#orange throw pills

[galaktikmermaidcosplay]

Stamped Concrete - Patio Inspiration for a large coastal backyard stamped concrete patio remodel with a fire pit and no cover

[urmomsfavelesbian]

yes they absolutely will kiss on the tour bus … among other things

they’re gonna explore each others bodies 🥹

[timmydraker]

During a patrol in Gotham one night, Red Robin comes across a strange sight.

A young woman stands over a crumpled body with a sling shot primed and ready, aimed a man with a rather large hand gun. It’s clear she’s protecting the woman who looks like she’s been hit over the head and had her bag nabbed, as it’s ripped and contents are spilled everywhere.

The girl sits shaking, she isn’t scared at all, standing strong with a shard of glass aimed at the man’s crotch.

Tim jumps down and disarms the man smoothly before turning to the young girl, who upon closer inspection seems to be around thirteen years old.

“Are you hurt?”

She shakes her head and stares at him for a moment with awe in his eyes before her eyes widen and she turns to the person behind her, “But she is! That guy was cornering her and I tried to help but he hit her and-“

“Alright, I understand. Would you like to help me get her to the ER a few blocks away?”

The girl nods with a determination Tim remembers seeing in Dick and Jason in their Robin days and he smiles.

He doesn’t ask her what her name is because side he knows he’ll follow up and find something to feel guilty about, but the girl seems to have her own plans.

She shows up a couple of days later, standing on a tall building with a cheap Robin outfit on.

Tim is confused before he drops down and she gives a big grin and mock salute, “How can I help?”

Tim smiled a little before shaking his head, “Taking the title of Robin, are you?”

She nods, now more bashful, “Well, I want to help people. I don’t want to fight exactly, but… well, sometimes you bats are too busy with the villains to notice the little guy and- bro to say you’re a bad hero-“

“You’re right, it’s okay. We can only do so much and sometimes preventing more damage being done saves more lives, but there will always be a cost.”

She smiles, bright orange, and impressively curly, hair getting in her eyes and sticking to the poor quality glue of her fake domino.

“I want to help. I… can help, please.”

Tim answers after a solid minute of silence, “What is your name?”

She frowns, “Aren’t I supposed to have a secret identity?”

He smiles in answer, “Yes, but I know what you look like and I can find out, I’m asking out of politeness.”

The girl looks like she could pout and Tim feels strangely old at the sight, even if he’s still got a few months before he can even legally drink.

“Carrie. Caroline to be specific.”

Tim smiles, “Well, Carrie, here’s the deal. I will meet you here or somewhere like here every night and until, and only until, you can land a hit on me will I agree to let you help.”

While Carrie doesn’t look pleased she nods, a clear sense of hope in her eyes even as she looks nervous.

She looses the first fight, and the second and third and fourth, but she gets better and better.

Tim doesn’t tell anyone about Carrie Kelly, nor does he tell her that he does end up doing a back ground check and finds two dead beat parents more focused on weed than their incredibly skilled daughter.

When she proves to be relentless in her desire to save lives he sends her to a teacher to help her stay hidden and safe. He’s not like Bruce, he doesn’t send her overseas to some dangerous people, but close by and to someone he trust to not hurt her nor tell anyone else about the strange young girl whose managed to give him a taste of his own medicine.

Selina Kyle is more than happy to take in the girl when she watches her sling shot fire crackers at muggers.

When Carrie comes back and meets Tim on a rooftop, she not only manages to hit him but knocks him off his feet.

Tim grins at her, pride filling his mind and making him understand Bruce just a little more.

But unlike Bruce, he isn’t throwing her into the fight at all.

Tim Drake is the one who pays for her school pills while her yippie parents refuse to work or spend money on her, and sends her real time footage of medical lectures in various collages across the country.

Carrie doesn’t become Robin, nor did she even wear that suit after the second night and he gave her a basic training outfit that properly covered her eyes and hair, but she does become something else.

She becomes Cardinal, the vigilante that swoops in to save civilians and provide the medical care that saves hundreds of people and allows the ambulances and hospitals to have a chance.

When she makes her debut the other bats worry about a new kid making bad choices, probably inspired by them, but Tim ignores it if only because he’s actually proud of her and trust her in a way he hasn’t trusted teammates in years.

After a year of this, a young girl asks for a meeting with Mister Tim Drake at his company and, purely so he wouldn’t have to do more pointless numbers, he lets her in after she passes the security check.

The girl who comes into his office is barely ten, cute little clips in her dark bob hair and a big book bag almost half her size behind her.

Tim recognised her instantly once he sees the bright yellow shoes she’s wearing.

This little girl, name Mia Mizoguchi, has been stalking him and Carrie for a few months now.

After he enrolled Carrie at Gotham Academy, the young girl nicknamed ‘Maps’ had been asking Carrie a lot of questions. Carrie had been good at avoiding incriminating answers, but had fallen for the younger girls clever trap as she casually spoke out infomation that could help with cases and Carrie delivered it back to Tim.

As soon as he realised that Maps had done exactly what he had done and figured out who Carrie was he was impressed. Because even if Carrie was new to the game, she had a skill for tricking people into looking away from her and had done well to stay low.

Maps had made the connection back to Tim, apparently.

Luckily, unlike Bruce, he wasn’t ignorant to their little stalker and actually knew her family from a few galas and charities. To be fair, Tim also wasn’t clouded by grief, but as he lets the girl explain how she totally doesn’t know who Red Robin is but if she did know who he was she would want him to know that a new drug trade route was actually being covered by a cotton candy company and she has over sixty pages worth of proof.

When he shows up to The Nest (named by Carrie) with Maps behind him, he finds Cardinal waiting with an excited gleam in her eyes.

Due to her being so young, Tim doesn’t allow Maps to go into the field until she’s the same age as both he and Carrie were, but she’s quick to show her worth taking over coms and doing an insanely detailed level of detective work that Tim can’t help but be a little jealous of.

Just like Carrie, who has been trying with Selina about only becoming Catgirl if Catwoman stops being a criminal for a few weeks now, he sends her to someone else for mentor ship.

Maps is a sweet girl, but she loves to talk and has a lot of friends who have most of the same interest, so he sends her to the one bat member he trust most.

Cassandra Cain immediately tells Tim that he has to adopt both of them and can’t quite understand why them both having living parents matters.

It’s Cass who gives Maps her vigilante name, Sparrow.

[jamminvroomvroom]

die for you.

ln x driver!reader

in which you can’t stand each other, or so you say…

this took waaaay too long for me to hate it sm but she’s here! and she’s long! love this concept so much, thank you for this request. so many feels so many vibes, tell me what you think <3

loosely inspired by die for you by the weeknd

warnings: 18+!! minors dni!! smut, language, slight glimpses of she fell first, he fell harder, rivals to lovers/enemies to lovers, choking, hate sex? bar fight, mentions of blood

8.3k words (oop)

it’s rare that you miss a podium, so when you do, it tastes bitter and stings like a bitch.

the car has been on fire all season long, a thing of beauty in your calculated hands. so, the string of bad luck you’re enduring, small mistakes with big consequences, it’s quite the pill to swallow.

out of the car you jump, teeth grinding hard out of frustration. you could see the commotion ahead of you, members of the papaya team celebrating their driver. your eyes roll so hard in your head that you feel a lasting ache. you side step members of your team, dodging every single person that tries to talk to you, your comms officer knowing better than to try and engage with you. you know you’re being unreasonable, it was a p5 finish! but it isn’t a podium or a win, so quite frankly, you aren’t interested, and you certainly don’t have any energy left to hear how amazingly well he had driven.

lando fucking norris.

what was once quiet disdain had grown into fully fledged hatred and you fear you’ll be violently sick if you catch a single glimpse of him on the podium. sure, he’s talented, and sure, he’s beautiful, you suppose. that doesn’t mean you have to like him. not anymore. he lives under your skin, inescapable.

you struggle through every interview in the media pen, most of which dissect your recent fall from grace, your mouth forming a hard, unimpressed line every time they mention the orange goblin and his recent streak of podiums and good luck. you wish the journos would bring up his string of women and the probable plan b receipts that went with them. that, you would love to talk about.

you drive in silence back to your hotel, leaving the track as soon as possible, and quickly find solace in your bed for the night. the idea of seeing the inside of a club makes you nauseous after your epic downfall. as your eyes are drooping, your body going limp under the thick duvet, a knock sounds from the door.

“no.” you shout flatly, but the only response you get are giggles from the hallway. for fuck sake, you mutter, groaning as you shift out from beneath the covers and trail apprehensively towards the door.

george and alex appear before you, and you throw your head back is exasperation.

“mate, it’s 9:30.” alex laughs, taking in your fancy attire; pyjamas that you’ve had since you were 17.

“what’s your point?” you croak, glaring up at your obnoxiously tall friend.

“why aren’t you getting ready to go out?” george questions, leaning against the doorframe. he, too, was obnoxiously tall, you thought, feeling the strain in your neck as you move your glare onto him.

“if it wasn’t obvious, i’m not going.” you deadpan, crossing your arms over your chest. “i thought that was clear after i ignored all 77 of your texts.” you smile sarcastically, rubbing sleep from your eyes.

“don’t be boring! you’re an f1 driver, you’re in a cool city, you’re rich and, let’s face it,” he sasses. “you need to get laid.” alex says, like it’s the most causal thing in the world. your eyes bulge out of your head at the utterance of the last bit. george bites back laughter.

“choosing to ignore that.” you hiss. “i’m sorry but i refuse to go out and celebrate that arrogant, whiny little bitch.”

they both know exactly who you’re talking about.

you and lando have simply never seen eye to eye. your karting days were spent pushing one another off the track or into a muddy puddle if things got a bit heated out of the car. sure, olive branches were extended, and maybe adolescent feelings were secretly harboured, but he never gave you any reason to tell him that. you’d grown out of the childish violence when you graduated into formula 1, but you hadn’t been able to shake the rage he made you feel.

it didn’t matter how many dinners you attended where others had conspired and forced you to sit next to each other. it didn’t matter how many times you turned up to play padel and were met with the same lame excuses of ‘oh, did we not mention lando would be here?’ it didn’t matter how many times you’d hugged it out on the podium while adrenaline and tensions were running high.

it didn’t matter how many times he’d watched you from across a crowded room and you’d found his eyes, watched him back. it didn’t matter how many times he’d smirked at you at the start of a race weekend, made you blush. and it certainly didn’t matter what happened last time you found yourself in a club with him.

you just don’t like him. not anymore. you sleep better at night when you lie to yourself.

~ the last time

you sink shot after shot, cocktail after cocktail; the taste of fruity liquor stains your lips and burns your throat. you feel electric, sizzling with ecstasy and the heat from the flashing lights above your head.

it’s approaching 4am and you can’t recall a time in your life where you’d felt so fucking good. the high of your first win is indescribable.

you’ve lost track of the guys, alex and george have packed it in and gone back to their hotels with their girlfriends. pierre and kika are somewhere in a corner, you’re certain. you’re pretty sure you’ve even seen lewis with his entourage and a brick wall of a bodyguard trailing behind him. and at the bar, a set of eyes watch you.

lando isn’t even listening to oscar anymore, no. he is too entranced in the way your hips move to the beat, lost in the carefree lines your body makes in the crowd. he’s itching to go to you, put his hands in places that would stay between you, him, and god, but he doesn’t think a broken nose would be good for business.

everything changes when you spin around, facing his direction. then, it begins: the same thing that happens every time you end up going out in the same group. you watch one another, pretending you’re not both achingly desperate to find out how the other tastes.

but lando is feeling bold. he tells oscar he’ll see him in the morning, and then, egged on by a moscow mule and a few too many shots, he makes his way towards you. it is instinctual, magnetic, the way he is drawn to you.

hands on your hips, lips on your neck. the song changes. you recognise the weeknd’s voice. you are disappointed in yourself but it feels too good to stop.

you know what i’m thinkin', see it in your eyes
you hate that you want me, hate it when you cry
you’re scared to be lonely, 'specially in the night
i’m scared that i’ll miss you, happens every time

the lyrics sober you up. you’re in the first taxi you can see when you finally get outside.

alone.

~

as much as that memory makes you shiver, for several different reasons, you find yourself putting on some makeup and raking through your suitcase for something to wear. george and alex are waiting downstairs for you at the bar, and when you finally make your way down there, they have a martini waiting for you. they watch in impressed horror as the alcohol disappears from the glass mere seconds after it touches your lips.

“let’s get this over with.” you sigh.

-

it could have been worse, you suppose.

the club is packed, hundreds of faces blurring into nothing. you feel better knowing that there is a one in a million chance of running into lando.

you’re tucked into a booth with alex and george, carmen and lily, a few faces you can’t quite place, and charles and pierre. you’d conspired to sit on the outside, prepared to make a quick getaway at the first sign of tension.

you’d been in a state of fight or flight since your last run in, nails bitten down every time you thought about his hands on you, how good they felt on you. it scared you more than anything had in a long time, how your desire had festered.

you go to take a swig from your glass, only to find it empty, aside from a few sad ice cubes. you watch jealously as they melt into nothing, wishing they would take you with them, shoving your glass across the smooth table top when your frustration boils over.

you’re on edge, ridiculously afraid of bumping into a curly haired man. it wasn’t him you were scared of, per-say, more yourself. god knows what you’d do if you felt those warm, calloused hands pulling your hips into his again.

“you okay?” pierre calls across the table. he and charles abandon their conversation as soon as your glass goes flying towards their side of the table. you’re broken out of your trance, caught off guard like a deer in headlights.

“tired.” you reply, shrugging it off like it was nothing. it’s clear immediately that they don’t buy it.

“she’s hiding.” alex chimes in from beside you, and your elbow goes straight into his ribs. he feigns pain for a moment, cackling at your reaction.

“from who?” charles inquires. you roll your eyes, blush spreading down your neck already. you hate everything about the conversation, and yet you need to see where it goes. you’d planned your escape, and now was the opportune time to make it, but you seem to be glued to the leather of the booth.

“lando.” george smirks into his drink as a he speaks, wiggles his eyebrows.

“oh yeah, we know all about that.” pierre laughs, his head tipping back in amusement.

“what?” you spit, eyes wide with confusion.

“don’t think me and kika didn’t see you two before the summer break. that night you won? we thought you’d finally cave.” pierre explains, his grin conveying pure evil.

several “what?!”’s sound from around the table, and now all eyes are on you.

“nothing even happened.” you mumble. “he came over to me and then i left.” you look away, twisting your hair around your finger. you are sweating.

“you looked like you were minutes away from being arrested for public indecency.” pierre smirks. you almost launch yourself across the table, intent on strangling him, and then perhaps throwing yourself in front of an oncoming uber outside.

“well, well, well. i fucking knew it.” alex is giggling beside you.

“come on guys, leave the poor girl alone.” lily winks at you, but even she has a twinkle in her eye. “there’s obviously feelings there.” and just like that she betrays you. her sympathetic smile doesn’t make you forgive her.

“i think you guys just need to get it out of your system,” charles starts, pausing to take a sip of his drink. “just fuck.” he waves his hand, like it was the most causal thing in the world.

the table erupts in laughter and you decide that you are well past the end of your tether. you shake your head, declaring that you need another drink, or ten, and strut away from the table. a chorus of ‘love you’-s and ‘get some’-s sound from behind you. you reply simply by raising your middle finger and refusing to look back.

the bar is in sight, just about in your reach when your evening goes from mildly bad to aggressively worse.

“fuck sake.” you sigh.

“and good evening to you too.” lando replies. he’s blocking your path, materialising before you out of nowhere.

“get out of my way, lan.” it sounds like you’re pleading and you cringe internally.

“don’t you wanna congratulate me?” he feigns a pout and you almost swing for him.

“no, not particularly.” you say dryly. “all i want is a drink, so if you’d just…” you gesture for him to move. of course, he doesn’t.

“haven’t seen you in a while, though. thought maybe you’d missed me.” he takes a step closer; goosebumps litter your bare skin.

“you are such an entitled prick.” you spit, moving to step around him but he catches you, gripping your wrists and pulling you in. you feel heat radiating off of him, expensive cologne overwhelming you in the best possible way.

“and you, honey, are such a fucking brat. but you don’t hear me complaining, do you?” lando whispers, cool breath hitting your face, minty, laced with champagne and cockiness. you almost fold, thighs clenching so tight that he must have noticed.

“move.” you grumble through gritted teeth. you are crumbling painfully, embarrassingly fast.

“make me.” your underwear is damp, but you are fuming.

“don’t fucking test me, lando.” something in your chest sets on fire and you’re over him and his bullshit, and the way he makes you feel.

“i know you want me.” he dips his forehead down to rest gently against yours. his grip on your wrists tightens, thumbs swirling circles into the flesh, right where your pulse is.

you lean in, mere centimetres separating your lips. his eyes darken, the assumption of victory over you tugs his lips into a smirk.

“all i want is my fucking drink. come find me when you’ve managed to navigate your gigantic, stupid head out of your arse.” you catch him off guard, wriggling out of his grip. you’re shaking when you walk away, thoughts of doing things with him that would get you both fired invading your foggy brain.

you try to disappear into the crowd, finally breathe a sigh of relief when your hands meet the cool surface of the bar. you order your drink, putting it on your tab and drum your nails against the marble top. you’re lost in your own world, watching as concoctions are mixed, as shots are downed. you finally feel at ease, until your evening takes yet another turn, one that was somehow even more unfortunate than all the others.

your attention is rudely stolen by the guy stood next to you.

“can i get that for you?” the random man speaks, in a way that he must of assumed was smooth. slimy, you think. he’s gesturing to your drink, clearly having watched you add it to your bill already.

“no, thank you. it’s already paid for.” you smile politely, turning on your heel. it seems he wasn’t quite done with you. you feel a clammy hand tug on yours, a wave of sickness washes over you.

lando’s hands are bigger, warmer, softer.

“where are you rushing off to, babe?” the sweaty man asks, his tone fake in a way that makes you uneasy.

“i need to get back to my friends.” you try to pull your hand free, but he won’t budge. “can you let go-“

“i can show you a good time. always thought you were kinda hot.” you’re panicking now, looking every which way for a familiar face, a security guard, anyone.

“take your hands off of me.” you snap, still wrestling to pull yourself free.

“one night with me would pull you out of that little slump you’re in.” he leers. you visibly gag, white hot rage blurs your vision.

“okay you piece of shi-“ you snarl, interrupted by a flash of curls and tanned skin.

“she told you to let go.” lando stands in front of you protectively, rigid and furious. you’ve never been so happy to see his annoying(ly beautiful) face.

“and what are you gonna do?”

“hands. off.” lando stands up even straighter, looking bigger than you’ve ever seen him.

“okay, mate, whatever.” the stranger rolls his eyes, shoves your hand away.

lando turns to you, opening his mouth to speak when…

“keep that stuck up bitch all to yourself.”

and then, everything goes to shit.

lando whips around, fists are flying, the stranger topples to the ground, amassed to nothing in the face of the mclaren drivers rage. lando doesn’t stop there, makes sure he is sufficiently dealt with, flat on his back on the sticky floor. you don’t know what to do, calling out for lando, begging him to stop, as satisfied as you are. lando hears your shouts, pulled out of the chaos and back to you. always back to you.

“are you okay?” he has his hands on your face searching for any remaining fear or upset. a crowd has formed and you see alex and george towering above the other club goers, jaws agape.

it’s as if he dj has it out for you, and you realise that the song has changed to something moodier, slower, one that gives you whiplash.

even though we're going through it
and it makes you feel alone
just know that i would die for you
baby, i would die for you

“we need to get out of here. security are coming.” you mutter, keening into his touch.

“i have a car outside.”

“well, let’s use it then.”

-

you can’t help but stroke over his knuckles mindlessly in the car, an unlikely comfortable silence settling between you. they look raw, cracked slightly and you have an overwhelming desire to kiss them better. your head is fuzzy, and you’re unsettled with confusion, but at the same time, you feel lighter.

“why did you do that?” you murmur, disrupting the quiet that has settled over the backseat of the town car, the question burning desperately on your tongue.

lando turns his head so that he’s looking down at you, his good hand comes up to cup your jaw softly.

“no one can talk to you like that.” he’s staring so deeply into your eyes and you almost squirm at the intensity. you feel exposed, bare.

“but why did you step in before that?” you reiterate shakily. lando hums in understanding.

“i’ve known you since we were 10 years old. i know when you’re scared.” he whispers, breath dusting your cheeks. you almost lean in, then, something about his words pull you even closer towards him. you feel warmth creeping over your chest, sinking into the pit of your belly.

“we’ve arrived.” the driver calls from the front, signalling that you need to get out of the car. it was like an elastic band had snapped, and you spring away from lando, scrambling to undo your seat belt, the moment of weakness long gone.

you sneak into the lobby, on the lookout for any angry PR teams or incognito photographers that are scoping for their next pay check. the coast seems clear, so you manage to scurry discreetly into the elevator. you hit the button for the third floor.

“can you hit the button for five?” lando asks, leaning against the opposite wall.

“you’re coming to my room.” you state, offering no other explanation, even when he raises his eyebrows.

the ding of the lift has lando pushing himself off of the mirrored wall, trailing behind you into the corridor. the lights are low as he follows you to your door, hands deep in the pockets of his jeans. he watches in anticipation as you rifle through your small bag for your keycard. the green light gives you the go ahead to open the door, and he awkwardly follows you inside, peering around the room.

you notice the slight apprehension in his features, eyes blown wide from alcohol and adrenaline. they seem to sparkle more than you’d seen in a while, a hazel-y blue twisting with secrets and unspoken thoughts.

“let me find my first aid kit.” you tell him. you guide him towards the foot of your bed, gesture for him to sit. “make yourself comfortable.”

“you don’t need to do this.” lando replies, sitting down anyway.

“and you didn’t need to get between me and that dickhead but here we are.”

your words elicit a low chuckle from him, and you’re glad you have your back to him while you dig through your suitcase. he can’t see your smile at the wholesome sound, and he doesn’t need to.

random pieces of clothing fall out of the bag as you rummage through it, your attention taken up completely by your mission to find the small box. you don’t notice the pile of garments littering the floor.

“wow, didn’t take you for that kinda girl.” lando teases. your cheeks flame red when you catch sight of the cherry red thong that has managed to get caught in the wheel of your suitcase.

“shut up, i’m helping you.” you grumble, balling up the lace and burying it at the bottom of the case.

“why is it ferrari coloured? something you wanna tell me? do you think charles is… foxy? or is it fred? oh, i bet it’s fred, isn’t it.” he’s laughing now, loud and boisterous, and if it wasn’t for the butterflies erupting in your belly at the sound, you would have throttled him.

“i’ll leave you to bleed out.” you tease back, pointing at the dried up blood across his knuckles.

“of course, i am in urgent need of medical attention!” he exclaims sarcastically, clutching his hand. you roll your eyes.

“you know where the door is.” you stand from the floor, carrying a little square antiseptic wipe with you.

“yeah, i do. feel like staying now, though. i’m just so comfy.”

and with that, he throws himself back on your bed, closing his eyes as he sinks into the mattress.

you stare at him for a second, noticing the way his eyelashes dust the tops of his cheeks, his tanned, thick neck peeks out from in between the undone buttons of his dress shirt. you exhale shakily, moving to sit beside him on the bed.

“give me your hand.” you instruct him, tearing the packet open and unfolding the wipe.

“romantic.” lando snarks. you shove his shoulder in response. he holds his hand out.

“whatever.” you sigh, avoiding eye contact as you run the wipe over his knuckles. you can see how they are already tinged purple, wincing at the idea that it is your fault.

“what is it?” lando asks, noticing.

you don’t respond. this proximity is odd, you can’t quite tell yet if you like it. what you do know is that you certainly don’t know how to handle him now that the alcohol is wearing off and you’re left tending to the wounds of a man that you could have sworn you didn’t like.

“so that’s how it’s gonna be? we’re going back to the silent treatment again?” lando scoffs.

“don’t know what to say.” you mutter, keeping your eyes trained on every line and indent of his knuckles.

“why do you hate me so much?”

“i don’t.”

“yes, you do.” he scoffs.

“i don’t think about you enough to hate you.” you lie. it’s cruel. he winces.

that shuts him up.

“i’m gonna go. thanks for this.” lando waves his hand and you feel a wave of guilt hit.

“no, fuck, i’m sorry.” you apologise, bowing your head. “stay.”

“i’ll stay if you tell me why you hate me.”

“i’ve never hated you, lan. haven’t always particularly liked you but i never, ever hated you.”

“okay.”

that’s all it takes for him to flop back onto the bed. some unexplainable instinct that you loathe has you crawling onto the bed beside him. you wrap your arms around your pillow, watching him watch you.

“i used to have such a big crush on you, you know.” lando says. you stare at him blankly.

“what?”

“yep. i think i was about 15. you were the first girl i ever really liked that way.” he smiles, recalling the memory. “it kinda sucked because i knew you wouldn’t even look at me twice but it’s funny thinking back to that time.”

~ 15

he watches the way her hair gets caught in the breeze as she takes off her helmet. two messy braids are shaken free, and his heart skips a beat or two, or seven, when she turns around with the biggest grin on her face.

she’s just won a race, another one, and he’d be so jealous if it wasn’t her.

he thinks she’s the most beautiful girl he’s ever seen. george and alex go over to her, congratulating her, hugging her. he wishes he could do that. he definitely can’t.

she doesn’t see him, the only times that she does are when they argue, when they push eachother off the track and scream at one another across a gravel trap. the times when she plants her pointed finger in his chest and calls him dirty, the times he gets heated and calls her something he doesn’t mean under his breath. and she always hears him. always. he watches her eyes pool with tears every single time.

he wants her, in a way he’s never wanted anyone before. he’s never felt like this, wonders how he can make it go away. she hates him. she must.

he can never have her, so why even try?

~

“i had no idea you ever felt that way.” you’re quite shocked, really. you knew that you had this intensely charged sexual tension between you now, but you had failed to realise how far back this all went.

mutually, at least.

“i’d say i’ve done a pretty good job of hiding it.” his smile changes slightly. it was now a sad smile, one that conveys disappointment in himself, and that you hated to see. it reminds you of the one you’ve gotten used to seeing on your social media feed after he’d had a shitty race.

you sigh, bracing yourself for what you are about to say.

“you’re not the only one who hid it.” you raise an eyebrow, your face says ‘guilty!’

“no?” lando’s eyes widen at your revelation.

“i think we were 13. you gave me half a cookie to apologise for pushing me off track.” you smile coyly. “it’s kinda sad but 13 year old me died inside.” you laugh.

“so, we’ve both… liked each other.” lando assesses. you nod.

“when did you stop?” you inquire, scanning his face. you take in each detail, each individual freckle, the curve of his lips. he seems closer, all of the sudden, and that’s when you realise you’ve closed the space between you. lando is within reach now, it would have been so, so incredibly easy to shift even closer still; it was like you were in his gravitational field, reeled in by pretty, pretty eyes.

“who said i stopped?”

“oh.” you breathe.

~ 13

he snaps the crumbly biscuit between his fingers, trails towards her awkwardly. he feels bad, feels a strange pang in his chest that he doesn’t recognise.

he finds her around the back of her parents car, arms crossed, eyebrows scrunched, pouting hard. he thinks she’s cute.

“why are you here?” she whines.

“this is for you. i know it doesn’t make up for the race. i didn’t mean to take you out, i swear.”

he sounds panicked, sincere. her tummy turns funny.

he’s holding out a cookie, the children’s equivalent of an olive branch.

her face softens. she accepts it. they bite into their cookies at the same time.

it’s not the worst day in the world anymore.

~

messy kisses and soft whispers lull you to sleep.

his nose bumps yours every time your lips meet, gentle and plush.

you feel delicate in his arms, treasured. his lips press gently to your hairline. he’s different, softer than you’ve seen him since you were teenagers splitting cookies.

it’s the easiest thing in the world to curl into his side, mould together until you’re part of him, and drift off.

-

the heat wakes you up.

you stir, eyes fluttering open, searching for the source of the onslaught of warmth. it clicks quickly, and you realise that you hadn’t dreamt the events of the night before.

lando is in your bed.

lando had protected you.

lando had wanted you since you were stupid kids who didn’t know any better.

he is the heater that had woken you up, and suddenly you don’t care that you’re far too hot. you curl back into his side, head rests on his chest. it rises and falls softly, his heartbeat thrums beneath your ear. you are jealous of how pretty he looks when he’s asleep, relaxed and infatuating. you lose track of time, gazing up at him.

a sharp pain in your side makes you groan. you had fallen asleep in your dress, lando in his jeans and his shirt, and now you’re paying for it, your fingers searching for the zipper that was now digging into your side. your movements draw him out of his slumber, and when you look back at him, he’s watching you, rubbing sleep from his eyes.

“you okay?” lando croaks, his voice deep and sleepy. it sends shockwaves through you.

“mhm. how did you sleep?” you ask, mindlessly running your hand over his jaw like it was the most natural thing in the world. a smile breaks out across his face, eyes fluttering shut once more.

“really fucking well.” he laughs, almost in disbelief.

“yeah, me too.” you smile at him, shy.

“what’s bothering you?”

“well, a human heater woke me up and now this fucking zipper is killing me.” you joke. it’s weird that this doesn’t feel weird.

“i am pretty hot i guess.”

“yeah, yeah.” you roll your eyes and stand from the bed.

lando sits up, resting on his elbows. his eyes follow you as you walk around the room. you take a bottle of water, drinking half of it before passing it to him. his lips wrap around the bottle and you have to turn away, the ache between your legs that you’d been fighting for months rearing it’s irritating head. you clear your throat, composing yourself.

“need to get this dress off.”

lando pulls himself off of the mattress, stalking towards you. you stop in your tracks and he meets you at the foot of the bed. his hands find your cheeks, thumbs smoothing over your skin in little circles, and then kisses you deeper than he did last night.

it’s impossible not to melt into him, hands running over his chest, his shoulders, and finally finding solace tangled in his curls. if someone told you the morning before that you’d wake up in lando’s arms, you would have cackled, urged them to seek medical attention, and probably spat in their face. how things change.

“i think you should keep it on, look so pretty.” lando breathes, staring down at you. you blush hard, leaning into him.

“but i’m uncomfortable.” you grin coyly. and then, a surge of confidence has you whispering: “i’ll let you take it off if you want.”

“let me make you comfortable first.” lando murmurs, dipping his head down until it rests in the crook of your neck. “want me to get you nice and comfortable, baby?” he kisses up your neck.

you cave, finally.

it takes him all of thirty seconds to have you spread out on his face, laying himself down on the mattress and pulling you on top of him so that you’re hovering over his lips. he mouthes at your panties for a second, getting his first taste of you, and then he drags them to the side, clearing a path. his tongue laves over your cunt, groaning as soon as he gets a proper taste.

your dress fans out over your thighs, and lando has disappeared beneath the fabric. you can tell he’s there, though, by the strong hands gripping onto your thighs, the tuft of curls peeking out, and the feeling of his nose bumping your clit as he buries his face deeper and deeper between your folds.

“lando.” you cry, throwing your head back. the straps of your dress are slipping down your arms, skimming your goosebump ridden skin. he just groans into your pussy in response, pulling you impossibly closer to his mouth, backwards and forwards until you’re grinding down on his willing tongue. you reach down blindly, grabbing one of his hands where it rests on your thigh, and your other threads through his hair, gripping tight as you revel in the pleasure.

lando pulls your clit between his teeth, grazing over the bud and you’re jolting, writhing above him. you feel like you’re going to die, heat pricking all over your skin, your tummy tight from the building orgasm. he’s so eager, sliding his entire face through your slippery folds, obscene sounds falling from his lips that ricochet through your quivering body.

tears prick your eyes when you finally let go, slumping forwards from the overwhelming sensation taking over every single nerve. he lifts you off of him, laying you back on the bed as you come down from your high.

“you okay, baby?” he coos, brushing sweat dampened hair from your eyes.

his lips are stained, dark pink and shiny, a mixture of enthusiasm and your slick coating them. lando scans your watery eyes, feral at how fucked out you look all because of him, and tantalisingly licks his lips.

“need you.” you moan, reaching out for him. his shirt is wrinkled where he’d slept in it and your shaky hands find the few buttons that are actually done up. you push the material off of his shoulders, pupils blown wide at the sight of his toned chest, at the feel of smooth, golden skin. you pull him in by the shoulders, swallowing him whole as you kiss him with everything you’ve got left.

lando’s hands find your thighs once more, running his hands over them to push your dress up your hips.

“wanted this for so long.” he whispers into the kiss, pulling away so that he can take the dress off of you. he looks ravenous the more he pushes the fabric up your body.

you feel vulnerable under his intense gaze, watchful eyes taking in every movement you make. you try to pull him back in for another kiss but he resists.

“let me look at you, please?” lando asks. “there you go, baby, let’s get this off, hmm?” he sits you up so that he can get it over your head, and you lay back, bare aside from your panties that he’d left in disarray.

he sucks in a breath, raking his eyes over the curve of your lips, your collarbone, the slope of your breasts. his gaze lingers there for just a second, before continuing further over your belly, the length of your legs. you want to hide away, pull him in so that he can’t look at you like this, or just dive under the duvet and stay there until you need to catch your flight.

“god, you’re so, so fucking beautiful.” he gasps, awestruck. he sounds speechless, and you feel yourself going red again.

“come here.” you whine. “needed you for so long.”

your admission seems to kick him into action, because seconds later, he’s on top of you, fingers grazing the band of your underwear while you fiddle with the button on his jeans.

“gonna be good for me, aren’t you?” lando stares you down, tone sending a shiver down your spine. you nod, batting your eyelashes. “words, my love.”

“yes, lando.” you affirm, arching into him. that’s all he needs to know, kicking his jeans away, boxers too.

“good girl. took care of me so well last night, now ‘m gonna take such good care of you.”

your eyes skim his body, honing in on how hard he is. your hand finds his cock, tentative at first, stroking over it softly. it’s heavy in your hands, red and dripping already. he wants this just as bad as you do. you continue to jerk him off, watching the way his eyes squeeze shut and his lips part, soft pants falling out. a low hum sounds from the back of his throat, and you wet your lips, threading your free hand through his hair.

lando opens his eyes at the sensation, gently batting your hand away. he dips down even closer, resting on one of his forearms. he lines himself up and your legs wrap around him instinctively. slowly, he pushes inside of you, his breath catching in his throat.

“fucking hell.” he groans, deep and guttural, something carnal sending shockwaves through his body. “been dreaming about all the ways i’d get to fuck you.”

your eyes roll back and you go languid in his arms, feeling every inch of him slide against your slick walls.

“want you.” you rasp, clinging to him, your fingernails leaving patterns between his taut shoulder blades as you beg for it.

“you have me, baby.” and then he kisses you, messy and slow, stealing the air from your lungs. you’re dizzy when he pulls away, sitting back slightly to change the angle. you cry out, feeling him even deeper and everything is more sensitive, warm. you roll your hips, meeting his thrusts deliciously, and he chokes out a moan as you clamp around him. “yeah, that’s it. fuck yourself like that for me.” he encourages.

this is all too much, too good. you have whiplash, physically and emotionally, eyes pooling with tears as the man you’d wanted so badly that you hated him for it rocks into you. lando hits the right spot every time he pistons his hips harder, and his nimble fingers slide up your abdomen, applying light pressure to your navel that makes you writhe.

“fucking perfect for me. gorgeous.” lando slurs, entranced by the sight of where you’re joined. he can see just how wet you are and it drives him insane, barrelling into you like a man possessed, drunk on every single way that your body responds to him.

his wandering hand finds your breast, kneading it before he traces your nipple. he watches the way it hardens at his manipulation, wetting his lips. he collapses back on top of you, sucking the bud into his mouth. you’re panting, whining beneath him as his tongue swirls over your chest, switching to the other side. you jolt, a silent scream scratching your throat when he slips his hand between your thighs, working your clit with the pad of his thumb. he’s rutting against you, grinding deeper, faster, uncontrollably.

“come on, baby. you’re so close, so tight for me.” he mutters into your skin. you nod frantically, your words lost on you. he kisses over your collarbone, the base of your throat, until he finds your lips.

“so close.” you sigh.

he stops.

“tell me you’re all mine.” lando growls, his entire demeanour changing. the tone of his voice almost finishes you off but you’re suddenly enraged. you’re too close for him to stop.

“c’mon lando.” you hiss, trying to move your hips but he has you firmly in place.

“need to hear you say it.” his hand slithers over your chest, finding a new home at the base of your throat. it makes you throb, the way his thick fingers wrap around you. slowly, his grip tightens, and you see an opportunity.

you buck your hips hard, whimpering at the sensation, but your plan works and now you hover over him. he’s still buried inside you, and you can feel him pulsing as you steal control.

“for once in your life, honey, shut the fuck up.” you smirk, mischievous in victory.

slowly, you build up your rhythm. he feels bigger like this, deeper, and you almost lose yourself in the small circles you make with your hips.

“knew you’d be like this. you liked giving yourself to me but i just knew you’d need to take back control.” lando teases. his hand is back around your neck, squeezing slowly, and you grind frantically, dizzy for him. “i was right last night, wasn’t i, baby? pretending to be my good girl when really,” he pulls you down so that you’re chest to chest. “you’re just a fucking brat.”

lando holds you close as he fucks up into you, feeling the way you go limp on top of him as the pleasure washes over you like a million electric shocks. you’re crying, tears pooling on his chest, because there is nothing you can do, nothing you want to do, but take it. he’s got you right where he wants you, and you’re loving every fucking second of it.

“yeah, baby, take it how you want it.” lando commands through gritted teeth, and you move your hips in a feeble attempt to match his speed. everything is slippery, everything feels wet and flushed.

the power play, the position, the frenzy he seems to be in as he fucks you, it all has you gushing, spilling all over him. you choke out a sob, shuddering as the elastic band in your belly snaps. lando stops his thrusts, replacing them with small rolls of his hips to help you through your orgasm.

a sharp breath and a string of curses from him give you the strength to muster the last little bits of energy you have left to look up at him. you pull your head up off of his chest just in time to watch him shatter into a million little pieces.

his neck flexes as his head rolls back, sinking into the pillow, his eyes tight. swollen lips part and your name falls from between them like a prayer. you can feel him filling you up, his hands tightening their hold on your hips like he’s scared to let go, like the world will stop if he does.

the world stops anyway, because then you’re looking at each other. really looking at each other.

it only takes a second for you to be drawn in and his hands leave your hips to cup your face. his calloused hands feel your skin, stroking over rosy patches on your cheeks. it’s deathly silent all around you, apart from the breathless pants you share.

swollen lips crash hard into yours and you melt. he’s still buried so deeply inside of you, your hips digging into his, impossibly close. you’re blindly reaching for any part of him you can get your hands on, and his big hands slide down your body until they meet the small of your back. ever so carefully, he flips you onto your back, easing your spent body into the mattress.

lando collapses on top of you, mouthes at your neck for a moment, delicate kisses making your eyes flutter shut. the eye contact almost sends you into cardiac arrest as he pulls out, oh so slowly. tease.

he holds you close in the shower, fingers massaging every part of you. sex and sweat are washed away, almost lovingly. you let the water run for far too long, content in clinging to him. it’s quiet, reflective time for both of you, exactly what it needs to be. you’re both hung up on questions that need to be asked, neither one of you brave enough to take the first steps. you know one thing, and one thing only: something has changed, in a forever kind of way.

your hair is stringy, half dry, and you’re stood in your underwear. your legs are still shaky.

“your flight soon?” lando asks. he’s stood in his boxers on the other side of the room, scrunching the water out of his curls.

“yeah.” your throat feels raw.

“and you’re going back to monaco?” he’s stopped what he’s doing now, staring at you. you can see the cogs turning behind his eyes.

you nod.

“fancy a sleepover?” he grins, boyish and careless. your heart falls to your feet.

you’re giggling when he sweeps you into his arms and kisses you into the freshly made bed. the sheets are on the floor by the time you finally remember you have a flight to catch.

you’re his now, you realise. he’s too beautiful for his own damn good.

-

“baby?” you hear lando call from his bedroom. you make out the faint sound of his footsteps making their way in your direction. he appears before you can even answer him, and he’s smiling softly at the sight of you bundled up in a blanket, sprawled across his couch.

“what is it?” you ask. the next thing you know he’s on top of you, peppering kisses over every single inch of skin he can get to on your face. “hey, get off, muppet.” you whine playfully, ruffling his hair.

“do you know how much i love having you here?” he murmurs. it’s endearing as fuck and you fight a foolish, dopey grin.

“you’ve mentioned once or twice…” you’ve been here since your flight touched down a week ago. you haven’t even been home to get clothes, not that you needed them in his company.

“we might have a teeny, tiny issue.” he squints, pulling a face.

“and what’s that?” you ask, your voice measuring equal parts cautious and amused.

“so, alex called…”

“oh, shit.”

“we have to go to dinner tonight.”

“we have to?”

“he’s suspicious as fuck. you do realise they’ve been plotting for us to happen for years,” you roll your eyes as if you say duh. “and also, you’ve been in monaco for a week and haven’t seen him once. oh, and also, the last time we saw them, we were running away from a fucking crime scene.” lando smiles sarcastically, and you sigh, defeated.

before you can reply, your phone is ringing somewhere beside you. you root around in your blanket searching for it and when you find it:

“son of a bitch.” you exclaim, showing lando the caller ID. alex is one persistent motherfucker.

“hey girl.” alex singsongs down the phone before you can even say hello.

“hello to you too.” you can hear the fear in your own voice.

“dinner. tonight. although, i’m sure lando already told you.” alex teases.

“why would lando have told me? what?” you choke. lando slaps his hand over his face. your voice has gone up several octaves. not suspicious at all.

“so, you’re at home? you haven’t been at his place since last week?” the playful interrogation begins.

“why would i be with lando?” you try and feign disgust at the implication. it does not work.

“because you hate fucked after he beat up that perv? i have to say, i didn’t think he had it in him but he’s been in love with you since he was like, ten, so, you know-”

“bye alex.”’

“you’re not denying it-“

“bye alex!”

you’re flaming red when you throw the phone to the other end of the sofa. lando, as on brand as ever, is cackling into a pillow.

“he is such a fucking shit stirrer.” you bury your face in your hands, slumping back into the fuzzy cushions.

“well, he’s right about one thing.” lando trails off. suddenly he’s looking anywhere but you and you see him gulp, hard, swallowing his words, like he’s too afraid to bare his soul.

“huh?” you ask gently, sitting up to reach out for him. “what’s wrong?”

“we need to get ready for dinner. that’s what he’s right about.” lando says, standing from the sofa and walking towards his room. you’re suspicious, watching him go with furrowed eyebrows.

-

“lando, behave! you’re the one making me go to this dinner.” you squeal, batting his restless hands away.

you’ve made it as far as the elevator before he pounces on you, caging you in against the metal walls.

“but you look so good, can’t help myself.” he mutters between kisses on your neck, pressing himself even further into you.

the hand that finds it’s way between your legs, exploring beyond the hem of your skirt, is the one that makes you press the button for his floor. why have plans when you can have sex?

he gets through the door to his apartment at lighting speed and carries you all the way to his bed.

when you’re sweating and breathless a good hour later, half of the bedding on the floor with your clothes, you realise you never cancelled your plans.

lando is drawing shapes into the bare skin of your arm, kissing over your shoulder as he does so. his eyes are dropping from all of the over-exertion and you want to count each and every freckle on his face while he falls asleep. he’s cute like this, soft and yours.

and idea comes to your mind, and as if he can see the lightbulb, lando half raises an eyebrow at you. you giggle, somewhat evilly perhaps, and scramble for your phone on the beside table.

“what’re you doing?” lando groans, pouting as his outstretched arms try to find you.

“getting even.” you state.

with the phone in your clutches, you roll back over towards him, holding the camera above you both. he hears the shutter sound as you snap the picture, and peers closer to see the screen. when he sees the groupchat open, he quickly understands what you’re plotting.

“may i?” you ask for his consent.

“are you kidding? go for it. that’ll shut them up.” he laughs sleepily, muttering something about how this is the most lando thing you’ve ever done

FROM: you

TO: the groupchat

1 image attached

couldn’t make dinner. something came up xx

“alex always thinks he’s right, this’ll teach him for being such a little shit.” you flop back into bed even more satisfied than you were before.

you hear lando inhale shakily beside you.

“he is right sometimes you know.” he repeats his earlier words.

you hold your breath. his eyes say so many things that are too delicate to be spoken yet.

“like… like what he said on the phone?” your voice quivers with anticipation, fear. your heart is thunderous, hammering away like it wants to escape the clutches of its cage.

“yeah. i-“ he stops himself. you don’t need him to finish, you know which two words follow. they can follow in good time, you both know it.

“me too, lando.” you coo.

he’s beaming, eyes half shut. you watch as he falls asleep, the both of you ignoring the way your phones are vibrating so aggressively that they might buzz their way off of the night stand. you lose count of his freckles, but it doesn’t matter.

you’ll have plenty of time to figure it out.

-

let me know what you think :D

-

taglist

@boysthatgovroomvroom @thegirlinthefandoms @welld0nebaku @mcmuppet @japanesekel @vinvantae @ggaslyp1 @dr3lover @smiithys  @rachstash @infinitebells @fizzpopsnap101 @gaily19 @icecoldtires @mysticalnightenthusiast @thatchickwiththecamera @oyesmendes @disneydaydreameralways @canyouseethesainz @ferrarifwendvale @fcbformulaeri @tony-stank3 @maih23 @nokiaholland @soleilgrec @carolineworld @anthonykatebridgerton @allywthsr @iamasimpingh0e @ophcelia @lovelynikol16 @coffeehurricanes @jennx03 @blueflorals @lqvesoph @sidcrosbyspuck @better-dead-than-smeg @buendiabebeta @pjofics @kovalcin @wintergilmore3 @for-writing-shit @youdontknowmeshh @im-an-overthinker @jule239 @darleneslane @jazzy722 @weasleyswizarding-wheezes @therealone4r @pleasecallmeunhinged @theonlyadrienne @spideylovin

(i ran out of tags omg? whoops) lemme know if you wanna be added or removed <3

[reidsdimples]

Feverish- 2

Spencer Reid x Reader

18+❤️‍🔥 MDNI‼️

Part 1

Spencer’s inhibitions are still lowered which causes him to escalate things in the shower

You startle awake as Spencer flips over the side of your bed and pukes. You’re still pinned beneath him, his full weight on your legs. So you scrunch your nose and attempt to hold his hair back.

An awful groan escapes him along with a mumbled apology.

“I’m going to move you off of me so I don’t throw up on you and make this worse,” you say gently and help him roll to the other side of the bed.

At least he got into the small trash can you placed there.

Once you dispose of it you return to check on him, the two of you only having been asleep for about four hours. The sun had set and you figured you should attempt to give him more medicine.

Fumbling around in your cabinet you locate some drowsy flu and cold medicine that you didn’t realize you had.

You whip up some soup and grab him a Gatorade before padding back into your bedroom. He’s approached that level if misery where all he can do is lay there and groan in pain. It was awful to watch, Spencer was usually so calm and put together. In the six months you dated, you never saw him sick.

His eyes flutter open when you sit next to him and he pulls himself to a sitting position.

“You have to try to eat something so I can give you the medicine. I put ginger in the soup to help your stomach,” he nods. His hands are shaking so you opt to spoon feed him slowly.

Between bites you feel his forehead to discover he’s still burning up. You frown at him sympathetically. He definitely had the same awful flu you had two weeks ago. No doubt about it.

“Water, the sports drink will dehydrate me more without water in my system,” he says when you try to give him the Gatorade.

“Okay,” you bring his glass of water to his lips and he takes it down greedily. His hands linger on yours against the glass for a moment and he meets your eyes.

“Here,” you hand him the dose of the liquid medicine.

He scoots away from it.

“No pills? I hate the liquid,” he whines.

“No, you have to take this now. I’ll get you the pills tomorrow,” you grab his chin and turn his face back towards the medicine. “Don’t make me force this down your throat. I will,” you threaten.

He knows you’re serious, so he takes it throws it down before chasing it with water.

He only took a few bites of soup but it would have to do.

You help him back under the covers and place a thermometer under his tongue. You needed a true reading to monitor his progress.

“103.2 F,” you tell him. “You’re bad off.”

He nods in agreement.

“Drink this,” you give him orange juice with an immune boosting shot in it. “After this you can go back to sleep,” you promise him.

He looks so tired, so sick, that it makes your heart hurt.

“Stay with me,” he pleads.

“I’m not going anywhere Spence,” you place a hand on his face and brush his hair behind his ear. He gives you a thankful smile. “Just keep your tissues on your side of the bed,” you grimace at his now growing pile.

He smiles softly before groaning like it hurts.

-

He wakes some hours later with at least some clarity in his eyes. He’s on his face when he lifts up to look at you. He smiles sheepishly before groaning and rolling onto his back.

“You smell awful, you were sweating morning your sleep,” you place the book in your lap and look down at him.

“Sorry,” he mumbles.

You make him take his temperature.

“101.8 F, better,” you show him.

He throws his head back on the headboard and runs his hands through his long hair with a sigh.

You look for signs about whether or not he remembers kissing you so desperately the day before. He gives none.

“Let’s get you in the shower,” you pop up.

He doesn’t protest and he’s able to walk, albeit slowly to the bathroom on his own. He sways as if his head spins but he’s able to brush his teeth. You’re grateful for that.

He leans with he’s head on the wall as he scrubs his tongue, clearly getting up is taking a toll on him.

“I made sure it’s not too warm,” you tell him after turning on the shower head.

He looks between you and the shower expectantly.

“What?” You ask.

“Aren’t you going to leave so I can take these off?” He asks, some humor in his tone.

“I’m not leaving you to your own devices. I’ve seen you naked, it’s fine Spencer,” you reason with him.

“But-“

“Not up for debate, you’re not falling and dying in my shower. Now come on,” you tug his arm towards you.

He doesn’t catch himself as quickly as he should be able to and barrels into you. You’re pinned between him and the wall when he places his hands on the wall on either side of your head to stead himself.

His mouth is partially open, he has no choice since he can’t breathe out of his nose. But somehow that mixed with his shirtlessness and messy hair is driving you crazy.

You hook your index fingers into the front of his boxers, pulling him closer to you in an attempt to break his eye contact.

“Lose these and get in the shower, Spence,” you whisper. He nods and obeys.

You move into the shower behind him. He’s leaning on the wall with his arms holding him up, his head dropped between his them as the water flushes all of his hair over his face. You take in the muscles in his lean back, his ass…

Then he turns to you. His eyes are heavy again, his breathing labored. He looks like hell.

You bring a new loofah between you and add soap. He reaches for it but you snatch it away. His eyes can’t help but to move over your wet naked body. You begin to move it over his chest, making slow circles until the soap lathers. You get his arms and move to his stomach. He seems to be getting closer to you.

He grabs your hand with the loofah before you trail down further, his eyes wide. You can see his arousal between his legs despite him feeling terrible.

You let him take the loofah and he turns you around and pulls you close. He wraps his arms around you. His tall lean frame, partially depending on you to keep him standing.

He squeezes out the loofah over your breasts and massages it down between them, his other hand gripping your left tit. His strong arms are wrapped around you as his hands start to cover you in soap. He’s slow and teasing about it.

You can feel his cock pressing upwards against your ass, a small groan escaping him.

You turn to him and make him take a step backward so that the water runs over you both. He watches you, unsure.

You pour more body wash in your hand and place in flat against his stomach, letting it run down over his hardened cock. You push him to lean against the wall. The coldness of the stone causes him to wince but he doesn’t care.

“Ah,” he moans when you wrap your hand around him.

“Would this make you feel better?” You whisper. He swallows hard and nods frantically.

“I need you so bad,” he whimpers.

You pump him slowly, dragging your hand and tightening it around him.

He leans forward on a moan when you speed up, he drops his head to the crook of your neck and begins kissing and sucking on your skin.

It doesn’t slow you down, you tighten and twist your hand just how he likes it until his leaning on you with his hands gripping your ass. The water falls over both of you, heating your body.

He twitches and moans, his knees getting weaker in his sickened state.

“Please,” he whines and takes your face in his hands.

His forehead is against yours as he pants for air.

“Ah,” he groans.

He drops his head to kiss your breasts as his cock begins to pulse. He shudders and you pump him harder until his hot cum is shooting outward. He grips your hips and slowly lowers himself to his knees before you.

He presses his face against your stomach, kissing and moaning, worshiping you. You take in the sight of him. Half out of it, half panting with satisfaction.

Unexpectedly though, he keeps kissing and sucking on your skin until his mouth trails down to your pussy. He looks up at you through the splashing water as if pleading to taste you. You nod.

He’s not gentle about it and he doesn’t take his time. Probably because he feels awful. But you don’t mind.

He leans his face up and burries it into you, his tongue trailing between your folds. He latches onto your pussy and sucks and licks frantically. You push your hands into his hair, spreading your legs to angel him just right.

“Yes baby,” you moan.

This beautiful man on his knees before you looked like a god with his soaked mane of hair. He was breathtaking as his eyes fluttered closed and he devoured you. He moaned into your pussy as he enjoyed feasting on everything you had to offer.

His nails dug into the flesh of your ass, urging you to grind on his face.

You oblige, screaming out at the intense sensation.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” you pant as you ride his face. He continues sucking on your clit and pushing his tongue into your entrance.

It’s so good, your legs start to shake and the world blurs. He doesn’t let up and you think he must be exhausted. But he wants to please you. He’s always been like that.

“Spencer!” You scream as your orgasm ravishes you. Your pussy clenches and pulses as he sucks down your cum. It’s like he’s starving the way he does it.

You try to focus your eyes on him, you can’t believe he just did that.

He pulls his knees out from under him and sits back against the shower wall.

He closes eyes as and you can see them shifting behind his eyelids.

“Are you okay?” You crouch down in front of him.

“Dizzy,” he whispers.

“You shouldn’t have… we shouldn’t have,” you start to apologize. He shushes you.

“Don’t say that,” he urges weakly and shivers.

“Oh Spence,” you feel so bad. You weren’t even thinking. Clearly he wasn’t either.

You wrap a bath towel around him and help him up.

Once he’s dried off you get him back into bed and add an extra layer of blankets. Even in his sickened daze his eyes follow you around the room because you’re still naked.

“Here,” you make him take the medicine he hates along with a fever reducer.

“No more of that,” you gesture at the bathroom.

“What about when I’m better?” He grins. Your cheeks turn red and you can’t help but to smile.

“Just sleep, Spencer,” you lean over and kiss his forehead.

[bloatedandalone04]

To The One I Love - Part 7

Series Masterlist

➪in which you and tyler try to get back into a normal routine, and he shows you just how much fun you and he had together before your accident - in the form of past streams.

PSA: strongly suggested to read the warnings before proceeding.

WC; 3.6k | Do not repost this anywhere, reblogs are fine ♡

Tyler was right, he got maybe four hours of sleep and spent most of his night tossing and turning.

When it was seven in the morning, Tyler gave up entirely and retreated to the living room to wait until you woke up. He flipped through channel after channel, nothing really catching his interest long enough to commit to it, and he did that for two hours straight. He dozed off a couple times, but he was still nowhere near well rested by the time you opened the bedroom door and stepped out into the hall at nine in the morning. “Hey,” he said as soon as he saw you, and he sat up as you slowly made your way over to the couch with the throw blanket from the bed wrapped around you. 

“Hi,” you said back as you climbed over the armrest instead of walking around the back of the couch. 

Tyler held back a grin, because you did that every single time you sat down on the couch, and he was happy that at least a few things hadn’t changed. “How did you sleep?”

“Okay,” you answered and rubbed at your eyes with your hands. “That bed is pretty comfortable. Way better than the one at the hospital.” 

“I told you,” he laughed, glancing back at the TV screen as some ad for RAM began playing. When your eyes became fixated on the TV as well, Tyler looked back over at you. “How’s your head?”

You tear your eyes away from the screen and drop your hands onto your lap. “It’s okay,” you said quietly. “I looked at the stitches in the mirror and I nearly fainted. I should probably not do that again.”

Tyler’s heart fell at that and he shifted a bit. “Yeah, definitely don’t do that anymore,” he agreed, not knowing what he would do if you did faint and injure yourself even more. “You didn’t take your pill yet, did you?”

You shook your head and leaned back on the couch. “No, not yet. I figured I should probably eat something with it,” 

“Good idea,” Tyler hummed, handing you the remote as he pushed himself off the couch and made his way to the kitchen. The open concept allowed him to keep an eye on you as he worked on making breakfast, and he often found himself checking on you more than he should. 

If he really tried, he could almost let himself believe that this was just another Saturday morning, with you catching up on the latest news while he made french toast and bacon. 

He had no idea how much he would end up longing for days like those again. 

“You’re still gonna show me some of your streams later, right?” You called out as you put on some home decorating show. “You said you would.”

Tyler laughed under his breath as he walked back into the living room. “And I will,” he said as he handed you a glass of orange juice before making his way back to the kitchen. “But they’re our streams, babe.”

You lifted yourself up and looked at him from over the back of the couch. “I’m in them, too?”

“Yeah,” he answered as he got a plate down from the cupboard. “What, you thought you weren’t my partner anymore?” He teased as he put the food onto the plate. 

“No, I…” you trailed off and didn’t continue when he handed you the plate and turned to walk down the hallway. “You’re not eating with me?”

Tyler paused and grinned at the hint of a whine in your voice. “I’m gettin’ your meds,” he clarified and you visibly relaxed. 

“Oh,” you mumbled, sitting back down in a more comfortable position. “Right, I knew that.” 

“Uh huh,” 

He left you on the couch while he went into your bedroom, and his heart swelled a bit when he noticed that you had made the bed up before you left the room. You were supposed to be resting and letting him do all the work, yet he wasn’t annoyed or frustrated with you for not doing that. He was just hopelessly in love with you. 

“You didn’t need to make the bed,” he said when he entered the living room again. “You’re supposed to be takin’ it easy.”

You gave him a look as you bit into a piece of bacon. “I think I can handle pulling a sheet up,” you said back, your voice a bit muffled as you chewed. 

Tyler shook his head again and set a pill onto the coffee table before making a second plate and sitting next to you. “Will you ever just let me handle things and not be a smartass about it?” He teased and you shrugged as you set your plate aside and took the pill.

“No, because I feel useless enough as it is,” you answer as you lean back against the armrest and drape your legs over his thighs. “And I wanted to do something productive while I still had the energy to do so before I took my meds and became tired all over again.”

Tyler smiled over at you, his skin heating up at having at least a part of you touching him. “You’re not useless,” he said, using your calves as a makeshift table for his plate. “You’re hurt, and that’s a damn good excuse for you to not strain yourself. And when you get tired, I’ll show you some of the streams. How does that sound?”

“Good,” you grin over at him and cross your arms over your chest. “That sounds really good.”

About a half hour later, your meds kicked in and you were left feeling groggy and a bit grumpy as you propped your legs up on the coffee table and waited for Tyler to come back with his IPad. 

Oh, yeah. You were also feeling clingy, because as soon as he sat down next to you again, you shifted closer to him and cuddled against his side. And Tyler loved every second of it. 

You pressed your cheek against his bicep as he pulled up one of the earlier streams you and he ever did, where it was literally just you, Tyler, Boone and two cameras; one on his dashboard, and the other attached to the roof of his truck. 

The first few videos you and he made were honestly pretty painful to watch since neither of you were really experienced with everything at that time, and luckily he had known Boone for a few years at that point, and he helped Tyler form a small group of storm chasers, and helped him upgrade all his equipment. 

“Oh, God,” you moaned as you moved closer to him. “That’s me? What the hell am I wearing?”

Tyler looked down at the screen and felt his lips curve upwards as he took in the shirt you were wearing in the video. “That’s your DIY Tornado Wrangler shirt,” he answered. “You went out and bought a fabric marker, then went into my drawer and took one of my white shirts and wrote on it. I still don’t know why you didn’t just buy a shirt, but it was so long ago, I don’t even care anymore.”

You groaned and buried your face against his side. “Why did I even do that? That’s so lame,”

Tyler scoffed and looked down at you. “Lame? Baby, you’re the whole reason we have actual shirts now. Someone saw it and asked for us to start sellin’ ‘em, and nearly every adrenaline junkie in Oklahoma has one now,” 

You don’t say anything as you lift your head and give him a wide eyed look before glancing back at the screen. “There’s no way I’m that important,”

“You’re the most important person in my life,” Tyler instantly answered, and you shut up after that for the most part as he showed you any video you wanted to see. 

The last one you watched was a more recent one, and the stream ended with you and Tyler sharing a deep but chaste kiss. You were blushing by the time Tyler set the IPad down and turned to look at you, and he smirked at the pink tint on your face. “Wow, we have no shame,” you mumbled as you looked away.

Tyler laughed, moving to stand up. “Yeah, you somehow managed to only pick one out of the many streams we have that end like that, babe,” he said and you blushed even more before sitting up quickly. 

“Where are you going?” You asked as if you believed he was planning on leaving you alone for more than a minute. 

“I’m just putting this on charge in case you want to watch more later,” he said and smiled at the way you visibly relaxed. He walked around the couch and pressed a soft kiss to the top of your head, his eyes instinctively flickering towards your stitches before he made his way to the guest room and plugged his IPad in. 

He was only away from you for about thirty seconds, but it might as well have been thirty minutes, because the second he walked back into the living room, you were reaching for him. 

Tyler sat back down next to you, draping his arm around your shoulders as you pressed yourself against his side. “Tell me another memory of us,” you murmured, reaching for his hand. “Any one you want.”

He hummed and leaned back on the couch, tilting his head back as he thought of what to tell you about. “How about the time you planned a surprise party for my twenty second birthday, then accidentally told me about it?”

A hint of pink flashed across your face again as you laughed. “Um…yeah, that sounds like me,” you mumbled, “Wow, that’s embarrassing.” 

Tyler grinned as he nodded. “Yeah, you were pretty embarrassed about it back then too, but it was cute. You spent weeks planning this big surprise, and then you accidentally told me about it the day before. I wanted to laugh, but you ended up cryin’, so I had to hold back,” he added as you played with his fingers. “You looked so sad, I spent the next hour holdin’ you, and I ended up testin’ out my actin’ skills the next day at the party so I didn’t give away the fact that I already knew about the surprise.”

You smiled and looked up at him. “I’m such a baby,”

“You’re not a baby,” he said, bringing your hand up to his lips and pressing a few kisses to your knuckles. “You’re just emotional, you always have been, and it’s one of the reasons I’m head over heels for you. You wear your heart on your sleeve, babe.”

You nodded and shuffled closer to him. You were clearly in a mood for physical touch right now, and Tyler would be a fool to deny you of that. “You’re sweet, Ty. And I know, I know, you’re only like this with me, but I know you’ve always been sweet. That’s one thing I didn’t forget,”

Tyler’s grin softens as he pulls you closer to his side. “Maybe,” he murmured, pressing a gentle kiss to the side of your head, then you were falling asleep against him, and his couple hours of sleep finally caught up to him as he tilted his head back and tightened his hold on you as his own eyes drifted close. 

-

That’s how the next few days went.

Tyler would toss and turn in the guest bed while you slept down the hall from him, then he’d wake up and make you breakfast, make sure you took your pill, then spend a good couple hours on the couch with you as he showed you more streams or told you another story about your relationship. 

While your memory was still a mess, you were beginning to look more and more comfortable at home, and he had a sneaking suspicion that you rather liked being around him as you couldn’t seem to stay away from him, and he loved it. It was like nothing happened, and the feeling of normalcy was definitely needed as Tyler felt like his heart was whole again, even if he was barely holding on at times. 

You were laying on the couch, your head on his lap as Tyler ran his fingers through your hair. Your stitches were looking better now that they’ve had time to breathe, and the wound itself was less red and puffy. 

“Tell me about…” you trail off as you shift on the couch. “Oh, tell me about our first night in this house. Like, what did we do the night we moved in?”

A small smirk formed on Tyler’s lips as he brushed your hair out of your face. “How ‘bout I tell you about the second night instead?”

Your brows furrowed and you propped your legs up on the armrest of the couch. “Why? What’s wrong with the first night?”

“Oh, nothin’...but it also left nothin’ to the imagination, babe,” he answered and you blushed before nodding. 

“Okay, yeah. Tell me about the second night instead,” 

Tyler laughed as he paused the movement of his fingers. “Alright,” he agreed. “Our second day here was spent mostly unpackin’, but towards the evenin’, you and I decided to have a break, so we went out onto the back deck, and we didn’t have any furniture out there yet, so you and I sat down on the steps and we watched the sun go down behind the trees. We talked just like this the whole time, like we were still gettin’ to know each other, even though we know everythin’ about one another.” 

You smiled and let out a quiet hum. “Every minute with you seems perfect, Ty,” you mumbled, “I almost want to think you’re lying to me and trying to make it sound like we had the perfect relationship.” 

Tyler ran his knuckles along your jaw, grinning at the way you leaned into his touch. “We did,” he murmured, then added, “We still do.”

Nodding slowly, you sat up on the couch and turned to face him. “I hope so,” you said so quietly, Tyler almost didn’t hear you. 

Almost. 

“You and I are fine, babe,” he assured you, reaching over to tuck your hair behind your ear. “Even though there’s not much in this pretty head of yours right now, I know we’re gonna be just fine. I promise.”

The grateful smile you gave him made his heart swoon, and he knew that no matter how many years have passed and will pass, you’ll always be able to make him feel this way. Like how he did when he first fell in love with you. 

“Okay,” you mumbled, leaning into his touch. “I guess I have no choice but to believe you.” Your voice was teasing, and he was helpless to stop the faint blush that formed on his face. 

-

It had been a week since Tyler brought you home from the hospital, and your memory still wasn’t back. It wasn’t really showing much of a hint that it was on its way back, but Tyler was still hopeful. 

In the meantime, he’s more than fine with creating more memories with you while you carefully try to coax the old ones to return. 

You were officially off your pain meds as of last night, and your head was looking a lot better than it did a week ago, and in about another week or so, you’d be able to get the stitches removed. 

After a bit of pestering from you, Tyler finally caved and let you come with him to get groceries. It didn’t take much, because the house was running low on food before your injury, and he hadn’t left your side since, so he was definitely working with scraps at this point and needed to go get actual food. 

It was good for you to get out of the house, too. You already seemed like you were completely comfortable in it again, and that made Tyler beyond happy.

He let you push the cart since you were still a bit shaky, and he was a close step behind you as he let you go down any aisle you wanted. A few kids stared at your stitched up cut and cringed as you walked by them, but you just smiled at them while Tyler reminded himself that they were kids and that they didn’t know any better.

He nearly bumped into you when you stopped and reached for something on the shelf. “What about these?” You asked with a sweet smile as you turned to face him, your hand gripping a box of Oreo cookies. “Sugar might help my head, right? That’s what everyone says, right?”

Tyler laughed quietly and shook his head, knowing how much of a sweet tooth you are. It was pretty much a miracle that you’ve gone a week and a half without so much as a bite of anything sugary. That doesn’t mean you haven’t been dropping subtle hints throughout the week, this one was just flat out obvious though. “Baby, the only thing these are gonna do is give you a sugar rush. Nice try though,” he said as he took the box from you. 

You stuck out your lip and pouted at him, and he wanted to kiss you so badly. It had been over a week since he gave you anything more than a hug and a kiss on your forehead, but he was letting you control the pace of things. Even if it was slowly making him touch-starved. “But my head is fine,” you say and he gives you a look. “Okay, my head will be fine, the doctor said so. And what if I promise to save them until after I get my stitches out?”

Tyler raises an eyebrow and gives you a skeptical look. “Uh huh, I know your tricks. You’ll pull that box out of the bag as soon as we get home and eat every single one,” he teased and you blushed a bit before laughing. 

“You have no faith in me,” you scoff, draping your arms over the handle of the cart as you look between his eyes and the box in his hands. 

Tyler grinned, shaking his head. “Of course I don’t. You have zero control when it comes to cookies. These won’t last five minutes,” 

You smile at him and open your mouth to respond, but then you go quiet. At your sudden silence, Tyler looked up from the cookies and focused his attention back on you. 

“Baby? You still with me?” He asked with a soft laugh, but you suddenly seemed distant as you looked over his shoulder. “Hey, you okay? I was just kiddin’, babe.”

You nodded slowly, and then Tyler noticed that your gaze was fixated on something behind him. “Yeah,” you mumbled, leaning back on the cart. “Sorry…sorry.”

Tyler shook his head, tossing the box into the cart before moving closer to you. “Don’t be sorry, baby, just tell me what’s wrong,” he murmured, reaching up to take your chin in between his index finger and thumb. Once he knew that you were alright, he glanced over his shoulder to try and see what you were looking at. 

You hold onto his arm as he takes note of the couple a few feet down the aisle, big grins on their faces as they look down at their matching wedding bands that look brand new. “That could’ve been us,” you mumbled, “You want to marry me, Ty, and you’ve asked me, but I said no. And I don’t know why, because you’re perfect and we’re perfect, and I said no. Why did I say no?”

Tyler looks back at you with furrowed brows. The conversation of marriage hadn’t been brought back up since you first asked about it the day he brought you home, but the couple down the aisle clearly triggered something in you. And now you looked like you were on the verge of tears. 

Okay, maybe he could’ve held off on groceries for a few more days, because you were beginning to look overwhelmed, and that was the last thing Tyler wanted. 

“Hey, it’s okay,” he said, turning you around so you weren’t looking at the newlyweds anymore. “It’s alright. I don’t want you beatin’ yourself up about it, okay? That’s not why I’ve been tellin’ you these things. I don’t want you to feel bad about any of it.” 

He pressed his front against your back and hugged you from behind as you looked down at the tiled floor. “But I want to marry you, Ty,” you whispered and Tyler’s heart skipped multiple beats at that, because that was the first time you had ever said that. During his proposals, you just gave different reasons as to why you couldn’t get married yet, but here you are now, telling him after spending a week and a half by his side that you want to marry him. 

His words get caught in his throat as he leans down to gently rest his chin on your shoulder. “It’s okay,” he said again, pressing a soft kiss to your cheek. “We’re gonna get married one day, I promise. We just need some more time, that’s all. But I swear, baby, I’m gonna marry you one day. And I don’t care how long I need to wait, okay? Please, please, babe, don’t think about that right now or force it. Let it come to you.”

You sniffle and nod, leaning back against him as you grip his forearm that’s wrapped around your chest. “Okay,” you whispered, and he held you like that in the snack aisle for as long as you needed him to. Once you had calmed down, you tilted your head and looked up at him, and the request you had made his heart skip another few beats. “Tonight…will you sleep with me? In our bed?”

[strnzqqz]

Love & War.

written by @strnzqqz

————————————————————————

Summary!!: Chris and Y/n are best friends. They throw a party together and multiple LA influencers and partygoers show up. The song,

"Love & War" by Kodak Black plays and Chris watches Y/n sing along. He slowly starts to realize how in love with you he really is.

*WARNINGS!!*: SMUTTT, MDNI!!, p in v, unprotected, (don't be fucking idiots, buy some condoms.), hair pulling, dom!chris, subby!reader, rough, dirty talk, use of y/n, drunk!chris, (sort of)sober! reader, Mentions of drugs and weed. oh ANDDD alcohol.

The time was 11:46pm. Everyone was either high on weed and pills, or super shit-faced. Chris and Y/n were dancing and drinking together, And Matt and Nick were off taking shots with some guys and girls. Basically, the party was fucking WILD. Y/n’s favorite song, Love & war by Kodak Black came on and you jumped up on the counter. Taking a shot and singing along as chris watches, snickering with some of his friends before getting lost in the way your hips sway to the beat. The way your hair flows as you moved your head while singing along. He felt..tempted. Tempted to drag you out of there and kiss all over your body. But he knew he couldn’t, you were his best friend after all…but, why did he feel like this then? He watches you for another 30 seconds before grabbing her wrist and whispering in your ear. “Can we talk?” you turn your head and nod, jumping down from the counter and holding his hand as he walks you into the bedroom. you sit down in the bed and watch him stare into your eyes intently. You felt..safe? in a way. “Is everything alright chris?” “God no..i’m so in love with you. I don’t care if you’re my best friend, or my girlfriend. I just really like you Y/n. You’re so like..different to me and your personality is beautiful. I can’t believe i’m saying this..but i really want you..no, need you.” You smile and smash your lips into his, your hands landing on the sides of his face as he crawls on top of you and pulls away for a second, his fingers playing with the straps of your orange dress. “Can i?” He asks, looking for permission to take it off. You nod quickly and he slips it off, staring at the black lacy panties you had on. Which were now soaking wet. He pulls them off with his teeth. His eyes staring up at yours, making you shiver and whimper quietly. “God you’re so fucking gorgeous…all wet f’me to huh baby?” You nod quickly and watch as he unbuckles his belt, the sound of his pants dropping making you clench around nothing. His boxers come off with his pants, his boner springing out as he scoots closer to you. He looks up at you again. “A-Are you sure?” “Yeah..i’m sure Chris..Just fuck me already.” He rubs his tip against your entrance, listening to your soft moans as he pushes himself into you. The sound of wetness fills the room and he slams into your puffy cunt repeatedly, his hand finding his way to your shoulder as he pulls you back and whispers into your ear. “You just love this big..fucking..dick, don’t you baby? Oh f-fuck..want you to cum, just f’me..can i pull your hair baby?” You nod and he tugs your hair back, making your ass clap as hips clash into you. “Oh fuck! more..m-more chris please..” “Mhm..pounding that prettyy little pussyy..fuck..gonna make me cum soon baby..” He gasps and throws his head back, his movements becoming sloppy as he moans into your ear. “Oh fuck! G-Gonna cum..Gonna fuck cu- shit!..” You moan louder as he yanks your hair back harder, his seed filling you up to the brim. Making you cum on impact. “Chris! fuck..” He pulls out and smiles, using the blanket to clean you up. “Go fucking pee.” He gives your ass a light smack and you get up, stumbling as you walk into the bathroom.

A/N!!: FIRST FANFIC..KIBDA NERVY.

@mattsdillion

[lovecla]

TAKE YOUR PAIN AWAY | quinn hughes.

chapter twelve:

<last chapter> <next chapter>

➴ chapter warnings: shitty family.

➴ word count: 4.7k

💌 from me to you: have a nice reading loves <3

౨ৎ

2024, JUNE.

“I HATE just looking at it,” you say, making Victoria laugh. “I mean, I really liked it at first but now it makes me sick.”

It was finally the day of your mom’s retirement gala, and all you wanted to do was stay at home with Quinn and Bella, watching a movie and drinking wine.

But you had made a promise, and hell would freeze before you break one. If your mom wanted you there, you would be there, even if the thought of putting on that dress made you want to puke all over it.

“I mean, you don’t have to wear it…” Victoria says, sounding mischievous. You raise your brow at her.

“What do you mean?” You laugh, closing your eyes as the makeup artist your mom had sent to your house spread the glittery eyeshadow over your eyelids. “I just told you, my mom bought this last month and basically demanded I wear it.”

“But she’s not here, is she?” She asks, looking around the packed room, full of people: the makeup artist, the hair stylist and the girl responsible for your clothes. They all stared at you scaredly, probably not wanting to piss off your mom, the great, famous Jessica Carter. “I don’t see her.”

You sigh. “Victoria—”

“I brought you something else. And if you don’t like it, then you can wear that one your mom bought you.” She grabs a huge, ginormous bag, placing it carefully on the bed. You ask her to open it, since you couldn’t, and she does as you say.

The most beautiful orange dress you had ever seen lays on your bed and you smile at Victoria, finally happy with going to the dinner. If it was going to be the last time you saw your family, then at least you’d look great.

“Isn’t it so beautiful?” She smiles, carefully running her fingers through the dress’ fabric. “I immediately thought of you when one of our designers costum-made this.”

“It’s gorgeous,” you say, imagining yourself inside that dress.

It’d for sure piss your mom off, but at this point, you had already understood that anything you did would eventually make her upset.

This last week has been both a dream and a nightmare. Quinn stayed with you for two days before he had to travel for work again, and it’d been like a fantasy: he would wake up earlier than you, cook you a healthy breakfast, and help you eat; bite after bite, praise after praise, kiss after kiss, he helped you restart your eating routine again.

After throwing all of your pills— and your prescription— away, he tried his best to be with you, even during the hardest moments, when your body would have some kind of withdrawal, with persistent headaches, nausea and extreme fatigue. He took care of you so well, like no one had done before, and it only made you realize how deep your love for him was.

“So it’s settled, then,” Victoria calls the other two girls standing in the corner of your room, asking them to help you get dressed.

The dress was long, so long it occupied the entire room, and you were sure that if Bella wasn’t already at Mrs. Fernandez home, she’d be lost between the orange fabric, even if she was a big girl herself. The corset squeezed your chest lightly, nothing like the dress your mom had bought for you, and your white heels held your feet comfortably.

While you got your hair done, you stared at your phone’s screen, tuning out of Victoria’s yapping session and thinking of Quinn, and if he was well. Now that you had confessed to yourself— and Quinn— that you wanted, needed him, it seemed like spending time away from him hurt you more and more.

He had texted you earlier that day, saying that he missed you a lot, and asked for pictures of the things you ate during the day, making you roll your eyes and blush at the same time, not holding back the smile plastered on your face.

Even if you feared for what your mom could do once she realized that you would do everything in your power to stop yourself from submitting to her absurd, evil requests, you could now see that you weren’t alone, and you would never be, as long as the Hughes walked on the same planet as you.

Which reminded you that you had to call Luke and apologize to him, because even though it had hurt you to hear the things he’d said, you knew that part of your awakening was thanks to him, and for that you’ll forever be grateful.

“Okay, let’s go get you inside that car,” Victoria says before you manage to get up, trying to move around with all that fabric around you.

Getting to the event had been a lot harder than expected. You had worn bigger, larger dresses before, much weirder than the one you’re wearing right now, but you had the right transport for it. Right now, the only car you had was a limousine and you had to make it work.

You felt like Cinderella inside the pumpkin carriage, but you preferred walking around with this amount of fabric than putting on that dress that your mom had chosen for you.

The cameras were all directed at you as soon as you walked out of the car and got to the red carpet. People were shouting your name here and there, and since it’s been a while since the last time you actually went to a public event like this, your head was starting to get dizzy with all the overwhelming attention.

You smiled at the pictures, but didn’t go to any of the interviewers— you weren’t in the mood for questions, and even though people expected you to talk with them, you just weren’t feeling comfortable.

You walked inside after posing for some more pictures, feeling a rush of anxiety run through your body, because you knew you were about to face your mother’s wrath. But Quinn and Victoria were right. You had to stop this abusive, toxic cycle between the two of you.

Even though sometimes it was hard to remind yourself that you’re not the one in the wrong in this.

You greeted some of the other celebrities there, the space filled with people who had once worked with your mom too. It hadn’t been hard to find her, of course. All Jessica Carter ever wants is the spotlight on her, so when you found her talking to Kirk Pickersgill and Stephen Wong, the founders of Greta Constantine, you knew exactly what you had to do.

“My, oh my, aren’t you a beautiful sight?” Kirk smiles at you, giving you a brief kiss on your cheek, making you smile at him. “Look at this dress, Wong, look at her!”

“It’s a beautiful dress indeed,” Stephen agrees, holding his hands together behind his back.

“Great choice, my love,” your mom says, and your smile falters for just a second, enough for your mom to understand that you had picked up on her subtle message. “Is that Versace?”

“No,” you say, patting your skirt. “It’s custom-made Rami Kadi, actually.”

“So beautiful, Madison, I just know you’re going to blow people’s minds with this one,” Wong smiles at you and before you can answer, Kirk whistles while looking at his phone.

“She already did,” he laughs, and you frown at him, confused.

“What do you mean?” you ask, and he flips his phone, showing you his phone screen.

“You’re trending on Twitter, babe,” he eagerly says, and Wong gasps beside him. “People are crazy over you. And your dress. If you ever think of leaving La Vie en Rose just know that there’s always a place for you at Greta.”

Wong shakes his head. “We’d love to have you there.”

“Well, unfortunately, she’s going back to Los Angeles in a few months, so I’m afraid that won’t be possible,” your mom jumps in, wrapping her hands affectionately around your shoulders and smiling at the two men in front of you. “And, oh my, look at the time,” she fake sighs, looking at the watch on her wrist. “We better get going if we want to eat dinner before my speech.”

Wong and Pickersgill nod awkwardly in front of you, leaving after giving you another kiss on the cheek and walking their way to their table. You walk with your mom by your side, both with fake smiles plastered on your faces, greeting people on your way to your table. You could tell she was upset by the fact that people were complimenting you and your dress, but you kept your chin up either way.

By the side of the table reserved for you and your family stood your dad and your brother, both wearing expensive tuxedos and looking like twins. You nodded at them, watching as the same fake smile that decorated your face, decorated theirs as well.

“Madison,” your dad says, his smile getting wider when he notices the photographer behind you. “You look well.”

Well wasn’t exactly the word you’d use to describe yourself at the moment, but you smiled nonetheless.

“Can I get a family picture?” The photographer asks, and you all quickly move so he can get a picture of all four of you together, smiling like you were the most perfect family in the entire world, just like your parents wanted people to believe. “Nice, nice, thank you.”

“Why aren’t you wearing the dress I chose for you?” Your mom hisses through her teeth, not letting her smile fall from her face.

“I didn’t like it,” you simply say, even if it weren’t entirely true. But every time you look at the expensive, black dress inside your closet, you remind yourself of the awful month you didn’t eat just so you could look good in a dress you didn’t even like that much, just for your mom to finally love you. “Victoria chose this one for me instead.”

“This is unacceptable,” she fake laughs, pretending that the conversation she was having with you was nothing more than a cute, loving mom and daughter moment. “It’s ridiculous—”

“You look gorgeous, baby.”

You and your family turned your head to the side, watching as Quinn stood there, looking close to perfect with his black two piece suit and slicked back hair.

Your face lit up like the Fourth of July, and you smiled at him, blushing with his compliment. “Quinn.”

“Hi, baby,” he smiles at you, stepping closer. “Mr. and Mrs. Carter,” he nods at your parents. “Peter.”

Your brother extends your hand at him, and so does your dad, but it’s clear that they’re uncomfortable. Not as much as your mom, though, who looked like those angry cartoon characters.

“It’s nice to see you, but what are you doing here?” She hisses. “Haven’t you both done enough already? People are talking and taking pictures of you, you must be all over social media by now, what are you—”

“With all due respect, ma’am,” Quinn wraps his hands around your waist, holding you close to him, in front of everyone. The smile on your lips couldn’t get any bigger. “What Madison and I do is none of your business.”

“Watch it, boy. You’re talking to my wife, and you know who I am.” You dad says, smiling afterwards to prevent people from thinking that he was anything other than the perfect father.

“I’m not a boy and frankly, James, we both know that if I were to care about your opinion, I wouldn’t be the Canucks’ captain today.”

Your dad’s face gets red with anger but he doesn’t say anything, choosing to stay quiet for once.

“What are you doing here?” You ask, smiling at how Quinn frowned at your dress, because he couldn’t sit closer to you with that much fabric around you.

“Victoria helped me out,” he smirks. “Did you really think I’d let you come here alone?”

You roll your eyes, smiling still. “You’ve never been to a fashion dinner before. And I’m used to coming alone,” you shrug. “You’re aware that people will… know. Right?”

“I don’t mind it. Do you?”

You looked at him with shiny, happy eyes, before kissing his lips softly and gently, right there, for everyone— your parents and your brother included— to see. Quinn kissed you back just as gently, holding the back of your neck carefully, not wanting to ruin any of your clothing or makeup or hair.

It felt nice not to care for once in your life.

౨ৎ

maddiecarter_updates

Vancouver, BC

liked by nickharris_img and others.

maddiecarter_updates Madison has arrived at her mom’s (Jessica Carter) retirement gala at Fashion, in Vancouver 😍 She looks absolutely amazing! (edit: @nickharris_img liked!!)

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user1 MY WIFE RIGHT THERE

user2 i still prefer the pink dress she wore at the Cannes festival but this one also eaaaats

user3 looking like a goddess omg i need her

user4 why is no one talking about quinn hughes being there AND the pictures they took of the two of them together????

maddiecarter_updates user4 As we always say, we like to respect Madison’s privacy. If she’s dating Quinn Hughes, then we will wait until she confirms it. We can’t assume things just because we’ve seen pictures so let’s just respect her time and privacy ☺️

user5 she looks so damn fine

user6 the event ended a few hours ago does anyone know why she hadn’t posted anything about it yet???

user7 user6 i was just wondering the same thing bc she usually posts pictures immediately after 💭

_quinnhughes

Vancouver, BC

liked by jackhughes, canucks, vic.alonso and 381,991 others.

_quinnhughes

View all 1,209 comments

madisoncarter i love you

user1 NOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

maddiecarter_updates ????? ok

maddiecarter_updates Now we’re allowed to freak out 🙈

user2 maddiecarter_updates OANSOWNXOANALS

user3 maddiecarter_updates LAKAKANAMD!./!!/!/!:!;

user4 maddiecarter_updates SHSKDMDKIWWOOWKKFBN_._.__.\

maddiecarter_updates user2 user3 user4 oh-

bboeser Ouuhuu 😎😎😜😜

canucks She would look gorgeous in blue 💙

njdevils canucks No she wouldn’t ❤️

user5 njdevils ???😭😭 Help

user6 Average no caption Hughes post

jackhughes …why was i the last one to know about this

conor.garland8 Oh captain my captain

౨ৎ

“THOSE PLATES aren’t going to get any straighter, baby,” Quinn laughs behind you, bringing your body closer to his with his hands on your waist.

You bite your lip, feeling his warm hands all over your tummy. “Stop trying to distract me, you’re supposed to be taking care of the food.”

“My bad, I thought you were the food.” He says, before plastering a wet, loud kiss on your cheek.

“Quinn, stop! Your family’s going to be here at any second, and I don’t want them to find you with your hand on my boobs.” you laugh, slapping his hand away.

“I wasn’t even going to do that, but fine,” he mumbles before turning you around, making you face him. “You don’t have to be nervous, baby. They’ve known you for literally half of your life.”

“Yeah, but I was just a friend. And now I’m dating you.”

He raises his eyebrow, a playful chuckle leaving his lips. “Oh? We’re dating? Since when?”

“You know what I mean,” you feel your cheeks getting warm. “It’s going to be weird. Especially with how I left things with Luke that night,” you cover your face with your hands, sighting. “God, I hope he doesn’t hate me.”

“What did I say about always thinking the worst about everything?” he removes your hands from your face, kissing them afterwards. “And I know Lukey probably acted like a douchebag that night, too. He isn’t exactly the most tender person ever.”

“Still, he was right,” you kiss his cheeks, detaching yourself from his hold before looking at the dinner table again. “Hope he forgives me.”

“He will, sweets, I promise.”

It was almost the end of June, and you had just started taking care of yourself again. Quinn suggested that you should see a professional, to help you deal with the hardest days, and that’s exactly what you did. You have meetings with a therapist called Emma once a week, and even though you feel like nothing’s changed yet, it’s nice to have someone else to talk to, and not worry about whether you’re dumping your problems on them or not.

You and Quinn were also doing fine, baby steps helping you both find your path together. You still had your doubts, and even though you wanted to ruin away sometimes and never look back, you knew you’d always end up coming back to him.

You hoped and prayed everyday that you’d get to be the one who’s going to keep him for life.

The doorbell rang and Bella ran to the door, Quinn right behind her, while you tried to unwrinkle your dress for the nth time.

It’s fine, you kept telling yourself, They’ve known you since you were a child, you’ll be fine.

“Maddie,” you hear Jack’s loud voice before you turn around, smiling when you feel his arms around you. “Hey.”

“Hey, Rowdy,” you kiss his cheek. “How are you?”

“I’m fine. It’s summer, fucking finally.” He groans, letting go of you and making his way to the kitchen, talking about grabbing a beer for himself.

You stare at Ellen, Jim and Luke as they all hug Quinn and pet Bella, before moving back to you.

“Hi, there, darling. You look stunning,” Ellen hugs you tight, her blonde hair touching your face. “Thanks for having us. We missed you and Quinny.”

“Hi,” Jim briefly hugs you, looking like he always did: shy.

“Hello, Mr. Hughes,” you smile. “I’ve missed you too.”

As they ramble about not seeing both of you enough, you stare at Luke, who’s been petting Bella for too long already. He notices you and finally gets up, walking until he stood in front of you, the little boy who once had been smaller than you and got in trouble for cursing too much and was now a man, inches taller than you, thighs bigger than your head.

“Hey.” You whisper, and he timidly smiles at you, not showing his teeth.

“Hey.”

You both stood there, silent for a while, the only sound coming from the kitchen where Ellen seemed to yell at Quinn for something while Jack laughed.

“How are you doing?” You ask, not sure of how you’d apologize to him without sounding like an idiot.

“I’m fine,” he shrugs, not looking at you. “How about y—”

“I’m sorry,” you blurt out, interrupting him. “I’m so sorry about the things I said to you the last time we saw each other and I’m sorry for acting the way I did. I never meant to upset you, it was just hard for me to hear those things.”

He places his hand on your shoulder, patting you there twice. “It’s fine, Maddie. I should’ve known better. Those types of things aren’t meant to be said at a party, right after you tell me you have feelings for my brother.”

“Still. You were just trying to help me and I— I was a little shit. Sorry.”

He laughs.

“Don’t give yourself this much credit, M. You’re not the seven headed monster you think you are,” he winks at you, before moving to Quinn’s kitchen with Bella between his legs. You sighed, scrunching your nose at her. Maybe you weren’t the only one with a soft side for the Hughes.

“I don’t care if it’s important or not, Jack, you won’t use your phone during lunch time.” Ellen orders around, sitting on the table before pouring herself a generous amount of red wine.

“Mom, I’m not a child anymore and this is important.” Jack pouts, making you laugh softly, while you sit down on the chair between him and Luke. “It’s not funny, Madison.”

“Leave her out of this,” Ellen protests, pointing at him. “No phones during lunch time. What’s so hard for you to understand?”

“Look at dad!” Jack points at Jim, who stopped texting and placed his phone back on the table.

“Jim, don’t piss me off or I swear to God—”

“Food’s ready,” Quinn mumbles before placing a huge pot of homemade pasta and tomato sauce, with meatballs and a Greek salad— cucumbers, tomatoes, feta cheese and olives— to accompany the main dish.

While you helped everyone serve themselves, you noticed Quinn’s eyes on you, and he was the one who put food on your plate. He knew that eating big portions was still an issue for you, so he was careful with putting the right amount of food onto your plate.

You smile at him, not before saying “thank you” and grabbing your first bite, almost melting like you always did whenever Quinn cooked.

You watched as they chatted about literally everything, with Jim and Ellen asking about their lives and Luke and Jack bickering with each other while Quinn looked at them with a tired face.

“So, Madison,” Luke starts, interrupting an argument between Jack and Quinn about who would win the Stanley Cup next season. “Have you thought about what you’re going to say at the ‘Power Play for a Cause’?”

“Heh,” Jack laughs. “PP for a cause. That’s what she said.”

Jim lets out a loud laugh before Ellen coughs, glazing at him.

He stops lauhging. “Son, you’re not funny,” Jim sighs, stuffing his mouth with pasta. “Shut up, please.”

You smile, confused. “What are you talking about?”

“You didn’t tell her?” Ellen asks and Quinn shrugs.

“Madison has a lot on her plate right now, the last thing she needs is a Hockey themed gala.”

“But what is it?” You ask, now curious.

Luke coughs before continuing:

“‘Power Play for a Cause’ is the name of next month's charity dinner the NHL’s holding,” he explains. “And it’s basically to raise money for sick kids and shit.”

“Luke.” Ellen reprimands him and he apologizes, after rolling his eyes.

“But why would I need to say something?” You ask, still as lost as a blind person during a shooting.

“Well,” he smiles. “Some of the teams' captains receive a speech, and Quinn will be one of them this year. We were going to ask our little cousin Julie to do this but she’ll probably blackmail us into buying her thousands of dollars worth of money in video games.”

“I recognise a future scammer when I see one.” Jack mumbles, making you all laugh.

“I mean…” you start, looking at Quinn across the table, who looks at you with expectant eyes. “If Quinn doesn’t mind, I want to do it.”

“I don’t mind it at all, baby,” he says, like calling you ‘baby’ in front of his family wasn’t anything new. “If you feel comfortable with doing it, then it’s fine. If you don’t, then it’s also fine.”

“Of course I am,” you smile at him, as he winks at you.

You then realize that everyone went quiet, even Bella, that must have sensed something was up because she sat beside your chair and was eyeing everyone suspiciously. Your face burned with shame and you silently pleaded to Quinn do something.

Which he did, coughing and scratching his eyebrow with his middle finger.

“This is probably a good time to tell you that Madison and I are together.” He says, before looking you in the eye again.

“Thanks for stating the obvious,” Luke says, before he lets out an ouch sound, looking at Ellen with annoyed eyes.

“That’s great news, baby!” She says, resting her head on Jim’s shoulder. “We always knew you both would end up with each other.”

“Yeah, that’s right,” Jim agrees. “When you both would spend hours alone together doing nothing we always thought that you were doing naughty stuff.”

If your face could get any hotter, it would melt. Jack and Luke’s laughter wasn't helpful either, while Quinn just smiled and mouthed a small sorry at you.

“We were kids, Mr. Hughes,” you say, and he laughs.

“Cut it with Mr., it’s either Jim or dad now,” he squints, making you smile. “Also, what’s the matter? We caught Jack kissing his school friend when he was seven.”

“What can I say, I’ve always been irresistible,” Jack smirks, the cocky tone making you roll your eyes. “Gotta start young.”

“You’re such a fuckboy, Jacky, that’s nasty,” Ellen says, the curse word surprising all of you, making you burst out into laughter in front of them.

You couldn’t explain how happy they made you, even if you tried. It isn’t something usual, loving your boyfriend’s family as much as you do, but you’re happy to be the exception.

The rest of the lunch went on without any more smarty remarks from Luke or Jack, and you were sure you hadn’t laughed this much before, ever. They worked so well together and the love they felt for each other was so deep you could almost touch it with your own hands.

They treated you so well, making sure you had everything you needed and not letting you feel excluded for even the briefest second. They also understood your love for Bella and how important she is to you, so Luke spent the entire afternoon patting her fur and playing with her, complaining loudly whenever she took the carrot plushie— her favorite toy, you told him— out of his hands, running around Quinn’s living room with it.

When they started saying their goodbyes, many, many hours later, you held each and every one of them tightly, trying to trespass your gratitude for them like that, since saying things like “I love you” are still hard for you.

And with how they hugged you back just as fiercely, you were almost sure they understood what you wanted to tell them.

“Is Quinn treating you well?” Ellen quietly asks you, as you both stand on Quinn’s porch and watch the four men you both loved so much argue about who should drive the car.

You smile, nodding with your head. “Yes, ma’am, he is.” you giggle at her annoyed face with the “ma’am”. “ I just— thank you so much for everything.”

“You don’t need to thank me, love. You know I’ve always had a soft spot for you.”

You can feel the tears forming in your eyes, and you blink fast, trying to send them away. But with the way Ellen's smile saddens and how she wraps her arms around you, you could tell she saw them.

“They’re happy tears, I promise,” you try to reassure her, not wanting her to see the storm happening inside you.

“It’s okay if they aren’t, Madison,” she whispers. “We all need time to heal and I truly hope we can help you get through the hard days.”

“You already do, all of you,” wiping your tears away, you smiled at her. “Especially him,” you point at Quinn with your head, who was now leaning against the car with his hands in his pocket and Bella by his side. “It’s so weird to explain, Ellen. It’s like— it’s almost as if he takes all of my pain away. Isn’t that weird?”

She chuckles beside you, putting a strand of your hair behind your ear. “No, dear, it isn’t. And I’m glad to hear this. It means Jim and I did a great job.”

“Oh, you both outdid every parent on this planet.”

“Mom, can we go? ‘M tired,” Jack shouts at Ellen, pouting like a three year old child.

Ellen rolls her eyes and sighs, hugging you one last time.

“And the Hughes are back at it.” You joke, making her laugh.

She’s in the middle of walking down the steps to meet them at the car when she suddenly stops, turning back around. You were ready to ask her if she’d forgotten anything when she suddenly speaks:

“I know it’s soon but,” she tells you, her blue eyes softening as she continues speaking. “You can be a Hughes too. If you want.”

This time you don’t do anything to hide the tears rolling down your face, letting them roll freely on your cheeks, before hitting the wooden floor you were standing on.

You can’t really speak, so you just smile at her, hoping she wouldn’t mistake your silence for anything else. It was just overwhelming to know that there are people who love you enough to willingly want you in their family, when your own didn’t even care about your well-being.

You watched as they all said their goodbyes to Quinn, hugging him and saying something to him that you couldn’t hear.

Quinn and Bella walked back at you, and he frowned when he saw your tear stained face. “What happened, baby? Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” you tell him, walking to him and standing on your tiptoes before kissing his lips gently. “I just love you.”

You could tell that you caught him by surprise. You had never told him that you loved him before, even after years together. But you just needed to tell him how you felt, and even though the word “love” didn’t seem to explain all of your feelings for him, you would use it anyway.

“I love you too, baby,” he smiles, his curls falling over his face, making you touch his hair carefully. “So much.”

“Thank you,” you say, trying your hardest not to cry again. “For not giving up on me. And for making me feel like myself again.”

“That was all you, baby.”

You both get inside after sharing another kiss, and at night, when you sleep between Quinn and his hundred pillows, nestled safe inside his arms, with Bella sleeping safely by your feet in her bed, you are sure that, even if you still think that you’re not good enough for Quinn, he sure as hell is more than enough for you.

౨ৎ

liked by vic_alonso, partynextdoor, nhl and 789,913 others

madisoncarter yesterday 🤍 _quinnhughes

View all 1,982 comments

user1 i NEED to know where the dress is from Maddie help a girl out 😔

madisoncarter user1 dress is from rami kadi (custom made) 😙

lavieenrose Most beautiful couple ever!!

vic_alonso Gotta say whoever gave you that dress is the smartest person alive

madisoncarter vic_alonso let’s not exaggerate…

maddiecarter_updates So gorgeous love 🧡

user4 this is the most random couple ever but they do look good together

elblue6 😱😱

canucks The couple we didn’t know we needed until now 💙

user5 BABY YOU LOOKED AMAZING

౨ৎ

taglist: @hischierswhore @ru-kru @alwaysclassyeagle @he6rtshaker @nope-i-am-done @nngkay @urthem00n 🤎

[disneyprincemuke]

glitter * mv1

it's the morning after a party, and you find yourself tangled up in bed with your boyfriend

pairings: max verstappen x fem!reader

warnings: fluff!! (which is rare for me)

notes: the first one for my 2k sleepover!! my requests are open for my 2k follower sleepover event!!

“darling, wake up.”

the grip around your waist tightens and your back is pressed up on max’s chest. his lips linger on the back of your neck as his thumb traces circles on your bare waist.

you hum in response, your hand covering the back of his that laid on your waist. “good morning, love.”

“it’s 1pm. we need to feed the cats and eat something ourselves,” he whispers. the bed dips behind you and when you open your eyes, max is looming over your shoulder with a smile. “good morning.”

“5 more minutes,” you mumble. you shuffle in the bed, adjusting the duvet as you turn and force max back down into the bed. you throw your arms around his bare torso and bury your face into the pillow. “i’m too tired to get up.”

he shakes in a chuckle, making you pull away and furrow your eyebrows to glare at him. he simply grins at you and moves the stray hairs from your face. “you said that at 11am when i tried waking you up.”

you groan and drop your head onto the pillow. you put your fingers over his eyelids and force them close as you bury your face into his chest. “i’m saying it again now at 1pm. go back to sleep.”

the sun barely illuminates the room you share. you don’t know where the cats are, and while you are concerned about them, sleeping is the only way to cure the pounding you feel in your head.

max had thrown a party the night before, celebrating the end of the 2023 season with the grid. he had it in your house and invited everyone that could say yes. and he threw a raging party.

it did end at 5 in the morning, fueled to last that long with endless party games and loud laughter. you can safely admit that you drank a little too much knowing that you had nowhere to be the next morning.

you didn’t take into account how hungry the cats would be at 1pm. in your defense, though, you’d drunkenly filled up their food bowl before you fell into bed with max at 6.

“but we have to get up,” max mumbles, twirling a piece of your hair on his finger. he presses a kiss to your temple then rubs your shoulder gently. “some of the guys stayed over — carlos is making pancakes.”

you have to admit the pancakes that carlos makes is absolutely delectable. but it’s not enough to convince you to get up.

“he’ll make some for me later if i ask.”

“bold of you to assume that.”

“i know he will. he loves me.” you tighten your grip around him and yank him closer to you. “shut up, max. i’m trying to sleep.”

“then i will get up, okay?” he whispers, slowly untangling himself from your arms. “i’m very hungry and thirsty.”

you frown as the bed moves and the warmth of his body leaves you. you peek through an eye, watching him bend down to get his shorts off the ground and pull it up his legs.

“do you want any coffee? what about water? i’ll bring it up to you, if you want,” he offers, turning to you as he pulls his shirt down. “what about orange juice?”

but you didn’t want to be in bed alone. so now you’re slowly pushing yourself up the mattress, ignoring the way your world spins and head pounds with every second passing.

“darling, get back in bed. i’ll get you what you need.” his voice wavers as he rushes over to your aid when you stumble at the edge of the bed. “i’ll get you some pills for the headache.”

“i want pancakes,” you mutter as you fish for your shorts resting peacefully on the hardwood floor. “and i should help you clean. it’s my house too.”

“it was my party. you just sit back and relax until you feel better,” he says. he pats your head, grabbing the headband sitting on the bedside table peacefully.

he gently pushes your hair back and slides on the top of your head. "are you sure you want to get up now?"

you nod your head, eyes scanning the floor for the shirt you'd thrown somewhere here in the middle of the night. instead, your attention catches a picture reflecting a ray of sun onto a small patch of the wall.

you wobble over to it and pick it up, a polaroid picture of you and max from the night before. it's a tame picture from before the night had gone wild: you're in the kitchen by the fridge with a bottle of beer in your hands with his hand around your waist, and your head on his shoulder.

you're sure that there's another somewhere, later in the night when you're both flushed from the alcohol and giggling on the couch with your legs on his lap.

"there's more pictures on the coffee table downstairs," max chuckles, towering over you from behind. he holds up a piece of clothing by your side, the shirt you'd been looking for seconds ago now accounted for. "were you looking for this?"

"it's my favourite hangover shirt," you giggle, receiving the shirt into your hands. when you put it on, it rests just below your thighs, covering your shorts very slightly.

it's max's shirt from his teen years, no longer fitting him as he grew, but it fit you perfectly on days you prefer loosely fitted clothing. you tuck the hems of the shirt into your shorts and pull it out to give yourself some air.

"ah, you've got glitter all over you, darling," max laughs, his thumbs grazing over your forearm where the said glitter sits on your skin.

he squeezes you three times before he drops his hand to his side, eyes scanning your body for more traces of glitter.

"laugh all you want but you've got one on your cheek too," you tease as you lift your hand up to try and scratch it off. "this is going to be ass to get off."

"you're the one who suggested getting glittery party hats, darling, i don't know what to say," he shrugs as he turns and walks over to the door. "let's get some food and start our day."

"okay," you mutter, walking over to him. you stop by the door where he is and lift your chin. "i had fun last night. great party."

"it was only great because you helped me throw it."

[bullet-prooflove]

Good People: Carmen "Carmy" Berzatto x Reader

Tagging: @kmc1989 @wabi-sabi1090 @lostinwonderland314 @turtle-cant-communicate @fallout-girl219

Takes place after:

The Farm - Carmy recalls the day you met.

Prequel to:

Pears - It starts when Carmy makes an order he doesn't remember.

Mornings - Carmy sleeps better with you around.

Bubble - You have no idea that you saved Carmy's life.

Crazy, Stupid, Fucked Up World (NSFW) - Carmy tells you he lvoes you for the first time.

Everyone knows that Carmy has a thing for the farm girl. It’s the way his attention shifts when your name is mentioned, the fact it’s him signs for the orders and no one else. They watch as he asks about your day and raise their eyebrows when he stands there and actually listens.

“You may as well be giving her fuck me eyes.” Richie says as he tries to wrestle The Beef t-shirt onto an inflatable hotdog in Jimmy’s backyard.

The two of them are setting up for that ridiculous kid’s party, hoping to knock a couple of grand off the debt Mikey owed him.

“I don’t have fuck me eyes.” Carmy mutters, focusing on slicing the oranges for the homemade Ectoplasm he’s made because Unc’s kid is nuts about Ghostbusters.

“Oh you do. You fucking do.” Richie argues as he pulls out the duct tape. “It’s probably the reason we’re getting such a discount, she likes the way you shake that pasty white ass underneath that little apron of yours.”

“You’re a fucking asshole.” He snaps at Richie, launching a piece of fruit at the back of  Richie’s head. It smacks him right on the dome and the other man turns to face him furious.

“What the fuck is with you?” Richie retorts, throwing it back. “Last month you got the shit kicked out of you by a guy dressed like a carrot, now you’re whoring yourself out for cucumbers. You’ve got issues man, big ones.”

Carmen really has nothing to say to that because honestly if he had to whore himself out to keep this business going, he probably fucking would. That’s exactly where his self-respect is right now, rock fucking bottom. It’s the reason he’s out here in the fucking suburbs slinging gourmet hot dogs for little monsters have no fucking clue how the real world works.

“I hate you.” He tells Richie as he throws himself back into his work the same way he always does. “I fucking hate you.”

It’s an hour later that Richie does the uncharacteristic thing and apologizes. Carmy thinks it’s probably got something to do with the Xanex he took about an hour ago.

“I shouldn’t have said that about Alice.” Richie says, rubbing his palm over the back of his neck. “She’s good people.”  

“Yea she is.” Carmy responds as he starts to make up another hotdog. “She’s helping us out in a bind because she’s a good person. It’s got nothing to do with my ass.”

Richie tilts his head from side to side as he pulls the bottle of Xanax out of his coat pocket and spills another tablet into his palm.

“It’s a little to do with your ass.” Richie tells him as he takes the pill, washing it down with a cup of Ecto.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Carmy asks as he puts the finishing touches on his masterpiece.

“It means for some fucked up reason she likes you.” Richie responds, shrugging his shoulders. “I don’t know why, you’re basically a fucking mop with eyes but she does and you should really do something about that.”

“Like what Richie?” Carmy retorts, turning to face him, his hands coming to rest on his hips. “I run a sandwich shop that’s failing so badly I had to pay for our meat order with change out the arcade machine thirty days ago, I’ve got jack shit to offer anyone right now.”

“I’m just saying you deserve to be happy.” Richie says as he leans back against the fold up table, the tension in his shoulders relaxing. “Mikey would have wanted you to be happy.”

Carmy doesn’t know what Mikey would have wanted because Mikey, he’s not hear to tell him.

“That second Xanex just kicked in didn’t it?” Carmy remarks, changing the subject and Richie exhales, nodding his head.

“Oh yea, big time. I don’t feel a fucking thing.”

It’s on the way home, that Carmy starts to think about what Richie said, about you, about being happy.

Sitting in those fields at your farm on his days off, shooting the shit with you. It’s the closest thing to contentment he’s felt in years. If he was a better man, someone less mentally ill, he’d consider pursuing it but honestly he’s a fucking mess. He wouldn’t wish himself on any woman especially you.

“You’re punking out aren’t you?” Richie says from the passenger seat as he watches the world go by outside.

“No.” Carmy says, his grip tightening on the steering wheel. “She just deserves better than an asshole like me.”

Love Carmy? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[medusapelagia]

Serenade

written for @corrodedcoffinfest (Prompt 17: This one's for you) and @astrangersummer (Week 12: Forgotten) Rating: Teen and Up Relationship: Steve/Eddie TW: none Words: 1000

(So... this entry for the Corroded Coffin Fest and the Steddie week got A LOT of attention and people asked me for a sequel So this can be read as a stand-alone or a sequel of Love at first sight.)

Steve can’t suffocate a whimper when the curtains of his room open unexpectedly and Robin turns toward him with a grin.

“Raise and shine, baby! We have another incredible shift at Target!”

“Fuck you, Robin. I’m sick, I can’t go to work.”

Robin lifts an eyebrow, and points at the glass of water and the Advil pills on Steve’s night table, “Not sick, babe, just in hangover, and given the fact you decided it was a good idea got wasted without me I think that spending your hangover with me dealing with customers is the right punishment.”

Muttering that he feels he’s been punished more than enough, Steve gulps down water and pills, grabs the wrinkled clothes he finds on his chair, and follows Robin into the kitchen, where a warm toast and a cup of coffee are already waiting for him.

“Still hate you, but you’re the best.”

“I know you do, dingus. Now, want to talk about last night?”

Steve tilts his head frowning in confusion, “What do you mean?”

Robin grabs her phone, opens WhatsApp, and plays an audio message in which a really drunk Steve stutters something about having found the man of his dreams.

“I’m going to marry him, Rob! Will you be my bestwoman?” Steve’s drunken voice says.

“So… who’s this mystery man?”

“Who? I have no idea who you are talking about.” Steve shrugs in confusion, “I was obviously drunk. I don’t remember a thing.”

Robin scrutinizes him for a long time before nodding to herself, “Ok, fine. But this is another reason why you’re not allowed to go out drinking without me!” She declares, pouring two glasses of orange juice for both of them.

“What about your date? Is Chrissy everything you were looking for?”

“She is not.” Steve sighs, ready to comfort her when Robin adds, “She’s way better! She is fun! And beautiful! And when she laughs she snorts so adorably… and we’re fucking late! Let’s go!” Robin says, grabbing Steve’s arm and pushing him out of the door while she keeps telling him about the amazing date she had the night before. 

When they get outside the crispy air makes Robin shiver, so she reaches into Steve’s jacket’s pocket to warm herself, but she retreats her hand with a gagging sound, “Didn’t your mom teach you to throw away used tissues?” she asks, making a disgusted face.

Steve frowns and puts his hand in his pocket, retrieving a crumpled napkin with some pen’s shaky signs. He opens the napkin to get a better look and finds a telephone number and a name: Eddie.

“Holy fucking shit! You did meet someone!” Robin grins, “Are you sure you don’t remember him?”

Shaking his head, red with embarrassment, Steve confirms he doesn’t remember anything.

“Ok. Only one thing to do.” Robin grabs Steve’s phone, “Call him.”

“What?! No! What if he’s a psycho? Or if I made a fool out of myself? It’s better to forget about it.”

“Ok.” Robin shrugs, turning her back to Steve who glares at her with suspicion, it's not like her to surrender so easily.

“What…? Robin! No!" He says trying to grab the phone, but she’s already dialing the number, “Robin what the fuck!”

“Hello?” A warm voice replies after a couple of rings.

“Oh… Hey… Eddie? I… I’m Steve.”

“Oh, Stevie.” Someone in the back makes a satiric comment while the man on the phone opens a door and moves somewhere quieter, “Are you feeling better? Did you drink a lot of water like I suggested?”

“I… yeah… I did… but…”

“What’s wrong, sweetheart?”

That word triggers something in Steve's mind, a blurred memory of a group of men wearing leather jackets and talking loudly.

“I… Look… I know this sounds bad but I don’t remember what happened last night and I wanted to apologize if I made a fool out of myself.”

“Oh. Ok. Not what I was expecting, but it’s fine.” The voice sounds disappointed and it makes Steve’s heart ache.

“I’m so sorry…”

“It’s fine. Listen I have to go, the guys and I have a little concert and we’re in the middle of the soundcheck.”

“Oh. Yeah. You signed a big contract, right?”

“So you do remember something.” The man points out, amused, “You know what? Why don’t you come to see us? Tonight, at the HideOut, I promise not to let you drink until we talk.”

“At the HideOut? Tonight?” Robin grabs Steve's arm and points at herself, “Can I bring a friend with me?”

“Sure. See you there.”

When Eddie closes the call and goes back to the stage, Jeff is grinning, “So, is he still in love with you?”

“Don’t think so. He doesn’t remember me.”

“Oh, this sucks.” Gareth says, stopping the cymbals, “So what are you going to do?”

“The only thing anyone in his right mind would do: serenade him in front of a crowd!” Eddie chuckles while he grabs his guitar and adds a new song to their track listing and Freak winks at him.

“Bold choice.”

“I’m not going to chicken out. He said he loved me, right?”

When the doors open it isn't hard for Eddie to spot Steve, who is wearing a bright yellow sweater and stands out like a sore thumb in an ocean of dark jeans and black t-shirts.

They play the single they have just recorded and the crowd explodes, but Eddie’s eyes are pinned on Steve when he announces “Stevie, this one's for you.”

Eddie moves around the stage, getting back to back with Freak while playing, but he gets closer to the audience, searching for Steve's eyes when he sings, “And, want to treasure the rest of your days here, and, give you pleasure in so many ways dear.”

Once the concert ends, Eddie asks to bring Steve backstage and when he sees him, he winks, "I think we're doing things the other way around, but... would you like to go on a date with me?"

[aphrogeneias]

pairing: rockstar!eddie munson x manager's daughter!reader

summary: eddie has hit rock bottom. it's been a long time coming. there's only one person who can help him, but he hasn't thought of her in a long time.

word count: 3.3k

content warnings: mentions of drinking and drugs (licit and illicit), and issues with the excess of both. brief mention of a small injury.

series masterlist / taglist is open!

The first thing Eddie ever noticed about you was your laugh. It was your most striking feature.

It commanded a room. It said everything there was to say about you. Loud, unabashed, not scared to call attention. The kind of laughter that makes you throw your head back, the kind that makes everything funnier. Impossible to miss.

He heard it, clear as a bell, across the hall from your father’s office, the first time he walked through the halls of that office building, shoulder to shoulder with his friends and bandmates, ready to sign Corroded Coffin’s first ever major deal.

A lot of firsts in one day. Too many life changing circumstances. The first fallen domino in a long, crumbling chain.

He can still see it all. The outdated, 1970s wallpaper and carpet, creams and oranges and swirls. The tour posters and platinum records littering the walls. The smell of cigarettes and hardwood floor wax coming from his future manager’s office as they went in. Into the lion’s den, wide eyed boys with hands that trembled too much for a confident handshake.

The girl sitting on top of the big office table, laughing at her father’s jokes. He couldn't hear what he told you just before they came in, but it seemed like an intimate moment. Father and daughter, their own world.

That laughter, though. It caught him by surprise. It shook the entire room. She barely spared them a glance as they were ushered in, and climbed down with a kind of feline grace. Her hair bounced behind her as she walked away, hurriedly blowing a kiss back at the man behind the desk.

Expensive perfume, the glint of golden jewelry on her skin, the sway of her hips just before the door closed behind her. His eyes struggled with tearing themselves off the door that hid her from him.

The first time he saw you. You, you, you.

Eddie Munson had never met anyone like you. He wasn't sure he ever would — and he was right, after all.

CHATEAU MARMONT HOTEL, LOS ANGELES, 1990

The sound of the telephone wakes him up.

He doesn’t know when he’s gone to bed, has no memory of it, but he can feel the toll last night took on his body. His tired body drags itself across the mattress, and the first thing Eddie notices is that he’s naked. The second is that the phone is still ringing.

Reaching out, his face hits the pillow once more, smushing his cheek against it as he grabs the receiver and pulls it to his ear. “Munson residence. Edwin speaking.”

“Where the fuck were you, man?”

The voice on the other side of the line sounds like Jeff, but Eddie’s never heard him quite like this. On the verge of tears, but maybe his still drunk brain is playing tricks on him. He doesn’t need to look around to know that the room is a mess. There’s a sheet on the floor, and a bottle of booze on his field of vision, and another at the side table next to the phone. Both empty.

He’s just glad he didn’t wake up to someone next to him in bed.

“What do you mean, where were you? At the hotel, I think. You were here too.”

“Last night, Eddie. We waited for you. Where were you? We thought you were dead.”

Last night. He didn’t remember last night. A rooftop, a pool, a sunset. Too many bottles, too many pills. A girl putting something on his tongue while she sat on his lap, and shutting his jaw closed with a delicate hand. Tripping on lounge chairs, falling on the pool. Blood on his knees. Someone dragging him up and into the elevator.

“What day is it?” He mumbles.

A record label party in their honor, to follow the success of their fourth album. Followed by a… concert.

A concert.

All that comes from the other side of the line is a drawn out sigh. “They’re sending someone to go get you. I hope you get your shit together until then.”

Then, it goes silent.

The concert.

Stumbling on himself, Eddie tries to stand up, and falls. The memory of his skinned knees comes as quickly as the pain does, and he notices they’re bare, still bleeding a little. He finds his underwear on the floor, next to the rest of his clothes, and slips them on as he moves towards the door, propping himself up on the wall.

He yanks the door open, and sprints through the hall as best as he can, catching the attention of one of the maids, who he promptly stops in front of, suddenly much too aware of his own nakedness. She freezes, trying to keep her eyes on his face.

“What day is it?”

A lump grows on his throat. His own voice sounds foreign, like it’s coming from someplace else.

“Excuse me, sir?”

“What day is it? Today, what’s the date?”

“It’s the 17th. August 17.”

All he can do is nod, and make his back to his room as if the world hadn’t just fallen from his feet.

A day too late.

THE RAINBOW BAR & GRILL, SUNSET BOULEVARD, LOS ANGELES, SUMMER 1987

“Pinch me.”

There had been plenty of “pinch me” moments in those last few weeks. Eddie wasn't sure what Gareth meant, though, as he sat straighter against the cushion of their booth.

It was dark inside, and every surface gleamed red. From the cherry red booths to the bottles on the bar shelves, the dark wood on the walls, the chandeliers. He couldn't tell most people's faces, and they'd probably wanted it that way.

The line to get inside was turning the corner, the people there having a party within themselves, under the lights of Sunset Boulevard. It was loud, and bright, everywhere they went. Eddie thrived around it all.

He'd never felt more alive in his twenty-one years than in the months he had spent here.

The younger boy scooted closer to him, a glass of something colorful in hand. Courtesy of one of the girls whose booth he'd been sitting on until now, surely. Not he'd blame him, he'd lost count of the glasses he had himself, feeling light in his seat.

“Fucking”, the drummer hit him in the arm, pupils taking over the blue in his eyes, “pinch me, man!”

“What the fuck for?” He laughed at his friend’s tone.

“Do you see that?”

Gareth pointed forward to a booth a couple of tables from them. It was full, with mostly women, their teased up hair and flashy clothes demanding all the attention. As his friend pointed out, some of them looked over to them, waving with delicate fingers. Eddie waved back, throwing in a wink for good measure.

He'd easily feel intimidated with those eyes on him, but the alcohol in his body threw those inhibitions away.

“Those girls,” Gareth continued, “those beautiful girls, invited us to a private party at their apartment.”

Eddie nodded along while Gareth emphasized the words private and apartment. As if their intentions weren't obvious from the beginning of the night. He could see Grant on his seat, soaking up the attention from a blonde girl with her hand on his shoulder, and Jeff standing to the side, deep in conversation with a guy in a similar black leather jacket.

From afar, none of it looked real.

If he was being honest, he never thought he'd be living his father’s life this soon — or ever. Eddie wondered about it all the time. What was Al Munson doing when his mother was reading him to sleep back in Nashville, or later, when his uncle was working the late night shift to get both of them by.

The fame, the contacts, the booze, the money. The women. The more he learned, the less he knew.

All Eddie knew was that he promised himself he'd never turn out like his old man, a promise he'd made himself a long time ago, long before he landed in the City of Angels, but seeing what he'd seen in the small amount of time he'd spent there, he wondered if that was really possible.

Corruption seemed tempting, inevitable even, amongst the red and maroons of The Rainbow. Demons, sirens, and the small town boys drawn to them. Hell itself, in disguise.

“And,” Gareth continued, putting his arm around Eddie’s shoulders, grinning at him, “they asked me to call you over.”

Just as he thought. Tempting. Matching his friend’s grin, Eddie reached over to his arm and pinched it, hard. Gareth’s subsequent yelp was dulled by the loud music and chatting, and Eddie only grinned harder when the boy went for him.

They wrestled for a bit until the drummer pulled him from his seat and up, teasing him, “C’mon, man. You need to get laid”.

“You need to get laid! You're the one who's been begging for that secretary’s number. What’s her name again? J-”

He stopped on his tracks, pulling Gareth with him by his t-shirt.

While he was talking and his eyes were running across the bar, unable to pay attention to just one thing at once, he saw a familiar sitting in a booth at the other side of the room. A girl near his age, a familiar face.

She was sitting facing his way, beside a guy who had his arm around her shoulder. He looked slightly out of place in his neat black sweater and Ray-Ban glasses pushing his hair back. They looked expensive, the pair of them. Untouchable, in their own bubble.

They were talking to a girl who had her back to him, all Eddie could see was the back of her head, a blonde bob shaking as she gestured with her hands, wrapped in white lace gloves and gleaming silver rings.

The girl laughed, throwing her head back and into her friend’s — boyfriend’s? — shoulder and, in that moment, he knew exactly who she was.

Eddie’s vision tunneled, and he could hear Gareth beside him, whining for him to hurry up. He pushed his friend away, making a sign for him to go on without him.

Gareth rolled his eyes, mumbling something he did not understand — he might have told him he'd come later, but Eddie was too busy with his eyes on your table to decipher what came out of his own mouth.

As he approached with unsure steps, the sudden confidence that overtook him only lasting half of the way, until he saw your male friend — he wasn't about to think of him as your boyfriend, not yet, he needed to have some hope — and the girl stand.

He watched as the guy dragged his hand from your shoulder, to your elbow, and finally held your hand in his, leaving a kiss there before accompanying his other friend to the bar. Something burned and wilted inside of him, an ugly feeling he couldn't quite place.

That's my moment, Eddie thought, as he did before every single impulsive decision he ever took — and there wasn't a shortage of them.

His worn down boots, which in hindsight might once have been Wayne’s, carried him to your table. Your borderline bored stare made you even prettier from up close, as he tried to open his mouth and figure out what to say.

Instead, he could just watch as you drowned back the rest of your drink, and reached into your purse to light a cigarette. “What are you looking at?”, you asked, without looking at him yet.

His mouth opened and closed, like a fish out of water, before gathering himself. “You're Ace’s daughter, aren't you? I saw you at his office.”

“Yes, and you're one of the label’s new hires who's still at that phase they're not ashamed to kiss ass.”

Finally, you turned, blowing the smoke in his direction. He barely felt it, really, because he was more focused on your smile, and the way your glossy lips stretched, and your nose scrunched.

Normally, he would have been pissed. But, with that face, you must have been used to stepping on people's toes and not getting heat because of it. He'd let you blow smoke directly on his face if it meant you'd keep looking at him.

You gestured vaguely to the seat in front of you, and he took the message. “Maybe. Am I kissing the right ass?” He grinned as he sat down.

No ring on your finger, he noticed, and maybe it was a good sign. He could be unbothered too. With the right amount of madness and a little Munson Magic, he could leave here with your number.

“I dunno.” You shrugged, but grinned back. “I'll have you know my ass is very demanding.”

“Noted.” He feigned seriousness. “I’m Eddie.”

“Munson, I know.”

Surprised, his eyebrows rose to his forehead. “How do you know?”

A chill ran down his spine at the mention of his last name. The curse he carried. Of course you'd know, your dad would know, even though he's never talked about it. Everyone knew.

“Dad isn't the only one in charge of business. At least not all of it.” You played with the piece of lime on your glass, and ran your finger through the rim, catching a bit of the salt there, licking it off your finger. “I know a thing or two.”

Right. All business, but no family.

You couldn't have been doing it on purpose. Eddie didn't think he was worth it, but the strain on his jeans said otherwise. He felt tense for more reasons than one.

“And you're not gonna tell me your name?”

“Thought you already know. Boy like you looks like he would do his homework.”

“Oh, no. A boy like me failed high school more times than I'd be comfortable sharing.”

He chuckled, and there it was again. Your laugh, freeing itself against the walls of the bar and bounced on him like a spell. “I like you, Eddie Munson.”

“Thought your ass was very demanding.” He quoted you, grinning from ear to ear, and tilting his head. “Was my kissing good enough?”

You put out your cigarette on the table and dropped the butt on your empty glass before looking straight into his eyes. Then, you got distracted by something happening behind him. He felt it too, and turned around to look.

The guy, your boyfriend-not-boyfriend, approached with no drinks in hand, despite coming from the direction of the bar, and no blonde friend in sight. He doesn’t acknowledge Eddie, keeping his eyes on you the whole time. “Who’s this?”

When Eddie turned back to you, you were already standing too. “New meat. Doesn’t know he’s swimming with sharks yet.”

You were talking like he wasn’t not there.

Inside, he deflates. He knew your type, your definitely-boyfriend’s type. The type who looked down on him, who thought little of his ambition. Eddie thought he could approach you, even though you were every bit as unapproachable as you looked. Things had changed for him, but that wouldn’t change regardless of where he stood. He was still at the bottom of the food chain, and you, taunting him at the very top.

It wasn’t like either of you were aware of it, but it had been nice to pretend for what little he could.

Didn’t change the fact that he still wanted you to look at him — and you did, for one last time that night, as the other guy laced his fingers with yours, and pulled you away, telling you something about an after party.

“Better work on that kissing, Eddie Munson.”

ALBATROSS RECORDS HQ, SAN FRANCISCO, 1990

Eddie has a lot to think of while he waits.

It seems like some kind of punishment, one parents would dish out on their small kids. Sit on that corner, face the wall, think of what you did. Think of what you did. It was easier to think of what he hasn’t done.

Missing an important concert because he was shitfaced and blacked out was the last drop, but that glass has been full for some time now.

Out of control, it's what he's been hearing. He'd seen his own face on MTV not too long ago, late at night on a grainy television, baring his tongue back at himself. He gives himself the devil horns like a crown, a silver cross hanging from his neck and sticking to his bare chest, as he addresses the camera from the stage before diving in the crowd. Out of control, they said.

He'd barely remembered that, or that the concert was being filmed. Figures.

Though, he had to agree someone in control wouldn't end up with as many bills for destroyed tour buses and hotel rooms in his name as he did. Someone in control wouldn't have been arrested for drug possession more than once, or have almost drowned in a hotel pool across the world. Or have lost the trust and admiration of his closest friends, and the contact with the only family he has.

His head aches. Eddie lifts his fingers to massage his temples, and sighs. It's August in California, and he's cold sweating in his seat, under his t-shirt. The chill gets worse when he hears the office’s door open behind him.

He doesn't turn around, doesn't move. The man approaches the table — his table — and loosens the collar of his dress shirt before sitting down, undoing his cufflinks and folding his sleeves up.

Ace Adler is a man of few words. He never talks much, but when he does, he makes sure one will listen. Eddie doesn't know much about him outside of talking business, other than Ace Adler was definitely not his real name, but he knew to take him seriously.

It felt like being in a room with his father, but at least his old man knew how to work a room before striking.

“I'm not going to tell you about the harm that you've done, but I'm sure your bandmates had the time to inform you.” Ace started, staring him down. “I won't tell you about the money we lost, and the contracts we had to humiliate ourselves to not lose, or what my business partners told me when they got the news. You must have a feeling it wasn't pretty.”

“I can…” Eddie started, and all he received was a raised hand in response.

“You'll talk when I'm done, son.”

A pause, much too long. Eddie nods, and keeps his eyes forward. It'll be worse if he doesn't meet his manager’s cold stare. His stomach drops.

“I won't tell you about any of it because that won't change a thing. All I'll tell you is that you got lucky, because I was supposed to fire you today, but someone changed my mind.”

“Fire me? Fire me from my own band?”

Ace doesn't answer his outburst. Instead, he slips a note from across the table in his general direction. It's a piece of ripped pink paper.

Tentatively, he opens it. There's all but a name and a phone number. Your name, and your phone number. You're using your real last name, he supposes, but that's undoubtedly you. Was that your handwriting too?

“Give her a call.” Ace says as he stands again, already on his way out. “Maybe she can help you out, because I won’t.”

As he hears your father close the door behind him once more, he thinks of all the last few times he saw you. The disdain in your eyes, the harsh words he uttered. Animosity from both sides, born from years of resentment.

He goes back to that first conversation. “Better work on that kissing, Eddie Munson.”

Never had he thought it would come that day.

[avengersfantasies]

Strong (Bucky x Reader)

Summary: You aren't feeling good one day, and Bucky finds out what you've been keeping from him.

What to expect: mental health issues

Let me know if you want to be added to a taglist here!

Taglist: @winterslove1917 @natashasilverfox @gojoismysensei @mavrellover91

You lay in bed – having told your boyfriend that you were feeling sick and didn’t feel up to doing anything. Bucky knew you better than that though…you’d been together long enough to read each other like open books.

            “Alright, my love,” he spoke softly – rubbing your back as you pulled the blankets up to your nose.

You’d never know it, but he was growing suspicious as to the reason behind your illness. He had seen this before, so he went to look for a possible cause. You fell back asleep in the large, plush bed the two of you shared – the nausea taking over your body. You felt like you were going to throw up…like your entire being was being drowned. Your eyes felt like they wanted to close and stay closed, but you could still hear Bucky looking around the apartment. He looked everywhere for something to make you feel better after not having any luck in finding the cause. He headed for the medicine cabinet in your shared bathroom – hoping there would be something in there to help with the nausea and fatigue. When he opened it up, however, his eyes landed on the familiar orange bottles. Your medicine for your mental health sat there, and to his dismay, the bottles were nearly full. He looked at each of the bottles – calculating how long ago they were filled and how many should be in there if you had been taking them correctly.

Twenty days ago, he told himself as he took out the pills from each bottle – counting them. Theoretically, if you had been taking them correctly, you should have a total of 10 left from your 30 day supply. When he counted them, though, he sighed when he realized you had 28 left in each bottle. Thinking about what to say, Bucky slowly left the bathroom and headed back into the bedroom.

“Hey, babe?” he called out – causing you to open your eyes. You didn’t look at him – looking straight ahead at the mirror that hung above the dresser. Your lack of communication didn’t stop him though. He sat down on the edge of the bed and rubbed your back. “Can we talk about this?” he asked softly – holding out the nearly-full medicine bottles for you to see. You still didn’t respond. “Please?”

            “What about them?” you finally spoke up – your voice weak and shaky.

“Baby…why haven’t you been taking them?” he asked with a voice filled with concerned. You shrugged in response. “You know you need to take them, right?”

“I shouldn’t have to,” you weakly argued. “Why should I have to take medication every day?”

“Because, baby…you need them so that you feel better.”

“But why?” you scoffed. “Why do I need medication to feel better?”

He reached for your hand and held it gently. “I know it’s not fair,” his voice was soft and caring. “But sometimes, some people need a little help…it’s not always something that can be solved by talking to someone…sometimes, it’s chemical.” The fact that you had been on medication for years was always something you viewed as wrong. When you were first put on it, your parents tried to talk you out of it…saying that you were overreacting and didn’t need medicine to help you…all you needed to do was get your shit together and work hard. Hearing that for years from them somehow affected the way you viewed yourself, and you couldn’t help but think that everyone else thought the same thing. “Baby,” Bucky continued, “taking medication doesn’t mean you're bad or subhuman.”

“You don’t have to take it for your PTSD,” you argued.

He stroked your cheek gently. “We have different brain chemical makeups…talking out my thoughts helps me more than medication…and medication seems to help you more than talking.”

“You don’t think it makes me weak?” your eyes were filling with tears as you looked up at the handsome soldier.

“I think the fight you fight every single day makes you one of the strongest people in the world.”

[bluesest]

A Babysitter

James was a young boy who was going through a not very good economic situation, he needed the money to go out with his friends so he decided to take the job of a babysitter.

Not many people wanted a male nanny so it was difficult for him to get a job and he almost retired from this, however, he got an application to be a nanny for a boy who recently made his previous nanny run away from him.

This worried him from the beginning, but he really needed the money so he was either take the job or quit and refuse the next outings with his friends, he said to himself, "How hard can it be?"

He knocked on the door of a large house with various luxurious decorations, opened the door of an elegantly dressed couple, shook hands and set the following rules:

1. You must take care of our son, his name is Dave

2. Do not touch anything other than to take care of Dave and do not enter the rooms.

3. There are ingredients in the fridge for me to cook dinner for Dave.

4. You should be asleep by midnight and wait for them to return.

For a moment he wondered, "He's a little old to have a babysitter, but that means he won't be the typical kid who has to calm every tantrum he throws."

Behind the couple was the young man, he had an annoyed and disinterested face, finally both parents left and left them alone.

There wasn't that much of an age difference between the two so James tried to start a friendly conversation with Dave:

James: "So how are you doing in high school?"

Dave: "Just cook something please"

James: "Oh come on, I know it sucks when your parents at this age hire you a babysitter, but I'm just doing my job."

Dave: "I'd better go play video games..."

James: "I also quite like them! Do you need a second player or something?"

Dave was quite impressed, none of his previous nannies who took care of him were really interested in him, nor did he have any friends who wanted to play some games and appearing disinterested he accepted James' proposal.

They both spent a lot of time inside Dave's room, he tried to show that he didn't care and even that he was bothered by the fact that James was there, but he just couldn't hide it and they had a very fun night.

Dave: "You really suck at this game"

James: "Well let's leave this for now, I must cook the snack"

Dave: "Why don't you order pizza? My parents won't find out"

James: "I don't want to get in trouble with them, I really need this job, plus cheese gives me gas, like this!"

*PFFFFFTTTTTTTTTTTTT*

Dave was surprised, not by the fact of seeing a man of his own age fart like that, he had already heard and smelled some of the farts of his classmates, however, in this situation he felt different, maybe it's the intimacy of the moment or that he really began to appreciate one of his babysitters for the first time, whatever happened caused a slight erection that he had to hide.

James left the room with the unpleasant smell and Dave thought about what happened and how he felt: "Maybe it's love?... Do I like men? … I liked what he did?", he was in denial of his feelings, he was simply in an intimate moment something that he never experienced in his life, he was sure that if it was with a woman and without... the smells would provoke exactly the same feelings and even stronger.

This is what he thought until minutes later he saw his now friend cooking for him shirtless, it was a body quite muscular and stocky to provoke the unwanted looks of many people including Dave who couldn't stop thinking about how incredible James would look in his luxurious bathroom... Wait a minute... This fantasy is quite close to coming true.

Dave remembered that there were plenty of medicines in his parents' room for any emergency, he quickly slipped away and desperately searched the drawers full of pills and syrups until... "BINGO! Here it is!", under some bandages was a small sealed bottle of a powerful laxative "Action in 1 hour"

He got down to work, went to the kitchen together with James and began to prepare an orange juice for his babysitter with the excuse that he wanted to help him to continue playing video games and when he turned around he poured at least 3 tablespoons of the laxative into the glass intended for Dave, he took it and raised it saying "I assure you that it has an explosive flavor"

Dinner was somewhat simple and not so fancy: avocado salad and breaded chicken, not bad for someone who is used to eating $1 burgers. This was perfect for Dave who couldn't wait for the result of the combination of the laxative and avocado and as this would leave his bathroom clean.

They finished dinner in record time, Dave thanked James and almost forced him to go to his room, once inside he was in charge of closing all doors and windows to prevent any smell or sound from escaping and after 10 minutes the magic began.

*GRRRRRRRRR*

James: "Aghhh"

Dave: "What's wrong?"

James: "The avocado is having an effect"

Dave: "Does that mean that?"

James: "I think I'll have to go to the bathroom soon"

Dave: "Oh! If you want you can use the bathroom in my room, in fact, it's the only one you can really use."

James: "Oh come on! I don't want to stink up this place, are you sure there isn't another bathroom?"

Dave: "Yes, but my parents would be pretty upset, if you use this I won't say anything and they never come into my room so they wouldn't notice."

James: "Naaahh I think I'll hold on until they arrive and I can go home."

Dave: "Are you sure about that?"

Without warning, Dave clenched his fist and hit James hard enough while he just watched as the annoying and shy boy who didn't need any babysitter beat him without concern and with a cheerful and playful look.

*GGGGGRRRRRRRRRRRRR* *PFFFTTT*

James: "Ha! Nice try, but you'll need more strength than that to-"

*PFTFTFTFTFTFTFFFFFFTTTTTT*

James: "Forget it... you asked for it, friend"

He got out of bed and with another loud fart walked slowly to Dave's clean bathroom, gave one last warning: "If you don't want to die, better get out of this room because I feel like it's going to be a monstrous shit" and closed the door.

Dave quickly went and put his eye on the keyhole where he saw the following scene:

James began to take off his shirt that was already sweaty from playing the boy's competitive video games, before sitting on the toilet he said in a low voice: "This will be a big one" and then got up again and began to undress completely, James apparently was one of those naked.

Even though the lock was somewhat awkward to see what was going on behind the door, Dave could notice James' large penis that was hanging gently as he took off his last items of clothing and with a "perfect!" he sat down on the toilet.

*PRRRRRRR* *PLOP*

It was the first thing that was heard, apparently someone was having trouble evacuating these last few days.

*PFFFFFFTTTTTTT* *PLOP*

A semi-wet fart warned that it would not be a normal shit while little by little the smell began to seep through the small holes in the bathroom door.

*PFFFTTT* *PLOP* *PLOP* *PLOP* *PLOP* *PLOP* *PLOP*

Several solid pieces fell somewhat similar to the feces of a guinea pig, each making a *SPLASH* and *PLOP* as they fell to the bottom of the toilet.

*PLOP* *PLOP* *TRRRRRRRRRRR* *PLOP*

The sound of a large dry log coming out of James' anus put an end to the easy part of his visit to the bathroom.

*GRRRRRRRRR* *PRRRRRRRRRRR* *SQHSHQHQHQSSQQHSHQSHQS* *PRRRSSSSSSSSSSS* *PFFFFFTTTT* *QHSHQHSSQHQS* *SHHHHHRTRTRTRTRTRR* *PFFFTTTT*

Apparently that trunk prevented all the liquid shit from coming out as if it were the lid of a water bottle, which all its liquid is violently expelled if you take off the cap and put it upside down.

*PFFTFTFTFTFFT* *PRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR* *SQHQSHSHSQHSQHSQ* *PSSSSSSSS* *TRTRTRTRTRTRTRTRTRTR* *SHQHQSH* *GRRRRRRR* *PFFFTTTT* *PLOP* *PLOP* *PLOP*

With a sigh, he finally got up from the toilet, grabbed a couple of pieces of toilet paper and started cleaning himself standing up, Dave found that pose weird however it just meant that he had more to do with his babysitter's bare ass.

He made smooth, firm movements passing between his buttocks the thin, smooth paper where his stains revealed that it was violent shit that came out of his stomach. While he was cleaning himself he stopped for a moment and without taking his hand off his ass he farted loudly and long *PFFFFFFFTTTTTTTTT*, moaned then voted all the paper into the toilet and finally sent to the trash any evidence of what happened in that small room.

As James got dressed again, Dave took his eyes off the lock and acted as if nothing had happened, finally James comes out of the bathroom:

James: "Ufffff don't get in there for at least 1 hour"

Dave was really, but that didn't take away his shyness, but he still gathered strength and decided to comment on what happened in there:

Dave: "Wow that was violent, don't you think?"

There was a small moment of silence after that sentence, he thought he had screwed up by saying something so direct to someone he barely knows for a couple of hours, but his reaction was not expected:

James: "HAHAHAHA and that wasn't one of my biggest screw-ups in my life!"

Dave: "HAHA it looks like you ate something rotten, you really stinked my room"

James: "Sorry for that, but when this baby *pats his stomach* wants something I must obey him without question"

Dave: "It's good that we didn't order pizza"

After that honest conversation, they spent hours playing video games with the occasional fart from both parties until it was time for Dave to leave.

After two weeks he was summoned again by the family where Dave applied the same trick: put laxative on his drink, however, something different happened this time, Dave's parents arrived much earlier than expected and James had to leave without even using the bathroom of the house.

Now with the pay he had enough money to go out with his friends to see a movie at the local cinema, he was accompanied by two of them and they bought their tickets.

When he entered the movie theater, James felt sick to his stomach again, the same feeling he had two weeks ago with that boy he was babysitting, "Maybe it's the nervousness of being away from home for a long time that causes me discomfort in my stomach? naahh"

It started the first 10 minutes of the movie and James could feel several gurgling stomachs *GRRRRRRRRRR* "ugh I think I'll my pants... I'll release some pressure" he lifted his butt a little and... *PFFFTTTT* was a short fart and somewhat quiet, James was afraid that his friends would smell him since he was sitting right between the two, but apparently they didn't notice anything.

When he passed the first sock over his buttocks he felt a lot of pain because of how scratchy it was and the disgust it produced in his because to clean all the mess on his butt he had to turn it several times to use all the clean sides that a sock can offer and after an extensive 10 minutes he vote both socks into the toilet and flush the toilet.

He returned to the movie theater seeing that the movie was about to end, his friends asked him why he had run away and embarrassed, James decided to lie to them saying: "The parents of the boy I'm taking care of called me and I needed to answer them quickly", something that his two friends had a hard time believing, but in the end they accepted his version.

A week has passed since then and James couldn't get that embarrassing situation out of his head, that is, he almost shit in the cinema and that disturbs anyone, but there's no time for that since he was summoned again by Dave's parents.

He was no longer obliged to continue with this job, but he could not give up this as it was a good source of income and above all Dave was someone nice to talk to and obviously he could take care of himself, it was practically easy money.

Everything happened normally, they played video games, they had dinner together but this time Dave decided that it was a good idea to quadruple the dose of laxative he would give James, the effects as expected were twice as fast and twice as "surprising"

While they were playing a stomach roar *GRRRRRRRRR* was present, the sound generated by it was big enough for both of them to notice and start talking about it:

Dave: "Did dinner hurt you?"

James: "A little, but nothing that a fart can't solve"

James leaned over a little while a certain part of Dave's body stood up... *PFTTFTFFFFFFFFFFFTF* *PRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR*

It was a rather strange sound as if the fart that came out came with more than just air, James froze at that instant while Dave started blushing quite obviously, then, James started running towards the bathroom and Dave did the same until he reached the door and put his eye in the keyhole like the first time.

This time he saw a rather alarmed James trying to rip off his pants in a violent way and when he was left naked from the hips down, Dave could witness how the beautiful bare butt was stained with a rather disastrous brown liquid.

Without even taking off his shirt as he always did, he sat on the toilet, raised his legs to a great height and his anus relaxed:

*PFPPFTPPTFTPFTPFTTFTFT* *SQHQSHQSHQHHSQHSSQSSSSHHHHH* *TRRTRRRRRRRRRRR* *SHQSHSHQSHSHSQHSHQSHS* *SHHHHHH*

This time there was nothing solid, just a giant brown waterfall that can only be compared to the Niagara.

*PFTFTFTFTFFFFF* *TRTRTRTRTRTRTRTRTRTRTRTRTRTRTR* *SQHQSHQSHQSSQHQHS* *PFFFFFFFTTTTTTTTTT* *PRPRPRPRPRPRPRPRPRPRPRPRPRPR*

In the second burst there were storms of wet farts where drops and drops of diarrhea spread and crashed against the walls of the toilet, each moan that James gave was one of suffering where he felt that each fart destroyed his anus to make way for the load that had to come out somehow.

*PFTFTFTFTFT* *SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSHHHHHH* *PFTFTFTFTFTF* *SHQQHSHHSQSHSHQSHSQ* *KKJKJKJKPRPRPRPRRRRRR*

The cataract came back even stronger than ever, this time his stomach began to tremble as he tried to fart even more:

*GRRRRRRRRRRRR* *PRPRPRPRPRPRPR* *PFFFFFTTTTTTTTTT* *PFFFTTTTTTT* *PPFFTT*

It was very hot in the small room, James regained his composure and finally took off his shirt to cool his body as more shit came out, he put his hand on his stomach and prepared for another violent explosion until there was a knock on the door:

*KNOCK* *KNOCK*

Dave: "All right in there dude?"

Dave "worried" about his friend so he decided to knock on the door (while he was naked touching his crotch)

James: "Haha I think you were right, dinner fell very badly on my stomach..." *PFFFFFFFFFTTTTTTT*

Dave began to blush even more as he gripped his penis a little tightly, but he decided to hold on a little longer to continue talking to his new love.

Dave: "Sounds like a friendly warfield in there"

James: "Don't be exaggerated, this is real diarrhea from a real man! Have you never had diarrhea too? Hahahaha... ooow" *SQHHSHQSHQSHQS* *TRTRTRTRTRTRTRTRR* *SQHQSHQSHSQHSHQHS*

Dave: "But not diarrhea as huge as yours"

James: "Well, you'll have to get used to it if you want to be my friend! Oh it can't be, Dave, can you pass me some paper?"

At that moment, in addition to almost falling to the floor when he said "be my friend", Dave remembered that he had removed the toilet paper from the bathroom intentionally, and with a "Don't worry" he took the paper hidden in his room and knocked on the door:

Dave: "I'll have to come in to give it to you"

James: "It's okay, but go in at your own risk"

When a foul-smelling cloud came in, it shocked him with a great brutality that almost made him faint and with tears in his eyes he saw a sore but smiling James who tried to hide his shame with a little comedy.

James: "I warned you bro"

Dave: "It looks like someone detonated a pepper spray bomb in here!"

James: "It's just the smell of a sportsman like me! *GRRRRRRR* owww here comes round two! You should leave"

Dave: "I want to see how messy your butt can be!"

James: "Okay, you asked for it!"

James leaned back from the toilet and released what little he had in a violent way:

*PFFFFFFFFFFFFTTTTT* *QSHHHSHQSHQSHQSQSSQQQQQHSHSS* *QRRRRRRRRR* *PRPRPRPRPRPR* *SQHHSHSHSQH* *PLOP* *PLOP* *PPPPFFFTTTTT*

An embarrassed, heartfelt laugh came out of James' mouth as Dave praised the flatulent potential of his stomach.

James got up from his seat still naked in front of Dave, then began to clean himself and gave one last sentence: "Are we still playing?"

The next morning he had a new activity at his high school which was a photo shoot for the yearbook, everything was going well while he waited in line until his stomach started to growl again: *GRRRRRRRRRR*

"No, not again"

He started massaging his stomach to cushion the pain, but to no avail, he even made things worse as he streamlined the escape from his diarrheal and stinky farts, something that became obvious to the students around him.

After 15 minutes it was finally the turn of the dizzy James who sat in the chair waiting for the photographer.

*GRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR*

"Another fart won't hurt..."

*PFFFFFTTTTT* *SQHSQHSQHSQHS*

"Damn it!"

-"Sir, get ready for the photo"

"Huh? excuse me"

It all happened so quickly, the smell of decaying feces filled the small room in a matter of seconds, and his own feces began to fill his poor battered boxers with so much sweat and diarrheal drops that they came out with his previous wet farts.

*CLICK*

Finally, the camera shot, the face in the photo looked quite nervous and you could even see a couple of beads of sweat, but James wouldn't worry about a second photo attempt.

-"Very well young man, you can go"

With those words, James shot straight into the bathroom trying to ignore the confused and disgusted looks of the people who followed him with their eyes, he arrived at the nearest men's bathroom, closed the front door and as more wet farts came out of his body he began to undress without even having entered the cubicle yet.

With a single kick he broke down the door and after so much suffering his butt kissed the porcelain:

*PFTFTFTFTFTFTTFTFFF* *SHHQHSHQSHHQSHQSHQ*

It was an unprecedented emergent diarrhea and although he tries more than he tries, James could not even soften the noise.

*SQHQHSHQSHSQHQSHQSHSHQHQSSQSQSQSQ* *PRRRRRR* *TRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR* *PLOP* *PLOP* *PLOP*

Small solid logs began to come out as a sign that his digestive system continues to work hard to give James a normal shit after so many days with recurrent explosions.

*TRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR* *SQHHSQHSHQSHSQSQHSQSQ* *PFFFFFTFTFTFTTFF* *PFFFTTTT* *PFFFTTTT* *SHQQQQQSHSHSHSHS*

With this explosion he heard the door of the cubicle next door, a boy knocked on James' door and said, "You really needed to go, huh?", James ignored him and continued his work.

*GRRRRRRRRR* *TSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS* *PFFFFFTTTT* *TSSSSSSSSSSSSSS* *SQHHQSHQSHQSHQSHSQSHSQHS* *GRRRRRRRRR*

He didn't feel satisfied, but he wouldn't go crazy and keep shitting in high school, he cleaned himself with the little paper he had and discarded his boxers in the trash walking like this all day with only pants on his legs.

[thefallennightmare]

Comfort-Noah Sebastian

*gif created by me. feel free to use(sorry for the poor quality)*

Pairings: Noah Sebastian x Reader

Warnings: language, mentions of period, and all-around good fluff.

Summary: Reader suffers from really bad period cramps and Noah takes care of her the only way he knows how.

Authors Note: Again, to the anon who requested this, I'M SO SORRY! I completely forgot so I really hope this makes up for it.

"Angel?"

A soft voice sounded from the other side of the door, followed by a gentle knock. I peered over the piles of blankets that I cocooned myself under and called out that the door was open.

"How're you feeling?" Noah asked with a frown.

I sighed and clutched my lower stomach. "The pain is terrible and the warm compress doesn't seem to do much."

It was like this every month for five days. My period cramps were awful, the pain causing me to be stuck in bed for days. Sometimes it would be so bad that I'd be hunched over the toilet, throwing up. It wasn't anything I enjoyed, so I always made sure that I stayed home away from Noah during those five days once a month. However, since we moved in together last month, this was the second time he'd been able to witness firsthand the pain I went through. And just like last month, he was there for whatever I needed.

"I ran you a warm bubble bath if you think you can make it to the bathroom," he nodded towards the bathroom across the hall.

I sat up slowly. "You didn't have to do that."

Noah shrugged before pulling off the mounds of blankets and taking the now cold compress that I was using to soothe my cramps.

"Soak as long as you need and I'll make you something to eat. What do you want?"

Ignoring the shooting pain that spread across my abdomen, I left a kiss on his lips in a way of saying thanks for running me a bath.

"Honestly, surprise me. Anything sweet."

With a gentle pat to my ass, Noah led me to the bathroom where he parted ways with me to trot back downstairs while I spent the next twenty minutes in the tub letting the warm water and bubbles ease some of the pain away.

Once dressed in a pair of Noah's sweats and oversized shirts, I slowly made my way downstairs to the kitchen where I saw Noah leaning over the sink, mixing something in a bowl. He had yet to get dressed for the day, baring all of his tattoos on his stomach, chest, and arms for all, or just me, to see. His long hair was a disheveled mess, but he still looked absolutely breathtaking. If I wasn't on my period, I'd probably make him take me on the counter.

He peered over his shoulder as he heard me walk in, a bright smile on his face. "Did the bath help?"

I nodded while sitting at our kitchen table. "It did, actually. Thank you again."

"Anytime, angel. French toast is almost finished. There's a glass of orange juice and some meds to help with the pain," Noah nodded to the glass and two pills that lay on the table in front of me.

My heart warmed with yet another small but kindest action from him today. After drowning the meds down with half of the orange juice, Noah brought me a plate of steaming hot French toast which I could only eat about half before the cramps made me hiss out in pain.

"Still bad?" he wondered, pushing his empty plate away.

"Yeah, I feel terrible. We had plans to go to the fair with Jesse, but I don't think I can handle walking for hours," I sighed.

Suddenly, Noah's arms pulled me from the chair, and carried me bridal style through the kitchen into the living room where the couch was set up with an array of blankets and pillows, the title screen to my favorite movie on the television.

"What's this?" I asked with a hint of a smile.

As he placed me on the couch and covered me with blankets, he sunk deep next to me, and I wrapped an arm and leg around him. The comfort of the large couch was exactly what I needed in order to deal with this pain.

"This," he pointed to the television. "Is our plans for the rest of the day. If you feel up for it, we can go to the fair tomorrow."

I stared up at him with so much adoration in my eyes that my heart swelled up in two sizes. Everything he had done since the moment I woke up this morning made every single cell in my body vibrate with love; something I'd never thought I'd get from a partner. I was sure if I told someone I was with that I was on my period, the flow heavy and cramps so bad that I could barely move sometimes breath, they would ditch me for the week and come back when I wasn't a mess.

But not Noah. He even changed the sheets this morning when I woke up to the blood staining my pants and the bed. Not once did he turn away in disgust or avoid me? He was what I thought every partner should be for their significant other.

Turning his chin towards me, I placed a firm but quick kiss on his lips, one he had no issue returning.

"I love you," I smiled into the kiss.

Noah brushed his nose over mine. "Anything for you, angel."

[oftenderweapons]

Bourbon Bossa Nova | MYG | Pt.1

This story is part of the Blue Crush Collab

Pairing: Yoongi x Reader (nicknamed Sunny)

Wordcount: 7k

Rating: 18+ (This part is pretty innocent, but Part 2 will feature mature content)

Genre: strangers to friends to lovers, composer!Yoongi x lifeguard!YN

Content warning: swearing, alcohol, allusions to sexual thoughts. Allusions to death, child abandonment and family loss.

Synopsis: when you start your summer at Honeycomb Cove, you're only expecting sunshine, waves and annoying teenage bravado as you work as a lifeguard. What you don't expect is Min Yoongi. He wasn't expecting you either. Soon your morning walks are your favourite part of the day, until you realise it's not really the walks, maybe it's always been him you are, after all, waiting for.

Shoutout to the incredible folks who helped me find courage to keep believing in this fic - and finally posting it. To Mars (@joheunsaram), To Bells (@youtifulhobi) to Yannie (@ressjeon), my power squad who believed in this fic (and in my writing skills) more than I did. Here's to me finally breaking my dry spell!!! And to some of my old and new supporters and cheerleaders @lelegzem0, @aanncchhuu, @blushingatyou and @percheee (other people are most definitely in this list but Tumblr is limiting my access to previous notes so I can't find you all) You folks are part of the reason I'm still rolling in the dust here on Tumblr

Part two out now!

Here's my masterlist, just in case you're new

Also: disclaimer! (very important, I should have put this first) I'm not Brazilian, and I have very little familiarity with Brazilian culture, but I really wanted to do a shoutout to this incredible country, its people, its art and its music. If you have any notes you would like to leave regarding Antonio's characters and Yoongi's attachment to Brazilian culture, you are the most welcome, both here in the comments and in my blog. I'd love to learn more 💜

Enjoy the fic!!!

May is a great thing. Flowers everywhere, the smell of sunscreen starting to spread in the air, orange dawns, hair getting frizzy with salty air and too much time in the water. Sand under your toes, loose linen garments, wearing a sports bra and a pair of shorts all the time, throwing an oversized sweater on when the night gets too cold, the smell of citrus and geranium to keep mosquitoes away. 

Early summer is great. Way better than midsummer and August. May and mid-September had always been your favourite times of the year: the beginning felt like sparks starting to burst, and the end felt like the natural conclusion of things, that languid nostalgia sweeping in gently, like the soft wind ready to carry in autumn days and blow the leaves away. 

The smell of rosemary and lavender and juniper accompanied you to the beach as you walked down one of the side alleys. 

“Good morn’ Earl!”

The old man turned to greet you as he kept watering the hibiscus bushes before the sun became too blinding, burning the poor flowers. “Morning Sunny!”

“Remember your heart pill!”

“Sure! Already took it!” Earl shouted back, his voice bubbly and bright. 

You waved at him as you kept walking, ready to meet your next friend. “Hello Rosa!”

“Hi Sunny!” 

The old lady already had her cocker spaniel on a leash, ready for her morning walk. “When’s Mindy coming around this year?”

“Mid-July. And she’s taking her children too!” The woman looked ecstatic about her daughter visiting. 

“That sounds amazing! I really have to rush, bye Rosa! And bye Lemon!”

“Lemon say bye!” Rosa told her dog, making her bark just in time before you started your jog. 

Being a lifeguard was great. It was the life you had always dreamed of. You had always worked out to fit in the lifeguard guidelines requirements, and a good ninety percent of your decisions had been oriented to making sure that you could be a lifeguard from the second week of May to the first week of October — that is the entirety of tourist season. Once autumn arrived, you would resume working at the retirement home: it was only your second year with that working arrangement, and you weren’t sure it would work at first, but your grandmother being the godmother of the director of the elderly institute guaranteed you would always find a spot working there; plus, they were also constantly in need of an extra set of hands, especially if those hands came with a degree in nursing. 

You’ve always known you wanted to work in elderly care just as much as you’ve always known you were made to be a lifeguard. Your parents were worried over the sort of sacrifices and strains that such an occupation would entail: all the caregiving, and the cleaning and the affection you spend on people you’re inevitably going to lose; yet it felt natural to you. Sure, some people can be antagonistic and diffident, in some cases you end up being more of a nanny than a nurse, but most of the time, it’s worth it. After two years in this field, the ups are definitely brighter than the darkest lows, and you’re under the strong impression that it will keep being so. 

Back to the glorious morning in front of you, you took off your flip-flops as you reached the best place in the world: the golden beach of Honeycomb Cove. Smiling, you fixed your cap on top of your head and walked to your tower, depositing your stuff in the cabin before going for your morning run. As you were opening the umbrella, taking in the blue infinity of the ocean before you, you spotted an unfamiliar figure below, a big fisher hat on its head, a long-sleeved white shirt covering its arms, a stick in one hand while the other was pressed to his lower back in a fist. 

“Hi, hello there!” you greeted, a wide smile for the small, old man walking on the shore before your tower. The bizarre figure lifted his head up, eyes squinted, his button nose curiously pointing about as he looked for the voice. 

“Over here! Good morning, sir!” You waved energetically at him, the man frowning — not that you could notice that, because of the distance and the hat. 

“Morning?” he greeted back in confusion before continuing his walk. 

Yoongi was extremely confused when he heard the voice. His night had been too long for him not to suppose he was hearing voices. Maybe his time had finally come and that was the call of some deity summoning him to whatever comes after the struggles of the living. 

What he didn’t expect was for the voice to call again, this time the source clearly identifiable. He squinted at the lifeguard tower and offered a small wave in greeting. 

She — that had to be a she — seemed to be set alight in sunlight, the early morning light making her glow in something brighter than gold. 

He had a precise image in his mind for a second, something his grandmother had told him when he was a child. Something like mythology, like Achilles’ halo of hair, or Helios who carries the chariot of the Sun. 

He shook his head and continued walking, turning around only once he was several feet ahead and her long legs had carried her in the opposite direction, her wide strides amazing Yoongi, who could just stare at her golden, looped locks bouncing as she played with the back-and-forth of the tide, running along it. 

For a second, Yoongi thought of The Girl from Ipanema, shortly before remembering all the controversies behind it, and how much his grandmother hated the song because of “the male gaze”. With chastised pupils, he let his gaze fall back to the fragments of seashells at his feet, the distant fall of her feet meeting the sound of the tide calling to his ears in a hypnotizing beat. 

All the way back to his home, Yoongi let it ring and echo through all the empty halls of his brain, until he could finally — although artificially — recreate it in the calm of his home, and let it resonate through its corridors.

Yoongi would define himself quite a reserved man. He had his home — an old Victorian-style house in the more quiet and deserted part of the bay, too inhospitable for tourists, still linked to the naval history of the cove. He had renovated the house after his grandmother had left it to him, replacing the old wooden axes with new, not rotten ones, repainting the walls and repolishing the floors, installing soundproof panels on the room he had decided to turn into his studio. 

It had only been a short while since he’d moved into the beach house; his college in San Francisco and his scholarship and research in New Orleans had sent him spiralling between opposites, diving deep into sounds he wasn’t entirely familiar with, and in a bout of homesickness and confusion, he’d decided to return to his true roots, to his true north. 

Here he could daydream of green hills and golden beaches of a faraway place that he could only imagine through the saudade of an old immigrant. He could feel the beat of that city that was nothing but an overgrown village, the roaring of cars on dirt roads, and that open-armed man that seemed to be every man, every woman, every human being in that open-armed city — that all-forgiving man that seemed to welcome strangers, with their weary feet and guilty souls. 

He knew the place that inhabited his wildest dreams, his most romanticised visions, no longer existed. It had been erased by decades of progress and politics and human greed. That place where all his bedtime stories took place was no longer, and maybe it had never been. Yet Yoongi longed to reach that all-forgiving stone man and feel, just feel how the rolling waves carried all the nostalgia and the sins and the tears of those lost souls that reached a new land hoping for fortune and maybe a brand new start. 

He too was something in between worlds. Son of a woman adopted by a foreigner and a man lost in time, somewhere. And there was nothing more foreign to him than the woman who had raised him, the same woman who had given him the house he was living in. He had always been drifting in something somewhat estranged. His mother had been a nobody, abandoned before an orphanage, the only known facts were her name — Moonbae — and that she had been abandoned as the last of sixth children, her family too poor to afford her. As a twist of fate, she had then been adopted by an American anthropologist — Yoongi’s grandma — who had always respected her will to stay away from her past. Still, loss persecuted her, her loving, if a little taciturn adoptive father passing due to a mysterious disease somewhere in Guatemala. 

It took several years for Beatrice and Moonbae to settle in the old colonial house in Honeycomb Cove; Trice had returned to her great-grandmother to assist the incredibly old lady to her last breath. Needless to say, she then inherited the house. The women lived sheltered, quiet lives until Moonbae got pregnant. A summer fling, that was all it was, the man a fleeting tourist who took a risk too many, fathering a son he would never take care of. 

His absence was filled by someone who looked the exact opposite of the little moonbeam of a child, laying pale and tranquil in his cradle, lulled by strange, exotic songs that his grandmother had perfected for him. 

Beatrice fell in love with a man who became everything to Yoongi — someone Moonbae never approved of, so much so that she decided to leave town when her son was maybe four years old. She never returned. Beatrice never looked for her either. 

Antonio was eighteen years younger than Beatrice, his skin a rich cinnamon shade, his accent so thick that it took a while for Yoongi to decipher the heavy Brazilian cadence in the man’s English. 

Yoongi preferred when Antonio spoke Brazilian Portuguese, anyways. By the time the boy was fourteen, he and his acquired grandfather easily conversed on the wooden patio, drinking lemonade, a guitar in the man’s arms. Antonio taught Yoongi everything, the boy so taciturn, so eager to listen, that the nationless musician let all his woes and nostalgia pour out. And maybe the man was no citizen, something in between an exile and a fugitive, but in that old house, he found a home, with Trice constantly refusing to marry him and loving him like a madwoman at the same time. 

Yoongi doubted love like that could exist anymore. A love so strong that when she had passed, Antonio had magically drifted away together with her a few months after, disregarding his significantly younger age. What the not-so-old man would never say was that he passed in tranquillity, knowing that he had taught his spiritual child all he had to offer. 

And just so, Yoongi won a scholarship, all because of the easy, wordless afternoons when Antonio taught him to play three instruments and speak that language that reminded Yoongi of his old cat, Sweeper, and the way he lazily rolled around in the sun. 

Now he was just a young man graduated from a prestigious music academy in San Francisco, two of his compositions had been featured as soundtrack in a couple movies, and he was already producing for a small recording studio specialised in chamber music. He didn’t make much money out of it, to be true, but sometimes he managed to have an extra income with royalties, and he was currently composing his first mixtape — for which a studio had already contacted him, and the fact that Antonio had introduced him to some of the most influential artists in the San Francisco scene had quite definitely jump-started his career. 

He was living a cool life, the kind of life he had always seen himself living. He worked at night and finished his day at seven am; then he would head out for a walk, when the sun was still gentle in summer and when it would be barely up in winter. And next, he would sleep. Wake up around five pm. Get some food ready and start all over again. He’d returned to Honeycomb Cove only six months prior, so he hadn’t yet entirely reconnected with his local social circle, plus most of his friends were still in college, which meant that it wasn’t that easy to arrange a get together. But to be true he was quite excited about Seokjin being back in town and spring break approaching. By summer come, they would all be a great team again and he would feel like he had all the time in the world. 

His musings were interrupted by the doorbell. That had to be his pizza. It was almost eleven and Gerry, the old Italian man who owned the pizza place at the end of the street, always knew that Tuesday night meant late night pizza for Yoongi. 

He grabbed the money — already perfectly calculated so he could pay for the pizza and leave a tip for the delivery boy, Pippo. But tonight it wasn't the delivery boy knocking at his door. As he opened it, he found a wondrous mass of blond curls right in front of his eyes. “Oh, hi!” 

“Hey!” The voice sounded chirpy, familiar. 

A sudden breeze pushed the stranger’s perfume past the doorway, the scent crashing over Yoongi like the surf. God she smells good, Yoongi thought, lips agape as he stared at the woman in his doorway. It was a mix of coconut and papaya, the scent overpowering the tasty smell of his pizza. 

You put on your friendliest, warmest, brightest smile, then said: “We met on the beach right? You must be Min Yoongi. I'm _____. Gerry said you always dine alone and told me you could use some company.”

“I'm not a charity case,” Yoongi replied before realising how rude he'd just been. 

“Well, that's a funny introduction, Not A Charity Case. Is that the name you chose to go by? Like Jenny From The Block?” You shook your head and looked away. “What told you it's not me who could use a friend. May I?” You asked, pointing at the door, asking if you could enter. “You can ask Gerry. He sent me. I've just arrived for the season and I could really use a friend. He told me you're a good person and you're always alone too.” 

Yoongi was almost outraged by your insolence. Were you always so blunt? He was also confused: what kind of setup was this?!

You passed him the pizza and he lifted the lid, checking that it was actually his and that you weren't an imposter, or a serial killer. 

'Take the golden retriever girl. She needs a smart friend. -G,’ read a note left inside the box.

“Yeah, I’m Yoongi,” he said, almost defeated. “Come on in, then.” If he found his house entirely stripped of anything worth money, he would sue Gerry. 

“Oh. Thank you.” You flashed him a grin. 

Yoongi's knees almost caved. What a smile. It was like… like staring at the sun. But in a good way. It was like a blue sky. Soothing. Serene. Cloudless, pacific. 

You placed your own pizza box next to his on the counter while at the same time you looked around. “Wow, your house is so pretty. Your family lives here?” 

Yoongi opened his pizza and grabbed a beer from the fridge. “I don't have a family anymore.” 

You froze. “I'm sorry.” You were already failing at this. That's why your friends all had fake teeth and a medical record thicker than your cookbook. Not to mention the average age.

“It's okay. I got used to that. You should be the lifeguard, right? Wait, would you like some beer?” 

You shook your head. “I'd like some water please.” 

Of course you would, he realised. You had to be one of those health freaks. He could already anticipate how easily he could make you run from him with his suicidal diet. 

He placed a glass beside your pizza box before sitting down and getting ready to dig in. “I still owe you the money. From the pizza.” 

“I already paid for both. I thought that since I wasn't bringing you a housewarming present, I could at least buy you some food.” You took a slice and started eating up, humming and nodding at the taste. “I get why he works so much. This pizza is heaven.”

“Yeah. All the kids here grew up on sunshine and Gerry's pizza,” Yoongi mentioned casually. He liked that you talked with your mouth full. He did, too. Beatrice had never liked that. 

“Are you from the neighbourhood?” He asked before wolfing down another slice. 

“Kinda. I live a bit farther into the mainland. I used to come here on holiday when I was little. With my parents.” You took a sip of water as Yoongi learned one more thing about you. 

“I thought so. I don’t really remember you from growing up, and me and my friends know all of the locals.” Yoongi studied your face, trying to dissect any detail that could make you familiar. 

“I see. You’ve been raised here, I assume?”

“Yup.” The silence is heavy, but at least you can distract yourself with food. “So, lifeguard? That your dream job?” He said it sarcastically, almost evilly before he realised you were nodding eagerly and happily. 

“My great-grandpa was a sailor. I've always wanted to live by the sea.” You munched on the crunchy crust, Yoongi blinking rapidly. 

Making fun of you felt like shooting a dead body. There was no use — and no mercy — in doing that. “Shouldn't you be in college or something?” 

“I took nursing school. And I'm old enough to be out of college.” Yoongi’s tone had really made that sound like an insult, but you tried your best not to assume the worst.

Yoongi tried to get on his better behaviour. You were a new person, you wouldn’t understand his sardonic tone. “I'm sorry,” he said, contrite. 

“For what? Me being a certified nurse and a person in charge of other people's lives? I know I look stupid, no need to rub it in.” You arched an eyebrow, rather fed up with the weirdness of this exchange, of the man sitting before you. You stood up and closed the box of your pizza, still half uneaten. “Sorry I disturbed your night. Enjoy your meal—” 

“Wait, no! Don't go, please.” He didn't know what suddenly convinced him to make you stay. “I was a dick, I'm sorry, let's start over.” 

You hesitated for at least three seconds and then, despite your better judgement, you sat back. “I'm ____. But my friends call me Sunny. It's my middle name. Really. My parents thought it funny.”

It suited you so damn bad. Yoongi wanted to bask in your aura in a hammock with a slight breeze and a samba playing in the distance. “It's a really nice name. It really suits your appearance. And I mean that as a compliment.” 

You breathed out the tiniest laugh. 

“I'm Yoongi and that's the only name I have. We don't use middle names.” He relaxed once you opened your box once more. 

“Where is it from?” You asked, recognising the name being foreign. 

“My mom's name is Korean. She picked a Korean one for me too. Just to remind me we're not entirely American.” He was vaguely bitter about that. Maybe just indifferent, you told yourself. That must have been tough. 

“That's interesting,” you mused, drinking some water. “How old are you?” 

Your question was naive. Childlike. “I'm twenty-three. And you're…?”

“Twenty-four. Twenty-five in a couple weeks.” You smiled and he was once more lost in how radiant you looked. 

Once you were finished eating, you rinsed your hands at the sink, helping him get rid of the boxes before shyly following him as he moved to the living room. 

“Wow.”

“It's a bit overwhelming, I know.” He looked around, analysing the room through a stranger's eyes. “My grandma was an anthropologist, my grandpa too, though I never met him. She travelled a lot and always brought back fancy things.” 

“What's this?” you asked, watching a strange fork of sorts. 

Yoongi sat down and grabbed a bizarre little stick, no bigger than a pen, with a large ball at the end. He hit the fork, a soothing, metallic sound coming out of it and the box at its base, amplifying the cold dong. “It's a diapason. It gives a specific note. This one sounds like la. Or A, whatever notation you prefer. We use it to tune instruments like guitars.” 

You nodded. “That's interesting. I like it.” 

Yoongi chuckled. “It's very soothing, right? It resonates at a frequency that has positive effects on humans. My grandma used to play it when I needed to calm down as a baby.” 

Thinking that the coarse man before you had been a baby felt baffling. “And it still relaxes you?” 

“It does. But I think it's more of a reflex. I think they trained me. Like Pavlov's dog… Wait, was that Pavlov?”

“Yeah,” you confirmed with a giggle. 

“Sometimes I think I was a strange experiment. That's what happens when you have two scientists in your home.” He shrugged with a funny grin on his face, his cheeks going puffy as he did so. 

“It's okay. You lived through that. You're not doing bad for a lab rat. You could be having bald spots by now,” you joked, almost expecting him to get confused or disgusted. Instead he laughed. 

His laugh was so soft. He actually looked soft, with his gums out, his cheeks puffed up, his nose curled up cutely. Yoongi was cute. Very much so. 

“So, what do you do for a living?” 

He blushed to his ears. “I'm a musician. And a producer.” 

“Wow. That sounds cool! How does that work?” Your voice was filled with wonder, making Yoongi understand that after all it wasn't like you were dumb. You were just unashamed of not knowing things. 

“I make songs. Spend too much time on the computer fixing songs for other people. And then spend a little bit of time with my instruments, going through riffs and melodies, finding little things that inspire me for longer songs or pieces.” Yoongi stopped himself from dumping all of his artistic worries over you. 

“You studied at UCLA?” you asked, knowing that was the best place for a person like him. 

“Actually, no. My grandfather got me into an academy in the city. I mean, my granny's boyfriend,” he corrected himself. Considering Antonio his grandpa had always come natural to him, but he'd never substituted himself for Trice's husband. 

“It's so cute that she found a boyfriend. You mentioned your grandpa passed so I guess she met the guy after?” You posed the question gently, wording it accurately. 

Yoongi nodded. “Yup. I was a toddler when they met.” 

You hummed. “With all respect to your grandpa, I like when old people find a partner — or at least, someone meaningful to them. It brings a lot of joy and newness in their lives. Partnered old folks have a way less lonely life. And it seems they live longer too! I read a paper for a course back in college.” 

Yoongi was pleased to receive confirmation of you being an old people's person. Hopefully you also hated kids so he could actually deem himself safe. “So you actually liked nursing school.”

You bobbed your head enthusiastically. “I’ve always liked the idea of working in a retirement home. Old people have so many stories and so little audience. I like staying with them, helping them write memories they can pass to their overly busy children and grandchildren. And they learn about technology, they play cards. They crochet! Isn't that amazing?!” you exclaimed with a radiant look on your face. 

Yoongi realised you were a genuinely generous person. You reaching out to him wasn't just Gerry forcing you to Yoongi's place, but hopefully you needing a friend. It really seemed you could use a pal your age. “And how does that pair up with your lifeguard position?” 

You shrugged. “I've always loved the beach. And splitting it with caregiving helps me from taking nursing too seriously. It helps me worry less about people… passing, you know.”

Yoongi nodded. He hadn’t thought about what it means taking care of someone day after day after day, and then suddenly they’re gone. He also thought about the different weights of a job: probably that was the same reason why it had taken him so long to work on his music while delivering piece after piece for commission. He had lost the passionate side of it.

“So, your granny's boyfriend got you into a music academy and then?” 

Yoongi smiled, then he started telling you everything about that. 

The two of you talked way deep in the night, the initial strangeness turning into easy chit-chat about school, life, family and work… It was almost one in the morning when you realised it was time for you to go. Once Yoongi noticed how long he’d been talking to you, he blushed and understood it was time to say goodnight, no matter how warm and welcome he felt at your side. 

He accompanied you to the door, then stood on the porch, waving at you before wondering whether he should accompany you home. “You’re staying here in town, right?”

You nodded. “Yeah, don’t worry. I’m just five minutes away from here. I have my bike.”

“You don’t want me to drive you?” He rubbed the back of his neck as he waited for your reply. 

You shook your head. “I’m okay, don’t worry. I’ll be okay.”

Yoongi realised the reason why he felt sad about you refusing was exclusively because he wouldn’t be able to spend more time with you. He was struggling to let go, after only a couple hours of chatting, and at least half of that being awkward acquainting with someone new. 

And to further increase his struggles, he could almost hear Antonio scolding him for letting go of someone that made him feel good. “Will I see you tomorrow morning at the beach?”

You were ready to leave when you heard Yoongi’s question. It sounded vaguely insecure, as if he was testing the waters. “Come meet me at seven. I’ll be there.”

Yoongi nodded to himself. He should have asked for your number. Stupid social anxiety. 

“Goodnight Yoongi!” You waved from the gate before leaving.

He stood there, arms crossed, shrinking inside his striped polo shirt, its long sleeve doing very little in keeping him warm. So unexpectedly his night had changed. He thought about the percussion riff he’d jotted down that morning around nine, laying in bed, sleepless. For all he knew, you could have possibly changed his life. 

He would remember tonight forever. 

The following day, Yoongi left his house at six forty-five. You had given him a when, but not an exact where. He was nervous. And he was somehow hoping that seeing you in broad daylight would somehow lessen your magic. 

How wrong he was. 

He waited for you at the feet of your tower, leaning against it nonchalantly while he almost ran to get there in time. Watching you arrive in sunglasses and a white sundress was definitely something. You looked like the kind of girl that could have starred in Dirty Dancing. 

“Good morning, sir!” you greeted, waving. 

“Stop treating me like an old man,” he complained, however you heard some irony in his voice. 

“Not my fault you behave like one!” you bit back, amused and maybe a little cheeky. “Hello Yoongi,” you tried again, more calmly now that you were standing before him. “I’ll go get changed quickly so we can go on a walk.”

He nodded and looked at the horizon before him, his ears blushing at the thought that you were half naked just a few steps away. You looked so lean and fit and tall and he was… He was struggling not to let his mind run wild. After all you were just a prettily shaped woman. No more, and no less. 

All the months that had passed since he’d last slept with someone weren’t a valid reason for him to think of you half naked.

“Let’s go!” you exclaimed, basically throwing yourself down the stairs and taking a few small jumps on your spot — like a golden retriever too excited about going out. You started with a jog, only to watch Yoongi’s panicked look. 

You exploded with laughter. “See, I told you! You’re an old man!”

Yoongi hid his smile with a pout before catching up with a few quick steps. “Do you need to run or can you just walk?”

“I’ll walk in the water. Helps me burn more energy and work on my stamina,” you replied, entering the water to the point it reached your knees. “You can walk on the shore. Did you sleep well?”

He looked away.

“Oh, right. You work at night. So— Did you… produce?” You looked down, careful about not splashing him. 

“Oh, yeah. The conversation with you was very inspirational,” he conceded. He hadn’t worked half as much in the last four weeks. Listening to the little riffs and chords hidden in your voice was like experimenting with a new genre. It was as if he was building a new theme for you. Something that signified your presence, but at the same time conveyed the fits and starts of meeting someone new, and getting to know them, and discovering something new about oneself from all the analogies and differences they could see with the other person. As much as he was composing about you, about the little bits he’d learned about you, he was in some way also composing about himself. 

The process had been thrilling and once he’d finished the first, roughest draft, at dawn, the music felt so vibrant that it could properly and proudly accompany the rise of the sun. It was of course still only a draft, but the way you’d talked deep into the night, the way you’d circled around things until they’d come out right, had inspired him to give it all a try. It didn’t need to be perfect, it only needed to work. And work, in the end, it did. He only wished he had sampled a piece of your conversation — that joke about him being a lab rat… the laughs that followed. It would have been great for a skit. 

“You know, I really wish I could listen to your music. I'm kind of curious about what such a quiet person considers noise worth listening to.” You looked at him. “After all, music is just very tidy noise right?” 

He smiled. “Yeah, I would agree to that.” He looked at the seashells on the shore. “I'll make you a playlist. I'll include random stuff I like listening to.”

“Oh, I'd love that!” you replied enthusiastically. “We can make a playlist for our walks!” 

Yoongi’s ears perked up at that: “walks”, plural, which meant you would do this again, soon. He was pleased at the way you had so casually hinted at creating a routine. He had someone to share music recommendations with. Someone who would maybe recommend pieces to him in return. He realised he was excited about this. So many new sensations, and none of that as unpleasant as he’d thought. He could get used tho this.

Once the two of you said goodbye, he realised he couldn't go to sleep. He was too excited about making a playlist and sharing it with you. Walking with you in the gentle morning sun. Hearing you laugh. 

Yoongi understood: he was making a new friend. 

Having walks with Yoongi became extraordinary. You started associating him with the tender colours of the shyest sunshine, and the sweet cotton scent of his shirts in the gentle morning breeze. The way his soft locks danced in the ocean air, tangling together, the way his cheeks turned into little ice cream scoops when he smiled at you as you greeted him good morning. 

Likewise, Yoongi started adoring sunshine. You ended each of his nights, bringing him into the reign of soft morning light, introducing him to a brightness he'd always much preferred doing without. Truth was that his ears had become acquainted with your vintage summer bops, with the way your steps would automatically sync up with the beat of Pumped Up Kicks when the song started playing, and your little blonde baby curls would end up bouncing by the time the first chorus came around. Sometimes you looked like one of those strange horses trained to match the rhythm of music. Dressage, wasn't that? 

And then, you loved his calm acoustic ballads, the relaxing guitar riffs that accompanied the rise of the sun. 

Once your shared routine of morning walks was sufficiently cemented, you trained him, like a stray cat, to stick around some more after your walk, convincing him to join you for a morning snack. You always brought him iced coffee and a peach jam sandwich while you drank your aloe and matcha drink before indulging in an avocado toast. He liked your mornings as much as you did. You also probably liked each other too. 

Your perfect sunny streak was tainted only by a mildly cloudy morning, during which Yoongi showed up at your tower anyway, an extra sweater on top of his long sleeved shirt. He knew you'd probably be cold. 

The striped black number seemed to be big enough for you to fill it up comfortably. After all, you were half a head taller than him, and your arms were significantly longer. At least by three or four inches, he had to admit. 

When you showed up, you looked drowsy, your hair was half low and you were carrying a different bag from usual. “Morning old man,” you called, placing your bag at the feet of the stairs. 

“Morning, Sunny. Wait. Are those actually knitting devices in your bag? Wonder Woman ____ knits?” 

“Shut up. Linda taught me. It's just something to share with the ladies at The Orchard,” you justified yourself. “We'll see if you still joke about that once you get your soft, handmade cosy sweater this winter.” 

Yoongi blinked, suddenly realising his expression had been shifting to a pout. “Are you still going to be around this winter?” 

You invited him upstairs, avoiding the question for now. Could you wait from September to May to see him again? Could you go so long without him? 

As you picked up a half knitted torso from your bag, pressing it to his face, you realised you couldn't. You also realised you had made a naive mistake. You had thought you were domesticating a stray but in the meanwhile you had opened him your home, your heart. You had invested your time in him and that made him much more than a stray. You were giving him a forever home.

“Is this for me?” he asked innocently, gently, rubbing his face against the soft, airy fabric. 

“It’s alpaca wool,” you commented drily. You already knew you would give up on your long-term dream sweater only to see him all fluffed up in the pastel mesh of colours. You smiled as he pressed it closer to his face.

“So soft,” he murmured, nuzzling up against the small piece of knitwork. The moment he opened his eyes, you realised his nose was just a tiny bit red from the chilly breeze coming from the sea, carrying a storm in its wake. His cheeks were rosy and puffy, his eyes big and dark. And his eyelashes, so dainty and insanely… flirtatious? He looked like he was seducing you for the slowest of seconds. 

You looked away, cheeks aflame. “Let’s go. Before the rain comes.”

Yoongi startled at your tone, cloudy for the first time since that night when you’d known each other too little, and he’d been unforgivably too sarcastic. He followed you like a confused pet down the stairs, then grabbed his earpods and passed one to you. 

You were especially thankful for the music now that your thoughts were too scattered for you to form sentences and make some conversation. 

“It will rain in a bunch of minutes,” Yoongi commented. “There’s no use walking today.”

You ignored him. Would he leave if you agreed with his statement? Would he think walking was pointless, and therefore there was no reason for the two of you to spend any time together today? Too lost in trying to find a meaning to how sad you felt at the thought of being apart, you didn’t realise a raindrop had hit your nose. 

The storm was coming. 

An angry guitar riff came on, The Neighbourhood blaring from the earphone as Yoongi grabbed your hand. One drop followed the other, his hand around your wrist as he tugged at your arm, running fast, faster, to a speed that felt ridiculous considering how lazy he always was. 

‘I’m going back to 505, if it’s a seven-hour flight or a forty-five-minute drive. In my imagination you’re waiting lying on your side, with your hands between your thighs, and a smile…’

You ran, faster, short of breath, the music carrying you across the sand. You didn’t even realise you were trusting Yoongi completely, even as he led you past your tower, even as he kept running while the downpour broke loose, even as The Beatles came on, singing about jars by the door and lonely people, even as the morning got so dark, the sky like a purple shiner after a rowdy pub fight. 

You kept running, Yoongi panting as the two of you finally recognised the fence of his house, the tower barely visible behind the thick cover of rain and mist. “Come on!” he gasped out. 

You kept running until you were under his porch. “What the hell, Yoongi! Why didn’t we stop at the tower!?” you scolded him, barely alive, barely breathing — how had he worn you out like this? He was way less trained than you, and yet he’d managed to run by your side, keeping your pace, ending up winded, sure, but in way better a state than you’d thought he would be.

He shook his head, bent in two, his hands gripping his knees. “I was distracted! I wasn’t thinking!”

You shook your head, too busy pulling oxygen into your lungs to fight him back. After a few breathless minutes, you sat down on the first step of the staircase. “You knew it would rain. Why did you come?”

Yoongi felt called out all of a sudden. “I— I thought you were expecting me to come. I don’t have your number so I couldn’t text you. Or call you.” He sat down beside you, his hands pressed in between his knees. “I didn’t want you to worry or think I had forgotten.” He took in a large breath. Somehow the little effort of a confession required way more air than the makeshift marathon under the storm — it was definitely shorter than a marathon. Probably not even a tenth of it. He just knew that was the longest and the fastest he’d ever run, but you were running, and you were so majestic and he just wanted to be part of it. 

Yoongi paused, gathered his courage, then murmured, “I didn’t want you to feel lonely.”

You recognised the guitar strums immediately, the song changing once more. You looked at Yoongi, Hozier’s soft voice crooning at your ear. “What about you? Were you feeling lonely?”

He looked away, too shy, too old, too used-to-it to admit it. He had no right to feel lonely when you weren’t around. He had been alone for so long, but loneliness? It had been a stranger to him until he’d learnt your name. “I don’t—”

You pushed his hair off his face, your index finger casually following the handsome curve of his jawline. “Yoongi?”

He finally turned to look at you, once more innocent in the way he seemed to seduce you. He looked so pure and for the first time you felt so desperate to taint him. You needed him to look normal and mundane and you prayed for your crush to fade, for his sinless charms to be washed away so he would show his true colours, because no man should be allowed to be perfect the way he felt perfect to you. 

“Yoongi,” you whispered, your heart tied up with pining.

‘Honey just put your sweet lips on my lips, we should just kiss like real people do.’

You hadn’t realised your eyes were closed until it was too late, the lyrics making you open them only to notice Yoongi leaning towards you, his lips protruding in the most imploring pout you had ever seen. 

You were ruined. 

You tugged the earpod off, almost throwing it to the ground before hollering a ‘see you ‘round’ and running off in the cold rain. 

Yoongi, confused, afraid, sat on his porch as he watched you disappear. 

Part 2 will be out now!!