the occasional hiss from John whenever you pressed the compress too hard against his aching eye socket.

“I’m not squashin’ you, am I?” you asked after a while.

John grunted, his cheeks starting to feel hot.

“Don’t worry. I know I look like a twig, but…”

He cracked a smile, only wincing slightly when you moved the compress to a different part of his face, just above what was probably turning into an impressive bruise.

“I know,” you said, laughing softly. “But I’m fat.”

“You’re not fat.”

“’s not a bad word, John.”

He was quiet for a moment, then John’s eyebrows jumped under the compress.

“You say it like it is.”

He licked his lips again when you met his gaze and held it.

He’d got you there. Comfortable as you were in your body, it hadn’t always been easy. John knew that. Old habits were hard to shake and the odd deprecating comment sometimes slipped out. He always caught them.

John watched you wrinkle your nose, the way you always did on the rare occasion you had to admit that someone else was right.

You handed him the cold press and told him to keep it against his eye, which he did dutifully.

To his dismay, you lifted one of his hands from your hips. John’s stomach twisted. He’d been enjoying the contact more than he cared to admit, and your warm, soft body was the only thing grounding him to reality. Thankfully, you just turned his hand over so that you could study his grazed palm.

“You are a bi’ of a twig,” you said eventually, then smiled to let him know you were only kidding. “This will need some De’ol, is that alright?”

John frowned as he watched you carefully brush away the grime and tiny pieces of grit from his deep graze.

“Haven’t seen Dettol since I was a little boy.” Then, worried despite your reassurances, he asked, “Do you think I’m..? Too twiggy?”

“No,” You were beaming, your voice soft and low. “I think you’re perfect as you are.”

John had to hide his blush behind his hair.

“I think I might’ve hurt the other one quite badly. I landed on it funny. My wrist, I mean.”

“I might ‘ave one of them sock things. You know, for sprains. Will tha’ do?”

John nodded.

“Thank you. You know, I don’t think I’m actually that twiggy anymore. Not after all the stuff you make me take home.”

“Oh, really?”

“I can barely fit in my stage gear.”

You burst out laughing, then shook your head at his grin. You liked this side of him, when he felt relaxed enough to be silly and to poke fun.

John felt the tension in his chest start to ease away at last. He was safe. He was with you.

“If I were to invite you to another gig, would you fancy it?” he asked, feeling suddenly brave.

You hummed, turning the wrist he thought he might’ve sprained and toying with each of his fingers.

“I dunno. Are you gonna wear that pretty little outfit again?”

The sparkly trousers were Roger’s. The black and white striped top, he was sure that belonged to Freddie. When it came to stage clothes, they swapped about a lot, but John was particularly fond of the velvet bow tie and silk jacket he’d managed to dig from their market stall a few weeks ago.

“You liked it?”

“Haven’t stopped thinkin’ about it.”

John knew he must’ve been red as a tomato. He practically blew a vein trying not to move around in his seat too much. It was the first time you’d been alone together somewhere private. Maybe the couple of drinks you’d sunk with your friends had loosened your tongue. Whatever it was, he liked it.

Your praises made him feel like he could melt into a puddle, and it was a thrill to know you thought about him at least as half as much as he thought about you. Whispering to each other in your dark little flat, it was the most intimate moment John ever experienced.

“If you liked that one, you’ll love the thing Freddie’s got me in next week.” He nodded to his wrist. “If I can play.”

“Mm, can’t wai’.”

You let go of his wrist, and for a moment, John feared the moment was over, but then you slipped your hand around his jaw and lifted his chin yet again, so that he had no choice but to meet your eyes.

“For the record,” you said, all brevity gone for now. “I like skinny boys. Don’t go changin’ for anyone. Okay, John?”

“You do?” he asked, half afraid of the answer. “I look alright?”

“You’re perfect, John.”

With your hand so close to his throat, he knew you must’ve felt him swallow hard, but he tried not to think about it.

Far too soon for his liking, you let go of his jaw. John knew he should probably at least pretend that he wanted to get up, but you were still looking at him closely and he didn’t think he had the energy to try and stand up.

“Perfect,” he repeated.

“Yeah,” you smiled. “I think you’re brilliant, John.”

Instead, he closed his eyes, and let his hands slip around to the small of your back.

“And you feel nice.” John sighed as he let his body sink into yours. “You feel really nice.”

He felt your body tense as he rested his head against your chest, then, slowly, he felt you relax again.

Your hand came up to rest on the back of his head, and when you slipped your fingertips into his hair, John let out a shuddering breath he hadn’t realised he’d been holding.

The floodgates opened. Soon, John could feel more hot tears carving furrows down his cheeks until they pooled on your shirt, though you didn’t seem to mind.

As he tried to even out his shaky breaths, you just stroked his hair, whispering softly to him.

“It’s going to be alright… You’re alright, John… You’re alright. I’ve got you… I’ve got you…”

When, at last, he could breathe evenly again, John raised his head to look up at you.

You smiled, your hand still smoothing over his hair.

“You wanna get in the shower?” you asked, brushing away a stray tear with your thumb.

John had to force his way through the fog in his brain to understand what you were asking. Your kind hands were incredibly distracting, and the way you looked down at him, one hand on his cheek, keeping his gaze on you… He knew he’d do whatever you asked, so long as you kept looking at him like that.

The next thing he knew, he was standing under the shower.

The water ran a lot hotter than the weak, tepid spritz he’d become accustomed to at uni. John almost yelped when the warm water hit his skin. It didn't take long for him to adjust, though. Now he couldn’t bear the thought of stepping out again.

He wasn’t sure how long he’d been standing there. Seconds felt like hours, minutes felt like centuries. He wouldn’t be surprised if he got out and found the morning sun peeking through the living room curtains.

John closed his eyes, tilted his head back and sighed, letting the water wash over him, warming his blood and soothing the anxious shivers that still wracked his body.

Your bathroom was much like the rest of your home. ‘Messy’ seemed a strong word, ‘lived-in’ seemed more democratic. There were bottles and bottles of hair products, sun cream and various moisturisers on top of the cabinet, and the laundry basket in the corner was full to the brim.

The yellow towels hanging by the door matched the sunflower-coloured bath mat, and a series of half-full shampoos and conditioners were lined up along the side of the bath like skittles. He’d almost sent them tumbling into the bath when he stepped in.

John picked one at random, a white bottle with a pale yellow label and stark black writing.

“Everynight Rainwater Soft Rinse,” he read aloud to himself.

That seemed fitting. John squeezed some into the centre of his hand, then turned his palm over and rubbed the shampoo into his hair. He recognised the smell immediately. It was you.

You in his lap, so soft and so close, your warm weight, your hand lifting his chin, your fingers wrapped around his jaw. You, you and your clever eyes that saw straight through him and your pretty mouth, always tugged back into a smirk whenever you teased him. God, he loved when you teased him.

His lip caught between his teeth, John tried to focus on washing his hair, but he couldn’t ignore the warmth pooling in his abdomen and the pounding of blood in his ears.

You, the way you always stood so close to him but never close enough. You and your sharp tongue and your talented hands and your endless, unshakeable need to take care of him, to understand him, to know him.

Did you fancy him? Did you love him? Were you in love with him? You’d never said as much but surely, surely the way you were with him, the way you talked, you must at least like him. Everyone seemed to think so. But why didn’t you just say?

John picked up the shampoo bottle again. Rosemary, cinchona and clover blossoms. He didn’t know what half of those ingredients were. He tried to figure them out, one by one, but it wasn’t enough to distract him from his own wandering thoughts.

He couldn't stop thinking about how your hands felt on him. Touch had always been such an uncomfortable experience. It was a private, intimate thing, something he trusted very few with, but John always caught himself leaning into you, aching for you to touch him. The thought of your hands mapping his body was enough to make him whimper softly.

You, pushing him down onto that comfy looking sofa, or even your yet-to-be-seen bed. You, yanking his head back by his hair and taking his mouth with your own when he gasped. You, pinning him down and gripping him tight and making him yours again and again and again, making his voice shatter and his body completely unravel, and all the while you’d just look down at him and smile.

John swallowed thickly. He turned and faced the shower, letting the water hit his face as he reached down and cranked up the cold.

When he was a little more presentable and no longer shivering, John stepped out of the shower and wrapped himself up in one of the soft towels you'd pointed out to him.

Looking down at his sad, damp pile of clothes, John felt a pang of woebegone self-pity shiver through him, but then a more practical issue arose, and he’d always been far better at dealing with those.

Toeing at the freezing, soggy pile of clothes he’d peeled off, John called out,

“Hey, Skip?”

As if you had read his mind, you said,

“I laid out some clothes on the bed!”

John hesitated.

“Oh.”

He pushed down the handle and pulled the bathroom door open a crack, just enough so that he could peek out without you being able to see much of him. He needn’t have bothered, you were on the sofa, having another go at your knitting, and John had to crane his head out further to see you properly.

“The bed that’s..?”

He pointed across the hall to the door opposite.

You didn’t look up, but even from across your flat, he could see you smiling.

“I promise I won’t look.”

For some reason, John wasn’t entirely sure he believed you.

He stepped back into the bathroom so he could tighten his towel around his waist, until there was absolutely no possibility of it slipping down on his very short trip across the hall to your room.

When he was sure he was safe, he pulled open the door fully and slipped through into your bedroom, not daring to glance your way as he did so. If he had, he might’ve seen you glance up at the last second before he disappeared inside your room, and he might’ve seen you smile.

John flicked on the light. Your room was lovely, just as warm and inviting as the rest of your home, as you. There was colour everywhere, in the posters and photos pinned to the walls and the endless rows of knick knacks on every available surface.

He couldn’t help feeling nosy. There was still so much he didn’t know about you, so much he couldn’t wait to learn, and here he was in the very glossary of your life. But John restrained himself. After all, you were waiting for him with a cup of tea and, hopefully, another biscuit.

He dried himself off and slipped into the clothes you’d left out for him.

When he thought he looked vaguely presentable, John gave himself a firm, fortifying nod in the mirror. He tried to brush his damp curls back from his face, hoping he wouldn’t look too much like a Cocker Spaniel as it dried.

It was then that he caught sight of a small, square box, tucked between the mirror and the door. Just poking out was a large balloon whisk and a loop of thick, black wire. The infamous machine had finally given up the ghost, it seemed.

John scooped up the box and opened the door.

You were still knitting when he came back into the living room. John watched you for a moment, feeling small and uncertain when you didn’t offer any instructions.

He noticed you’d hung his clothes over the radiator, even his socks, which was a little embarrassing. John could only thank his lucky stars that the rainwater hadn’t quite reached his underwear.

“How are you feelin’?”

He looked back to find you looking up at him, your fingers finally still. You’d managed a few more rows but the blanket was riddled with holes. He wasn’t sure you could even call it a blanket. He tried not to smile.

“A lot better.” John ran his palms up and down his thighs, smiling. “These are soft.”

The clothes you’d left him were obviously an old pair of pyjamas, a faded T-shirt with the name of a radio station printed across the chest and a pair of orange and brown tartan trousers.

You gestured for him to raise his left hand, then you carefully slipped a compression wrap down his wrist. It wasn’t much but it would support his strained muscles and, hopefully, force him to take things easy for a while.

“The look is complete.” You frowned when you realised what he was carrying. “What’ve you got that for? I was gonna chuck it tomorrow.”

John perched on the very edge of the sofa, tucking his legs behind the coffee table, and placed the box down in front of him.

“I think I can fix it. Do you have any tools?”

“John, you don’t ‘ave to-”

“I want to. C’mon, it’ll take my mind off...”

He was starting to feel better, but John knew you wouldn’t let him fix anything for you unless he laid it on thick. He also knew, or at least, he was starting to understand, that while you had a clever way of getting him to do whatever you wanted, he seemed to have the same effect on you.

His scheme worked. You twisted your mouth, probably still unconvinced, but relented with a sigh.

“Well, I mean, I have a toolbox. But I never use it, so I dunno if there’s anythin’ useful in there.”

“I don’t need much.” Feeling guilty, he added, “Honest, love, it’ll help.”

Within minutes, John had the whisk in several different parts, neatly placed in strategic points around your coffee table. He also had another cup of tea and three chocolate Digestives.

He could feel your eyes on him, watching him as he worked. You didn’t say anything, though, apart from asking the occasional question. John supposed you were probably trying to figure out what to do with him next.

He caught your gaze briefly as he lifted the main body of the whisk up to his eye-level.

“So,” John said. “Is this how you saw your evening going?”

You twisted your mouth again.

“Do you wanna call anyone?”

“Who?”

“I don’t know. Your mum? Friends? That Roger lad seems nice?”

John didn’t look away from the whisk. He just kept turning the screwdriver around and around.

“They’ll all be asleep.”

He’d glanced at the clock on your bedside table when he was getting changed. It was almost two in the morning.

You shrugged.

“I’m sure they wouldn’t mind.”

“It’s alright.”

John cheered softly when the last compartment came away. A muddle of multicoloured wires sprawled out.

“This is quite interesting, you know. When did Gladys buy this?”

“God knows. Probably not this century.”

“Would you know where she got it?”

The look you gave him made it quite clear you didn’t know or care, and that you weren’t going to let him get away with changing the subject.

“I’m okay. I’m okay, really.” John summoned a reassuring smile. “The shower did me the world of good. Anyway, you’re… I’m where I most want to be.”

That made you go quiet.

John just tried to focus on his work. He knew that look on your face all too well. Even when you weren’t speaking, he knew your mind would be whirring, thinking of the next step, how best to look after him. It was a feeling he still wasn’t entirely used to but it made your poky flat feel like home.

“You can stay ‘ere tonight, if you like,” you said at last.

John finally lowered the screwdriver, his eyes wide.

“That’s not what I meant when I said- I wasn’t trying to-”

“I know. I want you to stay.” You smiled and rested your hand over his. “Stay.”

The word was so heavy, it seemed to linger in the space between you. John thought he might be able to reach out and wrap his fingers around it. It filled a hole in his heart he hadn’t even known was there, and assuaged any dregs of worry about you not liking him as much as he liked you.

Stay. He would. He’d stay forever, if you asked.

His heart in his throat again, John accidentally let the screwdriver slip through his fingers. He lunged to grab it and ended up knocking his sore hand against the coffee table. He yelped, clutching at his wrist, although that only made it smart more.

“Oi, watch that ‘and! I’m not driving you to the ‘ospital at this time of night.”

You laughed, shaking your head, then to John’s delight, you took his hand in yours and kissed his aching wrist, right at his frenetic pulse.

“Tell me, will you ever play again?”

John summoned a pained smile.

“I think I’ll manage. Thanks again for coming the other night. It really meant a lot.”

“It was nice seein’ you up there. You sounded great.”

“Did you like the music?”

“I mean, it’s no ABBA, but…”

John snorted.

“I’ll try and wangle a song into our set list next time.”

“Oh, then I’m definitely comin’. Can’t miss the look on your mates’ faces when you suggest ‘People Need Love’.”

“You know, I still haven’t heard this album.”

“I’ll lend it to you. It’ll change your life. And, hey, maybe I can bring some of my mates to your next show? I think they’d really love it. Or, at least, they’d like your drummer.”

John grinned, trying to ignore the slight itch in his chest. That was the second time you’d mentioned Roger tonight. He pushed the thought away, choosing instead to focus on the fact that you still hadn’t let go of his hand.

“I’d like that. The more the merrier. And I promise, next time it’ll be in a proper venue and there’ll be dancing and- and lots of people and…”

You squeezed his hand gently.

“And I’ll be there, right at the front.”

“Dancing?”

“If you can call what I do dancin’. There’s a lot of,” You waved your free arm in the air. “And,” You swayed your hips as best you could while sat down.

John caught his own reflection in the television screen behind you. He had a dopey, lovesick expression, his shoulders low, his whole body leaning in towards yours, as if pulled by invisible strings. It should’ve made him baulk, pull himself together and change the subject, mortified. But instead, he heard himself say,

“We could go dancing. Together.”

You raised your eyebrows but seemed pleased.

“Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah. I’m a bit of a mover.”

“I bet.”

Your smile had an edge to it so sharp, John thought he might cut his lip if he leaned in to kiss you, an ache that was slowly becoming unbearable. He loved when you looked at him like that, like you would completely unspool him, if he’d only ask.

Then your gaze shifted and a sliver of rarely spotted vulnerability eked out.

“No one’s ever offered to take me dancin’ before.”

“Not even your boyfriend?” John flushed when your smile abruptly dropped. “Gladys told me about him. He sounds like a bastard.”

You shook your head, sputtering like a firework until your tongue caught up with your brain.

“Why the- Why’s she tellin’ you about my old boyfriends?”

“Why does Gladys do anything?”

John tried to laugh it off but your expression was losing its softness, your grip on his hand growing looser and looser.

He sighed.

“She cornered me the other day and said I ought to be nice to you ‘cause your last bloke was a twat and she wouldn’t be happy if I-”

“What?”

Much to his dismay, you took your hand back. John barely resisted trying to grab it back. In fact, just holding your gaze required herculean strength.

John really hadn’t intended to tell you about his little conversation with Gladys. In fact, she’d sworn him to secrecy.

You’d been seeing a boy for months, a seemingly nice boy who worked for the bakery’s suppliers. He flirted with you relentlessly on every drop-off until finally, after much plying and pulling, he managed to get you to agree to a date. Things seemed to be going well from Gladys’ perspective, but after a few good - if boring - months, he left without much ceremony, an explanation, or a goodbye.

“John,” you pressed. “She wouldn’ be ‘appy if you what?”

“Messed you about.” John could feel his cheeks prickling with embarrassment and knew he must be turning red. “She wanted to make sure I wasn’t going to- I don’t even know, really. She didn’t say much, I promise. She just doesn’t want it to happen again.”

He watched your expression relax, then soften with understanding.

“She’s very protective of you, you know.”

That brought back a little of your smile.

“I know. A bit too protective sometimes but it’s nice.”

“She loves you so much. So does Mickey.”

The unspoken, ‘And so do I’ was so obvious, John almost choked on it, and had to style it out as a little cough.

At last, you rested your hand back over his, and John was able to breathe again. Your fingertips brushed the rings on his middle and fourth fingers, then slipped higher to wrap gently around his wrist. He hoped you wouldn’t be able to feel how fast his pulse was racing.

“I wouldn’t, you know,” he said, after a moment. “Mess you about.”

You smiled.

“I know, John.”

He should kiss you. He should kiss you right now. You were gazing at him so sweetly, leaning into him, one hand on his knee, the other still wrapped around his wrist. He should kiss you, make you moan softly against his mouth, show you how much he adored you with his tongue, his teeth, his hands, with eveything he had. He should. But he couldn’t. Not yet.

John cleared his throat, his gaze dropping to the broken whisk, still laid out on the coffee table.

“These, er… The wires are loose,” he said.

You blinked, surprised, then laughed softly when you realised what he was talking about.

“Can you fix it?”

“I can fix anything.”

“Mm, my hero.”

The bubble of tension was broken. Your hands left him. But you were still close, closer than you ever had been.

John couldn’t help stealing little glances at you, wondering what you were thinking about as you watched him work, a little smile on your face.

“Nah, you’re my hero. Rescuing me from muggers. Getting me this job. Looking after me.”

“I like lookin’ after you,” you said, your tone surprisingly earnest. “You’re a nice boy, John.”

Embarrassed, John just kept his eyes on the wire he was fiddling with.

“What did he do, then?” he asked, clumsily changing the subject. “This rubbish boyfriend?”

“Oh, the usual. Said some horrible things. Left me for a girl he decided he liked be’er.” You smiled, but it barely met your eyes. “You’d never leave me for someone else, would you, Johnny?”

“Never,” he said. “I wouldn’t leave you for anything. He’s an idiot.”

You made a non-committal hum, like you didn’t believe him or thought he was only kidding around.

John looked up.

“No, but he really is. What a moron. You’re…”

He watched as your expression turned expectant. Too bad he had no idea how to finish his own sentence.

You were kind. The kindest person he’d known in a long time. And you were so sure of yourself, of your role, while John sometimes felt torn between paths. You were clever, and fun, and so bloody beautiful, John hadn’t stopped thinking about you since the day you met.

You must’ve seen something in his eyes, a hint at his inward panic, because a smile slipped across your face again.

“Are you s’pposed to be in tomorrow?”

John nodded. He was meant to start his shift in just a few hours. He’d forgotten all about it.

“I’ll tell Gladys you’re poorly. You should ‘ave the day off.”

“Will you manage?”

“Somehow, I reckon we’ll struggle through.” You grinned. “The mean streets of Kensington can finally relax, safe in the knowledge you’re not gonna crash into anyone or anything else on that bloody bike.” You tapped the end of his nose “Y’menace.”

John brushed at his nose, feeling guilty all over again.

“I really am sorry. I promise I’ll get you another one.”

“Don’t be silly. I never used it anyway. All I’m worried about is how you’re gonna get around. Can’t be a delivery boy if you can’t make any deliveries.”

You must’ve seen the flash of anxiety that crossed through John’s mind because you reached out and brushed the pad of your thumb against his chin.

“Don’t worry, love. Honest. We’ll figure somethin’ out. You were always too good for it, anyway. Maybe this is a sign you’re ready for a promotion.”

John managed to summon a smile.

“You want me in the kitchen? Me?”

“Christ, no.” You laughed. “No, don’t think you’re quite there yet. I was thinkin’ more along the lines of a sales assistant. Pretty boy like you? You’d be great for business.”

John felt his skin prickle and knew he must be blushing, but you were talking again before he could recover properly. It only grew worse when you brushed the same thumb against his cheek, then held his jaw in your hand, your expression much more open and earnest now.

“You’re safe,” you said. “That’s all that matters to me.”

“Thank you,” John said. “For everything. You know, you’re the one person I thought about after it happened. Just wanted to see you so badly.”

“‘s funny, I’d just finished telling my mates all about you when I found you.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, they can’t believe you’re in a rock ‘n’ roll band. They think you’re cool. Didn’t ‘ave the ‘eart to correct ‘em.”

John swore at you under his breath and pinched your thigh, not hard, but enough to make you yelp and bat his hand away.

“Hey!”

You laughed together, but before John could do anything to stop it, his smile stretched into a wide yawn. It made his eyes squeeze shut, and a few sleepy tears pooled in the corners of his eyes

“Oh, dear.” You squeezed his hand one last time then stood up. “C’mon, Johnny. Bedtime.”

“Where do you want me? To sleep,” he added, wincing.

“You can share with me? Or the sofa’s comfier than it seems.”

“Propositioning strange boys and luring them to bed. My mother warned me about girls like you.”

You pretended to look appalled but the twinkle in your eye gave you away.

“I’m not lurin’ anyone!”

John grinned.

“And yet…”

You looked at him for a moment, just smiling. You were thinking, John knew, about him. Then you shrugged.

“We could go next week.”

“Dancing?”

“Yeah. Yeah, you and me. Or Mickey was talkin’ about doing the pub quiz. At The Park Tavern on the corner? That could be fun. You’d ‘ave to help us think of a be’er team name, though. He wants us to be Buns Of Steel.”

“That does sound fun. I don’t know if a work outing is the best thing for a first date, though.”

“A first…”

It seemed to take you a moment to process exactly what he’d said. John realised, with no small amount of delight, that he’d flustered you.

Amused, he watched you recover, feeling a faint sense of self-satisfaction when you couldn’t seem to think of a clever response.

Instead, you just laughed and shook your head, then went into your room. You reappeared again carrying a duvet without its cover, a pillow he knew was from your bed, and an extra blanket, just in case.

“It’s a big bed, y’know,” You passed him the duvet, then the pillow. “Room for a small one.”

John’s fingers brushed yours as you finally passed him the extra blanket.

He wished he could shrug off the ache you sparked in his chest as nothing more than a schoolboy crush. But the need to be close to you, to touch you, talk to you, be with you, it was impossible to ignore. It was just never the right time.

Still, he couldn’t help wondering what you might do if he slipped his fingers through yours and pulled you into him so that you were standing between his knees again. What you might say if he pressed his face into your soft stomach, his free hand on your hip, keeping you there, keeping you close. What would you say if he admitted all that he wanted to every time he saw you, the words that teetered at the very tip of his tongue?

You were looking down at him expectantly, a smirk at the corner of your lips. You were joking, teasing him. He knew that. But John also knew, he knew, if he could just be brave, if he just stood up and took your hand, you would lead him into the next room without hesitation. He was a nod away from the thing he ached for most.

“Ask me again,” John said, weary of himself, of this day, of his own inexplicable worries. “After we’ve been dancing.”

Clearly unaware of his inner turmoil, you just sighed.

“Promises, promises.” Then, more seriously, you asked, “Are you gonna be alright?”

John leaned back against the sofa, his borrowed duvet over his lap.

His pain wasn’t gone. His wrist still ached and his bruises and scrapes still stung, a constant reminder of what had happened to him. John’s hair was still a little damp and had been starting to make him shiver, quelled now by the blankets you’d given him.

He felt smaller. Like he’d shrank back inside his head, his own body, He felt tired and hollow and unsure, but you had slowly, gently pulled him back to the present.

John didn’t know what he would feel like tomorrow but right now, he was okay, he was safe.

“Yeah. Thank you.”

“Anytime, John.”

You turned to leave but stopped at the last moment.

“I know it’s not much but my door is always open if you ever wanna ge’ away from your digs or you just wanna watch telly, or… I don’t even know what I’m- You can come round. Anytime. I’d love to ‘ave you ‘ere… Outside of work… And not because you got mugged. That’s what I’m trying to say. I’d love to see you.”

John thought it was perhaps the most nervous he’d ever seen you. He made you nervous. Him.

“I’d love that too.”

You look relieved, though he couldn’t imagine why. John knew you had been dancing around each other pretty shamelessly, but even he thought it was fairly obvious that he’d give anything to spend more time with you.

“Fab.”

You tapped your palms against your thighs, nodding to yourself.

John wondered if you wanted to say something more or if you were just stalling for time, as he so often did, hanging around the bakery long after his shift had ended or long before it began, just to spend more time with you.

Finally, you reached down and held his face again, then to his surprise and delight, you kissed his other cheek. John tried his best not to lean into your hand but he knew he practically purred every time you touched him.

You brushed back his damp hair, smiling softly, then finally pulled yourself away.

“Na night, John.”

“Na night, Skip.”

John was still fast asleep when you awoke the next morning. Blinking against your warm bedroom light, you blearily got yourself dressed as quietly as possible so as not to disturb your guest.

When you finally emerged, groggy from the lack of sleep and dreading the thought of dealing with customers, you found John stretched out on the couch, snoring away.

It was strange. You’d come close to convincing yourself that the whole night had been a strange, elaborate dream. But here he was.

You couldn’t help yourself. You gazed at him for a while, just taking him in.

John was safely tucked under the spare duvet you'd dug out of the bottom of your wardrobe, but you could still see that he’d managed to twist his body into an awkward shape he would definitely regret when he woke up.

You were glad you’d thought to give him an extra blanket, it could get cold in the flat at night, and John had tugged the tatty old thing right up to his chin.

His mouth was hanging open, just a little, and his face was relaxed and peaceful. One of his arms was dangling over the end of the sofa, his hand hanging limply, almost like he was reaching out to you.

It took all your strength not to play with his pretty hair, strewn across the pillow like a beautiful figure in a renaissance painting.

You wished he’d just agreed to share your bed. There was more than enough room and, selfishly, a part of you hated the idea of leaving him out here on his own. You wanted him within reach, where you could keep an eye on him and make sure nothing else could happen to your lovely boy.

You went to the kitchen and poured him a glass of water, then scribbled down a note telling John he could help himself to anything he wanted, clothes, food, your home was his. You left it and the water on the coffee table, then bent down and squeezed his hand.

“Sleep well, gorgeous.”

You smiled fondly to yourself, then went to work.

A few hours later, the ovens were on, the bread was cooling on the shelves, and the pastries were ready to be served.

Usually, you would have the radio blaring but you didn’t want to risk waking John. You also didn’t have the pleasure of Mickey’s company, as he’d yet to turn up. You were too busy to worry, he’d probably spent the night in the local and was having trouble dragging himself out of bed.

It was almost seven when Mickey finally rolled in.

You scoffed when you saw him. He looked cartoonishly exhausted. His eyes were red and droopy, and he looked like he hadn’t shaved in a couple of days.

He grunted when he saw you, standing there with your hands on your hips. Mickey was a man who knew when he was in trouble,

“What time do you call this!”

“Sorry, darlin’. Sorry. Rita woke up in the middle of the night sayin’ the baby was comin’ and I’ve spent all night in the ‘ospital.”

Mickey waved a weary hand at you when your jaw dropped.

“Turns out it was just practice pain? False labour, they said. False my arse. Poor girl was ‘ollering like she worked at Sotheby’s.”

“She’s alright?”

“Yeah, just knackered. Took her ‘ome just now.”

“Well, if you wanna be with her, you can? It’s not like it’s gonna be mental today.”

Mickey smiled.

“I might pop home at lunchtime. Thanks, love.” He laughed, reaching back behind him to shrug off his jacket, “You know, it’s funny. We were-”

He stopped suddenly, his gaze caught somewhere over your shoulder.

You turned around to find John standing in the kitchen doorway.

He looked almost as worn out as Mickey, but a damn sight better than he did last night. To your utter delight, John’s hair was a tangled, fluffy mess, thanks to him not drying it properly the night before, and his voice was low and coarse as he murmured,

“Morning.”

You glanced at Mickey. He was still staring. You could practically see him doing the calculations in his head, putting two and two together and getting five, as per usual.

“Mornin’.” You tried to hide your smile behind your hand. “How you feelin’?”

“Good. Yeah, good. A bit sore but…” John grimaced and rubbed at his lower back. “Hi, Mickey.”

Mickey was still staring but he did manage to ask,

“Alright?”

You looked back at John. He was wearing your clothes, you realised. A Kinks T-shirt that had long since faded and the same pyjama trousers he wore the night before. He was carrying a bag of what you could only assume were his damp clothes, and the whisk, neatly coiled up inside its box, good as new.

John passed you the whisk with a shy smile.

“I’ll, um, I’ll call you later, yeah?”

“Okay. Oh, John? Will you give us three rings when you get in so I know you’re alright?”

“I will. Thanks again. For everything. You were amazing.”

John glanced at Mickey. There was a little pause. Everything had been said that needed to be, your goodbyes had been made. But John hadn’t moved.

He looked at Mickey again, almost like he was waiting for him to leave and give you some privacy. Then John looked at you.

Somehow you understood. He’d made up his mind to do something, and it had taken so much courage to work himself up, John couldn’t back down now.

Both you and Mickey stared as John finally drew in a clearly bolstering breath, then he took your hand and kissed your cheek, as he must have rehearsed in his head a hundred times.

“See you,” he said, then he was gone.

You watched John leave, hoping he’d look back, but he must’ve made himself too nervous. Still, you couldn’t help admiring his little show of bravery, and you could still feel the warmth of his fingers against yours.

Mickey’s gaze slid to you, heavy with incredulity.

You raised a finger.

“Now, before you say anythin’-”

“I don’ believe this.”

“Mickey.”

“I don’ believe this.” He shook his head. “You did it. You finally did it. You finally fucked the delivery boy.”

Your mouth fell open.

“What! No! No, I didn’t!”

“You think I was born yesterday? Did you see him? Looked like he could barely walk.”

His insinuation made your voice catch in your throat and you made an embarrassing and frankly incriminating sort of squeak.

“He was mugged last night!” You finally found your voice but it sounded as flimsy and reedy as baking paper. “I found him up the ‘igh street and took ‘im ‘ome with me.”

To your relief, Mickey’s expression turned serious.

“Mugged? Round ‘ere?”

You explained everything, finding John on the edge of the pavement, so dazed and confused, he almost stepped out into the oncoming traffic. You described how he shivered when you took him home, how he seemed barely able to speak at first, and how long it took him to come back to himself.

When you were done, Mickey swore under his breath. He scratched his square chin, shaking his head.

“But he’s alright?”

“I think so.”

You glanced towards the door, almost hoping John would come back. You didn’t like him out of your sight. But he needed to rest.

“Oh, Mick, you should’ve seen him. Poor thing looked like he was gonna shake right out of his clothes.”

“Whose clothes are you shaking off?” Gladys asked, suddenly appearing in the kitchen doorway.

Mickey gave her a weary look.

“John’s.”

Gladys looked surprised, then faintly impressed.

“You finally made your move, then?”

You chose to ignore her. Your cheeks were still burning from Mickey’s assumption, you couldn’t take much more. Was it really so obvious that you wanted to rail the delivery boy? Maybe you needed to be more subtle in future, these were not things colleagues should know about each other.

“Listen, he was soaked-”

“I bet.”

“And I thought he was gonna catch his death,” You pressed on valiantly. “So I invited ‘im in, gave him a shower and a cup of tea…”

“A shower.”

“It was all very innocent!”

Mickey scoffed.

“He left wearin’ ‘er clothes.”

You had to smile then.

“Yeah, that was quite nice, actually.”

“He didn’t make a move?” Gladys asked.

You snorted, nodding when she offered you a cuppa.

“Chance’d be a fine thing. But he did say…” You bit back a grin. “Well, he said we could go for a dance sometime next week.”

To your surprise, Gladys didn’t look surprised, just very, very pleased.

“That was my idea.”

“Glad!” Mickey sighed. “You can’t mess about with her ‘n’ the scruff. You’ll scare ‘im off.”

“That reminds me,” you said, your amusement suddenly vanishing. “He said you told him all about my love life. Have you finally, properly gone mental?”

Gladys threw up her hands, her countless brightly coloured bangles and bracelets jangling together.

“Well, ‘e asked! I wasn’t gonna lie to ‘im, was I?”

“Asked what?”

“Well, ‘im and Mickey were talking about, you know, what you got up to in your spare time and if you were seein’ anyone…”

You glanced at Mickey but he was the picture of innocence.

“And I ‘appened to be passin’ by and mentioned you hadn’t been out with anyone since that lad you used to see who lived down by Battersea Bridge. And, well, ‘e asked why you weren’t seein’ ‘im anymore and, you know, he’s just got one of them ways about him, hasn’t he, John? He asks the right questions.”

You scowled at the memory. He wasn’t even worth mentioning. That boy had brought you nothing but heartache and misery. He was nothing like John, who seemed to brighten every time he saw you, and never once made you feel like he was doing you a favour by being kind to you.

“Don’t be cross with ‘er,” Mickey said. “She’s only tryin’ to help and ‘e did ask.”

“I think he’d be good for you. He’s sensible, kind.” Gladys grinned wickedly. “Did you see ‘im with his kit off?”

You almost didn’t want to dignify that with an answer but you knew you’d never hear the end of it if you said nothing.

“No! But he… The flat’s gonna feel really empty without ‘im there.”

Memories of the night before rose in your mind. It really did all feel like a dream. You pictured John perched on the very edge of your sofa, his knees pressed tight together, his spine sloping as he bent over the whisk he was trying to fix, fix for you.

“I like ‘aving ‘im around,” you admitted.

Mickey and Gladys exchanged a knowing look that made you regret your momentary lapse into misjudged honesty.

You huffed and went to look busy in the kitchen, but they followed you anyway.

“You know what I did when I first started seein’ Al?”

Mickey tried to speak, probably to let Gladys know he really didn’t care to know anything about your boss’ relationship with that salamander in an M&S suit, but Gladys bulldozed over him.

“You wanna get yourself down to Debenhams. You find yourself the perfume section and smell every bo’le till you find the one ‘e wears, then you spray it on your pillow.”

There was a stunned sort of a silence. No one moved for a moment until Mickey grumbled,

“Christ.”

You blew out a long breath, puffing out your cheeks as your mind whirled with thoughts of the pretty boy who’d fixed your bike, the whisk, and brought nothing but good luck to the bakery.

“I don’t think I’m quite at that level yet but I’m close.”

The only thing John had broken was the pattern of isolation you’d brought upon yourself. You hadn’t even noticed it. Maybe John had seen it because he felt it too. Maybe you could fix each other.

“He does smell bloody amazing, though Glad,” you said, too lost in thought to be embarrassed. “And he looked so tiny sitting on my sofa, all wrapped up in blankets and- And he fixed our whisk!”

You patted the box John had handed you. You were still cradling it in your arms like an idiot.

His hands had been so big as they brushed yours. He still smelt like your shampoo and soap, his pretty hair all fluffy and unruly.

His narrow little body had made him look so small in your clothes. You couldn’t stop thinking about how angular John’s upper arms were as he fidgeted with his curls, how his open and relaxed expression made him look so drowsy and malleable.

Your grip tightened on the cardboard box.

“I knew I liked that boy.”

Mickey took the box from you, giving it a small, triumphant shake for good measure, like he’d won the Premier League.

“Give ‘im a kiss from me next time you see ‘im.”

You ignored him and tried to get on with some work, but Gladys was still annoyingly interested.

“Have you kissed him?” she asked, looking hopeful.

You sighed.

“No, not yet. It’s gettin’ ridiculous. I just wanna shove him up against the wall every time I see him.”

Gladys seemed to approve.

“So long as you don’t do it in the kitchen. We’ve got enough problems without the Food Safety lot shuttin’ us down.”

She finally bustled off to make herself look busy in the office, leaving behind a whirl of sickly sweet perfume.

Again, you thought about John, how nice it had been to see him wearing your clothes, smelling like your shampoo, looking so comfortable in your home, it looked like you’d known each other for years, not months. You hoped he’d call soon.

The bakery door opened. You straightened out your expression, trying to put away thoughts of pinning John down on that sofa and kissing him everywhere you could reach. At least, for now.

The mask you put on for customers slipped the moment you saw who was walking up to the counter.

“Speakin’ of problems.”

You glanced at Mickey but he was too busy gazing devotedly at the whisk John had fixed. He would be no help for a while.

Resigning yourself to the situation, you sighed, and went to deal with your least favourite customer.

Alastair brightened as you approached, though there was no light in his expression. He smiled but without any sign of warmth, and as you got closer, Alastair drew himself up to his full height, whether subconsciously or not, and looked down at you with practised ease.

“Cup of tea, love, when you’ve got a minute,” he said, accompanying his request with a spine-chilling wink. “How’s things this morning?”

You set his cup down on the counter with more force than necessary.

“They’re fine.”

“It’s been lovely seeing the place busy. Gladys has a nice little business here, doesn’t she?”

“Yep.”

You were about to turn your back and return to the safety of the kitchen, when Alastair placed his hand over yours.

“You know, I’m not a bad guy.”

Alastair’s touch alone was enough to make you shudder. His nails were too clean and his skin was pale and smooth, like his hands had never seen a hard day's work.

You wanted to snatch your hand back but a voice in your head sternly told you not to give him the satisfaction. Instead you narrowed your eyes and held your ground.

“You really believe that, don’t you.”

He had the audacity to feign innocence.

Your hand was beginning to feel clammy under his.

“I don’t know what I ever did to upset you-”

“You don’t upset me, Alastair. I hate you.”

“Oh, beg pardon.”

He finally retracted his hand. You resisted the urge to wipe away the feeling of him on your trousers.

Alastair breathed a disappointed and aggravatingly paternal sort of sigh, as if he was being completely reasonable and you were being unnecessarily antagonistic. It was enough to set your teeth on edge. You almost threw the kettle at him but held back, for Gladys’ sake.

“You’ve never liked me. I often wonder why that is. I’m not doing anything wrong, am I? Have I actually ever given you a reason to hate me?”

Annoyed, you realised he might be onto something. If Gladys liked him, he couldn’t be all bad. And Alastair did try, tried to talk to you, to Mickey. He even stayed and helped clear up tables sometimes, nothing that would ever threaten his neatly pressed suits, but he tried.

Perhaps you had been too hasty to decide to dislike him. Perhaps you should just try and be happy for Gladys, after everything she’d done for you.

Something, not quite an apology, but perhaps a wafer-thin kind word, sat on the tip of your tongue. But you hesitated, whether out of embarrassment or uncertainty, you couldn’t say, but you were glad you did, as Alastair’s next words made your stomach lurch.

“If it’s because I’m seeing your mum, you really have nothing to worry about. I’m going to take good care of her.”

You stared. You weren’t sure for how long but it felt like a year. You were just so stunned, the cogs of your brain felt like they were clogged up with chewing gum.

“You think Gladys is my mum?” you said slowly.

“I…”

Alastair, to his credit, had the decency to look sheepish.

“You think Gladys is my mother?”

“No?”

“What do you- You think Mickey is my grandad?”

Alastair threw his hands in the air, as if you were being completely unreasonable.

“I just assumed!”

“You didn’t ask?” You spluttered, hardly able to process what this meant. “Do you know anything about Gladys?”

“Of course, I do! I care about her very much!”

“But you don’t know I’m not her daughter?”

Incredulity gave way to anger, anger to seething rage. You snatched back the tea you’d poured for him and dumped it in the sink, then turned and waved the empty mug at him.

“You don’t know her. That’s why I hate you, Alastair. You don’t know her, you don’t know us, you don’t know the shop. You don’t know anything. Do you even know why we’re called 64 Oslo Square?”

Alastair glanced either side of him, like he was conferring with his teammates on University Challenge.

“You’re… Half Norwegian?”

Unamused, you levelled him with a hard stare.

“Get out of my shop.”

To your surprise, Alastair rose slowly to his feet. His long fingers dragged along the counter as if he had all the time in the world, his expression aggravatingly nonplussed. Then he smirked.

“It’s not yours, though, is it?” he said.

Your chest felt like it could cave in.

Alastair gave you one last awful smile then dropped a few coppers onto the counter, adding insult to injury.

“Oh, by the way, was that your new delivery boy I saw leaving? He was here nice and early.” Alastair raised his eyebrows. “Perk of the job, I suppose.”

You were grateful for the counter between you. It was all that stopped you swinging for him.

You wanted to fight back, to yell and spit and give him all the venom you could muster, but for some reason, the mention of John felt like a slap to the face and all you could do was watch Alastair walk away.

It was only when the door closed behind him that you finally let out a long breath. Hands balled into fists, you tried to tell yourself that it didn’t matter what he thought, Alastair didn’t matter at all, he was no one. But somehow he’d managed to needle out all your insecurities with cruel accuracy.

Tears of shame and anger pricked in the corners of your eyes.

He was right. This wasn’t your bakery, it never had been and wouldn’t be for a long time. What did you have if not this place? What would you be if you weren’t this? Nothing. And no one.

The phone clanged in the kitchen. You barely noticed it at first. By the fourth ring, you shook yourself and grabbed it from the wall.

Angry at yourself for letting Alastair get to you, furious with him for coming into your home and talking to you like that, and annoyed at Mickey for never picking up the phone, you barked a not-so-friendly greeting down the line.

“No wonder they prefer you working in the kitchen if that’s how you treat your customers.”

At the sound of John’s voice, you immediately felt yourself relax. You loosened your grip on the telephone, your shoulders sinking.

“Hi, New Boy,” You winced at how eager you sounded, but it really was wonderful to hear from him. “You made it then.”

“All in one piece, just about.”

“Three rings, I said.”

“Couldn’t help it, I missed you.”

You rested your forehead against the wall and closed your eyes. The metal was cool against your skin, still flushed with anger.

You heard John give a shy laugh, the way he always did when he’d given away more than he’d meant to, and smiled.

“Thanks again, for everything,” he said, changing the subject quickly.

“Don’ worry about it. You can turn up on my doorstep anytime. There’ll always be a cuppa waitin’ for you at mine.”

“Well, hopefully nothing that dramatic happens again anytime soon but that sounds nice. You make a really good cuppa.”

You felt yourself preen at the compliment and hated yourself for it.

“You gonna get some more kip?”

“Can’t,” John grunted. “Got class in an hour.”

“Did you sleep okay last night? Was worried the sofa would do your back in.”

“No, no, it was fine. But I…”

When he didn’t say anything, you moved the phone away from your ear and looked at it quizzically. You tapped the speaker and heard its tinny response. No, you hadn’t lost him.

You quickly pressed the phone back to your ear when you heard John’s voice again, faint from a distance.

“I kept thinking… Kept thinking about what you said. About sharing the bed? Kept me up half the night.”

Your chest squeezed, shocked and excited and nervous all at the same time.

“Why’s that?” you asked, even though you knew the answer already.

“Kept thinking about getting up and…”

You heard John shift at the other end of the line. You could close your eyes and picture him, leaning against the wall beside the payphone outside his digs, his free hand coiling the wire around his fingers again and again, around and around. He’d have his eyes fixed on the floor, his mouth firmly drawn, but his forehead would be furrowed, focused and sure.

“I did, to be honest. Got up a few times. Got as far as your door once.”

“Why didn’t you?”

“What?”

He wasn’t letting you get away with it. If he was going to bare his heart, you would have to do the same.

“Come in,” you urged, hardly believing you were even having this conversation.

John went quiet again. You worried you’d pushed him past his limit, but then he said,

“Too scared, I suppose. And I didn’t wanna wake you. Not after everything you’d done for me. I just laid there and thought about how the clothes you leant me smelt like you. And I thought about the things we talked about. And about dancing. And…” John paused again. “And about you sitting in my lap.”

It was your turn to go quiet, though not because of any trepidation or shyness, but because of a sudden rush of giddiness, a wobbly sort of feeling in your chest that made you feel silly and flustered and hot under the collar. It wasn’t a feeling you were used to. You couldn’t remember the last time someone had flirted with you.

“I can’t wait to see your best moves,” you said, bravely soldiering on while visions of sitting in John’s lap again waltzed through your head. “I bet you can move those hips like nobody’s business.”

His laughter made your cheeks burn.

“Wouldn’t you like to know.”

Yes. Yes, you would. Very much.

“I didn’t sleep much either,” you admitted. “Kept waiting for you to knock on the door.”

“You wanted me to?”

“I…”

You had stared at the door all night, heart racing at the thought of what it would mean for you, for your life, if he knocked, and yet hoping and wishing he would anyway.

You’d imagined helping John out of his shirt so that you could trace your fingertips down his neck, his chest, to his stomach, still somewhat concave despite your best efforts, and then lower still. You thought about his eyes on you in the half-light of dusk, watching you like he always did, taking his cues from you.

Did his blush reach all the way down to his chest? Did he have anymore little birthmarks? Scars from his childhood? Where would his hands instinctively land if you pressed into him, your face? Your waist? Your hips? What would it sound like when he groaned your name?

John underneath you, looking up at you with those big grey-green eyes. John’s bass-roughened fingertips running over your skin, his mouth everywhere, his soft hair between your fingers, and all the while he’d be moaning and rutting his hips up into yours, begging you to touch him. And when you finally did…

You had to clear your throat before you spoke again. Your wandering thoughts had made your vision go hazy.

“I was hoping you would.” You shrugged, even though no one was around to see it. “Shame. Nevermind.”

“I suppose I’ll just have to be braver next time, then.”

“I s’pose you will.”

“That seems to be a running theme with you.”

Mickey stepped into view, looking at you curiously.

“Who is it?” he mouthed, shaking his thumb and little finger beside his head in the shape of the telephone.

You turned away from him, pressing the phone tighter against your ear. You couldn’t miss a word of this.

“What does?”

“I dunno. I dunno, really. Just thinking about all the times I wish I’d been braver with you.”

“It happens a lot, then?” you asked, realising you had the same problem.

“Everytime I see you.”

His bluntness was refreshing. John was always candid and direct, even when he was obviously feeling painfully shy. His voice was sure and steady, even through the crackling handset. You liked that about him. Very few people were so honest, so plain-spoken. You trusted John to know exactly what to say and exactly when to say it.

You could’ve stayed there forever, flirting with the cute boy whose only thought, when he was scared and alone and hurt, was of you. But Mickey had started to tap his wrist emphatically. You glanced towards the front door. There was already a queue forming outside.

“Mickey’s waving at me. I have to go.”

John huffed, disappointed. You couldn’t help but agree.

“Have a good day, Captain,” he said, and you could hear the smile in his voice. “And thanks again.”

“Anytime, New Boy. I’ll always be there to slay your dragons.”

“My hero.”

John paused, like he was looking for something else to add, an excuse to keep you on the line for just a minute more. You found yourself hoping he was successful, but eventually, he came up empty-handed

“Thanks, love,” he said, drawing out the endearment’s syllables, emphatic and unmistakably purposeful. “Have a good day.”

“You too. Bye, love.”

You heard John exhale sharply, clearly pleased you’d returned the favour. You couldn’t recall ever wanting to kiss someone more.

It seemed neither of you wanted to be the first to hang up. Slowly, regrettably, you came to a silent agreement, and after another quiet goodbye, you both set the handset down with a dull clunk. Disconnected.

You stared at the phone, processing all the information John had given you. It was an odd sort of feeling, to know that someone you wanted so badly wanted you just as much in return.

A customer rapped their knuckles against the door, an incredibly rude gesture considering you were busy fantasising about bending the delivery boy over the counter.

In a move you hoped no one noticed, you brushed your fingers against the telephone as if it were John’s hand, then went to start your day, your mind whirring as you realised you had already decided you were definitely going to kiss John the next time you saw him.

#john deacon #queen #john deacon x reader #john deacon reader #john deacon fic

32 notes · View notes