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millersfinest · 26 days ago

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untethered | e.w

00s!ellie williams & 00s!miller!reader

wc: 7.4k

series: chapter one (you’re here!), chapter two, chapter three, chapter four, chapter five

blurb: it’s been awhile since you’ve been back home; in upstate new york where you’ve spent most of your life waking up early and tending to the animals that moo’d and meh’d. after graduation high school, and then college, the city life has stolen most of your attention. enabling you to visit only a handful of times through the years. when your lovely adoptive parents (tommy and maria miller) invite you back for a thanksgiving dinner—a troubled old flame from your childhood manages to get your attention, despite its explosive ending.

cw: lmao flip phones, some vulgar language, ellie cheating on her gf (kind of), the millers, r is a writer, elements of longing, ellie is #1 lesbian yearner in the world, some early 2000s references, thanksgiving, some physical violence, adopted kid trauma (shoutout to all the adopted kids!!), hella angst, repressed emotions, a little bit of mature content, eventual smut.

note: i have too much confidence writing for ellie. but here’s another series im starting because i realized the plot is too much for a single work on here, hence the 7 thousand words ijbol. hope you guys enjoyyy.

It was quieter upstate. Breathable and airy—you missed it more than anything. As much as you loved living in Manhattan, there was nothing like the countryside. Waking up to the sound of birds chirping and roosters crowing. Hearing the excited neighing from the horses you birthed and took care of. It was refreshing to be home again.

And, of course, you missed your parents.

They adopted you as a troubled child, and you’ve considered yourself lucky ever since. Babies and younger children were often the ones to be pulled from inconsistent foster homes, but they chose you. A pierced, attitude-ridden, thirteen-year-old who liked smoking cigarettes because they made you look cooler than you felt. And it helped you cope with the lasting effects of neglectful parents.

That trauma didn’t just disappear once Tommy and Maria entered your life. It was something that grew from nothing, and they were adamant in making your transition as comfortable as possible. You never experienced anything like it before them. Their strictness and structure did the opposite of what most would think. You went from sneaking out and smoking cigarettes to staying up late studying and finishing your favorite novels—still smoking cigarettes, though, but out your window. It was hard habit to break.

Once you realized that they could be trusted and had your best interest at heart, you gave them the right to parent you. Sure, it wasn’t easy. The three of you argued many, many times—but you respected them more than you have anyone else. Really, just for tolerating you.

The Miller’s were always very family oriented and social. Sunday nights always managed to be a grand event—Tommy grilling in the acred backyard, Maria handling the food items that could be cooked inside, and you diligently decorating and setting the table. Football Sundays were always the worst, but they were great memories to think about. That was the first time you met, basically, the love of your life at the time. Ellie Williams.

It was 1995 when you had completely fallen in love with her—only knowing her for around three years. Joel Miller wasn’t really her father, or adoptive father, he was just somebody who took care of her. He owned a guitar shop that sold, obviously, guitars and other instruments alike; as well as holding lessons for those wanted to learn how to play.

The story goes: Joel was working the register on a very slow day when Ellie showed up. There was a shiner on her eye, but she insisted that she was fine—asking for lessons with crumbled cash and dirty coins. She couldn’t afford the lessons on her own, so he gave her a job and proceeded with teaching her how to play.

She grew up similar to you; hidden under the confines of foster care. The only difference was, she was never adopted. At least not until the age of seventeen, when she’d spent so much time with Joel that she had a decorated bedroom in his house. They both had commitment issues, but after Tommy convinced him to do the paperwork… He did. Surprising her on her seventeenth birthday. However, the outcome didn’t really go to plan. Not how anyone would have expected it.

It was 1997 when she completely broke your heart… Not to be cheesy or anything.

Her seventeenth birthday was hosted at your house, on the farm. You knew her the most out of everyone, so you made it your mission to make this the best birthday ever. Decorating had become a hobby of yours after so many Sunday dinners—you spent all day stringing up lights and colorful streamers. Maria helping you out with a homemade cake that said: Happy Birthday Els! You were too anxious to write the words yourself, so you let her do it instead. You were even sure to invite the friends you shared; demanding they each brought presents to show how much they cared about her.

Joel had showed up before she did; just in time so they could all hide and jump out with big smiles on your faces when Ellie arrived. You would always remember the feeling of hearing the rumbling of her truck coming to a stop. And the shy smile on her face when everyone jumped out from behind furniture—blowing birthday kazoo’s. It was picturesque!

Dina had trotted over to her, snapping a blue paper cone birthday hat over her head. While you walked over with her birthday cake in your hands, brightened with seventeen candles. “Happy seventeenth, Ellie.” You had spoken, warmly. A bashful grin spreading onto your lips. She looked at you with such awe in that moment. Blowing out her candles and kissing your cheek, muttering a blushing ‘I fuckin’ love you’.

You knew about her surprise adoption papers before the party had started, excitement running through your veins when Joel meandered toward her—handing her an envelope of hope. Ellie took it, eyeing him, skeptically. “Open it!” You urged—that was your mistake.

Chortling, she broke open the envelope, not caring if it tore. When she pulled out the certificate, reading the words on the page, her entire face dropped. “Adoption papers?” Her eyes squinted in disgust, glaring at Joel. The smile fell from your face, lips parting in slight shock. Her olive eyes glanced around the room, seeing the fallen expressions clouding everyone’s features. Landing on your fallen face, briefly—a look exclaiming, ‘how could you’. Freckled cheeks heating up in embarrassment and… Anger. “Joel, what the fuck?” She blinked at him, shoving the papers into his chest, then storming out of the house. Hands ripping the hat from the top of head, throwing it to the ground. The screen door creaking obnoxiously as she exited. It all happened so fast.

He quickly followed her out, calling for her, desperately.

Awkwardly, you turned to the frozen people around you. “Anybody want cake? It’s german c— chocolate.” You stammered, trying to keep your composure. Looking to Maria and Tommy for some sort of consolation, you frowned, placing the cake on the counter before fleeing to the bathroom.

You clenched at the roots of your hair, pacing around the bathroom. You could hear remnants of a solo screaming match from outside the bathroom window, causing you to grit your teeth. The papers were supposed to be a good thing! Ellie had always been a hothead—easily agitated like a stray kitten is distress. There were even moments where the two of you went at it. Until one of you caved, begging for affection as an apology. Your nerves burned at the idea of her not liking the surprise—was that selfish?

Instead of remaining in the bathroom, you swung open the door with your eyes fixed on the front door. Hands clenched at your sides, you walked through the kitchen, where Tommy tried to liven up the mood by handing out pieces of cake.

He tried calling your name, but you brushed him off, pushing open the screen door with an attitude that could be felt with every step you took. The brisk autumn air hit your exposed skin, the long-sleeve striped shirt not doing much to keep you warm.

Striding around the side of the house, you seen Joel and Ellie having a stern conversation. But by the time your eyes landed on them, they were in a beat of silence. Joel shaking his head with his fingers pinching the bridge of his nose. Ellie had her arms stubbornly crossed, frowning. When her eyes found yours, he turned around to leave. “She’s all yours…” He solemnly sighed, walking back into the house. The adoption papers crumbled up in his hands.

Biting your bottom lip, you approached her with your arms crossed for warmth. “What happened, Ellie?” Your voice dragged, tiredly. There was something always wrong with her. “We just wanted to do something nice for you… Why’d you have to go and ruin it—?”

“Oh, I’m the one who ruined it?” She scoffed, a sneer resting on her lips. “I’m not the one who brought the fucking adoption papers!” Ellie exclaimed, gesturing broadly with her hands. When she was up in arms, she always gesticulated more. “Did you have anything to do with this? Because if you did—“

You interrupted her with scrutinizing glare. “So, what if I did? I thought this would make you happy, Ellie… Don’t you understand?”

“You had me open that in front of everyone knowing what was inside— and you thought that’d make me happy?” Her lips arched in disgust. “Clearly, you don’t know me at all.” Her words were venomous, lips twitching in anger.

There was nobody who understood you more than Ellie, and vice versa. You just got each other because you came from similar backgrounds—that was your glue. You don’t know me at all. That was new.

With your eyes growing warm with tears, your tongue rolled in your mouth. “I spent all day setting this up… For you. Because I love you, Ellie. I don’t know you— that’s bullshit if I ever heard it.” Your voice cracked, but you refused to let a tear run down your cheek. This was no time for tears—if she could get angry, so could you.

“I’ve known you long enough to have some semblance of understanding on why you’re upset, right now— that’s for damn sure.” You paused, averting your eyes to concentrate on keeping your rising emotions at bay. She watched you, cheeks still red with anger. “I’m gonna give you ten minutes— ten, Ellie! If you don’t get your ass back in there in next ten fucking minutes…” You lick your lips, shaking your head. “We’re over. Done!”

Giving a final glare, you turned to head back inside. “I can’t keep dealing with this shit.” You mutter, under your breath.

“So that’s what it is… Dealing with me?” Ellie voiced, a sliver of disappointment slipping in her moment of anger.

Wiping your cheeks, you peered over your shoulder. “What?”

“You got this perfect little life… Huh?” She began, approaching you intimidatingly. “The loving parents, the farmhouse— you became the perfect daughter for them… Gets the grades, does everything she can to appease them. This fuckin’ fantasy world that you chose to live in all because you wanted someone to love you… Fuckin’ pathetic.”

“Ellie…” You warned.

“Well, newsflash, little-miss-perfect— not everybody wants that! Not everybody wants to play pretend for the rest of their fucking life just to be—“

It happened before you could stop it, fists clenching at your sides as she bad mouthed you till oblivion. Your soft spot—and she knew all about that. Both of you grew up as kids who got into fights and disputes more times than anyone could count; you just decided to clean up your act. However, that troubled twelve to thirteen-year-old still resided inside of you. And, in that moment, she wasn’t your doting girlfriend—she was someone punching down on you.

Your knuckles collided with the side of her face, knocking into her cheek bone. Features scowling as if she were a stranger. Ellie stumbled, holding onto her face with surprised eyes. For a second the version of her you loved came through, but she quickly recovered. Her lips curling at the ends, taunting you. “I knew you still had it in you… You’re no better than me.”

There it was.

Not only was it the straw that broke the camels back—it was the truth. The ultimate truth. Behind all of your petty little arguments. Behind all her wild bursts of anger. She was jealous of you. Grunting behind your teeth, you charged at her. Taking the collar of her jacket as her back hit the gravelly ground. Straddling her, you didn’t hear the rushing feet hitting the porch. You could feel her hands settling loosely on your calves, only angering you more. “I did the fucking work— nobody else but me!” Tears poured down your cheeks. “I am better than you. Because I fucking try—“

Arms pulled you off her body, wrapping around your abdomen. It was Tommy, questioning you in your ear, but you weren’t listening. “Everything went to shit because of you! Remember that!” Dina and Jesse rushed to her side, but she only sat up watching you get pulled back inside. They glared at your forced retreat—they were always more friends with her than they were with you.

Tommy released you, with a disappointed sigh. Maria walking inside, shutting the door behind her, frowning. You heaved, looking at all the decorations that mocked you. Sparkling and shining against the dim lights in the room. The barely eaten cake sat on the counter in the kitchen making fun of you—it was all too much.

“What the hell has gotten into you, y/n?!” Maria pointedly, asked. Not really wanting a response.

“What’s gotten into me?! What’s gotten into her—!” You pointed to the door as if she replaced it.

The blond man leaned his elbows on the kitchen counter, bending at his hips. “Well, I don’t think it matters what’s gotten into her if you put your hands on her, Bug.” Tommy spoke, evenly. He was always the calmer of the two. “Did you… Did you put your hands on her?”

Maria stood with her hands on her hips. “What did we say about fighting—? And you don’t hit your girlfriend— you don’t hit the people that you care about!” She scolded, pointing her finger. “We raised you better than that…”

Your lips quivered, guilt setting in. “I didn’t mean to hit her! She wanted— she wanted me to… I swear!”

He glanced at his wife. “She wanted you to hit her?” Tommy deadpanned, pressing his lips into a line.

They both looked at you with separate expressions. Maria clearly overwhelmed with disappointment and utter disbelief. The same look she gave you when she caught you smoking cigarettes at the barn when you were fourteen—when you told her you quit. Tommy had an expression of pity, like he often did. That same look he gave when you had a meltdown at school when you first moved in with them.

More tears began to roll down your cheeks. “Maria… Tommy… She pushed me. Why would she do that? Why would she—“ You began to ramble, knees growing weak. Your strict mother-figure rushed to your side, catching you before you fell. “I didn’t mean to… I didn’t want to— she was just being so mean.”

Sinking to the floor with you, her hands caressed your hair. Maria looked to Tommy, mouthing for him to go check on Ellie.

Outside, Ellie was dismissing the weary questions from her friends. She’d never seen you act in such an unruly way. Every time she came over, there wasn’t a hair that was out of place on your head. She was always the one acting out, swearing like a sailor. Sure, she knew about your smoking habit, but that was nothing.

Your girlfriend was envious of how everything was panning out for you—college was around the corner. You had an acceptance letter from your dream school, and without a doubt, you were leaving for the city. Leaving her behind to rot in the country. It wasn’t fair!

That adoption letter felt like pity. She wasn’t a fan of that feeling either.

As a bruise formed on her cheek, guilt settled into the pit of her stomach. Ellie had every intention on seeing the side of you that everyone talked about with a past tense that indicated warning. She needed to prove to herself that you weren’t the perfect person she saw you to be—but all that was left behind was remorse and a sore cheek.

She watched as Joel and Tommy stepped aside to talk. Their eyes glancing back and forth between the door and Ellie, as she leaned against her rusted red truck.

“I can’t believe she would do something like that… On your birthday?” Dina shook her head, with her arms crossed.

“It’s not like her…” Jesse narrowed his eyes at the auburn-haired girl. “What’d you do?”

Dina smacked his chest. “Jessie! She’s literally the victim here— domestic abuse!”

He sucked his teeth, rolling his eyes. “I’m not saying what she did was right.” Jessie began. “I’m saying that I know Ellie Williams, and I know how she is— she’s a pusher.”

The bruised seventeen-year-old scoffed.

“Yeah, I said it.” He stood tall, a small smirk playing on his lips. “You’re a pusher. Hell, you’re a professional pusher— you push people for a fucking living.” Dina glared at him, threatening to hit him again. “I mean, there was that one time… When we went into the city for that comic convention, and you completely obliterated Joel for worrying about you—“

The dark-haired, freckled teenager pushed her boyfriend out of the way taking his place. “We don’t have to relive that…”

Ellie rolled her tongue in her mouth. “Look, I know this is my fault…”

“Ellie… You’re the one with the bruise forming on your face.” She reached up, rubbing her cheek. Her wincing under her touch.

She sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose, squeezing her red eyes. “Yeah, and if it weren’t for me— for what I said… I wouldn’t have this fuckin’ bruise.” Ellie peered at where Joel and Tommy were speaking. They were wrapping up, giving brotherly hugs. “I am a pusher… And now my girlfriend hates me.” She pouted, tears welling up in her eyes. The blond Miller waved a hand at her, giving a tight-lipped smile that screamed I’m sorry. “I gotta go…” She pulled her keys from her pocket, getting into her truck.

That was the last full conversation the two of you had. Horrible, but the last. Everything in between then and the present was short and empty. Light conversations that only strangers and acquaintances shared. Letters here and there. It was a dispute that was so nuanced, for the first year after that, Joel barely said a word to you. Which bled into his relationship with Tommy. Maria tried to play middleman, but it didn’t work.

Perhaps, that was the reason you kept your distance. You didn’t want to continue to be the wedge that formed between two brothers. While you loved your parents, they were only a phone-call away. And, in the meantime, you could focus on growing in your career. Focusing on your book writing, instead.

You just wanted to forget about what happened when you were an emotionally undeveloped seventeen-year-old, but every time you seen her face—you remembered. So, avoiding Ellie Williams was a mission within itself.

A mission you were hoping you weren’t going to have to endure this year.

“You know,” Tommy began, sipping his fresh coffee. “Joel’s coming down from Jersey for the week.”

As you looked through the fridge, you snapped your head in his direction. “Is he now…?” You slowly question. Letting the fridge door shut on its own. The blonde woman to his right, sitting at the island counter, chuckled. Flipping through the interior design magazine you brought for her.

“And he’s picking up Ellie from the city.”

“What!” You exclaim, rushing to the opposite side of the counter. Pulling the mug from his lips, a surprised squeak left your throat. “Uh, dad… You forgot to mention on the several phone calls that we had in that last month that Ellie moved to the city.”

Maria perked up, pushing a piece of her hair behind her ear. “Yeah, she’s been there for about a year now… Brooklyn, is it?” She looked to her husband for clarification. He nodded, peering up at you with a plain expression.

“A year?! And none of you told me?”

“Bug, you did say that you didn’t want us to bring her up anymore unless you asked.” Maria stood to her feet, meandering to the stove and oven. “But that does remind me… They should be here in a few hours. Wanna help with the brownies?” She preheated the oven, walking around you casually.

Your mouth fell open, glancing between the two of them. “Okay, so they get brownies, and I get the worst news of my life…” An apron with your nickname embroidered on the front, Bug, hung in your mother's hand as an offering. “Yes, I’ll help with the brownies— this is very cruel to your very successful daughter.”

Tommy waved his hand, dismissively. “C’mon, that incident happened years ago now. You’re twenty-five, I’m sure she’s gotten over it.”

Tying the string around your neck and back, you pressed your lips into a line. It wasn’t really about her—you weren’t over it. You still harbored the same guilt you felt when you settled in your room that night. A crazy mixture of resentment and remorse all rolled up into one feeling; as you settled in your reading nook, with your hand out the window holding a burning cigarette with your index and middle finger. “I’m sure she has…”

Eventually, you switched the conversation around while baking. Falling into fits of laughter from mentioning past stories of your teenagehood. Teaming up with Maria to make fun of Tommy and his aging—all of a sudden, he was beginning to have a knack for playing a checkers. Only old people enjoyed playing checkers. Then, the waiting began.

To busy yourself, you pulled out your computer and brought it to the porch. Even though, you were taking some time off at your publishing job; when it came to your book writing, you had an agent to keep flooding your inbox with emails. Telling you to do this and do that—it was obnoxious. But you did as she asked anyway.

Typing away, a puff of nicotine fled from your lips. Murmuring under your breath, the words that were populating on the screen. On your hip, your phone rang, causing you to throw your head back in slight agony. Something always interrupted you when you were flowing. Flipping open your phone, the decorative chain swinging around as you placed it against your ear. “Hello,” You spoke, stubbing out your cigarette.

It was your roommate and closest friend, Sierra, complaining about the neighbors. Her strong long island accent echoing through the phone. “Oh, my God— they’re so loud! You’d think gettin’ an apartment in a nicer building would thicken the walls.” She groaned on the other end. “Please, come back. At least to tell them to shut up, and then you could go back upstate.”

“Why don’t you… I don’t know…” You shut your laptop, replacing your butt with the boxy electronic. Strolling to the far end of the porch, leaning your arms against the bannister. “Tell them yourself?” An amused smile spread on your lips.

Sierra paused. “Because that’s your job. I’m the nice one, remember?”

“Okay, well I can’t leave. I just got here, and I’m not spending another grand on taxi fare.”

“I’ll spot you.” You could hear her smile on the end.

“Sierra, I’m not coming back until Saturday. So, your only options are to either bang on their door— telling them to shut the hell up— or you suffer listening to their relentless daytime sex.” As you spoke, a truck began rolling up the driveway. Identities unclear due to the intense window tint, but you knew exactly who it was. However, there were three heads in that truck.

She groaned on the other end of the line. “Ugh! I hate you—“

“You love me!” You grinned, but it dropped right off your face when the people exited the vehicle. From the driver's seat, it was Ellie; then, it was Joel who exited, seemingly in conversation. And, finally, a girl stepped out of the vehicle. Joel noticed you leaning against the bannister on the porch, waving his hand with a smile.

Your muscles reacted, waving a fleeting hand. “Maria, Tommy! They’re here!” You yell loud enough to be heard through the screen door. You were always insecure about calling them by their parental titles in front of people—let alone new people.

“You’re yelling in my ear, hon. If you gotta go just tell me.” Sierra complained.

“I gotta go.”

Before she could say her goodbyes, you shut your phone, sliding it into your back pocket. Your parents came out of the house in high spirits; Maria clapping her hands, excitedly, embracing Ellie. Tommy giving a firm bear hug to Joel, laughing heartily—at what? You were unsure.

Awkwardly, you stood there. Smiling with your hands held in front of your body as if you were presenting a project.

Joel looked to you, approaching you with open arms. “Look at you,” He began, wrapping his arms around you, warmly. “All grown up.” He pulled back to get a better look at you, nodding proudly.

“Yeah…” You tapped his shoulder. “You, too.” A chuckle fell from your lips.

Then, you looked to your right at the freckled girl with her arm around a feminine stranger. However, you couldn’t indentify her before you did Ellie. Her auburn hair was pulled into a low bun, with pieces framing her gentle features. Her round evergreen, tinted with slivers of brown, eyes. Freckles decorating her cheeks, bridge of her nose; the beauty mark under left eye—

“Hey,” Ellie drawled out the greeting, awkwardly. Leaning in for a hug that teetered back and forth until you reciprocated.

You kept that same plastered smile on your lips, wrapping your arm under hers. “Hey, Ellie.” Pulling back, you finally looked at the girl beside her. She had tattoos and piercings and looked so much cooler than you. “Who’s this?”

Her earthy eyes widened. “Oh, this is, uhm, my girlfriend, Cat.”

The only response you could give was a nod and a half-hearted wave. It was like a dramatic record scratch in your head. But your parents took over with the rest. Guiding everyone inside to the warmth. Tommy remained outside, giving you skeptical eyes. “Help me with the bags…”

“Honey, don’t be weird about this.” He spoke, as you followed him to the truck.

“I’m not being weird.” You whined, gravel crunching under your feet. “Seriously, what’s to be weird about?” Reaching into the open trunk, you pulled out luggage’s and duffle bags. This was a lot of stuff for a week stay—they brought more than you did.

He gruffly breathed, pulling up the handle of one of the suitcases. “You’re my daughter, I know you— just sayin’…”

“Oh, my God— please!” You complained, hooking the duffle over your shoulder, pulling one of the luggage’s. Leaving him to follow you toward the porch.

Dinner had come quicker than you had hoped. If anything, if you could magically skip over the thing, and still eat, that would’ve been perfect.

All six of you sat at the dining table, forks and knives scratching at ceramic plates. Tommy and Joel had gathered in the back, last minute to cook up some steaks. And, to busy yourself, you helped Maria with the sides while Ellie and Cat got situated in the guest house.

“So, y/n, how’s the book comin’ along?” Joel wondered, putting a cut piece of steak into his mouth.

You made a surprised sound as you chewed your food, rushing to swallow. “Shit, you’re writing a book?” Ellie questioned, leaning her elbows on the table.

Taking a sip of water, you decided to respond. “Yeah, I’ve been working on it for a while.” Your eyes glanced at her, then moved on, quickly, to Joel’s. “It’s… Coming along.” A bashful laugh fell from your lips, as your hand reached for the glass of wine. It was barely touched, red hue swishing in the bulb of the glass as you took a sip. It’s fruity bitterness relishing over your tongue.

“What is it— like fiction or…?” Ellie pressed, genuinely.

“Non-fiction. A book of essay’s, really— written in different forms.” You nodded. “It sounds boring…”

Ellie shrugged, forking a piece of meat into her mouth. “Doesn’t sound boring to me.” She responded, with her mouth full.

“It’s the farthest from boring, honey.” Maria massaged your shoulder, sharing a small smile. You mirrored her in return, forking at the vegetables on your plate—perfectly steamed broccoli.

“How’s Brooklyn treating you?” You spoke up, raising your eyebrows.

Ellie lightly glared at Joel before answering, placing her utensils down. “It’s certainly treating me…” She muttered, rubbing her hands together, glancing at her girlfriend.

“It’s a great place for art, but just not Ellie’s art.” Cat chuckled, sipping from her wine glass.

“Oh, that’s what you’re doing.” You nod.

“I recall her using the words: too crowded.” Joel used air quotes to briefly describe the past conversation.

She rolled her eyes, shaking her head. “It makes me feel crowded— the city. When you say it like that, it makes me sound fucking stupid, Joel.”

“You did say crowded.”

“Well, I meant overwhelmed.”

You snickered at their bickering, leaning back in your chair. “Back to your art, I guess you’re experiencing the artistic equivalent to writers block?” Tommy inquired, still chewing on his steak, raising an eyebrow. The auburn-haired young woman nodded, chuckling to herself. “That’s why you’re stayin’ with us for a little while, huh?”

Another record scratch.

You blinked at you father, deepening your eyebrows. “Wait, what?”

Joel had set his beer on the table, leaning forward. “Yeah, Ellie’s stayin’ with your parents for a little while to get her juices flowing, again.” He explained, pressing his lips into a soft smile. Ellie cringed at his use of the words juices, taking a sip of her beer.

Tommy and Maria told you nothing unless you asked for it for almost everything now—you at least deserved to know that Ellie was staying on the farm indefinitely. After all, when they’re dead and gone, it’ll be yours; so, they could’ve at least told you without you having to ask—that’s big!

“And, I’ll help out so I won’t be sleeping the day away— because I know that I will without a proper schedule.”

“I thought you guys didn’t need a farmhand.” You glanced at your parents, with your eyebrows still deepened with confusion.

Maria chuckled, standing to her feet. “We don’t need anything, but who could say no to a helping hand?” She grabs the empty basket of biscuits from the center of the table. “Anybody want more biscuits?”

“I would love some!” Cat spoke up, holding up a tattooed finger.

“Me too, honey.” Tommy also spoke.

A dry chortle left your lips, leaning against the back of the chair. “Are you staying on the farm, too?” You peered over at the stranger—the girlfriend, with a slight accusatory tone.

Her lips parted a few times before she responded. “Oh, no, I’m going back to Brooklyn. Not much of a country girl.”

Pursing your lips, you nodded, downing the rest of your wine. This week was going to be a doozy. When Maria came back to the table, you snatched a biscuit from the basket, biting into it. There was a perfect crispy layer on the outside, mixed with the perfect gooey, soft innards of the biscuit. “These are so good.” You muttered with your mouth full with its buttery goodness.

On your hip, your phone buzzed. Cursing under your breath, you plucked the cellphone from your belt, flicking it open. It was your agent calling you at eight o’clock at night. “Excuse me, I gotta take this.” You scooted the chair back, pressing the green button. “It’s late, Isa.” You started the call, stalking out of the room like the corporate woman you are. Taking the route up the stairs to your old bedroom.

“I need that new chapter by tomorrow morning— as in, 8am.” She scolded on the other line. “I’m personally reminding you. Since you couldn’t respond to my emails.”

You sighed, shutting your bedroom door behind you. “Isa, I’ve been traveling all day on public transport, and I’ve been trying to have family time— is that not what Thanksgiving is about?”

“You’re writer, hon. You have little bit of family time, then you hermit to finish your work— now, stop giving me grief. Time is of the essence.” Her smooth voice told, chuckling after her words. “I’ll be anticipating you’re new chapter tomorrow at eight! Have a great night.”

“Have a great night…”

Slapping your phone shut, you sighed, running your other hand over your face. Being a writer was relentless—just as relentless as you and your roommate’s neighbors. But, instead of lingering in frustration, you grabbed your heavy laptop and propped yourself on the cushion beside your window—your reading nook. Not forgetting to put a Sade tape inside of your stereo for some background music, before you began to diligently work.

You typed at your computer, rapid clicking sounds filling your ears. Although, it was no surprise that you worked your hardest after the sun set—it was like you had one too many espresso shots.

Every word was coming from the heart, and coincidentally enough, the guests at your home made it easier. This chapter was definitely reflecting the feelings you felt the day of Ellie’s seventeenth birthday. You used imagery and metaphors to describe that feeling of attack—being backed into a corner, having the worst part of yourself brought into the light. And, like most of your pieces, it was dredging it all back up again; the emotions.

That feeling of losing the only person that truly understood you.

Of course, you had a few relationships since then—a few, trying to chase that same feeling you felt when your hands touched. But there wasn’t anyone who could compare to her. How pathetic was it to still be harping on a highschool sweetheart?

Hours passed under the radar. Your parents being the mile marker in your work, knocking on the door to let you know everyone was heading to bed. Too busy with outlining new ideas, you barely spared them a glance, muttering a smooth goodnight.

It was about one in the morning by the time you finished the chapter. Still, it needed some tweaking, but it was good enough to send to your agent for the editor to look at.

Shutting your laptop, you finally took in your old bedroom. Various music artists slapped against your soft pink walls, attached with tape—some corners hanging off. Catwoman figurines lining the back of your large, white, wooden dresser; with comics stacked alongside them. Stacks of old books in the corner of your room, stacked from the floor to the middle of her wall. If you were to stumble into them, they’d experience one hell of a fall.

Suddenly, curiosity struck.

Hopping from the cushioned seat under your paneled window, you looked under your bed. Reaching for an old shoebox that was filled with many, many interesting things. You slid it from under the dusty bed frame, taking it back to that plushy seat you appreciated so dearly. Plucking the top off, you released a sigh. Immediately being hit with polaroids of yourself as a teenager—mostly standing beside, laughing with, and cuddling Ellie.

They were the photos you snatched from your wall after that fight. Oh, she looked the same. Still had that uncertainty in her earthy, olive eyes. You didn’t understand it then, and you most definitely didn’t understand it now. Ellie didn’t have to feel the uncertainty she was used to in foster care. She had people who believed in her—who will always believe in her.

Sifting through, your hands hovered over a letter she wrote. It was an apology letter sent around the time of her eighteenth birthday—almost a full year since the situation. The envelope was ripped open from the day you received it; stained with salty, heartbroken tears.

If only that day never happened…

A startling knock sounded at your window. It was no more than a pebble, which was confirmed when another launched within your sights. Scrunching up your eyebrows, you unlocked it, pulling it upwards. Once you peaked your head outside into the brisk, cool weather, a small smile spread onto your lips.

“Workin’ hard or hardly workin’ up there?” Ellie called from below. “I brought a little somethin’… Thought you could use a break from writing.” She waved a tightly rolled joint in her hands—which could only be seen if you squinted.

The corners of your lips spread wider, feeling horribly nostalgic. “You’re actually a little too late on that front. I finished a few minutes ago,” You pressed your lips into a line, continuing. “But I could never turn down smoke break. I’ll be down in a second.”

Dropping the letter, you scooted off the seat to grab your jacket. Stuffing your feet into the semi-stained Uggs you wore into the ground, before fleeing your bedroom. You didn’t feel the need to sneak down the stairs, but a part of you wanted to—to relieve that feeling of adrenaline you felt in your youth.

Ellie met you at the back door, holding open the creaking screen door as you exited. “I honestly wasn’t sure you still did this.” She chuckled, looking at the ground as you both began to walk away from the house. Putting some distance so the smell wouldn’t upset the elders in the home.

“What? Smoke weed?” You perked an eyebrow. “You think because I went all corporate, I stopped being down?”

“Actually… Yeah.” She responded, nervously snickering.

The two ofyou settled in front of this white-lined shed that was illuminated by the two warm, orange-toned lights on either side of the door. “Well, you’re kind of right…” You admitted, squinting your eyes, embarrassed. It’s hard being known for your adaptability. “I try to keep the pot smoking to a minimum. In the corporate world they test you for it.”

Ellie pulled the joint from behind her ear, placing it between her lips. She shook her head in response to your words. “Says the cigarette smoker…” She joked, eyeing you, teasingly. While she flicked her lighter to burn the tip.

“Hey, they don’t give a rats ass about nicotine— I need to make up for that loss somehow. I’m a writer for christ’s sake.”

When she finally gets it to catch the fire, she took two puffs before passing it to you between her index and thumb. “Where’s Cat?” You innocently questioned, taking a hit of the joint, then looking at it, before taking another hit.

Ellie became rigid, releasing an exasperated sigh from her lips. “The guesthouse, watchin’ some movie.”

You handed her the joint. “What, is she not down?” Mocking your previous words, with amused eyes. However, her demeanor had quickly shifted.

“She gets easily frustrated after traveling all day…” She shook her head in a dismissive way, like she didn’t want any further questions to asked.

“Hm… That’s relatable.”

Silence engulfed the both of you as you passed the blunt back and forth until it was nothing more than a roach. Hearing nothing but the distant wind chimes sounding off on the porch.

Before speaking, Ellie took a deep breath, glancing over at you as if she were nervous to make eye contact. “I hope me stayin’ here for a little bit doesn’t bother you too much.”

Her words were double-take worthy, you looked over at her with expressive eyes—widening, in surprise. “Bother me? Why would it bother me?” You leaned your shoulder on the shed, kicking one leg over the other.

“You didn’t seem like the biggest fan—“

“Ellie, I was surprised. That’s all.” You waved your hand, shaking your head. “I feel like they don’t tell me shit anymore…” Shoulders shrugging, you glance toward the house standing tall in all its glory. “They didn’t tell me about you moving to Brooklyn, either. What does it look like when someone you’ve known your whole life moves to a city you’re actually familiar with and they’re not, and you don’t reach out to help them? I’m only a forty minute train ride away.” You rambled, deepening your eyebrows. “They basically made me look like an asshole.”

You weren’t entirely sure how you’d react if you knew about Ellie’s moving to the big city. Knowing your habits, you’d probably sit by the phone for hours before making the move to give her a call. But, it’s not like you were given the opportunity to figure it out for yourself. Now, it just appeared that you forgot about her—or could care less about her endeavors; which is farthest from the truth.

Her full lips cracked into a smile, chuckling. The auburn-haired woman, mirrored your position, leaning her shoulder against the wooden shed. “Always worried about what you look like…” She muttered, sucking her teeth. “If it makes you feel any better, I don’t think you’re an asshole— you just didn’t know.” Ellie shrugged. “It’s not like we talk as much as we used to…”

As much as we used to. That kind of stung.

Your eyes averted to the gravel under your boots. “Yeah…” There was an awkward beat that took its place between you. Swallowing, you shooed it away with speaking up. “What about your art? You’re living in one of the most creative cities in the world, and you can’t create?”

She puffed air from her lips, glancing in the direction of the guesthouse, priming her lips. “Okay… Confession— but only if what’s said here stays here.”

“What’s said at the shed, stays at the shed.” You affirm, holding a hand and crossing to fingers. The high from what you smoked clouding your mind, squinting your eyes and loosening your inhibitions.

“Cat and I moved in together pretty early— too early… I needed a roommate and she was the perfect option.” Ellie began, carefully. Olive eyes shifting under the dim light in thought. “I swear ever since I moved in with her… The inspiration to make anything new is fucking gone.” She ran her hand over her hair, which was actually loose without a hair tie. Dusting over her shoulders, pieces pushed behind her ears. “She, you know, hovers a lot— in a sweet way, it’s just irritating because not even her pushing me can be inspiring.”

Your heart skipped a beat; it was hopeful—you really are an asshole! “Damn… So, it’s not the city that makes you feel crowded. It’s Cat.” You hum, nodding your head, taking in your assumption. “And… You think staying here will help? Doing boring farm work?” A chuckle falls from your lips, borderline nervous, borderline humored.

She pursed her lips, raising her eyebrows. “I mean, I spent a lot of time here growin’ up…” Ellie looked at you, knowingly. “It was never boring when we did it together.”

“That’s because we were doing it together. I’m not gonna be here while you’re shoveling horse shit.” You chortled, peering at her through hazy eyes. She giggled and it sounded like music to your ears. It’s been awhile since you heard her laugh from something you said. Weed always did have a way of bringing people together.

“Well, maybe before you go, you could help me out. Jog my memory.” Ellie offered, raising her eyebrows. “It’s either you or suffering through Tommy’s jokes for hours—“

“I don’t mind, but we might have to jog each others memory.”

“Hey, you can take the girl out the country, but not the country out the girl.” She shrugged. “I have faith in you.”

You narrowed your eyes at her, a smile spread on your lips. “You’re still so corny.” Shaking your head, a laugh slips. Wrapping your arms around your body, you acknowledge the cool weather. It pricked at your exposed skin, and even through your jacket. “It’s getting late…”

She scratched the back of her neck. “Yeah, sorry.”

“Don’t apologize. I appreciate the joint— I needed it.” You pushed off the shed wall, licking your lips. In preparation to meander back toward the house, you rocked on your feet. “There’s some left over biscuits on the counter…” You drawled, but it was all right because Ellie had filled in for you.

“I’m fucking starving.”

Then, the two of you walked shoulder to shoulder back inside. Giggling at stupid jokes, surfing over any of the past debacles you had. Turns out reconvening with your childhood lover wasn’t so bad after all. For now, anyway.

#🪅#millersfinest #ellie williams #lesbian #ellie tlou #ellie williams imagine #ellie williams x reader #ellie williams series

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giveafike · 3 months ago

Note

kinda obsessed with the prompt of ben x fem tennis reader being together for a lil while and being the cutest couple , breaking up bc the distance hit them too hard after two straight months of different tournaments/locations, then seeing each other for the first time at a 1000 tournament, going out to dinner with the same group of people and end up going back to bens hotel room to clear the air and obvs end up in bed together realising they’re gonna have to get thru the distance cos they can’t be without each other now 😭

TLDR: tennisplayerfem!reader and ben break up bc you can't handle being away and then surprise, you can't handle being not together. Losers.

Word count + info: 10k. Am I mentally ill? This is supposed to be a blurb.. Dialogue (angst, texts, calls, conversation).

Warnings + Content Ahead: SFW! Breakup and kinda mean stuff said (nothing physical description wise). Otherwise, it's all good! (i think)

Azzie Notes ✚: SHOOT ME IN THE HEAD. AM I OKAY??? 10K?? ON A BLURB?? idrk what angst is fr chat lmk if i did that one fr idk....im a LOVER girl ok IDK HOW TO DO THIS SAD SHIT - in saying that, was part of my dialogue in this lwky..loosely based off of my ex...........maybe...

I fear I loved this prompt so bad and like...I love to yap..so...

Socials + Updates: twitter ( @azziegivesafike) - feel free to follow and msg me about non requests there, I'll be posting life updates, story + req updates and spoilers/teasers alongside other things, so it'd be nice to have a community over there!

————————————————————————

Shattered - B.T.S.

In the beginning, being with Ben is the kind of whirlwind you've only seen in movies, a connection that feels so natural, yet thrillingly unexpected. Well, in hindsight, that might've been a lie. It wasn't exactly love at first sight, but instead, a slow, magnetic pull that drew you together, like the tension building in a long rally. You met on the circuit, both hungry, ambitious, and dedicated to your own success. But from the start, Ben had this way of getting past your disciplined, guarded exterior with that relentless charm of his.

He’s everywhere, it seems—posting highlights from your matches on his stories, sneaking your name into press conferences, tagging you in his silly “lazy Saturday” shots where your game is always playing in the background. He flirts shamelessly, flashing that grin across the court, his voice lifting over the crowd to make some cheeky comment that leaves you stifling laughter. Your friends see it before you do: Ben is crazy about you, and soon, so is everyone else.

He flirted shamelessly and relentlessly, everywhere and anywhere, often catching you off guard in ways that left you flustered despite your best efforts to stay cool and professional. With that, you started to look out for the way his eyes would find yours in a crowd while you sat in the stands during his matches or how he would nudge you at practice with that easy, casual touch like he’s done it a thousand times before; like you belong by his side.

Once, when he's asked in an interview if he’d dedicated his recent win to anyone, he grins and looks straight across the room, making everyone laugh. “There’s someone special right now, but no need to say names, she knows.”

It’s sweet, funny and more than a little bold. Later, when you called him out for it over one of your first late-night calls, he shrugged, entirely unapologetic, telling you with that stupid drawl of his, “What? Ain’t no point hidin’ it. The world knows who my lucky charm is.”

Soon, it was you reaching out for him, your hand slipping onto his arm, leaning against him during walkouts, letting your barriers fall. And every time he catches your eye, every time he manages to make you smile, he looks at you like he’s won the lottery. His heart stammers a little each time you shove him playfully or roll your eyes at his antics. Whether it was on the bench or during changeovers, Ben would rest his hand gently on your lower back, a touch that makes you feel, just for a moment, like you're the only two people in the world.

When the rare break in your schedules comes around, you steal hours together. You grab a coffee, turning a "quick run" into a day spent together and wander around a city you barely know, or stumble upon a hidden café with pastries too flowery for your tastes. He made everything feel easier, like no matter how intense life gets, you’ll always have that balance with him. Around Ben, you can be softer, and more vulnerable; he brings out a side of you that isn’t just about winning and competing but about laughing, sharing, and letting go.

People noticed the way you look at each other, the easy affection that passes between you, the more daring and intimate PDA, sharing kisses and lingering stares. Soon, fans were shipping you openly, posting photos of you courtside, or whispering to each other when you lean close and murmur something that makes him laugh. On tour, you’re one of those ��it” couples, a little slice of joy in the relentless pace of your careers. And in those early days, you both believe that together, you can take on anything. In those early days, you believed you could take on anything together. You and Ben were partners, equals, and even in the midst of a gruelling season, there had always been time for him, always a reason to smile. It felt perfect, like a love story you had stumbled into but were both entirely committed to.

But that honeymoon phase comes crashing down real quick.

As seasons shift and tournaments stretch across continents, the cracks start to show. At first, it’s just a few hours difference, but then come the miles and oceans, and the texts dwindled, conversations cut short, replaced by more missed calls than made and vague apologies. You both had tried, in every way you knew how. But eventually, the memories weren’t enough to bridge the distance. You’d catch yourself staying up just to wait for his call after practice, only to fall asleep disappointed, staring at a dark screen. And every time you woke up to a hastily sent sorry, something came up text, it felt like another tiny fracture.

Ben wasn’t the only one caught up in the chaos of your schedules; you had your own demands, too. The strain went both ways. In an attempt to keep things alive, you’d push yourself to keep up with his time zone, adding another city to your Clock app, setting alarms accordingly to his lunch and dinner times, staying awake far too late, eyes heavy as you sat alone in your hotel room, scrolling through old photos just to feel closer to him. When the call finally did come, your voice was barely more than a whisper, tired and distant, and Ben couldn't bear the exhaustion in your tone, his heart aching as he hushed you to sleep, meaning neither of you would stay on long.

It all piled up slowly, almost imperceptibly, until the weight felt crushing. Conversations became one-sided, it’s like chasing the sun itself, moments of silence replacing the laughter that had once felt endless, and that spark, the one that made you feel unstoppable together, felt further away with every day that passed.

Then came the day of your match, a game that should have been easy, one you’d normally have breezed through. But you were dragging, exhaustion wrapping itself around your every heavy, drooping step, and somewhere in the depths of your mind, a bitter thought took root:

If only he cared.

You knew it wasn’t his fault, but still, the frustration boiled over. Would things have felt different if you weren’t so alone in this? If you didn’t have to wonder when, or if, he’d remember to call? If he scheduled calls to your time for once? If he could just postpone everything for 20, 20 measly minutes for you?

A ball zips right by you, snapping you back to reality.

Lying in your hotel room that night, you stared at the ceiling, replaying the best moments of your time together like an old movie reel. In those moments, it had felt perfect. You’d believed you could take on the world, side by side, partners in everything. But now, with miles and silence separating you, you wondered if those memories were all that was left of what you once had.

But even with that ache, even with the emptiness filling the room, one thing is clear as day: loving Ben, for all its messiness, for all the distance and loneliness, had never felt like a mistake but God, was it hard. You pondered on those same irritating thoughts that itched at you until your fingers found your phone and hit the FaceTime Call button. Part of you wanted him to not pick up, knowing that you had nothing kind or sweet to say, but a small part of you wanted to dish back what he deserved.

“Hey,” he greets, his voice tense, worn. His drawl feels distant like he’s talking to you from across an ocean.

“Hey.” You can feel the iciness in your voice, colder than you intended.

“Long day?” he asks, though his expression is already tense, wary.

“Yeah. Almost lost today,” you say flatly.

Ben’s gaze flicks down. “I saw the score,” he says, his voice cautious. “Guess it was a tough match, babe.”

“It shouldn’t have been,” you snap. “But maybe it’s hard to focus when I’m barely sleeping… or constantly waiting for a text that never comes.”

He blinks, his eyes narrowing. “So this is on me?” The familiar accent is a little rougher around the edges. “You’re losin’ matches ‘cause I’m not callin’ you enough? That’s what you’re sayin’?”

“Don’t play dumb, Ben. Don’t act like you don’t know what I’m talking about” You feel the bitterness twisting in your chest. ““You’re barely here, Ben. Half the time, I don’t even know if we’re still together or if we’re just two people sending pointless messages every few hours. Half the time, it feels like I’m talking to a ghost.”

He lets out a frustrated laugh, shaking his head. “You think it’s any easier for me? I’ve got my own stuff, my own schedule, darlin'. I’ve got my career to think about too, you know, this ain't just about you.”

Your jaw tightens. “Yeah, well, at least when I'm on the court, I don’t exactly have the luxury of tuning you out, Ben. I’m not the one who forgets to call after saying I would. I don’t have time for half-assed texts and waiting around for you to call when you feel like it.”

“Oh, don’t go there,” he mutters, rolling his eyes. “You know what it’s like. The fans, the interviews, the time spent on court-”

“Yeah, I get it, Ben. But last week, you bailed on a call to go sign autographs. Priorities, right?”

He takes a deep breath, visibly holding back. “C’mon, babe, you don’t mean that.”

But you press on, unable to stop yourself. “You’re too busy with whatever ‘big thing’ you have going on, right? Maybe if you cared enough to focus on your game instead of your ‘commitments,’ you wouldn’t have dropped that finals match. Just maybe.”

He flinches, his expression turning dark. “Oh, that's low from you, Y/N. You really wanna go there?”

“Yeah, I do,” you say, your voice unwavering.

He pauses, his face hardening. “If you were out here on the ATP tour, you’d understand how rough it really is. You wouldn't even get past a challenger. It ain’t the same league as the WTA.”

You laughed, a cold, bitter sound. “Oh, don’t even start with that. Rougher than the WTA? Is that supposed to make me feel better? Maybe come and join WTA then, you wouldn't manage it out here either, Ben.”

He snaps, his voice cutting like a whip. “You know how much I’m fightin’ to make a name for myself out here. Just ‘cause you got a few more shiny titles doesn’t mean you get to talk down to me like this.”

The sting of his words hits like a slap. Your face flushes, a mix of anger and hurt bubbling up. “So, that’s it? Just because I’ve actually earned my success, I’m some kind of… what? Nag?”

“I didn’t say that,” he shot back, voice tight, his eyes narrowing as he looked away. “But maybe you’re doin’ too much. Bein’ all… dramatic, blamin’ me for stuff I got no control over.”

“Right, okay, so I’m being dramatic,” you scoff, your voice edged with sarcasm. “I’m the one asking for too much because I want something real, something you clearly can’t give.”

He laughs, bitter and raw. “Maybe you just want too damn much.”

You feel the tears prickling behind your eyes, but you clench your jaw, holding yourself together by sheer force of will. Your voice trembles as you speak, the words thick with a pain you can’t contain. “I just want you to care, Ben, or at least pretend to care and make it believable. I want you to care enough to be here when it matters. But you’re so wrapped up in yourself, you don’t even see it.”

His face hardens, his jaw set, but his eyes hold a flicker of something unspoken. “You think I don’t care? I’m out here pushin’ myself every day, for us, for this future we’re supposed to be building 'n shit. But it’s like no matter what I do, it ain’t enough for you.”

A sharp knock sounds from his end, followed by muffled voices. He glances away, then back at you, irritation flaring in his eyes. “Look, I gotta go. Dad’s waitin’ on me; he already gave me an extra ten minutes to talk.”

You feel your heart twist, an ache of disappointment settling in. “Oh, of course,” you mutter, your voice dripping with bitterness. “Go ahead. I’m sure your training’s way more important than anything I have to say.”

He turns back, his eyes blazing with frustration. “Maybe it is right now,” he spits. “Talkin’ to you like this, all it’s doin’ is makin’ things worse. We're not getting anywhere like this-”

The words cut deeper than you expect, and you can barely hold back the surge of anger and heartbreak choking you. “Fine. Go, then. At least one of us can prioritise something.”

He scoffs, shaking his head as he looks away. “You’re bein’ unfair, 'n you know it.”

“Am I?” you whisper, your voice tight and choked. “Or am I just done waiting for you to show up?”

You stare at each other, an endless silence stretching between you, sharp and seething, words too heavy to be unsaid. Then, with a frustrated shake of his head, he mutters, “I can’t do this right now. I’ll talk to you later. When you’re not actin’ like this.”

Before you could respond, he hung up, his face disappearing from your screen, leaving you alone with nothing but the cold light of your phone. Your hands shook as you stared at the blank screen, tears finally spilling over.

With trembling fingers, you took a breath, letting a cold, steely calm settle over you. You typed out a simple, blunt message, leaving no room for second-guessing, no room for soft words or explanations. Just the truth, as raw as you felt.

“We’re done. I can’t do this anymore, Ben. I’m sorry.”

Your thumb lingered for a second before hitting “send,” and as soon as the message went through, you blocked him on every platform, cutting off any way for him to respond, to apologise, to convince you otherwise.

But as you tossed your phone aside, a crack appeared in the calm you’d forced on yourself. The tears came suddenly, your breath hitching as a tidal wave of heartbreak surged through you. You buried your face in your hands, pressing your palms against your eyes as if you could somehow contain the emotions clawing their way to the surface. You tried to stay quiet, muffling the sound in the dark, but the weight was too much, every sob raw, grieving and heavy, pouring out the frustration, the loneliness, and the love you’d tried so hard to salvage.

By the time your tears subsided, you felt utterly drained, hollowed out in a way that made everything around you feel distant and surreal. The city lights flickered outside your window, the glow indifferent to the storm that had torn through you. And in that quiet, broken moment, with only the shadows as company, you lay there, letting the exhaustion seep through your bones until sleep claimed you.

When sleep finally came, it was restless, fractured. You tossed and turned, flashes of memories from better days with Ben haunting you, the sound of his laugh, the way he’d smile, gummy and wide, his nose scrunching with that easy confidence. You woke up more exhausted than when you’d closed your eyes, feeling like you hadn’t rested at all. But you forced yourself out of bed, pushing yourself through your pre-game routine, your emotions locked away, frozen under layers of determination.

As you walked onto the court, the crowd buzzed with excitement, but you barely registered it. You were a storm, calm on the surface but seething underneath. Every shot you took was hard and brutal, the ball slicing through the air with an intensity that made your opponent flinch, the impact echoing through the stadium. You played as if your life depended on it, your body moving with sharp, lethal precision.

Your serves were relentless, your groundstrokes vicious, each one faster, sharper, as if each shot were a way to expel the anger and hurt still simmering in your chest. The crowd murmured, noticing the shift in your energy, the way you were pushing yourself, almost recklessly. A couple of times, your shots zipped past your opponent’s hand, barely missing, almost daring her to try and reach for it - "try me". You were untouchable, unstoppable, playing like you had something to prove.

But there was no smile, no hint of joy in your movements, solely mechanical. The usual lightness in your footwork was gone, replaced by a cold, ruthless efficiency. You’d already decided: this match was yours. You weren’t here to give an inch, weren’t here to let any lingering emotions cloud your focus. The crowd might have wanted excitement, but you were giving them precision, a display of control and fury that left no room for doubt.

You won, of course. Your opponent barely had a chance. But as you walked off the court, sweat trickling down your brow, fists clenched, you felt no thrill in the victory. Just the dull ache that lingered, a hollow space where your lightness, your smile, used to be. The heat of the court only made your head throb. The applause faded into background noise as you strode away, head high, shoulders tense. You’d won, but it felt like a hollow victory. You had no one to text after your game, anyone to call you baby - you had done it to yourself, were you really that desperate for a man to validate you? You were sick of feeling this way, sick of the exhaustion, the anger, the loneliness that clung to you even after everything you’d given today. At least, for now, you’d proven something, to yourself, to him, even if he’d never know, or care.

In the month that followed, you threw yourself harshly into your schedule, determined to erase any trace of him from your routine, your heart. Matches, training, travel, interviews, photoshoots, more matches, each day bled into the next, filled with an almost mechanical sense of purpose. If you weren’t on the court, you were working out, perfecting your strokes, spending hours on serves and footwork. Anything to exhaust yourself to stop the thoughts from lingering too long. Your routine was relentless, your focus razor-sharp.

But even in this frenzy, despite it all, reminders of him still slipped through. You’d scroll through social media, and every so often, an ATP post would pop up: Ben at a tournament, Ben celebrating a point, Ben grinning with that easy charm that used to make your heart ache. He looked different now. His curls were longer, spilling out from over his sweaty headband, and his frame had hardened, leaner, with muscle that seemed to outline his strength in sharper lines. His chubby cheeks had slimmed down into something harder, replaced by the quiet confidence of someone who’d grown, adapted, maybe even suffered a little.

And you could almost feel it, the quaking, gaping pain of missing him, but you’d swallow it back down, pull yourself together, and look away.

Your own press conferences became something else entirely. You were more composed, a bit sharper with your words, confident in a way you hadn’t been before. Where you used to smile shyly or laugh softly, now you leaned in with humour, a hint of flirtation, your charm more self-assured. You handled reporters’ questions deftly, especially the ones that tried to pry about Ben. The same questions came up over and over:

“So, do you still keep in touch with Ben?”

Each time, you’d respond with a practised, cool smile. “Right now, I’ve got all the support I need from my team and the people I have with me.” You’d turn the conversation to your work, your skill, and your grind on the court, dismissing the topic with subtle elegance, always steering it back to your goals, your game, and your people.

Yet, away from the cameras, the facade cracked, if only slightly. Sometimes, after a long match or a particularly brutal day of training, you’d find yourself scrolling through your old photos or feeling tears prickling your eyes, this messy situation taking a bigger toll than you would like to admit.

In his hotel room, Ben watched your interviews alone, a faint crease between his brows. There you were, in all your brilliance, flashing a confident smile at the camera, handling the press with a wit and boldness that felt both familiar and strange. He could see the way you’d grown, the way you’d steeled yourself, and it stirred something in him, a pang he couldn’t ignore. It was like watching someone he knew intimately and yet… not at all. The way you answered questions about him, and your subtle redirection to your career and team, it stung. Maybe it was petty, but he missed the way you used to talk about him with such pride, with that lovestruck glow. He loved seeing how shy you would get at the sheer mention of his name. Your hair was different, your skin glowing, you had more confidence, even if it came off a bit cocky but he still felt like you were his, just as much as he was yours. Ben didn’t know how to reach out, didn’t know what he’d even say. There was a distance now, both physical and emotional, that seemed impossible to bridge. He’d scroll through his own phone sometimes, finding old messages, ones before distance got the better of you both, photos of the two of you, half-written scripts in his Notes app he couldn’t bring himself to deliver. If he flew out tonight to you, what would he even do after? He’d think of calling you, of reaching out somehow, but the memory of your last fight, the bitterness in your voice, the way you’d shut him out… it held him back.

One evening, as you sat alone in the players' lounge, your forehead pressed against the back of the sofa, you felt that familiar ache pulse through you, the one that came every time you thought of him. It was then that Coco came by, her familiar, steady presence filling the room as she settled down across from you, cross-legged on the seat in front of you. Over the past year, it was Ben that introduced you but, you and Coco had grown even closer, bound not just by shared victories and losses but by the pressures only someone like her could truly understand.

Coco tilted her head, her gaze warm but unwavering. “Alright,” she said, cutting through the silence. “What’s really going on? Are you… over him?”

You exhaled slowly, running a hand through your hair as you tried to gather your thoughts. “I wish I could say yes,” you murmured. “I’ve tried. I’ve tried to move on, focus on the game, on everything else, but… he’s still everywhere. Even when I’m doing well, even when I’m focused, it’s like… something’s missing.” Your voice dropped to barely a whisper. “It’s like I can’t fully shake him.”

Coco nodded, her expression both sympathetic and knowing. “I get it. You two had something real, something intense. But maybe this time apart is what you both need. I mean, look at you. You’re stronger now, on and off the court. Maybe that’s part of this whole journey, you know?”

You managed a faint smile, though your heart still felt heavy. “Yeah. I guess you’re right. It just… doesn’t always feel like enough.”

She reached out, giving your hand a reassuring squeeze. “Trust me. If he’s the right guy, he’ll figure it out, too. Until then? Focus on your game. Focus on you.”

Her words stayed with you, offering a small but steady comfort in the days that followed. You have been throwing yourself into training, pouring everything into the sport, trying to find solace in each match and each moment of growth. Somewhere out there, he was doing the same, and maybe, just maybe, this was what was best.

But no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t completely smother the small spark of hope, that someday, somehow, your paths might cross again.

It was similar in the men’s locker room, Ben slumped forward on the bench, his elbows propped on his knees as he stared blankly at the floor, holding an uncapped bottle of water. Frances Tiafoe, who’d been eyeing him from across the room, exchanged a knowing glance with Taylor Fritz before making his way over.

“Alright, bro, spill it,” Frances said, tossing a towel over his shoulder as he leaned in. “You’ve been lookin’ like you’re living in some sad dog for weeks.”

Ben gave him a sidelong glance. “There’s nothin’ to talk about.”

Taylor rolled his eyes as he joined them, settling down on the other side of Ben. “Come on, man. We’re not blind. Ever since she blocked you, you’ve been… different.”

Ben scoffed, looking away, his voice low. “She didn’t just block me, man. She… she threw down, real hard. Said some things I thought she’d never say.”

Frances let out a low whistle. “Was that rough, huh?”

“Yeah,” Ben said, rubbing a hand over his face, his frustration mingling with regret. “It all just blew up. We were on a call, talkin’ like usual, and suddenly… it was like everything we hadn’t said just came out. She starts throwin’ things at me about how I’m not there, like… like I don’t care enough or not workin' hard enough. And it pissed me off, you know? I work just as hard, and it’s not like I’m sittin’ around, right?”

Taylor nodded, leaning back against the lockers. “So, what’d you do?”

Ben shrugged, his expression pained. “I pushed back, told her she couldn’t keep actin’ like she’s the only one workin’ for this. Told her ATP is just as tough, maybe even more competitive. Didn’t mean it that way, but she took it wrong. She thought I was tryin’ to downplay her game.”

Frances shook his head, giving Ben a sympathetic look. “Man, she must’ve felt hurt.”

“Yeah,” Ben muttered, a bitter laugh escaping him. “And next thing I know, I get this text. ‘This isn’t workin', we’re done.’ Blocked me on everything. Cold as ice, man. It’s like she flipped a switch, just… shut me out completely, as easy as shuttin' a door.”

Frances gave him a gentle nudge. “You still care about her?”

Ben’s gaze softened, a faint smile breaking through his frustration. “Yeah, man. She’s… she’s my girl. Even if she’s not my girl right now, you know?”

Taylor chuckled, nodding. “So, what’re you gonna do about it? Sit around here moping, or actually make a move?”

Ben sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “What am I supposed to do? She’s made it pretty clear she’s done with me.”

Frances grinned, crossing his arms. “Bro, just ‘cause she blocked you and sent a text after you called her game easy, doesn’t mean it’s over. She’s mad, yeah, but she’s probably missin’ you just as much. You just gotta show her you’re willin’ to do what it takes.”

Taylor nodded in agreement, a slight smile tugging at his lips. “And it doesn’t have to be some big romantic gesture, man. Sometimes, it’s the small things. Something to let her know you’re still thinkin’ of her, still care. You know where we're at next, right?”

Ben chuckled, shaking his head. “And do what? Just show up at her hotel room? She’s liable to call cops on my ass for that shit, bro.”

Frances laughed, shrugging. “So what? At least she’ll know you tried! Don't go doin' that though. Look, I’ve been with my girl for years now, and sometimes, you gotta be willing to look like a fool to show her you care.”

Ben leaned back, their words sinking in. He could still feel the sting of the things she’d said, the accusations she’d thrown at him like he didn’t care, didn’t work just as hard. But he couldn’t deny that he’d made mistakes, too. He’d let his pride get in the way, said things he regretted, and let the frustration of it all get the better of him.

Frances nudged him again, his grin widening. “Think about it, man. You got two choices: sit here, feeling sorry for yourself until she finds some other guy, or actually do something about it and get her back, even if that means standing in the rain with a fuckin' speaker.”

Ben finally cracked a smile, looking between his friends. “Y’all are ridiculous.”

“Hey, maybe,” Taylor said with a shrug. “But at least we got girlfriends. And you? You got a chance to get yours back. Just gotta decide if she’s worth it.”

Ben sat there, mulling over their words as a new determination started to burn within him. Maybe he didn’t have all the answers, and maybe there was a lot he’d have to figure out. But if there was even a chance to fix things, to bridge that gap that felt so wide, he wasn’t about to let his pride hold him back.

As he left the locker room that night, he felt a resolve solidify within him. He’d find a way to reach out, to let her know that no matter how far apart they were, she was still the one he wanted. Because when it came down to it, she was worth every bit of the fight.

A week went by before a 1000 game flew in, and both ATP and WTA were present if not, nearby for the games. You couldn't care less what was at stake, anything was a win if it kept you occupied. The courts were almost empty, shadows lengthening as the sun beamed high above. You bounced the ball steadily, the rhythm calm, your focus laser-sharp. The only sounds were the muted thud of your shoes on the court, and your breath falling into sync with the beat of your earbuds. Nothing but you, the court, and the quiet.

But then, that voice broke through.

"Aw, c'mon, man!" A laugh, deep and full of that unmistakable Southern drawl. Your grip faltered, the ball hovering mid-toss. That laugh, it was a sound you hadn’t let yourself think about for months, one that held too much of him.

Ben.

Your pulse jolted, the memories flooding back, warmth and bitterness tangled in the knots of your chest. You gritted your teeth, tossing the ball high before slamming it against the court, the crack of impact sharp in the quiet. It almost felt satisfying, like you could obliterate the tension he brought, shatter it with sheer force.

Almost.

You readied another serve, the ball bouncing harder than necessary as you forced yourself not to look. But you could feel his gaze, that familiar weight of his eyes lingering on you. The pull was magnetic, almost maddening, and despite every ounce of resolve you’d built up, your gaze betrayed you, slipping over to catch a glimpse of him.

Ben, laughing with Taylor, curls tousled longer than before, his hoodie slung carelessly over those familiar, ridiculous short shorts. The same hoodie you'd worn too many times to count, drowning in its warmth during late-night snack runs and lazy Sundays. The sight tugged painfully, a cruel reminder of the little things you’d pushed down, tried to forget.

He caught you looking, and his laughter faded, his gaze holding yours for just a second too long. You gripped the ball tighter, the ache settling heavy, and forced yourself to turn away, channelling the flurry of memories into another sharp serve, a fierce crack reverberating across the court. You didn’t look back again.

Hours later, your body was tired, your mind a bit clearer. You were scrolling through your phone in the lounge, zoning out, when Coco dropped down beside you with that familiar, mischievous grin.

"Hey, you!" She nudged you, hands on her hips.

You eyed her warily. "What’s up, Coco? Awfully perky for...5:30p.m."

“We’re having dinner tonight. Big group. Wanna come?” Her tone was casual, a little too casual.

Your guard went up immediately as you dropped your phone to your lap. “Who’s ‘we all’?”

Coco shrugged, twirling a loose curl around her finger. “Me, Frances, Arthur… maybe another WTA girl or two. Just a fun little dinner. Nothing formal.”

You narrowed your eyes, reading the glint of mischief in hers. "Coco, don’t mess with me. He's not gonna be there, right?"

She tilted her head, pretending to look innocent, but the sly smile gave her away. "Well… he might show up, but that's on his own accord. I didn't mention anything to Ben and it’s not like anyone’s setting anything up! It’s just dinner."

Your stomach twisted, a sigh slipping from your lips as you looked away. “I don’t think so. Not after… everything.” Your voice softened the weight of old arguments and unsaid things hanging between the words.

Coco’s face softened, her hand finding your shoulder. “Look, I’m not saying you have to sit next to him or anything. It’s a big table. You can stay on the opposite end and ignore him if that’s what you need. But everyone misses you, it’s been ages since we all got together. We all need to see your pretty face off the court too, ya know?”

You hesitated, rolling your eyes, the ache of missing them settling somewhere deep, the sense of family you hadn’t felt in months tugging at you. After a long pause, you finally nodded, rolling your shoulders back as if bracing for a match. “Fine. But I’m serious, Coco, no funny business. If he starts anything, I’m out.”

Coco grinned, throwing her arm around you. “Girl, trust me. If anything, you’ll be giving him the funny looks. Just friends, no drama. Now, let’s go get you out of those sweats.”

Meanwhile, in the locker room across the court, Ben was doing his best to act indifferent as Frances nudged him for the third time.

"C'mon, man!" Frances said, leaning against the lockers with a knowing grin. "So you are coming to this dinner tonight, right? Don't make me beg again, I'll start singing.”

Ben tried to play it cool, leaning back with his arms crossed. “I don’t know, man. You really think it’s a good idea?”

Frances rolled his eyes. “Look, you’ve been moping for months. She’s not gonna make a scene in public, and especially not with all of us, and who knows? Maybe she’ll talk to you, be all civil. It’s worth a shot.”

Ben let out a huff, rubbing the back of his neck. “Civil? You remember the last time we spoke, right? She has me blocked on everything.”

Taylor, stretching nearby, smirked and chimed in. “Man, you got nothin’ to lose. At the very least, you’ll see her. I saw how you were after you caught a glimpse of her training earlier. Besides, Frances and Coco will keep her from killin’ you.”

“Kay, thanks,” Ben muttered, though a flicker of hope sparked under the sarcasm. He didn’t want to admit it, but he couldn’t shake the longing to see her again, to maybe fix even a sliver of what had been broken.

Taylor nudged him, grinning. “Hey, listen, if I wasn’t taking Morgan out tonight, I’d be there just for moral support. But hey, maybe next time it’ll be a double date. Me, you, Morgan and your soon-to-be girlfriend, just like old times.”

Ben shook his head, the thought both terrifying and oddly thrilling. “You’re jokin’, right? She’d probably throw her drink at me before she’d sit through a double date.”

“Only if you act like an idiot,” Frances pointed out, laughing. “Just be yourself, man. You can handle the heat on the court, you can handle this. And maybe tonight’ll be the thing that finally breaks the ice.”

Ben sighed, running a hand over his face before finally surrendering. “Alright, alright. Fine. I’ll go. But Frances, don’t expect me to be all… chatty.”

Frances clapped him on the back, a glimmer of excitement in his eyes. “Yeah, you say that now. But I know how you get around her, man. Just don’t chicken out. Remember, we got your back.”

Ben couldn’t help but smile nervously, feeling a strange mix of dread and anticipation tighten in his chest. He wasn’t sure if this dinner would be a chance at redemption or just a painful reminder of how far they’d drifted, but one thing was clear, he was tired of hiding from whatever was left between them.

You walk into the restaurant and let Coco lead you to a long table, feeling an odd mix of nerves and determination fluttering in your stomach. Your outfit is cute but simple, just a sweater and leggings; just enough effort to feel put together without trying too hard. You take a seat between Coco and Arthur Fils, with Frances across from you. There’s an empty chair across from Arthur, and for some reason, that empty space makes your heart beat a little faster, feeling torn between wanting and avoiding Ben there.

As everyone settles in, you catch Coco’s eye and mutter, “Please tell me he’s not actually coming.” She just shrugs with an easy smile.

Moments later, as the group banters along, about to order drinks, Ben strolls in, catching you entirely off-guard. He’s slightly out of breath, apologising to the group with that familiar grin, explaining he’s late because he’d just finished showering after practice. You can’t help it, you nudge Coco under the table, whispering through gritted teeth, a frustrated, “Great.”

Coco just gives him a casual greeting, and you force yourself to turn back to the table, focusing your attention on ordering a glass of wine, pretending not to notice him as he takes that empty seat across from Arthur, just barely within your view, diagonally. But as he sits down, you feel his eyes on you, and for a brief moment, you glance up and catch him staring, his face almost dazed.

You’re caught off-guard by the look in his eyes. His breath seems to hitch, his big brown eyes wide and you can see a faint blush creeping up his neck as he stares at you, almost like he’s seeing you for the first time all over again. There’s a softness in his expression that you weren’t prepared for, a kind of awe that makes your stomach twist with memories and longing. But just as quickly, you look away, turning your attention to your wine as Frances elbows Ben with a teasing hiss, “Be normal, man.”

Throughout the night, you manage to keep to yourself, mostly talking to the other WTA players or Arthur whenever he cracks a joke. You keep Ben at the edge of your vision, resolute in ignoring the way his gaze keeps drifting back to you.

Every once in a while, Ben attempts to draw you into the conversation, maybe a lighthearted comment or a direct question, but each time, you meet his gaze with a steely look, making it clear with just one glance that you’re not interested. When he tries again, you let your eyes meet his for a moment, long enough to show him you’re serious before turning away, cutting off his effort entirely, almost to say "not interested". Across the table, Frances raises his brows, murmuring with a barely hidden smirk, “Damn, she is good at this,” as Ben slouches slightly, clearly trying not to look embarrassed.

As dinner winds down, the plates are cleared away, and you excuse yourself to the bathroom, needing a moment alone. Inside, you take a deep breath, facing yourself in the mirror. You’d been bracing yourself for tonight, but nothing quite prepared you for how it would feel to see him sitting right there, looking at you with those big sweet brown eyes and a pout, filled with that same soft pleading that used to make you melt.

But tonight, all it did was remind you of those late nights waiting by your phone, checking it over and over for messages that came slower and slower until they just…stopped. It reminds you of the countless hours wondering if you mattered as much as you thought you did, replaying his empty promises and half-hearted reassurances that seemed to fade with each passing day. He couldn't expect you to take him back with a pout and some half-assed joke. But damn, was it a good attempt, he knew how to make you crumble, even if it wasn't his sole intention.

You force yourself to tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear as you look in the bathroom mirror examining yourself with a sigh, applying a bit of lip balm with fingers that tremble just slightly. Anything to distract yourself, to remind yourself that you’re strong enough to face this without breaking, reminding yourself to keep that mask on. You straighten your posture, determined to push all those memories back down where they belong, buried.

But just as you step out of the bathroom, Ben is standing right there, leaning against the wall as if he’d been waiting for you. His eyes soften the moment they meet yours, and he opens his mouth, his voice just a whisper. “Can we…talk? Just the two of us?”

The look he gives you, hopeful, no, desperate, stirs something deep inside you, and you clench your jaw, wanting to say no, wanting to walk away without a second thought. But as much as you’d like to ignore it, part of you still aches for some kind of closure, maybe even just one honest conversation.

With a reluctant sigh, you nod. “Fine. Outside.”

As you head out the restaurant’s door, you quickly fire off a text to Coco:

me n Ben talking outside. brb.

You stuff your phone back into your bag, clutching it tightly to your shoulder as you step into the cool night air. Wrapping your arms under your chest, you try to keep yourself shielded from more than just the chilling breeze.

Ben falls into step beside you, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his hoodie. There’s a moment of silence as you both find your footing, the quiet thick with everything that’s been left unsaid. You glance sideways, catching him opening his mouth like he’s about to say something, only to close it, his shoulders shifting awkwardly.

“So… how’s the tournament going for you?” he starts, his tone casual, a little too casual.

You blink, trying not to roll your eyes, feeling the irritation growing. Really? But you bite back and just sternly say, “Ben.”

He rubs the back of his neck, glancing up at the streetlights overhead. “Sorry, yeah, that was- uh, okay.” He lets out a breath and shuffles closer, his voice almost a murmur. “I just… I wanna make this right. Another chance- Just thought maybe… you know, talkin’ would be easier if…”

“Ben, stop.” You sigh, tightening your grip on your bag strap. “Stop being weird. Just… just say what you have to say, and let’s get this over with. Let's not make this longer than it needs to be, I've got shit to do tomorrow.”

He glances at you, brows knitting together. For a second, he looks almost frustrated, like he’s holding back something sharper, something rougher. But he lets it pass, letting out a long, resigned breath. “Fine. I’ll just ask one thing.”

You arch an eyebrow, scepticism thick in your voice. “One question. Shoot.”

His voice comes out softer, edged with a hesitant curiosity as if he knows it’s a stupid question but can’t help but ask. “What hotel you stayin’ at?”

You let out a dry chuckle, shaking your head. “The Merrion.”

His eyes widen slightly, a small, stupid smile breaking on his face. “No way… me too.”

You sigh, looking up at the night sky, feeling the inevitability of whatever this night is becoming. Of course, he’s at the same hotel. Only Ben could make the universe align like this. And only Ben would think of a stupid question like that. He shifts his weight, stepping closer, his gaze steady.

“Look,” he starts, “it’s just a short walk back, twenty minutes or so. Just… give me that time. Just enough to walk back. Let me talk. And then you can go to your room and go to bed. How 'bout it?”

There’s a hopeful edge in his voice that you can’t ignore, and for a moment, your resolve falters. It’s ridiculous, this is exactly the sort of thing he would come up with, some half-baked plan to get you to keep listening, to keep him around just a little longer. You want to roll your eyes, to brush him off, but something about the way he’s looking at you, those earnest, brown eyes so damn full of longing, makes you sigh.

“Fine,” you mutter. “But if you get weird again, I’m out. No small talk, you know how much I hate it.”

A small grin creeps onto his face, and he falls into step beside you, a little closer than necessary, his arm brushing against yours as you start down the quiet street. For a minute, he doesn’t say anything, just walks alongside you, letting the silence settle around you both. But then, in that familiar southern drawl, his voice comes softer.

“Y’know, I've been thinkin’ ‘bout us a lot… probably more than I should.”

You keep your eyes on the sidewalk ahead, willing yourself to stay unmoved. “And?”

He swallows, his gaze tracing your profile, softening with each word. “I messed up,” he admits. “I know I did. I shoulda… been there more, answered more, I dunno. Shoulda been better at handlin’ it.”

You nod slightly, keeping your face blank. “Mhm, you should've.”

There’s a flicker of frustration in his expression, but he doesn’t let it throw him off. “You think I didn’t feel it too? That whole time, it felt like- hell, like I was losin’ you, like somethin’ was slippin’ right outta my hands, and I couldn’t do nothin’ to stop it.”

You feel the tension in your shoulders loosen just a fraction, though you keep your arms folded as a kind of armour. His words settle into the silence, raw and rough, and you can feel him glancing over, waiting for some kind of response. But you keep your gaze forward, biting back the little stirrings of emotion that are beginning to creep in.

He keeps talking, voice low and steady, drawing you in without giving you a chance to look away. “I’m not tryin’ to make excuses, alright? I know I coulda tried harder. But it’s like… the more I tried, the harder it got. The distance, the time zones, the schedules… it all just made me feel like I couldn’t keep up. And I just didn't know how to juggle it and that's my fault.”

You shake your head slightly, finally glancing over at him, the faintest of smirks tugging at the corner of your mouth. “So this is your way of apologising?”

He laughs, a little sheepish. “Guess I’m not real good at it, huh?” He nudges you with his shoulder, a familiar, easy gesture that makes your arms slowly loosen. His hand brushes your arm, just for a second, and a warmth blooms where his fingers graze your skin as if your body’s memory of him can’t help but respond.

“Look,” he says, his voice dipping softer, “I just… I miss you so much. Like hell.”

The honesty in his tone hits you hard, unravelling the cold exterior you’ve worked so hard to keep up. He keeps his eyes on you, watching your face carefully as if gauging your reaction. You feel your resolve slipping even more, your arms slowly falling to your sides, your heart aching as you fight against the wave of warmth that’s threatening to break through.

“Ben…” you start, barely a whisper, but you don’t know what to say, feeling torn.

He moves a little closer, his eyes wide, pleading, like he’s trying to hold onto every inch of you he can. “I know I messed up, okay? But I don’t wanna lose you. Not for good. Please, Y/N. Give me one more chance, you won't regret it 'n if I fuck up bad, you can do whatever, however; I deserve it but please. Just one more chance.”

You press your lips tight together, feeling your heart tighten as his words sink in, as he stands there looking at you with that same vulnerability you’d once fallen in love with. For a second, you forget the hurt, the sleepless nights, and you’re left with just him, the version of him that’s open, sincere, the Ben you’d once held so close.

The walk to the hotel stretches out as he keeps talking, spilling out and laying his heart bare with that easy, boyish charm that only he can pull off, and little by little, you feel your icy exterior start to melt. He talks about his time away from you, how he admired you from videos, watched highlight reels, his endless hours at night going through photos and texts; the whole lot. He cracks a joke, and despite yourself, you smile, trying to hide it but failing. He nudges you again, grinning as he sees the hint of laughter breaking through your guard.

He apologises over and over, more earnestly each time, his voice steady and low, and you can hear the regret, the guilt, the need to make things right. By the time you reach the hotel entrance, you’re feeling something dangerously close to hope, your heart betraying you, making it harder and harder to keep up the facade.

You glance over at him, catching the way his eyes soften as he looks at you as if you’re the only thing he can see. He’s staring, the blush from earlier creeping back up his neck, and when his hand brushes yours one last time, you don’t pull away.

You stand just outside the hotel, a faint chill brushing past as the streetlights cast a warm glow around you. You shift on your feet, glancing up at him, your eyes soft but determined.

“Can I talk?” you ask, breaking the quiet, your voice barely above a whisper. The first thing you had actually said this entire time.

Ben raises an eyebrow, leaning in with a playful smirk. “Talk? What else have we been doin’ for the last twenty minutes, girl?”

You roll your eyes and reach out to smack his arm, earning a chuckle from him. “Fine then. Can we go up to your room?” you add, a small, daring smile tugging at your lips.

Ben’s eyebrow quirks higher. ��My room, huh?” His gaze narrows, teasing you with that familiar glint. “What exactly ya got planned, sweetheart?”

You swat him again, harder this time, and he laughs, raising his hands in mock defence. But then you drop the smile, your voice softer. “I wanna talk about what I did, Ben. I messed up too.”

The teasing fades from his expression as he studies your face, searching. After a pause, he nods and gestures toward the lobby. “Alright, then. Let’s go talk.”

In the elevator, silence hangs thick in the air, tension as familiar as it is unspoken. You don't even notice, spending your time stilling your breath and running through everything you want to apologise for. When you reach his room, you head over to the small couch by the window and settle in, tucking your legs under you and giving him a steady look.

“Ya gettin’ comfortable already?” he jokes, leaning against the wall, his eyes dancing with that old spark that makes you ache.

You try not to smile, steeling yourself for your confessional. “Can you be serious for a minute?”

His smile fades as he walks over, sitting across from you, his gaze intense and focused. You take a deep breath, feeling the weight of everything you’ve held back.

“I shouldn’t have put so many expectations on you,” you begin, your voice wavering. “You’ve got your own life, your own competitions, your own dreams. All this constant travelling, the different time zones… it’s not fair to expect you to be there every time I needed you at the drop of a hat. You get burnt out too- God. I never even asked how you were before I'd launch into my own day.”

You bite your lip, blinking back tears as they start to blur your vision. “I should’ve known better. I should’ve been more understanding, given you more grace.” Your voice catches, barely a whisper now. “And what I said… on that call… it was cruel, Ben. I was mean and unfair, and you didn’t deserve that. You didn’t deserve any of it. At all. I wouldn't want myself back after all I had said and done.”

As a tear slips down your cheek, Ben’s face softens, and he reaches out without hesitation, his hands cupping your face as he brushes the tear away. His thumb lingers on your skin, his gaze is unwavering, and then he leans forward, pressing the gentlest kiss to your temple, another to your forehead, and a final one at the crown of your head, his hand resting tenderly against your hair.

You let out a shuddered breath, your hands covering his as you finally let everything pour out. “I miss you so much,” you whisper, your voice breaking. “I miss everything about you… the way you laugh, your ridiculous voice…” Another tear rolls down, and you don’t try to hold back. “I miss the way you’d talk about cars or food for ages, and you’d make everything feel so normal, even when my life was a mess. Without you, it’s like this haze I can’t shake. I just… I miss you. I barely recognise myself these days.”

Your body shakes with the sobs you’ve tried so hard to bury, and Ben doesn’t hesitate. He pulls you close, wrapping you in his arms like he could shield you from all the pain, all the regret. He holds you there, one hand smoothing over your hair, his lips pressing soft, tender kisses to your forehead and cheeks, murmuring gentle words against your skin.

“S’all right, darlin’,” he whispers, his voice thick with emotion. “I’m here. I’m right here with you.”

You cling to him, burying your face into the crook of his neck, as his hands trace soothing circles along your back. Your sobs gradually quiet, but your breaths are still shaky, each exhale unsteady.

“I’m so sorry, Ben,” you manage, voice barely audible.

He pulls back just enough to meet your gaze, his thumb brushing over your cheek. “Hey now,” he murmurs, his tone warm and grounding. “We both made mistakes. Ain’t just on you, alright? Takes two to mess up, but it takes two to fix it too. We can fix, can't we?”

You nod, your fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt, feeling a little of the weight lift, softened by his words.

Ben tilts your head to hold your gaze, his own eyes glassy. “Can’t tell ya how many times I thought about callin’ ya or flying to ya,” he admits, his voice low. “How many times I’d pull up your name, wonderin’ what you’d say if I told ya all the things I wished I’d said. But I was… hell, I was scared, darlin’. Thought maybe I’d screwed up too bad, and you’d moved on.”

You shake your head, a small, breathy laugh escaping. “I couldn’t...I could never.”

He strokes your hair gently, his lips brushing your forehead once more. “Guess we’re both a couple of fools then, huh?”

You laugh softly, the sound wet and trembling as he pulls you back into his arms. You lean into him, letting yourself feel the warmth of his embrace, the steady beat of his heart, grounding you. Wrapped in the quiet, tangled together, you both hold on a little tighter, feeling the rawness of your honesty and the comfort of finally, finally being close again. In the safety of his arms, you feel, for the first time in so long, a sense of peace, letting the unspoken words settle around you like a quiet promise.

Ben’s hand rests on your cheek, his thumb tracing small circles as he learns your face all over again, making your heart flutter. His fingers move slowly, grazing down to your jaw, then up again, threading into your hair. You let your eyes close for a moment, his gentle touch working its way through the tension of the night, and a small, contented sigh escapes you. For the first time in weeks, you feel relaxed and content.

“Gettin’ comfortable, huh?” he murmurs, his voice low and teasing, though there’s a warmth in his eyes that wasn’t there before. He leans in, giving one final push to a stray strand of your hair before tilting his head toward the bed across the room. “C’mon, darlin’. This couch is barely holdin’ us together.”

You hesitate, but Ben’s already moving, holding out his hand as he stands up. His grip is strong, guiding you as you follow him to the bed, and he lets out a soft chuckle as you settle beside him. His arm drapes around you, pulling you close as you lean into him, feeling the steady rise and fall of his chest against you. The warmth is so consuming, cocooning you immediately.

Ben smiles down at you, a playful glint in his eye, and as his fingers find your hair again, he starts twirling a strand between his fingers. “So,” he murmurs, resting his cheek on the top of your head, “ya still gonna keep me blocked, huh?”

You roll your eyes, smirking. “Fine,” you reply, unlocking your phone with a playful huff. You find his name, well, technically his new contact name since you’d deleted him in a fit of anger, and type a single white heart emoji, pressing send.

The vibration of his phone buzzes beside him, and he pulls it out with a grin, holding up the glowing screen. “There it is. Knew ya couldn’t resist me,” he says, laughing as he pulls you in close as he kisses your temple.

But just as you relax against him, you notice a missed notification. It’s a text from Coco, her reply to your earlier message asking where she’d disappeared to after dinner. You hesitate, then, instead of texting back, you tap the Facetime icon, feeling a strange urge to share this quiet moment, finding words couldn't suffice, nor were you in the mood to type out a lengthy paragraph.

The call connects, and Coco’s face appears, a gasp escaping her as she spots you two tangled up in Ben’s bed, nestled together with his arm around you.

“Oh my god! Yes!” she cheers, loud enough to make Ben chuckle. You hear laughter and cheers in the background too, and Coco turns the camera, revealing the whole dinner table watching with knowing smiles.

"Coco, this was a set-up plan, huh?" you giggle as you see the entire friend group on the other end.

"Somewhat, but blame Morgan and Taylor, not me. They did all that," she throws the blame as she points the camera over to them. Frances, Morgan and Taylor wave and Frances yells “Look at Ben! Already got her in bed, huh?”

Ben rolls his eyes, but a faint blush colours his cheeks. He pulls you closer, his hand resting protectively around your shoulders as he grins.

“Hey now,” he says, his voice low and sincere. “This one’s special. Ain’t like any other. My lucky charm.”

You feel your heart skip a beat at his words, and you’re so focused on him that you barely notice Coco and the others making gagging noises before Ben reaches out, ending the call on your phone with a smirk. Then he turns back to you, his eyes soft, filled with something that feels dangerously like forever.

He leans in, his lips finding yours in a kiss that’s slow and tender, each second lingering with quiet promises. And in the warmth of his arms, your heart finally feels at home, exactly where it belongs.

#azzie asks #ben shelton #benshelton #ben shelton x reader #atp tennis

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wildemaven · 6 months ago

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life and loss | joel miller

pairing: dave york x f!reader / joel miller x f!reader word count: 1k content warnings: 18+ blog; death, grief/loss, major character death (no description of said death), AU and crossover universes, kind of fluffy, navigating loss, reader is non descriptive/blank slate. notes: this randomly came to me yesterday on my walk. It was meant to be just a moodboard and a small blurb to go along with it… and then this happened. Oops! Tried to pack a lot into a small thing so hopefully it makes sense.

Momentos of him, your late husband, have remained tucked away for the last year following his unexpected death. As you settle into your new widowed life and new home over a thousand miles away from the life you created with Dave, all the beautiful memories reside in cardboard boxes out of sight.

Word travels quickly through the small neighborhood about your arrival and marital status— or lack thereof. Welcoming introductions turn into unannounced check-ins and flowers. Uncomfortable small talk on your front porch is sprinkled throughout the following weeks, a hand on your shoulder accentuates their let us know if you need anything. Sympathetic casseroles finally dwindle allowing you to finally ease into this new season of your life.

The hammock left by the previous owners becomes your sanctuary most evenings. Searching for the brightest star in the night’s sky, then asking Dave how he’s doing before reading aloud to him the words from your latest book.

It's days later when you’ve read the final word that a small voice from over the fence manifests as a quirky teenage girl sitting at a table you’ve set up on your back patio. She has a million and one questions about the book and is filled with theories about what happens beyond its ending. The side gate is never regularly latched closed now, eagerly awaiting Ellie’s return. She navigates most of your late night conversations that follow, including personal stories and the history of her life. My grump of an old man is in construction. He’s single by the way— not by choice, but life happens.

His voice is calloused the first time he makes his presence known to you. Goddamn it, Ellie! I told you to leave her alone! They exchange brittle words back and forth through the shared barrier, before you insist he join the two of you. The crunch of his boots on the ground stall when he towers over where you’re still seated. His hand engulfing yours, warm and gentle as he tries to determine where his gaze should fall— you, the ground, the smirking teenager sitting across from you. Joel. Joel Miller. Uh, Ellie n’ I live next door. Not sure how long she’s been botherin’ you, but I’ll be sure it doesn’t happen again.

It’s weeks later when you run into Joel at the mailboxes. The clanking of keys and squeaky hinges fill the space between you before you’re both retreating back to your respective pathways. Your hands fidget and twist the bills and letters from your parents when you bravely initiate a conversation before he’s able to reach his front door. She’s the first person since moving here who wanted to talk to me about something other than the death of my husband. I don’t think I’ve laughed as much as I have with her in a long time. She’s welcome over here anytime.

He reeks of nervousness as he stands on your doorstep the following evening. The ambered hue of his eyes absorb the warmth from the front porch light, adding a brightness to them that they seem to be commonly lacking. His words waver a bit as he begins to speak, starting and stopping, scrubbing his hand down his face before he attempts to start again. You offer him nothing but patience, sensing the mournful energy radiating off him— similar to the one you’ve been carrying. My wife and older daughter— they were both in an accident on their way to Sarah’s soccer game. I was pickin’ up Ellie from her counseling group for adopted kids. We were headin’ to the soccer field when I got the call. Some days are harder than others. And everyone wants to help, however that may be— lots of food as I’m sure you know. It doesn’t ever really get easier, but you learn to live with grief. Anyways, if you ever need anything or just want to talk— you know where I live.

He accepts your impulsive invitation to join you for dinner, offering him the open seat across from you in the same spot as your timid first meeting. The crickets orchestrate the evening ambience as you share stories you’d tucked away, too painful to revisit until now. You find you laugh just as much, if not more, with Joel. Even among the tears shed, the conversation is filled with a hope and optimism that you longed for.

You still feel his wholesome embrace long after you’ve called it a night to seek out much needed sleep. But much like the nights that ensued after Dave’s death, loneliness and the weight of your grief rear its head.

The black ink glides over the surface of the paper. Line after line formulated a year’s worth of unsaid words that had been bottled up and blockaded by the rigid walls you’d built around them. Joel was right about the therapeutic effect of getting rid of the burdensome thoughts that come with loss, finding it’s hard to stop now that you’ve started.

You convey the love that you still carry for Dave, something you’ll never willfully ignore or regret. It feels wrong but you touch on the hatred you feel towards his death; you hate him for leaving you, hate that you miss him, hate that some nights you forget the small details that you cherished about him. You tell him about Joel and the kindness he’s afforded you in a short time of knowing him and that there’s life beyond losing the love of your life. To look for the light even when shrouded by darkness.

Pictures and trinkets find their way out of the cardboard confines Joel helped pull out from the guest room closet. The bare walls now filled with familiar faces and shelves adorn with colorful memories that you tried so hard to keep hidden.

Joel and Ellie being a constant presence in your life allows you to see that life can surprise you when you least expect it and there’s room for new love.

#Dave york #joel miller #dave york x reader #dave york x you #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #pedro pascal #wildemaven moodboard #dave york imagine #joel miller imagine #wildemaven writes

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sadiestarrs · 23 days ago

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practise makes perfect

just a short fluff drabble (blurb?) about hanging out with ellie and she finds out you've never kissed anyone. this is NOT my best work but I wanted to write it (it's also proofread) so enjoy <333

wc: 1.1k

────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────

early evening rays from the end of the day pushed the afternoon out, leaving only cool breeze to blow through your window. ellie sat on your bed, too focused on the video game she was playing to notice your obvious annoyance and frustration at the words in your textbook jumbling up on the page.

another message lights up your phone: your ex just added a photo to their story. you angrily slam it down on the table, even more agitated by the image of her at a candlelit dinner with someone else.

"woah there, i'm sure your phone did nothing wrong."

ellie looks up for a few seconds at a time, drawn to the game but concerned with what you're going through. ultimately, she pauses and grabs your phone from the desk, opening it with ease as she remembers your password.

"oh shit."

you hear empathy in her voice as she continues scrolling through your ex's Instagram, laughing at every little post that she deems cringy. "I can't believe you actually dated her. i mean-what did you even like?"

"she was nice to me, okay? im just an idiot for not seeing that it was one-sided." you think back to all the times she cancelled on you or just forgot when you were meant to hang out. luckily, ellie was a saving grace and always ready to accompany you to the library or cafe.

"there must have been something good. was she a good kisser?"

you struggle with how to answer that. despite being together for five months, you never kissed her, not even once. hell, you couldn't even remember how or when you got "together".

"we never kissed," you answer, slightly embarrassed but okay with ellie knowing. "never??" she replies, more shocked than you had expected.

"it was a short relationship, i don't even think I liked her." you try to change the conversation but ellie remains stuck on what you had revealed.

"have you kissed anyone? like-ever?"

your cheeks flush, not wanting to answer the question or even be in the room at that moment. the silence that washes over the both of you answers ellie's question.

you were no stranger to the adventures she had been on. when ellie wasn't with you, she was with some other girl, solidifying your position as the friend with no love life. you didn't mind it though, at least she provided insight into what relationships were like. but late at night, you couldn't help but let your mind wonder what it would feel like to be with ellie, to be next to her in bed—romantically, to feel her hands on your body in ways other than a hug-

"you wanna try?"

that is when you look up at her, more confused and slightly scared. would she find a friend just for you to kiss them?

"what do you mean? do you have people on speed dial for kissing?" you try to mask your pounding heart and unravelling composure with humour, but it fails miserably.

"i wish," she jokes, "but no, seriously. do you wanna kiss me? for practice?"

right. practise.

ellie williams was asking if you wanted to kiss her for—practice? you try to recap and sort things out in your mind, but nothing makes any sense.

gingerly, you shrug, not sure how she would see you if you eagerly accepted. stay calm and composed. even chanting that thousands of times doesn't help, somehow making you more nervous.

"sure, i guess."

you're unsure of what to do from there, more silence entering the room. you settle for sitting next to her on your bed, surprised at how unfamiliar it felt at that moment. ellie laughs at your awkwardness, stopping once she senses that you're unsure.

"you don't have to, you know, it was just a suggestion."

"no— no, it's fine. i want to."

without another word, ellie raises her hand for the side of your face, gently cupping your cheek to move it closer. you barely notice when your lips connect, a soft touching of lips in the most gentle way you have ever felt. there's no real indication as to why she's being so gentle, but it feels nice in the moment, reminding you of when she'd hold your hand whilst walking you home at night.

"is this okay?" she asks, eyes slightly fluttering open to see you smiling. "more than okay," you mumble, focused on returning to kissing.

ellie chuckles at your eagerness, but obliges, moving closer so that all the surface area of your lips are touching. you can't help but wonder what it would feel like if she just added more pressure, enough to fully make your heart throb

her hand slowly trails down to your waist, a firm grip holding you tighter than she ever had before. "do you wanna, um, get on top?"

"w-what?"

"I'm sorry, it's just that if you were to kiss someone, it would be better to demonstrate from that position."

you listen to her ramble and try to justify herself and let out a laugh for the first time. the idea of straddling ellie sends shock waves through your system, but you still do it, scared to fully put your weight down.

ellie quickly shuts down that fear, holding both sides of you waist and letting her hands slide up your shirt, fiddling with the clasps of your bra. "is this okay?" she asks again. "yes, ellie, it's perfect. now stop hesitating and help me practise."

a new found confidence takes over your body, your arms gaining a mind of their own and wrapping around her neck. with confirmation that you were into it, ellie quickly returns to what she had been doing with the addition of your neck and collarbone.

she had been your bestfriend for years, constantly helping and carrying you through the hardest of times and failed crushes. and here she was, teaching you how to kiss someone else.

with how long she continues working at your neck, you had enough information to last a life time. you don't tell her to stop, however, enjoying the prickly feeling. "did you know that you smell really good, like vanilla or—"

she's too enthralled to focus on her words, finally unhooking your bra and tossing it to the floor.

"i think we might need more practice sessions, you know, something makes something perfect or whatever."

idk how to feel abt this one but its cute nonetheless!! reblogs always appreciated + thank you for reading<33

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gucciwins · 2 years ago

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one last message

word count: 2.2k

a/n: love on tour has come to an end 😭 it seemed only fitting to say goodbye to it with a small blurb from the love on tour series , the story of harry styles and y/n belmonte. thank you for all the love you always give me and i hope this blurb is enough to put a smile on your face. i love you, friends 💜

You adjusted the camera as you had it leaning against the bathroom mirror. You had finished your skincare and knew tomorrow was a big night for Harry and the entire Love on tour crew. There was a lot up in the air for your career and what was next, but in the next twelve hours, all you could think about was your boyfriend. He would be saying goodbye to a tour he poured his heart into, but most importantly, he was stepping away from what he loved to take a well deserved break. Harry couldn’t stay away long; he’d be back. They all knew it was only a matter of when.

Harry was in bed; he had fallen asleep as you played with his hair and told him about your day. The pasta you made from scratch at the cooking lesson you found in a small neighborhood. It wasn’t advertised, but the chef took a liking to you when you asked him more about his favorite dishes. It seemed that was enough to grant you a special spot in Mr. Caruso’s kitchen. He tried to play off his nerves, but you knew him well enough that this final show would be one he wanted to remember forever.

Once you knew your phone wouldn’t fall, you pulled up Instagram and started a live. It’s been a while since you did one. Usually, you do an origami piece with your fans to catch up with them. Tonight would be a little different. You hadn’t been on for a minute, and the number was increasing by the second.

Twenty.

Five hundred.

Three thousand in under two minutes.

“Hi, everyone,” you greeted cheerfully. “Sorry, I haven’t done one of these in a while. Life has been busy.”

The comments began to flood with “hellos” and “I love you,” but also a lot of mentions of Barbie, the film you finished promoting and starred in. You moved past those comments and instead focused on one asking where you were.

“I’m in my bathroom. I finished my skincare for the night and thought we could chat briefly.” You giggled as you saw Lloyd joining in. The number was past 35k, and although you thought it was ridiculous at this hour in Italy, the rest of the world was running at different times. “Lloyd!!! Buddy!!! Go to sleep!” You tease.

You first.

Shaking your head, you try to see if he comments again, but the comments are coming in at lightning speed.

Cariñoooooooo

“Sarai, cómo va tu día?” How is your day? You ask your best friend.

Boring. Send me a flight to Italy.

You frown at the screen. “Be quiet. I asked if you wanted to come. You said you were busy.”

A cousin’s wedding. Remember.

“Right. You’re officiating for them. I’ll see you in a few weeks,” you assure them knowing Naomi and Sarai will be staying with you for a week–two if you manage to convince them.

Where’s Harry?

Are you in Italy?

One last show!!!!

I loveeeee you!!!!!!

Final outfit reveal

Show harry

I love the new movie

A simple night. Though lots of questions if you would be in Italy for the final show as no one has seen you for a few weeks and where Harry was. You decided to do the live to connect with the fans, but you also wanted to go to bed and join Harry because even a room away, you missed him. You wanted to talk with the fans to share you feel the same sadness that tour is ending because Love on Tour gave you Harry, and that’s something you’d never forget. The same feeling they all feel staring at Harry while being in the crowd is one that you feel too. You can’t describe it, but you all know it well.

You think back to that night in St. Paul when you locked eyes with Harry and knew life would never be the same again. You can honestly say you didn’t expect to fall in love with him and go on this crazy journey two years later, but there is nothing you’d change in your life because it led you straight to him.

“It might seem odd, I’m here talking with you late into the night.” You laugh at people calling out your time zone. “Well, it’s late for me. Maybe even weirder to do it without my overalls and stack of origami paper,” you take a deep breath before continuing. “I know a lot of you know about my relationship. How private we keep it because not everything is meant to be shared online. I like things to be mine, but Harry has never been mine alone. A piece of his heart belongs to each of you, and it’s not something I will ever forget. I am fortunate to love him and be loved by him. I don’t ever take it for granted.” You sniffle and turn away from the camera to compose yourself, but you know it won’t work. When you look back, the comments are filled with love, and it keeps you going. “Love on tour allowed Harry and I to reconnect and truthfully fall in love. I won’t say more because it’s something special to us, but Love on Tour ending is bittersweet. It’s a tour full of love where many of you met friends, best friends, and lovers. You know what it means to love someone because of an event and because of the distance. The love will only grow stronger, and that I can promise.”

You grin at Pauli’s comment saying how much they love you. You found the love of your life, but you also met new friends and built a bigger family.

“Whether you’re a fan of mine or only following me to get an update on Harry, I want to thank you for your kindness, not to me but towards him. If there is anyone who deserves all the love in the world, it is him. Most of you wonder why I’m saying this here and not to Harry, but he knows. I can promise you he does. Think he might be fed up with all the love and support I shower him with, but I’m doing it because I want to look back at this, who knows, maybe five, ten, twenty years from now, and be glad I shared this with you all. If anything, it’s something Harry can look back at when we have to be apart for longer than a day. Harry, sé que no estás viendo esto, pero eres el amor de mi vida. Un último baile mañana y estaremos de camino a casa. Que sigas cumpliendo todos tus sueños, mi estrella.”

You thank everyone for watching and signing off, turning off your phone, knowing the buzzing will start immediately. You know it will be shared all over the internet, and articles will be written by the time you wake up in a few hours. Usually, it’s something you’re careful about, but tonight you don’t mind. You’re proud of Harry, and you’re allowed to show it whenever you wish. You turn your phone off, knowing Harry loves his morning ringtone better than yours.

Turning the lights off, you know as soon as you’re wrapped in Harry’s arms, you're headed straight to dreamland. Crawling into bed is easy; moving the covers away from Harry proves to be a struggle every night. You shush him quietly to not wake him, and it seems to work until he shuffles over and drags you to lay flat on your back while he gets comfortable on your chest. He would forever be your little spoon.

“I love you, baby,” he mutters into the quiet of the night.

It makes your heart race even after two years together. You kiss the top of his head and repeat your favorite three words to him.

The final show has been nothing short of magical. Harry would spend the entire night on stage if he could, but you all know the show is close to ending. Harry, from the morning, had been cheerful from waking you up with a morning orgasm that led to making love, and once he let you get clothes on a walk along the water. You know he had seen your little speech but made no move to bring it up. It wasn’t necessary because you constantly told him how proud you were, and it was evident in how you proudly showed Harry off all day to a crew that already knew and loved him. You don’t know if someone texted it to him or if he happened to see it on Instagram, but he walked all day with an extra pep in his step. It could have also been the sex. Not a hint of sadness could be detected, and it eased your worries because it meant he was ready for a well deserved break.

You spent the show with Anne and Gemma, dancing your heart out. You knew Glenne and Jeff would pull you in for a final mosh pit as Harry danced his heart out to “Kiwi.” Harry had thanked the fans endlessly throughout the entire night. His speeches always bring tears to your eyes. He thanked the band and the crew. He thanked his family for the support they offered the past thirteen years. You didn’t expect a speech dedicated to you, so it caught you off guard when he mentioned you. All your shared family and friends cheered so loud, making it easy for Harry to spot you and even easier for the camera’s to find you and show you on the screens.

“I don’t know if some of you saw, but my girlfriend gave a lovely speech last night on a live,” Harry smiles as the crowd cheers for you. “She poured her heart out to you while I was sleeping.” He wags his finger playfully. “Like she doesn’t know I love my ego to be fed. Her love is something I feel even when she’s not around, but I am thankful she’s here tonight. She’s here, and she’s been dancing and singing all night. It's my favorite thing in the world seeing her happy.” Harry can see Glenne nudging her playfully, but your eyes never leave his. “I love being on stage and performing for you all. It’s everything I dreamed of, and I can’t wait to return soon to do it again.” Harry gives you a dimpled smile, and you know the look in his eye; even from a distance, you know he wishes he could kiss you. “No one tells you how much you miss out on. Family celebrations, nieces' first steps, and even graduations. The biggest to the littlest things matter. Bel has reminded me that even when I’m not there, I can send a reminder that I’m thinking of my family and friends. That everyone understands I’m doing what I love. I love being here with you all, but I also love being home.” Harry places a hand over his heart. “Bel has made me a better son, friend, and partner. Now I know this is sappy, and maybe you’re over this, and she’s going to tell me after this wasn’t necessary, but I do want it to be known that I’m happy. I have never been happier. And while I will be going away for some time, I want you to know I’m in good hands until I return and am yours again.”

The cheers are a mix of sobs and relief, knowing he will be back even with no set date. You can’t seem to stop crying. All the comforting Anne is doing is working, but it’s as if Harry broke you open by pouring his heart out for you on stage.

“He’s a bit of a romantic, my little one,” Anne teases as she squeezes you tighter.

“You’re telling me. I’m no match.”

Anne laughs, “you flew out the entire family and act like that’s not the greatest gesture.”

It’s true. You planned with Anne to make sure everyone could make it out by planning accommodations and rides for the final show to go smoothly for them. Harry deserved a large celebration, and it was important to have his family here. Naomi wanted to be here because if it weren’t for your best friend, you wouldn’t have found Harry in 2021 though Harry liked to think your paths would cross either way. Naomi’s parents, Ruby and Phil, made the journey for Harry. They happily welcomed him into the family. Viola flew in for the celebration as had Violet, your goddaughter with her father Alex.. Your family had become his, and they were here to celebrate two incredible years of a tour filled with love and joy. He deserved to have his family here after missing them so much. There was a wonderful celebration to come after the show ended.

“Guess we compliment each other well like that,” you told Anne. Small moments that reminded you how much a perfect fit you are for each other.

Harry clears his throat, “now, I’m sure Bel is flustered and wants me to stop, so I will. Thank you for being here. Thank you for changing my life. I love you.” He points at you, and you blow him a kiss he pretends to catch and puts it over his heart for safekeeping. “I love you, and I’ll miss you.”

You don’t know what the future holds for your relationship. All you know is that your love will guide you through it all. Whether you get married, have kids, or simply exist to love each other, everything will work out the way it needs to because your love was written in the stars.

thank you for reading! love on tour has been so magical and special for us all. i love you all and hope you go back and read this series if you’re ever missing love on tour. te quiero mucho 🤍

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watermelonlovershigh · 2 years ago

Note

Will you put out another image soon?

Medicine (SMUT) /blurb/

AN: right now!!! a little surprise fic for you. its short but sweet and spicy.

This story contains: sex, playful teasing, mild angst

{ dadrry - husbandrry - soft!harry }

word count- 812

Harry does something rather cheeky in bed one night and when you're at his Wembley Night 3 concert, you recognize him recreating that cheeky move in front of thousands.

One week before Wembley Night 3 show:

It was a cozy evening tonight in your family home in London. Thank goodness you were in a city where you had a home because you despise staying in hotels all the time. Harry had just finished putting your three and five year olds to bed while you wrapped up your nightly shower.

Not thinking twice about it, you come walking out your shared bathroom that's located inside your bedroom stark naked with just a towel around your hair. As you were pulling some underwear out of your dresser drawer, Harry enters the bedroom but freezes when he sees you.

He looks you up and down and immediately you know what his eyes are giving. They're giving his "bedroom eyes". The eyes Harry gives to you when he's in the mood for sex. Though you joke that Harry is a horny bastard sometimes, you're just as equally horny the same amount if not more.

Somewhere between you grabbing your sleep clothes and walking over to the bed where you put on your lotions and creams, Harry stalked over towards you and pushed you back on the bed. Not in an aggressive way but in a playful way. "Harry", you giggle, the towel around your hair falling to the ground, "what are you doing?"

You know damn well what he's doing but you play dumb. Harry has you starfished out in the center of the bed. He's straddling your hips with his legs locked around your waist and his hands pinning your hands down to the mattress. "Think you can walk around our room naked and me not want to prance on you? Huh?"

Harry leans his head down to whisper against your mouth one last, "Huh?" and you being needy now, encloses your mouth around his lips. He doesn't fight back on trying to get an answer but instead just falls into your lustful kissing spell.

One thing leads to another and the clothes he had on (sweatpants and a t-shirt) has been shed off onto the floor and now he's fucking you. Well he made sure you were wet first but then, he got into fucking you. It's not rough sex but it's also not your "love making" sex either. You'd almost say its playful sex. Teasing sex. Sex where you're laid flat on the bed and Harry's on top but isn't pressed down on you. Just sitting up right with your legs around his waist and his hands on your hips as he thrusts in and out of you.

After this goes on for a few minutes and Harry can see how tired you've become, he speeds the process up but reaching a hand down to stimulate your clit. This gets you coming within a minutes time. And the feeling of you coming nearly triggers his but because he didn't wear a condom, he quickly pulls out.

As you lay there reeling from your high, Harry grabs his dick and continues his stimulation by jerking himself off. But being the cheeky man he is, he pretends to shoot his load sprinkler style where he twists his hips to the far left and slowly turns his hips to the right. His cock being held by both hands.

Once you catch sight of his doings, you hiss, "Don't you dare get cum on our duvet."

Harry laughs, "M' jokin'. M' jokin''" But his playful attitude only last a second more before he throws his head back and stills his hips. He removes one hand from his cock so that his other hand can go full force in the jerking motion. He roughly jerks the shaft of his cock until cum spurts out onto your belly. "Mhm, aghh!" he moans.

When Harry finishes coming on your stomach, he quickly reaches for some tissues that sit on your bedside table and goes to wipe his sticky cum off your skin before it dries. Then he leans down to peck your lips where you both mutter "I love you's" before actually getting ready for bed.

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

Wembley Night 3 show:

As you stood in the friends and family section of your husbands concert with your two kids dancing their little hearts out down beside you, you notice something familiar. While Harry is performing his unreleased fan favorite song Medicine, he suddenly holds the mic stand up to his front as if it was a dick and twists his hips side to side.

When you stare at the sight before you, you see Harry winking directly at you and that's when the memory comes to your mind. The memory of him doing this move exactly a week ago in bed, except he didn't have a mic stand. He had his actual dick in front of him, jerking it off while rotating his hips left to right. That cheeky mother fucker.....

(PLEASE REBLOG BECAUSE WRITING IS NOT EASY AND IT'S FREE SO JUST DO IT)

(no more tags are allowed because i've hit my number limit. sorry : ( )

tag list: @one-sweet-gubler // @harryscherrysugar // @hsfanficsrecss // @lollypopsx // @harrycanyonmoonn // @itfeelslikemytherapisthatesme // @damnasstyles // @mrsstylesharry // @softmullet // @meetmyblondemuffins // @thegirlnextdoorssister // @stanleystyles // @haarrrys // @michellekstyles // @skyangel57 // @the-gardener-31 // @lhharrylilpumpkin // @yousunshine-youtemptress // @clairestylessss // @kissmyaxe140 // @goldenmelonsugar-hi // @kaitieskidmore1 // @florencepughily // @alienorknight //@dancearoundthelivingroom // @swiftmendeshoran

// @luv-flor7777 // @alohastyles-x // @tenaciousperfectionunknown // @sleutherclaw // @siredtohybrid // @whoscamila // @a-strange-familiar // @golden-elodie // @mrspeacem1nusone // @goldenkhae // @lntwithharry // @shadowygladiatorlight // @manifestrry //@mendesblurb // @sunshinemoonsposts // @depersonalizationsucks // @academiaghost // @zendayassimp // @reveriehs // @vsnnstuff // @dancinsunflowerkiwi // @quinnsgrapejuice // @walkingintheheartbreaksatellite // @justlemmeholdyou // @stylesmygucci // @hsonlyangelxo // @luvonstyles // @howdey

______________

My Masterlist Masterpost

#harry styles #harry styles fan fiction #harry styles smut #harry styles fluff #harry styles angst #dadrry #dad!harry #husbandrry #husband!harry #softrry #soft!harry #harry x reader #famous!harry #famousrry #harry styles blurb

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httpiastri · 29 days ago

Text

author's note: this is extremely self-indulgent and based on a boy i used to like (i've been over him for like two months already. i promise), who loves drinking. we went out together a few weeks ago (with our other friend, it wasn't a date) and oh how bad i felt for holding him back when he and i sat in the far corner of the bar alone. my mind started spinning, and i ended up with this. possibly a follow-up to this other blurb i wrote on this topic.

and with that, i just want to say happy birthday to two of my favorite people, clement and @lovelytsunoda. i hope you've had a lovely birthday so far darling! the day may be over where i am but it isn't for you (right?) and i hope it ends just how you want it.💗 (and obvs i was thinking abt you and our chats abt booksmart reader x partylover clem when writing this sooooo this is dedicated to you, my dear)

"opposites attract."

you grew up hearing the words, like an overplayed pop song on the radio, the most frequently used trope in romance movies. the nerd and the jock, the american with the brit, the dreamer and the realist; coming from two different worlds seemed like the best recipe for true love.

you never really believed in it fully, however. you couldn't understand how it would actually work in reality. wasn't it just something they say, that differences in people help even out and complement each other?

but then, you met clement, and it suddenly made sense.

you'd never before met someone so different yet so perfect for you. while he's all uptempo and impulsivity, you're serenity and thoughtfulness. when you first met him at that party one day, you'd half expected someone so free and careless to find you uninteresting. but he found himself drawn to you, unable not to fall for your unexpected wits and peacefulness. over the weeks that followed, you got to know how similar you were – but also how your differences in lifestyles affected your relationship.

to you, weekends are sanctuaries, sacred hours carved for stillness and recovery. to clement, weekends are an open invitation to laughter and neon-drenched nights. your perfect saturday consists of a good book or movie, wrapped in blankets on the couch with a cup of hot chocolate; clement's perfect saturday includes a symphony of footsteps and dj mixes, a kaleidoscope of noise and strobe lights that never seems to stop.

he's not really an alcoholic, and you're not a complete sober; he just enjoys drinking and partying in a way you likely won't ever be able to wrap your mind around. you just don't see the fun in it. how could fleeting lights and crowded rooms ever compete with nights of laughter woven into stories or the gentle comfort of a shared silence?

your friends, ever the overprotective guardians of your poor heart, had been skeptical when clement stepped into the picture. they knew how your laidback lifestyle would clash with the party animal inside of him. they said that there would be thousands of flirty strangers out there willing to lure him into going home with them instead. they explained to you that a guy like him wasn't looking for a relationship like the one you want. but you assured them that it would work.

you trusted him.

you trusted him with a certainty that felt almost reckless, as if your heart knew before your mind could even begin to argue. he had always sent you updates throughout the night; you had not once heard a single story about him crossing a line on a night out (even his female friends confirmed the fact and swore on girl code that they would tell you if anything happened); and he had always come home at the time he had promised, with a big, goofy smile on his lips and stories of his adventures.

when you first started dating him, you had tried to follow his rhythm and step into his world. however, you soon realized how you were holding him back. while you enjoyed sitting in the corner of the bar, sipping on your drink and discussing book plots, clement had a need to mingle, dance, charm. if it was possible to befriend and impress every single person in every room, clement would see it as his personal mission every night out.

it all just makes you cherish the times that he does stay home and cuddle with you, just like he treasures the times that he gets to bring you along with him out into town.

there's also a very specific upside to it all; drunk clement is adorable. you're reminded of it at this exact moment, actually. he has just stumbled into your shared apartment after an evening with james and marcus, not completely surprised to find you under the covers of the bed, some random christmas movie playing on the computer next to you. his tired eyes crinkle in the corners with his grin as he analyzes your pajamas – a pair of shorts and one of his hoodies – and he tosses his jacket toward a chair in the corner of the room before making his way over to you. he doesn't waste any time falling into your embrace, his nose tracing the soft arc of your neck, sighing contently when your nails graze against his scalp.

"mmm, missed you," he mumbles against you, beard scratching your skin whenever he moves. "so much."

you can't hold back from laughing, despite how you know he doesn't approve of you laughing at him when he's drunk. "we saw each other like five hours ago..."

"doesn't mean i can't miss you anyway." the pout is clear in his tone, and he presses a quick kiss to your jaw before removing his face from you. "did you have a good night?"

you nod, one of your hands reaching up to push his fringe back. "you and james behaved?"

"macus kept us in check."

"of course he did."

clement feels a strong urge to kiss you, and he can't deny himself the satisfaction. you stay there for a while, lips locked and hearts intertwined. when he pulls away, he flops down next to you, eyes droopy and cheeks flushed. "i want skin care," he whispers.

"i think you're too tired."

"i think you could do it for me."

"i think you always complain when i do it and you can't help out."

"i think i'm scared to admit that i just want your love and affection. and touch."

"i can touch and love you even without skincare if you want."

he stops, thoughts swirling at race car speed and yet snail pace. he shuts his eyes, sighing, nodding. "all the time?"

"every second, every day."

the answer drags out a satisfactory hum from him. "i will love you until forever." he chuckles at himself. "is that even a thing i can say?"

"you said it and it was perfect. now come here..."

and drunk clement will cuddle into your side forever, slow breaths tangling with yours and fingertips brushing against your skin. and there's no place he'd rather be – no club, no bar, no party – even if he's scared to admit it.

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corroded-hellfire · 2 years ago

Note

Where the heart is.... maybe keeping in theme of first holidays and how Eddie wants to surprise the reader for their first valentines day.

Happy 2k!!!

+ valentines day in the where the heart is universe? i love them so much 🥹

I love that I got the same request in the same universe twice! I hope you enjoy this little Valentine’s Day story. Many thanks to @munson-blurbs for helping me so much with this 💚

In the same universe as Where the Heart Is

Warnings: smut, p in v, unprotected (wrap it up), oral m and f receiving

Words: 5.5k

[Where the Heart Is masterlist]

When your alarm blares at eight o’clock in the morning, you groan and shove your head underneath the pillow. Unfortunately, that doesn’t shut it off, so you flail your arm around until you’ve managed to silence it. Shelby huffs from her bed across the room and you mentally give her the finger. Her eyes are still closed so you could’ve physically done it, but you don’t have the energy to lift your hand. You and Eddie had been on the phone until midnight last night, both of you insisting you had to be talking to one another the moment it went from February 13th to February 14th.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, baby,” he’d said.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, Eddie.”

Usually, you’re very conscientious about getting off the phone so your roommate can go to sleep, but just this once Shelby could deal with it.

But now, even though you don’t regret being on the phone for a moment with Eddie, you wish you could sleep in just a few more minutes. Begrudgingly taking your head out from underneath your pillow, you roll onto your back and take a look at your clock. Eight o’clock. Eddie should be awake now, his shift starting in an hour at the garage. He’d probably have a few minutes free to talk, but you know you’d probably both end up being late for your obligations today.

With a sigh, you push yourself out of bed and shuffle over to your closet. The tile floor is freezing against your socked feet, and you take a peek out the window to see that it’s snowing pretty heavily outside. The heaviest sweater you own is pink, which works out perfectly for the holiday. You pair it with your thickest jeans and the warmest brown boots in your closet.

As you’re running a brush through your hair, Shelby startles you by sitting up in her bed with a loud groan.

“Thank God it’s Friday,” she says with a sigh.

You hum in agreement, one last yawn sneaking its way out of your mouth. Opening your jewelry box, you take out the charm bracelet that Eddie gave you for Christmas and secure it on your wrist.

“I’ll see you later,” you say, shrugging on your coat. Shelby gives you a two-finger wave as you sling your backpack on.

Luckily, you only have the one class on Friday’s, and it was probably your favorite – abnormal psychology. Also luckily on this blisteringly cold day, the Psychology building isn’t too far of a walk from your dorm building. Once you’re comfortably seated in the blissfully warm lecture hall, you notice most students are wearing red or pink, all decked out for the holiday. A couple a few rows in front of you is holding hands. You rest your elbow on the table next to your notebook, propping up your chin as you let out a melancholy sigh.

This is the first time you’ve had a Valentine, and you know without a doubt that you have the best one. But he’s a thousand miles away, curls probably tied in a bun at the base of his neck as he works under the hood of a car. Every second is going to tick by slower than ever until you get to talk to him tonight.

The class is interesting as always though, so it manages to keep your mind engaged enough not to fixate on missing your boyfriend. It’s snowing even harder than before class when you step out of the psychology building, heading toward the dining hall. Nancy’s class ends ten minutes before yours so she’s probably already in there waiting for you, getting toasty after being out in the bitter cold. But as you approach the large glass doors, Nancy is hurrying out, mouth chewing on something.

“Nance? What’s up?” you ask. She covers her mouth as she finishes the food in her mouth before speaking.

“I’m so sorry, I can’t do lunch today. Emergency at the student paper. I only had time to grab a quick sandwich.”

“No, no, it’s okay,” you assure her. “I’ll see you for dinner?”

“Definitely,” she says, giving you one last apologetic look before she heads off, tightening her cream colored coat around her small frame.

It was moments like these that the book in your backpack came in handy. You didn’t mind eating alone, but you also needed something to focus on other than your food. The hall looks more crowded than usual today, probably because everyone wants to get out of the cold. You’re quick to pick up a bowl of steaming hot mac and cheese and nestle yourself into a corner table where you can look out onto the falling snow.

After the first bite fills your frigid body with some much needed heat, you reach into your bag to pull out your copy of Pride and Prejudice when a voice sounds from behind you.

“Is this seat free?”

On instinct you’re about to say that it is, but your mind catches up to your ears and realizes you know that voice. Your head whips around so quickly that your own hair smacks you in the face. Shaking it from your eyes, you look up to see the grinning face of your boyfriend.

“Eddie!” You leap up and throw your arms around his neck. He laughs and wraps you up in his arms, lifting you so that the toes of your boots are barely brushing the ground.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, baby,” he says in your ear. Pressing a kiss to your cheek, he sets you back down. You take his face in your hands, mind having trouble putting the pieces together that he’s standing here in front of you.

“Happy Valentine's Day,” you say, voice still sounding dazed. “You’re here.”

“Of course I’m here. Couldn’t let today go by without seeing my best girl.” Eddie cups your jaw in his large hands, leaning in to press his lips to yours. The questions swirl through your mind, one after the other, wondering when he got here and how long he’s been planning everything. But none of it seems to matter when his mouth is on yours.

“You’re done with classes for the day, right?” Eddie asks once you’ve pulled away for air.

“I am. Wait.” You raise an eyebrow at him, and a mischievous smile comes to your lips. “Are you why Nancy suddenly couldn’t have lunch with me?”

“Maybe.” Eddie shrugs, a shit eating grin on his face. “Now, come on. Let’s finish your lunch so we can get over to the hotel.”

“Hotel?” you ask as you sit back down. “Wait.” You laugh as Eddie sits down next to you. “Did you say ‘let’s’ finish, as in you too?”

“Yes and yes,” Eddie says, grabbing your fork and shoveling a mouthful of mac and cheese into his maw.

When you get back to your dorm to pack for your weekend hotel adventure with Eddie, there’s a vase of yellow roses next to Shelby’s bed.

“Wonder who sent those,” you say as you pull a bag out from under your bed. “She and Joey broke up weeks ago.”

“I brought them,” Eddie says. Hand on the closet door, you pause and frown in confusion.

“For Shelby?”

“Yeah.” He slides his hand into his pockets and nods his head towards the flowers. “The guy at the flower place said yellow is for friendship. I dropped those off here before coming to find you. Figured she could use some cheering up since the breakup.”

The fact that Eddie not only was thoughtful enough to bring your annoying roommate flowers, but that he remembered she’d just gone through a breakup makes your heart swell. Eddie Munson was truly the kindest person you had ever met and the fact that you got to be his girlfriend made you feel giddier than all the champagne in the world could. Pausing your packing, you grab the sides of Eddie’s face and pull his lips to yours.

“You’re the sweetest man alive,” you whisper against his lips. Eddie chuckles and gives you another quick peck.

“Don’t worry, baby. Got you flowers too.”

Truthfully, that hadn’t even crossed your mind. But of course he had.

“Where are they?” you ask.

“Hotel,” he says with a wink as he slides his hands onto your hips. “Can I pick out your underwear for the weekend?”

The devious look on his face as you flushing.

“And my bras too? And what about pajamas?”

“Sure, I’ll pick out your bras, too.” Eddie leans in and presses a kiss to the side of your neck. “But I don’t think you’ll need pajamas.”

“What should I wear to sleep then?” you ask, giving Eddie the most innocent look you can manage.

“I was thinking nothing,” Eddie says with a shrug.

“Hmm,” you hum as you take a few steps over to your dresser. “You may want to rethink that.” Out from the top drawer you pull a skimpy negligee you’d spotted at the mall a few weeks ago. The pinkish purple silk has lace lining the neckline and the hem, a pretty pale pink. Perfect for Valentine's Day.

“Shit.” Eddie’s eyes grow wide and darker as he looks at the bit of material hanging from your fingers. “Okay, yeah. Start the night in that. End in nothing.”

“Good compromise,” you tease as you toss the nighty into your bag. “Now hurry and pick out your favorite pairs of my underwear.”

“Challenge accepted.” Eddie rubs his hands together as he walks over to your delicates drawer.

In your car on the way to the hotel you pepper Eddie with the questions that have been buzzing through your mind since he appeared in the dining hall.

“When did you get here?”

“A few hours ago.”

“Did you get any sleep after we hung up last night?”

“A little. And I slept on the plane.”

“How long are you here?”

“Fly home Sunday night.”

“Why’d you get a hotel?”

“Really, babe? Besides the fact that I didn’t feel like getting complaints from your RA when I make you moan too loud?” He pauses with a laugh as you reach over to swat at him. “I knew Shelby wouldn’t be staying with her boyfriend since she doesn’t have one anymore and I wasn’t about to give her a free sex show.”

The hotel room is small, but it’s clean, warm, and has a bed. That’s all that matters to you. And just as he promised, there’s a vase that’s stuffed to the gills with red roses sitting on the bedside table. The sight brings tears to your eyes as you drop your bag on the bed. No one has ever gotten you flowers before, let alone roses.

“Eddie, they’re beautiful.”

He slips up behind you and wraps his arms around your waist. You feel his hot breath brush against your ear as he rests his chin on your shoulder.

“Fitting for the most beautiful girl.”

There’s a large box of chocolates next to the flowers, a bright red ribbon tied around the cardboard heart. You rest your head back against your boyfriend’s shoulder and turn your head to kiss his cheek.

“How many of those candies are missing, hmm?” you ask. A squeal of laughter leaves your lips as Eddie digs his fingers into the softness of your tummy.

“Not one, thank you very much,” he says as he tickles you. “Maybe if you’re nice to me I’ll feed them to you. Like you see on the covers of those sappy romance books.”

“The ones where the men’s nipples are always showing?” you ask as you start to playfully fight with him, pulling out of his arms to escape his clutches.

“I’ll be shirtless for it if you want me to,” Eddie says. He tugs on your coat sleeve but with one quick unbuttoning, you’re sliding out of the garment completely, leaving Eddie there standing with your coat in his hands. You kick off your boots, Eddie following your lead, and you kick them into the corner so no one can trip on them. Eddie rids himself of his leather jacket, tossing both it and your coat onto the single chair in the room.

Making your way back over to your boyfriend, you start to push him onto the bed and shock paints your face when he shakes his head.

“I know you’ve got that sexy lingerie in there,” he murmurs into your ear and motions to your duffel bag. “Go put it on f’me, yeah?”

“I was saving it for tonight,” you pout, jutting out your lower lip in protest.

Eddie just laughs. “No time like the present, baby.”

“I expect you to be a lot closer to being naked than you are right now when I come out of that bathroom,” you tell him as you pick up your bag. He gives you a salute before you walk into the bathroom and close the door behind you.

When you take off your soft warm sweater a chill enters your bones. Wearing less, and then no, clothing doesn’t faze you though, even in the middle of February. There’s not a doubt in your mind that Eddie is going to warm you up. But as you strip out of your jeans and socks, you let out a hiss through your teeth as you see you haven’t shaved your legs.

“Uh, Eds?” you call as you creak open the bathroom door.

“What’s up?”

“I, uh, didn’t shave my legs,” you admit, heat gathering in your cheeks. “Didn’t know you’d be here. Haven’t been wearing shorts.”

Eddie just laughs, the booming sound making your tummy tumble. “Babe, I don’t care if you’ve got some stubble. Shit, I don’t care if you have longer leg hair than I do. Just come out here so I can kiss you and shit.”

“So romantic,” you say with a scoff, regarding his last sentence. But really, the fact that Eddie doesn’t care if your legs are perfectly smooth or not makes him even more amazing in your book.

The silk of the negligee feels nice as it hits your skin, sending goosebumps over your chest and down your arms. You turn your head upside down to shake out your hair, hoping to give it some volume. It won’t matter how it looks because it’ll either be in Eddie’s hands or pressed into a pillow in a few minutes, but it’s the principle of the thing.

When you step out of the bathroom, the floor is biting cold against your bare feet. Trying to ignore the chill, you try to walk slower and sexier. A “sexy” walk isn’t something that’s generally taught, so you’re doubting yourself the whole way towards the bed. But when Eddie’s eyes land on you, they light up. Suddenly, there’s a pressure behind your eyes. Tears could start streaming at any moment and your body starts to feel warm from the inside out. Because all of a sudden you know. You know that it doesn’t matter that you haven’t shaved your legs. It doesn’t matter that your hair might be a little messy after trying to fluff it up. It doesn’t matter if the walk you were just doing looked stupid. Because Eddie doesn’t see any of that. He sees you and it makes you feel safe in a way you never knew you needed.

The tears don’t come but the feeling of safety and belonging doesn’t wane. Your eyes take in Eddie’s figure on the bed, shirt off – pink and white scars that you’ve come to love and memorize on full display – belt undone and fly unzipped, ready for you to strip him right down.

“There’s my sexy Valentine,” Eddie says, eyes still drinking you in.

Giving him a shy smile, you walk over and tug on the ends of his black jeans. He lifts his hips for you so can slide them all the way off. “Boxers too, mister.”

Eddie rids himself of his boxers and you feel a significant surge of wetness between your legs as you’re greeted by his long pretty cock. It’s been inside you dozens of times now, but you still get that bubbly feeling whenever you see it.

“Staring might not be polite, but I like when you do it.”

Eddie’s words have your eyes meeting his, a smirk on his face while yours is growing warmer. He holds out his hand for you and you take it, letting him guide you onto the bed next to him. Fingers tracing down the bare skin of his arm, you cuddle up to his side and press soft sweet kisses along his neck.

“You’re so pretty,” you mumble absentmindedly against his skin. A pretty pink hue creeps up his neck, even coloring his ears at your words. A strong calloused hand comes down to rest on your thigh, thumb stroking lovingly on the inner part of your leg. “What do you want first, baby?”

“First, I wanted you in this,” Eddie says, finger coming up to tangle in the piece of lace at the bottom of the nighty. “Now, I want to taste that pretty pussy of yours. Been thinking about it all day.”

“Oh yeah?” you ask, looking at him from underneath your lashes. Eddie takes your hand and places your palm right on top of his cock.

“Been half hard all day just thinking about it. But you wearing this while I eat you out? Shit baby, we’re going to have to go a few rounds because I’m telling you right now, I’m not going to be able to last long.”

“Better get to work then,” you say, shooting Eddie a smirk as you settle back against the pillows. He rolls over onto his stomach and slides down the blue floral duvet. When you spread your legs for him, he lets out a groan that sounds like it deflated all the air from his body.

He takes your words to heart, wasting no time throwing your leg over his shoulder and moving your other one to the side, giving him the perfect view of how wet you already are for him. Slowly, Eddie moves his body up closer to yours. Large hands grab at the bottom of your lingerie and Eddie’s pushing it up, so it gathers around your waist. He didn’t want anything to get in between him and his prize.

Eddie places a few kisses up your thighs, but he knows they’ll be plenty of time for teasing later. He may only be in town for two nights, but he was going to make every second count. A hand is braced on each inner thigh, hard enough for you to find finger shaped bruises in the morning. He dips his head in, taking his first taste of you in weeks. How was it possible that your slick on his tongue was even sweeter than he remembered? As he goes in for another swipe of his tongue, your hand grips the duvet below you. His flicks his tongue against your clit, causing you to let out the smallest of whimpers. Always encouraged by the pretty sounds you make, Eddie keeps the attention on your clit, swirling his tongue around it before sucking on the small bud.

“Eddie,” you whine, and Eddie feels his cock twitch where it’s trapped between his body and the mattress.

“What is it, princess?”

“Feels so good.”

That makes Eddie smile against your pussy, pressing a few soft kisses to the area before slipping his tongue inside of you. The feeling of the wet warm muscle entering you makes your back arch off the bed and Eddie uses one strong arm across your pelvis to keep your hips in place.

“I missed this, baby,” Eddie says before delving back into your hole.

“M-Me too.” You don’t have the mental fortitude to keep up a conversation when your boyfriend’s head is buried between your legs.

“So wet,” Eddie muses, mostly to himself, as he pulls away and some of your slick keeps his chin connected to your throbbing cunt.

Adjusting his position to make himself more comfortable, Eddie wraps an arm around each of your thighs, pulling you closer to him as his tongue starts to really work you. He alternates between licks and sucking on your clit, never letting your dripping hole go too without attention either. He slips two fingers into you with no resistance and begins to hunt for that place inside that he knows drives you wild. It doesn’t take him long to find it; Eddie was a quick study when it came to learning your body and how to make it feel good.

Curling his fingers up has you keening, your boyfriend smiling in satisfaction at making you feel this good. It only takes a few rough strokes of his fingers before your hands are scrambling for purchase on the bed.

“Eds, I’m gonna - shit I’m,” you moan out.

“I’ve got you baby,” Eddie assures you, lips still against your clit. “Let go. Cum for me.”

That’s all you need to hear before your legs are closing around Eddie’s head and your walls are clenching around his thick fingers. He works you through your orgasm, wanting you to get every last bit of enjoyment out of it.

“There we go,” Eddie says as he slips his fingers out of you. “How was that, princess?”

It’s with heavy lidded eyes that you watch Eddie bring his fingers up to his lips and suck your slick from them. The sight of it has another moan slipping free from you.

“Was s’good, baby,” you say as you try to catch your breath. “But I need your cock.”

“Anything for you, sweetheart.” Eddie crawls up your body and presses his lips softly against yours, the intimacy of it making your tummy buzz.

A pale arm reaches over to the bedside table, fumbling with a square box behind the heart shaped one. Eddie’s deft thick fingers pluck a condom from it and the foil crinkles as he works it open.

“Hey.” There’s a smile on your face as you catch Eddie’s wrist in your hand.

“What’s up?” he asks, brow pinching in concern.

“We, uh, we don’t really need that,” you say, eyes glancing down at the condom. “I figured it would be a surprise when I saw you over Spring Break, but I guess now works too.”

“Surprise me with what?” Eddie asks. His eyes dart down to your stomach, and you can’t help but roll your eyes.

“I’m not pregnant,” you say with a laugh. “I started taking the pill.”

“Oh. Well, fuck this thing then.” Eddie tosses the condom over his shoulder and cups your face in his hands as you laugh some more at his antics. He presses a few tender kisses to your lips, smiling against your mouth. “Shit, can’t believe I get to feel all of you, baby.”

“Mm, that’s what I wanted,” you say as you wrap your arms around his neck. “Good surprise?”

“Amazing surprise,” Eddie says, trailing the kisses down to your neck. You decide to throw another little surprise Eddie’s way as you hook your ankles where they rest just below his ass and roll the pair of you over until you’re on top of him.

Eddie’s hair is splayed out on the pillow around him, a dark halo of curls, and looks up at you with lust blown eyes, pupils swallowing the brown.

“Wanna ride you,” you say. Mouth hanging open but no sound coming out, Eddie just nods his head at you, causing you to giggle. “No words, baby?”

He takes a few breaths and licks over his lips before speaking. “You’re on top of me. Wearing that. Saying you want to ride me. I have no thoughts in my head right now.”

With a laugh, you lean down and rest your forehead against his. “You’re adorable.”

Rising up on your knees, you take Eddie’s cock in your hand and line him up with your entrance. Both of your mouths drop open as you sink down on him, a whimper coming from you as Eddie squeezes his eyes closed.

“Shit, I didn’t think it could get any better,” Eddie says. “But fuck, feeling you is perfect.”

“Uh huh,” you pant out as you nod your head in agreement. Finally sinking all the way down on him, you place your hands on Eddie’s chest to give yourself a moment to adjust. Fingertips dig into his scars and his hands come up to rest on your hips.

The first roll of your hips has Eddie releasing a groan from the back of his throat, his thumbs digging into your hip bones. The way his head tilts back, revealing the pale expanse of his neck to you has you rolling your hips a little bit harder. The muscles are straining, and you can see a vein throbbing on the side of his neck. The temptation is too strong, and you find yourself leaning down and running your tongue from between Eddie’s collar bones, up his neck, and all the way to the light stubble coating his chin. The thin sheen of sweat on his skin leaves a salty taste in your mouth.

He grins up at you, a hungry gleam in his eye. The look sends a flare through your body, landing straight between your legs, making your walls clench around him.

“Fuck,” Eddie spits out. Only encouraged by his reactions, your hips pick up the pace. Your boyfriend is a moaning, panting mess underneath you and it’s only driving you crazier. Lifting off of him before slamming back down had Eddie’s eyes rolling back in his head. Your self-satisfaction only grows when you see the tears leaking from the corner of his eyes. Swiping one up with your thumb, you pop the digit into your mouth, leaving Eddie even more of a whining mess.

“M’close,” Eddie says. He manages to take a deep breath before gripping your hips even tighter, making the drag of your clit over his pubic bone even more delicious.

“Feels good, Eddie.”

“Yeah, baby?” he asks through his tightened jaw.

“Mhmm. Close,” you say.

Eddie rocks his hips up into yours, sliding your bundle of nerves against his skin over and over.

“Shit, babe – fuck, I’m coming.”

Eddie finishing had always felt amazing before, even with the barrier of the condom between you. But with nothing separating the two of you, feeling the warmth of his cum as he came inside of you has you gripping onto his skin like a lifeline as you fall over the edge of the cliff into your own orgasm. Bodies moving together as you both ride out your highs, your muscles weaken, and Eddie holds you against his body. The only movement that occurs once you're both spent is the rapid rising and falling of your chests as you try and catch your breaths.

“Wow.” Eddie is the first to break the silence.

“Yeah,” you agree. With a cheeky smile on your face, you turn to rest your chin on Eddie’s chest, looking up at him. “Hey Eds?”

“Mm?” he hums.

“Were you crying?” you ask.

He tilts his head down to meet your eyes, cheeks blooming pink.

“S’your fucking fault,” he mumbles, making you laugh.

“Excuse me?” you ask.

“Pussy’s just that good,” he says with a shrug.

You break into another round of giggles and bury your head in his chest. Eddie presses a kiss to the top of your head. “Best Valentine’s Day ever.”

“I agree.”

The rest of the day is spent holed up in your room. Eddie opens the curtains – once you’re both properly clothed – so you can watch the snow, which has now gathered into a couple inches on the ground. The television has Star Wars playing but neither of you are paying attention to it as you lay with your head in Eddie’s lap, talking and giggling with him in between bites of the chocolate candies he’s feeding you.

You get a pizza delivered for dinner and stay snuggled up in the bed as you eat it, napkins scattered all around so neither of you gets grease on anything. The bathtub isn’t big, but the two of you make it work when you decide to sit in the hot water together – and then maybe make a bit of a mess when you fool around in there. When you get back into the bed, the blankets are soft and inviting as you curl into one another.

By the time Sunday comes around and it’s time to check out, you’re informed by the front desk that no planes will be taking off due to the amount of snow on the ground. They tell you there’s been a state of emergency declared. Since Eddie’s flight is canceled, the hotel comps your room for the night, giving you two the chance to spend even more time together. Eddie’s thrilled as the two of you bound back into the hotel room.

“Work can’t get mad at me because it’s a state of emergency,” Eddie says as he tosses his body onto the bed. He makes grabby hands at you. “And I get more time with my girl.”

As you step up to the bed, Eddie whips a pillow up from behind him and whacks you in the stomach with it. You bend over, laughter bubbling out of you as you take in the shit eating grin on his face.

“Asshole!” You snatch up another pillow and toss it at his head. He grabs you around the middle and pulls you down on top of him, both of you laughing as you wriggle around.

“Good thing we don’t need condoms, or we would’ve run out by now,” Eddie says as he pins you down beneath him. “And who knows how long we’ll be snowed in?”

“Speaking of which,” you say, poking him in the chest. “You should call Wayne and tell him.”

Eddie groans and drops his head forward.

“Well, there goes my boner,” he says, making you giggle.

“I’m sure I can bring it back after you get off the phone,” you assure him. With a sigh, he rolls off of you and grabs the phone. He puts the receiver up to his ear and punches in the number as you stand up from the bed, a mischievous idea getting the better of you.

Eddie sits facing the window, which you take a moment to glance out of before you spin towards him and get down on your knees. Raising his eyebrows at you, Eddie waits for Wayne to answer the phone. And so do you. The moment you hear the older man’s gruff voice coming through the phone, you pop the button on Eddie’s jeans and pull down his fly.

“Uh, hi, Wayne,” Eddie says, eyes widening as he looks down at you. What are you doing? he mouths at you. You hope he isn’t expecting you to answer him, as you feel it’s pretty obvious, as you reach into his boxers and pull his cock free.

“Y-Yeah, I’m here. Um.” Eddie looks up at the ceiling, trying to ignore you. “So, there’s a state of emergency here cause of all the s-snow.”

It’s hard to contain a laugh as you give a few kitten licks to the head and Eddie fists the duvet in his hand.

“Right, exactly. Ah! No, n-no, I’m fine.” Eddie clears his throat, glaring down at you and you start to take him into your mouth.

“No, they’re comping the room.”

Giving a few harsh sucks to the head, you pull off and run your tongue along the vein on the underside of his dick.

“I guess I-I’ll call tomorrow and see-see what’s going on.”

Eddie squeezes his eyes closed and drops his head back, trying to ignore the sinful way your tongue is working over him.

“How is she? Oh, she’s fucking amazing. I mean, I-I mean she’s good.”

You have to pull yourself away and stifle a laugh into your hand before you can get back to teasing him. When you wrap your fingers around him, Eddie doesn’t know if he wants you to stop or not.

“Yeah, I’ll let you know when I-I do. Okay, Wayne. Shit – bye!”

Eddie slams the phone down and you fall back onto the floor, consumed with giggles.

“Oh, you’re in trouble now,” Eddie says as he slides onto the floor next to you. You’re laughing too hard to answer him, so he swings one leg over you and sits on your hips. He pins your hands above your head and raises an eyebrow at you. “Think you’re funny, huh?”

“Yes,” you say between bouts of laughter.

“I don’t know if you’re lucky or not that you’re stuck with me for at least another day,” Eddie says, tilting his head to the side. “Because I think I’m about to tease the hell out of you for hours.”

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x you #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson fic #eddie munson fan fiction #eddie munson fanfic #request #WTHI

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couldawouldashoulda50 · 12 days ago

Text

One Woman, A Thousand Ways - A collection of blurbs based on the fic series From Completely Different Worlds (William Nylander x OC Loren Girard)

This is just a little idea I had for Loren seducing William one night.

Warnings - profanity, almost smut (clothed riding, almost oral [m receiving]). I decided to leave this open ended - as much I love reading/writing smut, I didn't feel it necessarily would have enhanced the story. I kind of thought the reader could imagine their own fantasy ending.

Anyway, I hope you like it!

Word Count - 3.1k

18+ only please

November, 2024

William lounged in his bed, leaning back against the headboard as he half-heartedly scrolled through posts and messages on his phone. Though his glasses were perched on his nose, the words on the screen blurred, his attention drifting elsewhere. Behind the closed bathroom door was Loren—her silhouette occasionally moving past the soft crack of light beneath it. He pictured her rushing to finish her bedtime prep, knowing she was just as eager to close the space between them as he was.

It had been more than a week since they’d last seen one another, the team’s road trip to the Midwest stealing precious time they craved together. From the moment she arrived tonight, the way she kissed him—her lips firm, her tongue grazing his—told him everything he needed to know. She missed him as much as he missed her.

His gaze dropped to the folded note she’d left on his pillow. He’d read it twice already, yet the words still stirred something deep within him. Her handwriting was beautiful, much like the hands that had written it.

One woman, a thousand ways.

The phrase pulled him back to a quiet afternoon in the hammock at his family’s lake house in Sweden. He remembered the scene so vividly still—their candid conversation, the warmth of her body against his, and her effort to understand the life he led in the spotlight. Those words had lingered in his mind since she first spoke them.

Now, as he stared at the note again, the absence of context made him ache for her presence even more.

The click of the bathroom door opening made his heart leap, and when she finally stepped into the room, his breath caught in his throat.

His eyes widened in awe as he took her in. Her delicious, plump ass was barely covered by a pair of tight red panties adorned with glittering blue letters that read, Leafs Suck.

A chuckle escaped him, but it quickly died in his throat when she turned to face him. He was totally entranced. From head to toe, Loren looked like a goddess. Her curves were on full display, the cropped Montreal Canadiens shirt clinging to her chest and baring her toned stomach. Blue garters held up thigh-high stockings patterned like the Canadiens hockey socks, completing the look with the sexy cheekiness that exuded Loren.

And then there was her hair. The sandy blonde colour he adored was replaced by a rich chestnut brown with glossy highlights of copper and honey. It was a bold change, and it completely disarmed him.

His gaze dropped again to the tiny red panties. On the front, “Caufield” was crossed out and replaced with “Nylander,” an arrow pointing suggestively downward.

William swallowed hard, his mouth suddenly dry. His glasses slipped down the bridge of his nose as his wide-eyed gaze swept over her. For a moment, he couldn’t process what he was seeing. This wasn’t Loren—or at least not the Loren he was used to. She’d transformed into someone else entirely, someone so vivid and alluring it unnerved him.

“Holy fuck…” he finally managed, his voice hoarse as a slow smile teased his lips. “Loren…”

Loren cocked her head, a wildly impure smile playing on her lips as her voice took on a thick Quebecois accent. “Loren? She your girlfriend?”

William chuckled, shaking his head slightly. “Hot girlfriend,” he corrected, his grin widening.

She began to approach the bed, her movements fluid and deliberate, exuding confidence with every step.

“Lucky girl,” Loren purred, her eyes locking onto his.

William wet his lips, his heart racing as she drew closer. “I’m definitely the lucky one.”

Loren raised a brow, her lips curving into a playful smirk. “I doubt luck has anything to do with it.”

She set her phone on the nightstand, tapping “play” on her curated playlist. A wireless speaker near the bed came to life, filling the room with the opening bars of Love on the Brain. The sultry rhythm seemed to flow through Loren as she subtly wound her hips in time with the music, her every motion flawless, calculated, and hypnotic.

“It’s not luck when you can pick any girl you want,” she murmured, her accent thick and deliberate as she climbed onto the bed, the mattress shifting under her weight.

William’s hands gripped the duvet, his gaze followed her every move as she crawled toward him.

“You like what you see, Leafs player?” Loren teased, her voice dripping with seduction.

He groaned, his familiar chuckle following. “Hmm… you’re wearing the wrong team on your, uh… chest there. Wrong team colors. I thought you were a Leafs fan,” he lightly challenged, his grin crooked.

Loren raked her nails down his chest as she straddled his lap. “As a girl, I cheered for the Habs because of my father,” she said, her hands gliding up his biceps, over his shoulders, and around the back of his neck. Her voice softened, her lips brushing his ear. “As much as my papa would not approve - he’ll see me as a very disobedient Habs girl… because now, I have a terrible crush on a Leafs player.”

She leaned in, her lips capturing his in a kiss that ignited every nerve in his body. William’s hands cupped Loren’s ass cheeks, kneading her flesh lightly as her clothed pussy rubbed against the growing bulge in his shorts.

Loren broke from the kiss, her mouth charting a path under his chin, onto his neck, and along toward his ear. William’s muscles were taut, each open-mouth kiss sending ripples of heat coursing through his body.

As the song swirled through the room, its sultry rhythm mirrored Loren’s movements. William’s shorts were fully tented, his arousal standing proud as she carefully ground against him. Her hips moved in a slow, tantalizing rhythm, her clothed core pressing against his length with just enough friction to make him groan. His hands roamed instinctively, sliding from her waist to her thighs and back onto her hips, guiding her motions with an urgency he couldn’t suppress. Short, guttural sounds escaped his throat as her deliberate movements sent him spiraling deeper into desire.

Leaning his head back against the headboard, William let his eyes flutter closed, surrendering to the sensations overwhelming him. Loren’s lips continued their journey, caressing his jawline, teasing the sensitive skin below his ear, each kiss and whisper sending him into another world. The room felt almost felt like a private VIP room at a club with the rhythm of the song, the lustful lyrics weaving around them like a spell.

“You never said if you like what you see, Leafs player…” she murmured, her voice low and taunting as her breath warmed his ear.

The seductive cadence of her words tightened something low in his stomach, his grip on her hips firming as if to anchor himself. His mind began to drift, pulled in two directions. He could feel her familiar warmth—the woman he adored—but the persona she embodied, this disobedient Habs fan, felt so real it unnerved him.

He nodded, his throat too dry to speak. He not only liked what he saw—he loved it. Loved the way her confidence had blossomed since the day he first met her, how it radiated in every teasing glance and deliberate movement.

She leaned closer, her lips grazing his ear as she continued her sultry whispers, painting vivid strokes of the fantasy she’d crafted. “Do you think my papa would approve of this?” she teased, her Quebecois accent thick and deliberate. “His sweet Habs girl, like this, with a Leafs player?”

William groaned softly, his fingers digging into her hips as her words pulled him further into the moment.

She tilted her head, her voice lowering to a provocative purr. “You’ve scored most against Montreal… but what about on the female fans?” Her lips brushed the edge of his jawline. “Would I catch your eye during a game, Leafs player?”

The words sent a shiver down his spine, her playful taunts winding around him like a snake, tightening its grip with her allure.

“Would you smile and wink at me through the glass? Get someone to give me your number during intermission?

Her question sent a jolt through him, stirring memories he thought he’d buried. There had been times—more than he liked to admit—when he noticed women in the stands. Beautiful, confident women who seemed to know exactly what kind of attention they were drawing from him. He could still remember the electric rush of those encounters—the way a fleeting glance or a suggestive smile could light something inside him.

And there were times when those moments didn’t end at the rink. A few carefully exchanged looks, a phone number discreetly passed along, a meeting arranged after the game. William swallowed hard, heat creeping up to his cheeks as flashes of those encounters played like a slideshow in his mind. The anticipation of the encounter fueled the arousal, the brief escape offered by a willing fan here and there from his private and controlled environment.

But those memories had long faded, resembling his past life that no longer seemed to fit him. Loren, sitting in his lap with her mischievous smile and disobedient persona - the words that dripped from her tongue - somehow reignited these memories. How deftly she played into the role, blurred the lines in his mind, making it hard to separate the fantasy she spun from the memories of those fleeting moments with strangers.

His pulse jumped to an even faster pace as her hips pressed against him, her warmth pulling him back into the present. She wasn’t just any woman. She wasn’t a stranger he’d meet for a single night. She was Loren—stunning, clever, compassionate. But in this moment, she was also something entirely new, and it unbalanced him.

“Would you?” she whispered, her voice a teasing melody in his ear. “Would you notice me in the stands, Leafs player? Smile at me? Think about me during the game?”

His jaw clenched as her words continued to coil around him, her seductive asks stirring something primal which lead to conflict within him. He let out a shaky breath, his fingers tightening on her hips. “I’d notice you,” he rasped, his voice low and hoarse. “Fucking every single time.”

Her lips curved into a wicked grin, her breath hot against his neck. “And then what?” she asked, her voice soft and sinfully sweet. “Would you take me home, Leafs player? Find out all the things a girl like me would do if she were alone with a star?”

Her words sent a pulse of heat through him, every syllable igniting his already blazing desire. His grip on her hips tightened, his breath escaping in a sharp exhale. The line between fantasy and reality was gone, blurred into a haze of want, and all he could think about was her.

William didn’t answer, couldn’t answer. His mind was too full of her—her voice, her touch, the weight of her body pressing against him. Her words echoed in his head, blending with the sultry lyrics of the song filling the room.

And I run for miles just to get a taste…Must be love on the brain…

Loren lifted herself off his lap, her hands sliding along his chest as she stood beside the bed. William’s hands instinctively reached for her, a low sound of protest escaping his throat at the sudden loss of contact. She smiled down at him, her confidence unwavering, and motioned for him to lie back.

“On your back,” she murmured, her thick Quebecois accent instructed.

William blinked, his body obeying before his mind caught up. He shifted down the bed, stretching out flat as she watched him, the cool air brushing his skin where her warmth had been. His heart pounded as he looked up at her, the dim light gracing every beautiful contour of her body.

He felt like he was in a trance. The woman standing over him, with her dark hair, her tantalizing outfit, and her knowing smile, was Loren. He knew that. But in this moment, she was something else entirely—a temptress who now seemed to own his mind, body and soul.

…That’s got me feeling this way…It beats me black and blue but it fucks me so good…

Loren lowered herself between his legs, her hands trailing lightly over his thighs as she settled in. Her manicured almond-shaped nails raked gently along his skin, tracing patterns that made him shiver with pleasure. The sensation was exquisite, a mix of erotica and teasing that made his breath hitch.

“Loren…” he murmured, his voice barely audible, as though saying her name might ground him. But the Loren he knew seemed far away, replaced by this goddess who had stripped him of all control.

Her lips curled into a smile as she leaned forward, her breath warm against the growing bulge in his shorts. Her fingers trailed up his torso, her nails scraping just enough to leave a burning path in their wake. When she pressed her lips against the fabric, right where his erection strained for freedom, his body jerked involuntarily, a groan spilling from his throat.

The stimulation was blissful torture. Every nerve in his body felt alive, crackling with energy he couldn’t release. She kissed him again through the fabric, her lips firm and deliberate, and then her tongue darted out, wetting the tip of his cock through his shorts.

“Fuck,” William groaned, his hips lifting slightly, seeking more contact as his hands gripped the duvet beneath him.

Loren shifted up, her lips moving to kiss the skin just above his waistband. Her tongue traced the line where fabric met flesh, her breath hot against his abdomen. William’s body tensed, his muscles taut as she continued her slow, torturous exploration.

The lyrics swirled in the air, the sensual rhythm pulling his mind further into a haze of arousal and memory. Flashes of past encounters—the thrill of a stranger, the rush of fleeting passion—flickered through his mind, but none of them came close to this - what she was doing to him.

He couldn’t think, couldn’t speak. All he could do was feel—her hands, her lips, her tongue—and him unraveling completely.

Her hands grazed his muscular thighs as she slipped his shorts down, baring him completely. The sensation - the moment his erection was exposed - something shifted. Loren’s movements, so deliberate and confident, pulled at memories of fleeting trysts buried in his mind.

His jaw tightened, his fingers clutching the duvet as a slight feeling of guilt washed over him. The lines blurred, his thoughts spiraling between fantasy and reality, past and present. His chest rose and fell in uneven breaths, the song swirling around him only amplifying the haze.

He swallowed hard, his low voice cracked as he whispered, “Wait…”

The word was barely audible, but Loren froze, instantly scanning his body. She saw it immediately—the tension in his muscles, the way his jaw clenched and his hands gripped the bed like he was holding himself together.

“William?” she called softly, her teasing tone replaced by concern.

She crawled up to him without hesitation, her knees pressing into the mattress as she leaned closer. Her teasing persona slipped away in an instant, replaced by the Loren he knew—his sweet and kind Loren who always seemed to know exactly what he needed. She cupped his face in her hands, her thumbs brushing tenderly over his cheekbones as her eyes searched his.

“I’m so sorry if I went too far,” she murmured, her accent gone, her voice laced with warmth and reassurance. She leaned forward, her lips finding his in a slow, tender kiss that felt like he had found his way back to her, in his home, in his bedroom. Her hands moved to cradle his head, her touch soothing him as she pulled him back from the edge.

When she broke the kiss, her forehead rested lightly against his. “Do you want me to stop?” she asked softly, her voice barely above a whisper.

For a long moment, William didn’t respond. His chest rose and fell as he stared into her eyes, letting the question settle over him. He felt grounded again in her presence, and he let himself feel her love, her care, and the calm she gave him.

Slowly, a smile began to spread across his lips. He shook his head, his voice hoarse but sure as he said, “No. Don’t stop.”

Loren’s lips curved into a soft smile, her fingers brushing through his hair. “Okay,” she whispered, her voice tender but laced with an air of mischief. Her hands slid down his chest as her grin grew. “Then let me take care of you, Leafs player.”

She pressed another kiss to his lips, this one deeper, more insistent, as her confidence returned. The rhythm of a new song echoed around them again, and the fantasy she’d created was underway once more. Loren released her hair from the ponytail, her dark wavy mane falling down over her shoulders and back as she moved lower, her lips leaving a blazing hot trail down his body.

William’s mind was no longer tethered to reality; he was fully committed to the fantasy now. He could see her clearly in his imagination, standing in the crowd for the first time, her face catching his eye among thousands. It wasn’t just how she looked—it was the way she carried herself, her bright aura, the magnetic pull of her smile. That moment, real or imagined, ignited the same heat in him now as Loren’s lips traced over his skin.

His mind flipped the script completely, weaving this Habs girl into the story he wanted to believe. Now the image in his mind was vivid. She wasn’t just a fan - she could be his conquest to be won.

Just as Loren’s tongue began to slowly lick a strip up his shaft, William gathered up her hair and lifted his head to watch her. She was amazing to him, utterly breathtaking. He was in awe of all the effort she made to show him care, affection and pleasure.

With every teasing stroke of her tongue on his cock, he watched her lean down, winding her hips to the rhythm of the music, the low light reflecting off her ass cheeks.

Fuck she was hot, and now that he had succumbed to the fantasy, his self-assured hockey persona could easily match her energy.

Her dark hair spilled over his hands and her eyes flickering up at him with a sinful glint.

With an evil little smirk, he decided he was going to give his fantasy girl a taste of her own medicine.

#william x loren #william nylander fanfic #william nylander fic #william nylander smut #william x loren blurb #nhl fanfiction #rpf fanfiction #hockey rpf #hockey romance

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