#street dance clubs in london

[inthedarktrees]

Dancers backstage between shows at Ciro's Club on Orange Street, London

Bert Hardy, “Cabaret Time in London,” Picture Post, February 3, 1950

[unabashegirl]

entangled 1 | one shot

Y/N, punished by her gang leader for a failed mission, meets Harry, a rival gang member, at a club. Their encounter turns intense and passionate.

Author's note: Hello everyone! I hope you are all doing well! Here is another one shot. This one was posted almost a month ago on Patreon. They've already gotten a chance to read it. The second part will be posted here and it contains smut.

warnings: violence, cursing, and more

check out my patreon and get full access to the second part (+4K words) and much more :) thank you beforehand!

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masterlist

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The rain drummed steadily against the cobblestone streets of London, casting a sheen over the historic architecture. A heavy fog rolled through the city, shrouding the narrow alleyways and dimly lit corners in a ghostly haze. The occasional flash of neon signs reflected off the wet pavement, creating a kaleidoscope of colors that danced erratically in the puddles.

In the heart of this misty labyrinth lay a particularly desolate alley, where the rain seemed to fall harder, as if refusing to touch anything but the cold ground. Here, the sound of the downpour was a constant, rhythmic roar, drowning out the distant hum of traffic and the occasional wail of sirens. The alley was lined with old, weather-beaten buildings, their brick facades slick with rain and grime.

Y/N moved stealthily through the darkness, her footsteps muffled by the soggy pavement. Her breath formed small clouds in the chilly air, mingling with the fog that clung to the alley walls. The tension of the night was palpable, a sharp contrast to the usually vibrant London nightlife. She was deep within enemy territory, her senses heightened and her mind alert to every sound.

As she rounded a corner, the streetlamp’s flickering light revealed a shadowy figure ahead. Y/N’s pulse quickened, both from the adrenaline of being caught and the undeniable anticipation of their inevitable confrontation. The fog parted slightly, revealing Harry Styles, his silhouette a stark contrast against the faint glow of the lamp. He stood still, his posture rigid, his eyes scanning the alley as if he could see right through the mist.

Harry stepped forward, the lamplight catching the glint in his eyes. His lips curled into a smirk as he took in Y/N's determined stance. "I knew you couldn't resist" he drawled, his voice low and mocking. "Slumming it in our territory again, are we?”

Y/N’s eyes narrowed, refusing to show any sign of intimidation. "Keeping tabs on me, Styles? Didn’t know I was that important to you."

Harry chuckled darkly, taking another step closer. "Important? Hardly. But you're predictable. Meeting with our clients, trying to undercut our deals...it’s pathetic, really."

Before Y/N could retort, three figures emerged from the shadows behind Harry. His men, loyal and watchful, forming a semi-circle around them. Their presence was a silent threat, a reminder of the precariousness of her situation.

Y/N tilted her chin up defiantly. “You need back up to deal with little old me?”

One of Harry’s men, a burly guy with a scar running down his cheek, snorted. “Can’t have him wasting time on someone who’s not worth it.”

Harry raised a hand, silencing his man with a single gesture. "Don’t worry, I can handle her," he said, his eyes never leaving Y/N’s. "Besides, this is entertaining."

Y/N’s heart pounded in her chest, but she refused to let her fear show. "Entertaining, huh? Look up," she said, pointing to the roof above her.

Harry's eyes flicked upward, his smirk faltering slightly as he saw a figure perched on the edge of the building. The sniper, a man with a confident grin, waved down at Harry and his men.

"A little insurance policy, I see." Harry muttered, his tone darkening as he turned his gaze back to Y/N.

Y/N shrugged, her expression cool. "Can't be too careful. Figured you might try something stupid."

The burly man with the scar took a step forward, but Harry raised a hand to stop him. "Stand down," he ordered, his eyes locked on Y/N. "So, this is your game? Bringing snipers to a knife fight?"

"Just leveling the playing field," Y/N replied. "Or maybe you’re not as confident as you pretend to be, Styles."

Harry's smirk returned, though it didn't quite reach his eyes. "Oh, I'm confident enough. But I have to admit, you've surprised me tonight." Harry took a step closer, his voice low and dangerous.

"Glad to hear it," Y/N said, her tone dripping with sarcasm. "But if you think a few threats and some muscle are going to scare me off, you’re in for a disappointment."

Harry's demeanor shifted, his eyes narrowing. "Cut the crap, Y/N. What are you really doing here territory? Who sent you?"

Y/N's smile didn't waver. "You think I'm here on someone else's orders? Please. I'm here because I choose to be."

Harry stepped closer, his voice low and menacing. "There’s a treaty, Y/N. Your gang stays in your territory, mine stays in ours. Or have you forgotten what it was like before we had that agreement? The bloodbath, the chaos?"

Y/N's expression hardened. "I remember. But treaties don't mean much when people are starving and desperate. Sometimes, you have to bend the rules to survive."

Harry’s eyes flashed with something between anger and grudging respect. "Survival. Is that what you call it? Sneaking into my territory, undercutting my deals?"

"Call it what you want," Y/N replied coolly. "But I’m not here to play by your rules, Harry. Not anymore."

Harry’s men shifted uneasily, sensing the rising tension. Harry glanced up at the sniper, then back at Y/N. "This ends now, Y/N. You tell your people to stay out of my territory, or next time, treaty or no treaty, there will be consequences."

Y/N stepped closer, her voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. “I’m not backing down. Not for you, not for anyone.”

For a moment, they stood there, inches apart, the rain pouring down around them, the fog swirling at their feet. The memories of the bloodbath they both wanted to avoid loomed over their confrontation, a silent reminder of what was at stake.

Harry’s jaw tightened, his eyes locked on hers. "I warned you. Next time, I won't be so lenient."

With that, he turned sharply, signaling his men to follow. They melted back into the shadows, leaving Y/N standing alone in the alley, her heart racing but her resolve stronger than ever. The rain continued to fall, washing away the tension but not the memory of their encounter. She knew this was just the beginning, and the next time they faced off, the stakes would be even higher.

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Y/N made her way through the rain-soaked streets, the adrenaline from her encounter with Harry still coursing through her veins. She navigated the labyrinthine alleyways of her territory until she reached a nondescript warehouse. Inside, the dim lighting and the smell of damp concrete provided a stark contrast to the chaos outside.

The warehouse was bustling with activity. Men and women moved purposefully, sorting through shipments, counting cash, and packaging drugs for distribution. The hum of machinery and the murmur of low conversations filled the air. Victor’s operation was large and well-organized, a testament to his cold, calculating leadership.

At the far end of the warehouse, a man sat behind a cluttered desk, his presence commanding despite his unassuming appearance. He was older than Y/N by nearly twenty years, with a cold, calculating demeanor that had earned him respect and fear alike. His name was Victor, and he had a reputation for being as ruthless as he was strategic.

As Y/N approached, Victor looked up from his paperwork, his piercing gaze settling on her. "You're late," he said, his voice devoid of any warmth.

Y/N nodded, shaking off the rain. "I ran into some trouble, but it's handled."

Victor's eyes narrowed slightly. "Did you make the deal with Sean?"

Y/N took a deep breath, recounting the details of her encounter. "I met with Sean. He’s fed up with Harry's control and wants out. He's one of their biggest distributors, and he’s willing to work with us if we can offer better terms."

Victor leaned back in his chair, his expression unreadable. "And what did Harry have to say about this?"

Y/N hesitated, knowing that the next part of her report would not please him. "Harry knew I was there. He confronted me, tried to intimidate me. But I held my ground. He has no idea about Sean's intentions."

Victor's fingers drummed lightly on the desk, his eyes narrowing to slits. "You took a risk, going into his territory without backup. You could have jeopardized everything."

Y/N met his gaze unflinchingly. "I had backup," she replied, thinking of the sniper. "And it was worth the risk. Sean is valuable. If we can secure his loyalty, we weaken Harry significantly."

Victor considered her words, his expression remaining stern. "And you believe Sean is trustworthy? He reached out to us, but that could be a ploy."

"I trust him," Y/N said firmly. "He’s desperate, and desperate people can be useful. Besides, we’re offering him a way out. He has no reason to betray us."

Victor was silent for a long moment, his eyes studying her intently. “I hope you haven’t misplaced your trust this time."

"I haven’t," Y/N replied confidently. "This is our chance to hit Harry where it hurts."

Victor nodded slowly, a cold smile creeping onto his lips. "Very well. Continue working with Sean. But be careful. Harry won’t take this lightly, and he’s not someone we can afford to underestimate."

Y/N nodded, feeling a sense of determination. "’ll handle it."

Victor leaned forward, his eyes sharp. "Good. And Y/N?"

“Remember, loyalty is everything”.

Y/N's heart skipped a beat, but she kept her expression neutral. "I won’t."

Victor dismissed her with a curt nod, returning to his paperwork. As Y/N left the warehouse, she couldn’t shake the feeling that the lines between duty and desire were becoming increasingly blurred. The rain had lessened to a drizzle, but the storm brewing was far from over.

They had met when they were just kids, newly initiated and eager to prove themselves. They hadn’t even turned eighteen yet, and the world of crime and rivalry was still new and intoxicating. The first time she saw Harry, he was standing in a grimy alley, his youthful face set with a determination that matched her own.

From the very first day, they were pinned against one another. Victor had always made sure to poison Y/N's mind, filling her with stories of Harry's ruthlessness and the cruelty of his gang. He painted Harry as the embodiment of their enemy, someone to be despised and defeated at all costs.

But despite the animosity Victor instilled in her, Y/N couldn’t help but notice the fire in Harry’s eyes. There was a spark there, a drive that mirrored her own. They clashed often, their encounters fierce and unyielding. But beneath the surface of their rivalry, there was an unspoken understanding, a recognition of kindred spirits.

Back then, Harry’s boss was a different man—cruel, ruthless, and feared by all. He ruled with an iron fist, and Harry was his protégé, learning the ways of their world under his harsh tutelage. The man was a constant presence in their lives, a looming shadow that dictated their every move.

Years passed, and the battles between their gangs grew bloodier. The streets were painted with the consequences of their rivalry. The turning point came when Harry's boss was killed in a brutal skirmish. In the chaos that followed, Harry emerged as the new leader, taking over with a resolve that was both feared and respected.

Victor had always kept Y/N close, grooming her to be one of his most trusted members. He continued to feed her a steady diet of distrust and hatred for Harry. "Never forget what he stands for," Victor would say. "He's our enemy. Always has been, always will be."

Despite the indoctrination, Y/N couldn’t shake the memories of their shared past. She remembered the way Harry had looked at her during their first encounter. It was a connection that neither of them could deny, even as they stood on opposite sides of a deadly divide.

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Y/N made her way to the hospital, after securing her payment and leaving the warehouse. The familiar ache of longing and love filled her chest as she approached the sterile, imposing building. This visit, a ritual she never missed, was the one thing that brought light to her otherwise shadowed existence.

Y/N hadn’t joined a gang at sixteen out of a desire for power or excitement. It had been a desperate measure, a necessary evil to secure the funds needed for her sister’s treatment. Her sister, Emily, was just ten years old and battling a relentless illness. The money Y/N earned through her dangerous work was the only thing keeping Emily’s hope for a future alive.

As Y/N walked through the hospital corridors, the stark white walls and the scent of antiseptic did little to soothe her. She navigated her way to Emily's room, her footsteps quickening as she neared the door. She took a deep breath before pushing it open, her heart lifting at the sight of her little sister.

Emily lay in a bed surrounded by beeping monitors and IV drips. Her face lit up with a bright smile as soon as she saw Y/N. "Y/N!" she exclaimed, her voice weak but filled with joy.

Y/N forced a smile, trying to mask the turmoil inside her. "Hey there, sunshine," she said, approaching the bed and gently brushing a strand of hair from Emily's forehead. "How are you feeling today?"

Emily shrugged, her smile never wavering. "A bit tired, but I’m okay. The doctors say I’m doing better."

"That’s great news," Y/N said, her voice soft. She sat down beside the bed, holding Emily’s small hand in hers. "I brought you something." She reached into her bag and pulled out a small, wrapped package. "Open it."

Emily’s eyes widened with excitement as she unwrapped the gift. Inside was a sketchbook and a set of colored pencils. "These are perfect!"

Y/N’s heart warmed at her sister’s happiness. "I thought you might like them. You can draw all the things you are going to do when you leave the hospital”.

Emily nodded enthusiastically, already flipping through the pages of the sketchbook. "The beach, the park, maybe even you and me together."

Y/N’s smile faltered for a moment, the weight of her choices pressing down on her. She quickly pushed the thoughts aside, focusing on the present. "I can’t wait to see your drawings."

They spent the next hour talking and laughing, the bleakness of the hospital room fading away in the light of Emily’s joy. For a little while, Y/N could forget about the dangerous world she was entangled in, finding solace in her sister’s company.

As visiting hours came to an end, Y/N reluctantly stood up. "I have to go now, Em. But I’ll be back soon, okay?"

Emily nodded, her smile unwavering. "Promise?"

"Promise," Y/N said, leaning down to kiss her sister’s forehead. "You just keep getting better, and we’ll have all the time in the world."

With one last look at Emily, Y/N turned and left the room, the weight of her double life settling back onto her shoulders.

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The air was thick with anticipation as Y/N and her crew gathered in a dimly lit alleyway. Victor had received intel that Harry’s gang was making a move to reclaim and prevent Sean from selling for Y/N’s gang. Harry’s gang planned to kidnap Sean, ensuring he couldn’t betray them. Y/N’s orders were clear: protect Sean at all costs.

The clash began in the shadows, a chaotic melee of fists, knives, and gunfire. The alleyway turned into a battleground, the sound of fighting echoing off the walls. Y/N moved with practiced precision, taking down opponents with a cold efficiency. Her senses were heightened, every sound and movement sharp and clear in her mind.

In the midst of the chaos, she spotted Harry, his presence unmistakable even in the dim light. Their eyes locked, and for a moment, the world around them faded away. The fire in Harry’s eyes was as fierce as ever, matching the determination in Y/N’s.

“Y/N!” Harry shouted over the noise, his voice a mix of anger and something else she couldn’t quite place. “This ends now!”

Without another word, they lunged at each other. Their fight was intense, a blur of swift movements and exchanged blows. Harry’s strength was matched by Y/N’s agility, each anticipating the other’s moves with an almost instinctual familiarity.

Harry threw a punch that Y/N barely dodged, countering with a swift kick that caught him off guard. He stumbled back but quickly regained his footing, his eyes never leaving hers. The rain-soaked ground made their footing precarious, but neither wavered.

“You’ve got balls, I’ll give you that,” Harry growled, wiping a trickle of blood from his lip.

“Balls aren’t enough to survive in this world,” Y/N shot back, her voice steady despite the adrenaline coursing through her veins.

They continued to fight, each trying to gain the upper hand. Harry managed to pin Y/N against a wall, his grip strong and unyielding. “Why are you doing this, Y/N? Sean isn’t for you to take!”

Y/N glared at him, her breath coming in short, sharp bursts. “This has nothing to do about Sean. I was given orders and I have to obey”.

Their fight resumed with renewed intensity, neither willing to back down. Around them, the battle raged on, the sounds of struggle blending into a chaotic symphony. Y/N and Harry were locked in their own private war, each move a testament to their skills and their conflicting desires.

Y/N swiftly drew the small knife she always carried with her. Realizing that the only way to take him down was to stab him, she knew she had to act fast. He was much bigger than her. She was strong, but not strong enough to overpower him without the blade.

Before she could make her move, Harry’s reflexes kicked in. He drew his own knife in a flash, and before Y/N could react, he had nicked her arm. A sharp pain shot through her as blood began to seep from the wound, staining her sleeve.

“You think you can take me down that easily?” Harry sneered, his eyes cold and calculating. “You’ve got a lot to learn.”

Y/N gritted her teeth, refusing to show any sign of weakness. She adjusted her grip on the knife, her mind racing for a strategy. The pain in her arm was a stark reminder of the danger she faced, but it also fueled her determination.

They circled each other, both on high alert. The rain continued to fall, making the ground slippery and adding to the tension in the air. Harry lunged forward, aiming for another strike, but Y/N anticipated his move, sidestepping just in time and slashing at him with her own blade.

Y/N’s arm throbbed, but she pushed the pain to the back of her mind, focusing on the fight. She managed to land a shallow cut on Harry’s side, drawing blood. He hissed in pain, his eyes narrowing with fury.

“Don’t make me hurt you.” Something had changed within Harry, and Y/N couldn’t quite put her finger on it. He looked deadlier, his eyes colder and more ruthless than ever before.

Harry was quick to land a blow on Y/N, knocking her to the ground. He wasted no time in picking her up, his strong hand gripping her neck as he pressed his knife against her throat.

Y/N’s heart raced with a mixture of fear and something else entirely. The pressure of his massive hand around her neck sent a thrill through her, mingling with her worry. She stared into his eyes, defiance and a flicker of excitement burning within her.

“Styles! Stop!” yelled one of Y/N’s most trusted men, his hands raised in a gesture of mercy. He noticed that Y/N’s feet weren’t touching the floor, suspended by Harry’s grip on her throat. “We’ll leave. Don’t kill her.”

Y/N’s face turned red as she struggled for breath. Every instinct in her body screamed at her to give up, the pressure making her feel like her eyes were about to burst from their sockets.

Harry’s grip tightened momentarily before he loosened his hold just enough for Y/N to gasp for air. His eyes remained fixed on her, cold and unyielding.

“Don’t test me, darlin' "

Part 2

[watermelonlovershigh]

Drunk Fighting and Forgiveness {part. 11} (housemate!harry series)

"Do you love me?" {part. 10} (housemate!harry series) (SMUT)

AN: i normally dislike writing angst but i gotta say, this was fun to write. so if you're into angst you'll love this. enjoy and make sure to reblog and leave your feedback. xoxo

This story contains: drinking alcohol, angst, lying, mentions of past hookups (m/m), jealousy, accusations of homophobia, apologies, forgiveness (kinda)

{ housemate!harry - boyfriend!harry - softrry - bi!harry }

word count- 3,027

For a date night, Harry takes you out to a gay bar where secrets of Harry's past are revealed, turning into misunderstandings and drunk arguments.

Several weeks have passed since that memorable night when both of you openly professed your love for one another, and the period leading up to tonight has been nothing short of amazing. You have been immersed in the honeymoon stage of your relationship; enjoying cozy moments, lots of sex, and regular date nights scheduled at least once a week. The only disagreements you've had were minor, such as Harry occasionally forgetting to put the toilet seat down or your habit of leaving strands of hair on the shower walls. However, that changes tonight.

Breaking your normal Friday routine of a movie with Chinese take-out, you decided to go to a local bar down the street. Have some drinks and dance a little. While you were in the bathroom getting ready, you shouted to Harry, "So which bar are we going to again?"

Harry was hesitant on telling you because he didn't want you to get upset at him. "Um, it's the one on the corner."

"Harry, there are fifty billion corners in London. Which corner?" You weren't nieve. You could tell Harry was trying to avoid answering and it confused you. Why would he be hiding the name of the bar you're about to go to from you.

Huffing from his stance now in the doorway of the bathroom, he answers, "Fine, it's called The Royal Vauxhall Tavern. It's a gay bar."

(i just choose a random gay bar in London from Google. so idk if this is even a good choice or if i described it accurately on the inside or not. let's pretend.)

"Not that I have anything against gay bars Harry, but why? I'd understand if we weren't dating because I'm sure there's tons of hot men you could find to hook-up with. But we are dating, so..... it's just an odd choice."

With a soft tone, Harry enters the bathroom and lovingly cups your cheeks in his large hands, reassuringly saying, "Sweetheart, you're overthinking it. It's just a bar. I've been there in the past and know firsthand that the customer service and music are fantastic. That's why I picked it, alright? Nothin' more than that." However, you soon come to realize that this assertion is completely false.

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As you entered the bar, it was very nice inside. There were tons of people on the dance floor and several people at the bar. Harry held your hand and walked you over to the two unoccupied seats at the bar so you could order some drinks. You've never been in a gay bar before. Mostly because before Harry, anytime you went out to bars or clubs you were looking for a hook-up and you're sure a gay bar isn't the place for a women to find that.

Right as you sit down, a handsome looking man comes up to you both and recognizes Harry immediately. "Harry, mate, what are you doing back in here? Haven't seen you in ages."

You glance over to see Harry smiling from ear to ear. "Hello, Henry. Hope you're well. Yeah, I've just been busy with work and stuff." That's odd, he didn't even mention you.

"So, who's the lovely lady sitting beside you?" the bartender who's name is Henry, you just discovered, asked.

You were going to answer for yourself when Harry cuts you off, replying, "Oh, m' girlfriend, Y/n. Been datin' officially for about two months now."

Henry looks back to you again and speaks rather loudly due to the blaring music, "Well, hello, Y/n. Welcome. What can I get you two to drink tonight? Your usual, Harry?" So he remembers Harry's drink order.... Interesting.

"Yep, coke and rum and what would you like, Y/n?"

Thinking for a moment, you stick to what you know best. "I'll have a vodka cran, please."

Henry smiles, assuring, "Okay, a coke and rum and a vodka cran coming right up." You and Harry sat there and watched as he made your beverages. The whole time you still had this awful pit in your stomach like something was off but you ignored it, not wanting to spoil your night out with Harry.

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Having reached your third glass of alcohol, you and Harry have been alternating between dancing and sitting for the past hour. You will admit that you feel somewhat safer in a gay bar, where the likelihood of unwanted attention or being drugged seems lower. Not impossible, just lower.

As you both return to your original seats at the bar, Harry mentions over the loud music that he needs to use the bathroom and tells you to remain seated. Despite his reluctance to let you out of his sight, his bladder cannot wait.

While Harry's gone to the toilet, Henry comes over to you and gets you a refill on your drink. When he returns with a full glass, he begins, "So, Harry, hm. He's lovely isn't he?"

You stare back at him with that pit in your stomach returning. "Um, yeah, he is. How do you know each other again?" Henry never mentioned how he knew Harry and Harry has never mentioned a Henry before either.

"Oh, we go way back. He use to come in here all the time back in his college days, when he was figuring out his sexuality. He didn't have a lot of money to pay for his drinks so I'd cut him a deal if you know what I mean."

"I'm sorry, guess I don't know what you mean." you respond, confused as to what he's trying to get at.

Henry chuckles and proceeds to elaborate, "Back in his uni days when Harry wanted to indulge in alcohol but lacked the funds, he would bring me along to the toilets and give me blowjobs. That's how he managed to cover the cost of his drinks. Although we never pursued a romantic relationship, I suppose you could say we were friends with benefits for a period of time, perhaps in the year... 201..." His sentence abruptly halts as Harry returns from the bathroom. Unaware of your discussion with Henry, Harry becomes perplexed when both of you gaze at him as if he has an unusual mark on his forehead.

To void the awkward tension, Henry grabs Harry's glass to give him another refill without asking and walks away. You're left there, stunned. Not that you cared what Harry use to do before you got together, but the fact that he brought you here, to this specific bar, where his ex friends with benefits worked, well, you find it kind of odd. Especially now thinking back to earlier when he was hesitant to tell you which bar you were going to.

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After staying an hour more, you began feeling the urge to leave. The new piece of information has stirred up intense emotions within you. Despite your attempts to mask your anger, every time Henry approached to offer more refills, you couldn't shake the feeling that he was flirting with Harry. The uncomfortable knowledge of their past interactions made it difficult for you to sit and watch.

You briskly walk down the streets with Harry a few feet behind you, trying to catch up to you. You were both pretty drunk but not so drunk you couldn't walk straight. Just too drunk to drive. Hence why you're walking home. "Y/n, wait up. Is somethin' the matter? You seem mad at me."

You stop abruptly on the sidewalk and turn back to look at your boyfriend. Angerly, you question, "Why did you really bring me to that bar, Harry?"

Confused, Harry begins, "Baby, I've already told....."

"No, I don't believe you. I think it has something to do with that Henry guy. I know what the two of you use to do. He told me while you were in the bathroom."

Harry quietly curses to himself, feeling more ashamed than anything else. He fails to understand why bringing you there was a problem. His current concern is that you are now aware of a secret he had been keeping - the secret of his college partying days. He was poor and had just started exploring his sexuality. So one day when he went into that specific bar, he met Henry and well, you know the rest.

"Y/n, that was years ago. We never dated or anythin'. I really only saw him maybe once every two months. It's not my proudest moment but all my friends could afford to go out partyin' on Friday nights and I couldn't. So I did what I had to do to fit in."

Turning back around to continue walking, you exhale loudly and speak again. "Do you really think I'm angry about that? Because I'm not. I don't give a shit what you use to do before we started our relationship."

Not thinking clearly due to the alcohol running through his system, Harry fights back, "Is it because it was with a man, Y/n? Is this how m' findin' out you're homophobic?"

You come to a halt once more, but remain looking ahead. That hurt. You're not homophobic in the slightest. Unlike the tales Harry has recounted about his previous partners who were unaccepting of his bisexuality, you have always been different. You have consistently shown support for Harry's sexuality since he shared it with you. Initially, you assumed he was gay because during the first few weeks of living together, he only brought men home. However, one day he brought a woman home instead.

Raising your voice slightly, you argue, "I can't believe you're asking if I'm homophobic. You know I have always been a strong advocate for your sexuality. What really irks me is that you deliberately selected that bar for us to visit. The bar where you used to engage in transactions with the bartender to settle your bills. And now, he was the one serving us throughout the evening."

"Y/n, yes I knew he still worked there but I didn't know if he was workin' tonight, let alone he'd be waitin' on us. How was I supposed to know that?"

Underneath a lamp post on the side of the street, you continue to bicker, knowing bystanders are surely watching your drunk dispute. "Whether you did or not, you still choose to bring me there. Just tell me one more thing Harry, did he charge you the full amount for our drinks tonight or did he give you a discount?"

When Harry didn't reply right away, you already knew the answer and resumed your journey towards home. "Y/n, please wait," he quickly catches up to you, "I didn't even ask him to do it. You know I have enough financial stability to pay the full amount now. He simply offered us a discount without any prompting, and I didn't argue against it. But obviously, this time it was just the discount, not any favors in return. I would never do that to you."

You made the decision to remain silent for the remainder of your journey home. The thought of engaging in further arguments no longer appealed to you. All you desired was to change out of your dress and remove your makeup before going to bed. Despite his reluctance, Harry also chose to stay quiet. He ensured that you were by his side throughout the entire walk, fearing that you might unintentionally wander onto the wrong street or encounter a stranger who could potentially harm you. Even with the ongoing conflict, your love for each other remained intact.

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Upon your arrival home, you immediately proceeded to your bedroom and closed the door behind yourself. Without hesitation, you began changing out of your dress and into more comfortable clothing. Your intentions were to stay in your room for the rest of the night, until the realization hit that there was no bathroom inside your bedroom. So, you're forced to leave your room in order to wash your face and brush your teeth.

Harry settles onto the sofa and quietly thinks about his actions tonight. Reflecting on the situation, he now understands why you feel the way you do. It was inappropriate of him to take you to the bar where he used to sleep with the fucking bartender. Despite all of that, the bar itself had a good reputation. That's why he went there frequently in the past, regardless of his actions there.

Though it's not an excuse, he genuinely didn't know if Henry was working tonight. Harry hasn't communicated with Henry in over eight months and their last sexual encounter was even longer than that. He honestly selected a gay bar for tonight to avoid straight men giving you unwanted attention. He would have gotten jealous. However, he unintentionally caused you to feel jealous, and for that he's deeply sorry.

As you exit your bedroom and make your way to the bathroom, Harry turns his head. He contemplates standing up to apologize, but chooses to delay it until you've finished your business. Meanwhile, he gets up and heads to the kitchen to fetch you a glass of water and a pain reliever for the headache he assumes you'll have in the morning. Just as he's about to finish, you emerge from the bathroom and return to your room.

Hesitantly, Harry walks up to your bedroom door and and knocks softly. Still in your drunk, grumpy state, you shout out, "What?"

"Um, I've got you some water you need to drink and somethin' to help with your impendin' headache."

"Fine, come in." you grant him permission to come in while you remain in bed. As he approaches, carrying a glass of water and a pill, you carefully take the water from his hands, and he places the pill on your nightstand, ensuring you have it in the morning.

When you've drank all you wanted, Harry grabs the glass back from you, setting it down beside your bed and begins saying, "I'd like to apologize."

Wanting to make sure he knows what he's apologizing for, you ask, "For what?"

Harry sits down on the edge of the bed and admits, "M' sorry for takin' you to that particular bar where I used to see the bartender. I honestly didn't realize he'd be workin' tonight, but that's no excuse. I just thought, if I took you to a gay bar that straight men wouldn't hit on you and make me jealous. But that was selfish of me. So again, m' truly sorry, Y/n."

The first part of his apology was fine, but that third sentence reignited your frustration. "Harry, what about you, huh? By us going to a gay bar, I have to face the potential of men flirting with you. But really flirting can occur in any setting, whether it's a gay bar or a straight one. That shouldn't have influenced your choice to go there."

Slapping his hand across his forehead, Harry nods. "I know, I know. M' sorry for that too. I honestly just wanted a fun night out with m' girlfriend but ruined it. Next time I'll let you choose where we go. But just so you know, if I see one of your ex's and they bring up what the two of you use to do, m' gonna be pissed as well." You could tell his last sentence was made with a playful tone, though deep down you know he's being serious.

You release a loud yawn and respond, your voice filled with drowsiness, "Okay, that'll make us even. I'm still a little upset with you though, so it would be best if you left now. Please sleep in your own room tonight." Despite having the thought that you might want to sleep separately, he hoped that after apologizing, you would reconsider. However, your stubbornness proves to be a hindrance, as you are not willing to forgive him that easily.

With a frown on Harry's face, he gets up from the bed and bends down to kiss your forehead before walking out of the room. As he leaves, he reminds you, "If you need anythin', just wake me up. I love you."

He hears a quiet "love you, too" right when he shuts your door and exhales, relieved that you're not mad enough to not say 'I love you' to him. Because if you were, he'd have been devastated,

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

Around four in the morning, you awaken to the realization that sleeping apart was a mistake. You haven't slept apart since before you shared your feelings for one another and you miss him. You miss cuddling with him. Finding out you both were cuddlers was one of the best possible outcomes as you started developing your relationship. It meant you were very compatible in that way.

You get out of bed and head towards Harry's room across the hallway. As quietly as you can, you open his creaky door to find him lying on his side, a pillow hugged to his chest, turned away from you. He's now use to holding you throughout the night, so his pillow had to make do since you rejected him earlier.

Closing the door gently, you approach his bed and carefully peel back the covers, not wanting to disturb his sleep. Harry only wakes up when he senses you moving closer. You carefully pull the pillow out of his arms and replace it with yourself, burying your face in his chest. Instinctively, he wraps his arms around your back once he realizes it's you who's joined him, muttering in a gravelly voice, "Hi, baby."

Still very sleepy, you speak in a whisper, "Shh, sleepy. Just missed you s'all."

"It's okay, m'love. Go back to sleep. You can always cuddle me. Missed your cuddles, too." Harry's half conscious as he spoke but he's aware of what he said. He did miss your cuddles. He had to fight with himself just to stay put in his bed and not slip into yours. He just wanted to respect your wishes and not make you even angrier with him. It only takes mere seconds for you both to pass out again. All the alcohol you consumed the night before helping aid in that.

You know you have forgiven Harry but he isn't off the hook that easily. For his bad behavior, you'll just have to punish him. Give him what he deserves. 😏

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

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

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______________

My Masterlist Masterpost

"You've been a real, bad, boy." {part. 12}

[dtrghost]

this is part 2 to the flirty ghost oneshot i made. enjoy ;)))

part 1

pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x bartender fem!reader

synopsis: Price invites the team out to a night at a renowned club in London after a job well done. Team 141 watches in surprise as Simon flirts with the hot bartender ;). I made simon rich, because I find rich guys hot, so yeah. a bit sub!ghost because he'd do anything for a girl like you.

warnings: mentions of ghost "stalking" you a bit, references to male masturbation, flirty (probably ooc) ghost, alcohol, pining, smut 18+ only, rough sex, slapping, spanking, squirting, degrading, cunnilingus, size kink, no protection (be smart and careful people), praise, cursing, consensual sex, brat taming, you're welcome yall, enjoy ghost fucking you dumb. NOT PROOFREAD.

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT:

The day couldn't go by slower for Simon. He planned the date with caution, making backup plans for his backup plans if the initial attempt didn't go as he expected it to. He wanted this to go smoothly and perfectly, he wanted you to like him, to want him just as much as he wants you.

The previous day he told the team to go on without him, saying he needed some air as he walked off, leaning against the brick wall of an alley for a smoke while he waited for you to finish closing up. He essentially walked you home without you knowing, following you back to your place which wasn't too far from the bar.

He admired the way you walked, the grace, the confidence, all at a slow, leisurely pace which gave him more time to get a look at your lower half. How your plump, round ass moved with each step he took, sending a number of fantasies through his head to think about as you took your time back to your apartment complex. He was glad when he saw it was a nice place in a safe area, moving to another alley on the other side of the street and scanning all the windows in hopes to catch a glimpse of you.

He watched a curtain open, seeing your face peek out to look at the street. He was deep in the shadows, and he relaxed knowing it was near impossible that you'd see him as you took a look out. You didn't close it though, turning around and putting on some music that he could just barely hear. You danced by yourself, taking off your blazer with a sigh in relief. He watched as the muscles in your back moved, getting a nice view of your side profile as you walked off somewhere else in your room. He would've stayed the whole night to see if he'd get lucky with getting a glimpse of your fully naked form, but he wanted to save that sight for the next night.

When he got back to his flat he went straight for the shower. The cold water couldn't kill his erection however, and he found himself whimpering as he furiously fisted his cock to the memory of your body swaying to the music as you slipped off your jacket. He moaned at the idea of feeling you move against him, your hips grinding into his as he mustered up the courage to dance with you just to feel the sensation. He came at the image of his small glimpse of your beautiful breasts as you disappeared into the room he wished he was in.

Fast forward and he was now standing in the mirror, checking over his outfit which consisted of a white button up, a black blazer with a black tie, and dress pants. He left the mask on, noticing the look of interest when you first saw it and basing the decision of the assumption that you liked it. He got in his car and drove first to a floral shop, customizing a beautiful bouquet, purple flowers peaking through the wrapping as he went back to his car.

He then drove back to the bar, hand gripping the wheel and stick shift tightly to steady himself from the nerves lighting up in his body as it came into view. He could smell the flowers sitting on his passenger's seat, lavender flooding his senses, just as your lavender perfume did the night before. He got out, receiving a number of glances as people walked out.

"Look who's back, and well dressed." Your voice made him sigh in relief, partly expecting you to not be there as a way to tell him you didn't want anything to do with him. He looked at your outfit as he took a seat at your bar once more. You wore a black, silk dress that hugged your curves beautifully. It was on the shorter side, giving everyone a nice view of your smooth, glimmering legs that were further complimented by the heels you wore, giving you a bit more height that would never compare to his.

"I look like rubbish next to you sweetheart. You're fucking beautiful." You chuckled, nodding to your coworker you asked to take your shift for the night so he could take you out, walking out from behind the counter as he stood up. You took notice of the flowers in his hand, humming in delight as he handed them to you.

"These are beautiful Simon. Thank you." He watched you smell them, relishing the smile you gave him that he'd already etched into is brain the night before. He offered you his arm and led you out of the bar. He opened the car door for you, helping you inside with his hand that looked enormous as yours rested on it. He shivered at the tingles that shot up his spine and flooded his palm from your touch. Once you were situated in his passenger's seat you looked back at him, hand still in his.

"You okay?" You watched as he lifted his mask just to the bridge of his nose before leaning his head down and pressing a gentle kiss on the back of your knuckles. The action left you breathless, your heart beating out of your chest as he shut the door and went to the driver's seat with a cheeky smirk on his face, pulling his mask down.

You glanced over to him, and fuck did he look hot driving. The glimpse of his lips left your mind running to the things you wanted him to do to you, and Simon could tell. He watched your thighs press together as you shifted in your seat, trying to move your mind away with the music playing quietly in the background.

"What's going through that pretty little head of yours lovie?" He asked, his voice sending waves of arousal down to your heated core. You chuckled, clearing your throat.

"If I told you that I don't think we'd make it to wherever you're taking me. Which is where by the way?" He felt his cock twitch in his pants, exhaling deeply as he kept his eyes trained on the road to try and avoid looking at your thighs or at the deep V of your dress.

"You'll see sweetheart." Simon knew you had a thing for his voice. He could tell by the shivers you'd get when he called you a pet name, how you'd mentally stutter for a moment and have to recuperate before responding. He'd use that all night, and you knew it. You arrived at a restaurant, a very nice one at that. He got out quickly, rushing to your side to help you out before walking inside.

The hostess hesitated at first due to the skull mask, but she recovered and directed you to a booth in the back, you sitting across from him as menus were placed in front you. You ordered your drinks, and you looked at him mildly surprised.

"No alcohol tonight Mr. Riley?" He chuckled, eyes creasing and glimmering at you making your heart skip a beat.

"Not tonight love. I need to be present for what I'm going to do to you." You smirked, pointing your tongue to the side of your cheek and chuckling.

"I think it'll be the other way around Simon." You raised a daring eyebrow at him, watching as his eyes bored into yours analytically. He found something that made him chuckle and you falter.

"We'll see pretty girl. we'll see."

"What don't believe me?"

"I never said that."

"That look you just gave me implied it."

"I've given you quite a few looks tonight, I can't seem to recall the one you're referring to." You rolled your eyes playfully, grinning down at your menu. Dinner went smoothly, throwing teasing remarks at each other that were contradicted with the sultry glances as you ate. The tension forming between the you two left you hot and heavy in your chair with anticipation, almost sighing in relief when the check came. He offered a hand to you, and you exited the restaurant hand in hand.

Before he could go to the driver's seat you tugged him back, his hand on the roof of the car as he looked down at you curiously. Your mouth went dry, eyeing his frame that was beautifully complimented by his outfit.

"Y/N. Y/N L/N." His eyes widened for a moment, smiling happily under his mask knowing that he'd successfully earned your name and met your standards. You watched his hand come up, fingers brushing over your cheek, then your other cheek, and finally wrapping around your neck gently. You were enamored by him, the roughness of his skin against your soft neck, the amusement and want dancing in his eyes like a candle flame at the feeling of your pulse against his fingers.

"Hello, Y/N." He loved the way your name rolled off his tongue, how fluid and easy it sounded to him. He returned to the driver's seat and looked over to you with a question.

"Your place." You answered quickly making him chuckle. The throbbing of your pussy and his dick was only made worse by his hand massaging your thigh, your head leaning back against the seat with a quiet curse. You two practically jumped out of your seats when he pulled into the driveway, laughing together as he ran to his front door, key already out and ready to unlock. Once the door shut he yanked off his mask and you yanked his tie, bringing him in to a deep kiss that made you both moan in satisfaction. His lips were soft and plump against your own, kissing you with a passion you'd never felt before.

"Such a good girl for me tonight." He mumbled as his hands settled on your waist, lifted you up and against him. Your legs wrapped around his waist and he pressed you against the wall, his erection grinding over your clothed center with need. You pulled away, finally getting a chance to look at his face. His eyes were blown with desire and lust, his jaw strong with a few scars that decorated his skin. You could see him falter for a moment.

Did you like him? Was he-

"You're beautiful Si." Your words silenced every insecurity he had in the moment as his hands squeezed your thighs. He thanked you with another kiss to your lips before he walked you two over to his bedroom. Your back hit his bed, his shoes being flicked off to the side as he hovered over you, your lips never disconnecting. His hand moved down from the side of your head to your neck, and contrary to the gentle grip he had before, you gasped for air as he squeezed and pressed down on your trachea.

"To answer your question from earlier.." He started, pressing a sweet kiss on your cheek.

"I don't believe you. At first I thought you were just trying to challenge me." He chuckled to himself at the thought of your small frame trying to overpower him.

"But now I see you're just a fucking brat that needs to be put in her place." You whined, squirming underneath him for friction.

"You want that love? You want me to fuck the brat out of you? Looks like I already did with those eyes." You stared up at him with big, watery doe eyes that made him curse.

"Such a good little slut for me lovie." His other free hand traveled down your body, cupping your clothed pussy, feeling it throb against him hand.

"So wet already." He moaned. With a final kiss to your lips he got on his knees, pulling your body to him. He hiked up your dress to your waist, groaning at the sight of your black lace panties in front of him.

"Do you like these?" snapping the waistband against your skin. Before you could answer he ripped them off, disregarding the now ruined material to the side. You didn't care.

"Hope you're ready to buy me another pair." You teased, lifting yourself up with your elbows to grin down at him. He chuckled, licking a slow strip up your wet cunt, watching your head fall back in relief.

"Oh fuck lovie, you're fucking delicious."

It was then you knew that he had to have some major experience to eat you out the way he was. You could feel everything he was doing, the slow circles around your swollen clit as he licked his name on your pussy.

"Could eat this perfect cunt for hours." He moaned, feeling his throbbing, painful erection begging to be touched under his pants. He didn't let up though, he kept his arms locked down on your hips to pin you to the bed and take whatever he gave you. His tongue moved to press into your wet clenching hole, tongue fucking you with skilled finesse. "Simon! Oh fuck yes, fuck don't stop, fuck make me cum." You begged, your hands tightly gripping his hair as he focused on making you see stars. He chuckled, his fingers replacing his tongue, moaning at the feeling of you clenching around his digits. He pressed a sweet kiss on your lips, letting you taste yourself as his fingers moved slowly in and out of your dripping sex.

"Fuck you're tight. You wanna cum lovie? Let me feel your cunt cum on my fingers?" His lips grazed against your ear, whispering dirty, obscene things to you as he didn't change the grueling pace of his fingers.

"Simon" You whined, bucking your hips into his hand. He 'tched', leaning his head back and slapping your cheek just hard enough for it to sting a bit. He chuckled at your soft moan and clench around his fingers.

"Needy thing aren't you. I'm taking my time with you sweetheart, so be a good little girl and take what I give you. That's an order."

"Oh fuck Simon."

"It's lieutenant to you slut."

His fingers left your pussy, listening to you whimper at the loss of contact as he slipped the straps of your dress off your shoulders.

"Lift f'me pretty." You lifted your hips and he tossed your dress off to the side, resuming the assault on your aching cunt. The edging went on for what felt like forever as you watched him use his tongue and fingers to bring you to the edge of ecstasy, only to be left empty and disappointed as he pulled himself away completely.

"Lieutenant please." You cried, tears rushing down your temples in frustration.

"Shhhhh, let me do this right. Just a little more." He cooed, his tongue returning to your clit with his two fingers stretching you out. It wouldn't be enough for his size, but it was better than nothing. He loved the sweet sounds coming from you, how you moaned his rank and cried his name just before you came. He hummed, satisfied by how wet and on edge you wore, pulling away and listening to your heavy breathing as you caught your breath.

You listened to him fumble with his belt, your lids opening just enough to see him take off his pants and boxers.

"Holy shit. Simon... that's not gonna fucking fit, you know that right?" You were never the type to inflate a man's ego with such a cliche statement, but he was far bigger than any man you'd ever been with before. You took it in fully, the red tip that was desperate for attention, the girth and length that intimidated you as the vein coming up the side gave it some definition.

"All that prep wasn't for nothing lovie." He tore off the rest of his clothes and pulled out a condom from the pocket of his once disregarded jacket.

"I'm on the pill." He smirked, tossing it off to the side and settling in between your legs that were arched on either side of his thick waist. He lubed himself with your wet arousal, rubbing his length against your puffy cunt that ached for him.

"It'll fit Y/N, and if it doesn't.." He trailed off, pressing the tip into your tight hole and moaning at the feeling of you clenching around him. You moaned as his hand wrapped around your throat again, squeezing and leaving you gasping for air as he inched into you, inch by inch.

"I'll make it fit." With a quick thrust of his hips, his cock hit your cervix as you cried out at the stretch. He was massive, and he watched as you pussy clamped and sucked him in.

"Oh fuck this pussy was made for me. You were just meant to take my cock sweetheart. Oh yeah." You thought he was going to start slow, give you some time to adjust, but he meant what he said when he told you he'd fuck the brat out of you. His pace was brutal, the sound of his heavy balls slapping against you resonating in the room as he fucked you.

"Fuck s-so big Simon."

"I'm in your fucking stomach love. Fuck would you look at that." He chuckled, taking your hand and pressing it on your lower stomach, letting you feel him fuck you.

"Your cunt's got a vice grip on me. You're so good to me love, letting me fuck you like this. You like being my little slut don't you." You cried your answer, his moans filling your ears as a string of curses followed them. The wet sounds were so lewd, it only turned you both on more. You felt yourself there, that familiar clench he loved so much signaling to him that you were going to cum.

"You can cum now pretty girl, come for your lieutenant." He began rubbing your clit and you felt your abdomen tighten as you screamed his name, squirting your juices all over his waist and cock.

"Oh fuck yeah. You're a squirter love? Should've told me that earlier." It was too much, you couldn't handle it, pushing at his chest as you shrieked at his pace speeding up with the thumb on your clit.

"Take it Y/N. Wet my cock again, fuck you're so hot. So beautiful." He leaned down to your ear, nibbling at the top as tears rushed down your cheeks, legs shaking as he fucked you.

"That's why you're mine. All fucking mine." He grabbed your jaw gently when you didn't respond, your brain having gone numb as you wildly buckled your hips into his and clenched around his dick.

"Oh, I've fucked you dumb have I?" He leaned back, lifting your legs so your ankles rested on his shoulders, moaning at how much tighter you got.

"That's alright. Just keep making a mess for me." He hit your sweet spot over and over, his thumb on your clit never slowing down as you wet him, the bed, and even the floor with your cum. You couldn't think, the only things coming out of you being screams, cries, moans, and slurred mumbles of his name as your squirted and came for him over and over. It began to hurt, but it felt so delicious that you couldn't bring yourself to tell him to stop. You wanted him to ruin you, to fuck you into the next reality where he'd do it all over again until you were satisfied.

Even with how rough he was being, you could feel him worshipping you, pressing kisses on your skin and relishing the feeling of your tight cunt gripping his cock. His hand connected with your cheek, snapping you back into the moment. You noticed how erratic his thrusts were now, how they were losing rhythm as he approached his own climax.

"Want you to be here for this lovie. You're taking me so well, you're such a good girl f'me. You gonna let me breed your cunt?"

"Fuck, cum for me lieutenant, fuck your cum into me. Please. Please breed your pussy." Your. Your pussy, you said.

"Oh fuck. You're a minx you know that. I'm gonna cum in you, fill you with my seed and put a baby in you. And you're gonna do it with me." He fucked you hard and fast, just the way you liked it, both of your cursing and moaning each other's names as you came for each other. His body shivered and jolted as he filled you up with his cum, sending thick long ropes of his seed into you while he whimpered your name. You two stayed there for a moment, catching your breaths.

"You did amazing Y/N. You did so well for me." He pulled his head back, suddenly filled with worry at being too rough with you as his fingers gently ran down your cheeks, feeling your legs shake.

"I'm alright. Best fuck of my life." You muttered, wrapping your arms around him and pressing kisses on his shoulder. He chuckled, hands running through your sweaty hair lovingly as you soaked up each other's presence.

"Hopefully not the last."

"Definitely not the last. You're mine Simon." You felt his chest rumble against yours as he laughed, shaking lightly in your arms as he looked at you.

"All yours Y/N. Now lets get you cleaned up." He slowly pulled out of you, shushing your whimpers with a sweet kiss before helping you up. He anticipated your inability to stand, his arm swiftly hooking underneath your knees and holding your bridal style.

"Hope you called out from work tomorrow. Can't exactly make drinks like this can you." He teased, his cheek pressed against the top of your head as your cheek pressed against his chest.

"Shut up Simon."

"Not what you were saying earlier-"

Smack

"Alright alright! Bloody Americans."

And that concludes this oneshot! I hope you enjoyed and feel free to leave requests or message me!! I'll do my best to get to them when I can. Thank you for reading and i'll see you next time. Ciao!

@namelessghoulette626 @ghostlythots @brallieforever1 @daryldixonh0e @discofern @fandomsinthegalaxies @simonsslvt @meandjoemama @lundenloves @starstruckmiraclekitty @dont-mind-me-just-existing-sadly @havoc973

[its-all-or-nothing94]

One Night // Tom Glynn-Carney x f!Reader

Summary: Where reader goes out with her friends and meets this charming, sweet (and so fucking) hot guy in a club.

A/N: This is the first fic I have published based on a real person. I don't know Tom, this is just puuuure fiction, thank you very much! It's actually just a short little One-Shot :)

Ship: Tom Glynn-Carney x Reader

Warnings: Language (is it tho?), mentions of having sex, use of alcohol, One Night Stand

You have always thought of yourself as a pretty ordinary person. You had a decent job, a decent apartment, and a group of friends that you could count on for a good time. So when your best friend, Emily, suggested you go out to a trendy new club in London, you thought, why not?

The club was packed, the music loud enough to make you feel it in your chest. You weren't usually one for these kinds of places, preferring a quiet pub or a cozy night in with a book. But tonight, something felt different. You wanted to let loose, to forget about the mundane for just one night.

After a few drinks and a lot of dancing, you found yourself at the bar, slightly tipsy and in need of a break. That’s when you noticed him. A man standing beside you, ordering a drink with an easy confidence. He had a rugged charm about him, with tousled blonde hair and an intense gaze that seemed to see right through you.

“Having a good time?” he asked, his voice smooth and inviting.

“Yeah, better than I expected,” you replied with a smile. “I’m Y/N, by the way.”

“Tom,” he said, extending a hand. You shook it, feeling a strange spark at the touch.

You chatted for a while and you found yourself genuinely enjoying his company. He was funny, down-to-earth, and didn’t seem to have any of the pretentiousness you often encountered in these places. He didn’t mention his job, and you didn’t ask. You talked about music, movies, and travel – all the things that made life interesting.

Your laughter mingled with the thumping bass of the music, your body moving freely to the rhythm. Tom's eyes, a striking shade of blue, sparkled under the dim club lights as he leaned in closer. Your conversation flowed effortlessly, a seamless exchange of stories and laughter that felt strangely intimate for two people who had just met.

Before you knew it, the night had flown by, and the club was starting to thin out. Tom glanced around, then leaned in, his breath warm against your ear. "Do you want to go somewhere quieter? Maybe talk without shouting over the music?"

You hesitated for a brief moment, then nodded. There was something about Tom that made you want to throw caution to the wind, to embrace this rare sense of spontaneity. "Sure, why not?"

You walked through the bustling streets of London, the cool night air a refreshing contrast to the heat of the club. Tom hailed a cab, and you slid into the back seat, a comfortable silence settling between you. The ride was short, and soon, you stood in front of a sleek, modern apartment building. Tom unlocked the door and gestured for you to enter.

You stepped inside, taking in the stylish decor. The apartment was a perfect blend of modern chic and cozy comfort, with clean lines, soft lighting, and personal touches that hinted at Tom’s personality. He led you to the living room, where a leather sofa dominated the space, flanked by bookshelves filled with an eclectic mix of literature and knick-knacks.

"Make yourself comfortable," Tom said, heading to the open-plan kitchen. "What can I get you to drink?"

"Surprise me," you replied, sinking into the plush cushions of the sofa. You watched as Tom expertly mixed two drinks, his movements confident and precise. He handed you a glass, your fingers brushing briefly, sending a jolt of electricity through you.

"To unexpected nights," Tom toasted, raising his glass.

"To unexpected nights," you echoed, clinking her glass against his while you were blushing slightly.

You sipped your drinks, the alcohol warming you from the inside out. The conversation picked up where it had left off, but now there was an added layer of intimacy. You sat close, your knees touching, voices low and hushed. Tom's gaze never left your face, his eyes tracing your features as if trying to memorize them.

The air between you grew charged, the unspoken tension crackling like static. You felt your pulse quicken, your breath coming in shallow bursts. Tom set his glass down and leaned in, his hand gently cupping your cheek. He paused for a heartbeat, searching your eyes for any sign of hesitation. When he found none, he closed the distance, his lips capturing yours in a kiss that was both tender and passionate, making your heartbeat quicken.

You melted into the kiss, your arms wrapping around his neck as you pulled him closer. The world outside faded away, leaving only the two of you lost in the moment. The kiss deepened, your bodies pressed together, a hunger igniting between you.

Tom's hands roamed over your back, tracing the curve of your spine while your fingers tangled in his hair. You broke apart briefly, gasping for air, your foreheads resting together. "Are you sure about this?" Tom whispered, his voice husky with desire.

"More than sure," you replied breathlessly, your heart pounding in her chest.

What followed was a whirlwind of passion and desire. Clothes were shed hastily, discarded in a trail leading to the bedroom. You moved together with an urgency that bordered on desperation, your bodies finding a rhythm that felt both new and familiar. Tom's touch was gentle yet firm, his kisses searing a path across your skin. You felt more alive than you had in a long time, every nerve ending alight with pleasure.

You finally fell asleep in each other’s arms, your bodies entwined, the city outside just a distant hum. The night had been a blur, but one thing was clear: it was a night neither of you would soon forget.

You woke up to the soft light of dawn filtering through the curtains. You carefully slipped out of bed, not wanting to wake Tom. You dressed quietly, glancing back at him, a sense of something deeper stirring within you. You shook it off, knowing this was a one-night stand, nothing more.

You scribbled a quick note thanking him for a wonderful night and left it next to Tom before slipping out the door. The cool morning air hit your face as you stepped outside, swirling within you a mix of exhilaration, confusion, and a hint of sadness.

Back in the apartment, Tom woke up to find the note. He cursed softly under his breath, realizing he had forgotten to ask for your number. He sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the note in his hand, feeling a strange emptiness. For once, he had met someone who treated him like a normal person who didn’t care about his fame or his job. And now you were gone.

You walked through the quiet streets of London, replaying the events of the night in your mind. You knew it was just a fleeting moment, a brief escape from reality, but it was a night you would never forget, a night that made you feel truly alive.

As you reached your apartment, you couldn’t help but wonder what might have been. But you pushed the thought away, determined to hold onto the memory of a perfect night with no regrets. Life would go on, but you would always have that one night in London, with a man named Tom.

Later that morning, Tom found himself at their usual rehearsal spot, a grungy but cozy studio tucked away in East London. The rest of the Sleep Walking Animals were already there, casually tuning their instruments and chatting amongst themselves.

“Morning, mate,” Joe greeted Tom, plucking at his guitar strings.

“Morning,” Tom replied, his voice absent-minded.

Alex, noticing Tom’s distraction, smirked. “Someone’s got their head in the clouds. Or should I say, still in bed with that hot Y/H/C from last night?”

Tom shot him a look. “Shut it, Alex.”

“Oh, come on, Tommy boy,” Bill chimed in, drumming a rhythm on the edge of a table. “You looked proper smitten when you left the club. She must’ve been something special.”

“She was,” Tom admitted, slumping down onto a battered old couch. “But she buggered off before I could even ask for her number.”

“Savage,” Jack said, shaking his head. “Didn’t even leave a name or nothing?”

“She did,” Tom replied, running a hand through his hair. “Y/N. That’s all I got.”

“Y/N,” Nuwan mused, his fingers dancing over the keys absentmindedly. “Could be anyone, mate.”

“Thanks, Captain Obvious,” Tom muttered, frustration evident in his tone. “It’s just... I dunno, she was different. Didn’t give a fuck about who I am or what I do. Just treated me like a normal person.”

“Well, you are a normal person, mostly,” Joe teased. “Except when you’re whining about a girl like a lovesick puppy.”

“Oh, fuck off,” Tom said, but there was a hint of a smile.

“Can’t believe she just legged it,” Bill said, shaking his head in mock disapproval. “What, were you that bad in bed?”

The room erupted in laughter, and Tom threw a cushion at Bill. “Piss off, Caple. It was great, thank you very much.”

Alex leaned over, grinning. “So, did you shag or not?”

Tom rolled his eyes but couldn’t help the grin spreading across his face. “Yeah, we did. And it was... it was amazing.”

“Sounds like you’ve got it bad, mate,” Jack said, strumming a chord on his bass. “Bet you wish you could find her again.”

“Yeah,” Tom admitted, his voice softer now. “I really do.”

The guys exchanged looks, the teasing dropping away for a moment.

“Look, mate,” Joe said, more seriously. “We’ve got a gig tonight. Maybe you’ll meet someone else who’s just as cool. Don’t get too hung up on one girl.”

Tom nodded, knowing Joe was right but still feeling the pang of regret. “Yeah, I suppose.”

Nuwan started playing a familiar tune on the keys, and the rest of the band gradually joined in. The music filled the room, and for a while, Tom let it carry him away, the notes and rhythms a welcome distraction from thoughts of you.

But even as they played, your face lingered in his mind, a reminder of a night that felt all too fleeting and a connection that was painfully out of reach.

You sat with your friends at your favorite coffee shop, a cozy little place with mismatched furniture and a laid-back vibe. Emily, Sarah, and Jess were all there, sipping on their drinks and catching up on the latest gossip. You knew it was only a matter of time before the conversation turned to you.

“So, Y/N,” Jess started with a sly grin, “anything interesting happen last night? You disappeared from the club pretty quick.”

You felt your cheeks flush. “Maybe.”

“Maybe?” Sarah echoed, her eyebrows raised. “Come on, spill it! Who was the guy?”

“His name’s Tom,” you said, trying to sound casual. “We met at the bar, hit it off, and... well, I went back to his place.”

“Oh my God, Y/N!” Emily exclaimed, nearly spilling her latte. “You had a one-night stand? With a guy you just met?”

“Yeah, I did,” you admitted, unable to hide your smile. “And it was amazing.”

“Details, please,” Jess demanded, leaning in. “How was he? What was his place like?”

“He was... incredible,” you said, feeling the warmth of the memory. “Funny, down-to-earth, and not full of himself. His place was pretty stylish too, very him.”

“Sounds like a dream,” Sarah sighed. “And you didn't get his number?”

You shrugged. “No, I left early, and he was still asleep. I didn’t want to wake him. Besides, it was just a one-night thing.”

“Still,” Emily said, shaking her head, “you should’ve left your number or something. What if he wants to see you again?”

“I doubt it,” you said, trying to sound nonchalant. “He probably doesn’t even remember my name.”

“You never know,” Jess said with a wink. “Maybe he’s thinking about you right now, regretting not getting your number.”

“Yeah, right,” you said, but a small part of you couldn’t help but hope Jess was right.

“Anyway,” Emily said, changing the subject, “my brother’s got tickets to this gig tonight. Some indie band. He asked me to come, and I thought it could be fun. You guys in?”

“Who’s the band?” Sarah asked, taking a sip of her coffee.

“Sleep Walking Animals,” Emily replied. “Ever heard of them?”

“Sounds vaguely familiar,” Jess said, shrugging. “Why not? I’ve got nothing better to do.”

“Same here,” Sarah agreed. “Could be fun.”

“What about you, Y/N?” Emily asked. “Got any plans tonight?”

You shook her head. “Nope, nothing. I’m in.”

“Great!” Emily said, clapping her hands. “It’s a plan then. We’ll meet up at my place and head over together.”

As you finished your coffees and chatted about other things, you felt a strange sense of anticipation building inside you. You weren't sure why, but the thought of going to this gig excited you. Maybe it was just the idea of a night out with your friends, or maybe, somewhere deep down, you hoped for something more.

[authortelevision]

“can you stay with me”₊˚⊹♡

words: 3,869 ✦ .ᐟ

♯┆ drunk arthur hill, looking after arthur, fluff

you go out with arthur but when leaving to go home you try to get off the train and can’t help but stay when arthur looks at you like you’re his entire world

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inspired by this clip

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The night began as a blur of lights and a sticky floor. The club was alive with the sound of thumping bass, smell of sweat, and voices rising over the music. You were there with Arthur Hill and your closest friends, a rare night where everyone managed to be free and in the mood for a good time. Arthur, as always, was magnetic, his easy smile and loud laugh reminding you of his presence throughout the night.

You found yourself dancing with Arthur at one point, your hands crossed over themselves behind his neck, his voice close to your ear as he joked about your questionable dance moves. The way he looked at you tonight wasn’t the same as he had before. Or maybe it was just the alcohol clouding your perception.

By the time you all piled onto the last train home, the world had tilted on its axis. Your friends filled the carriage with their chatter and laughter, and you joined in, feeling invincible in the dark streets of London. Arthur sat across from you, leaning back, his head lolled to the side, staring absently at you.

The train pulled into your stop, and you and your friends gathered your things, ready to tumble out onto the platform. You stumbled slightly, still laughing, as the doors slid open. But just as you turned to leave, a warm hand caught yours.

“Can you stay with me?”

Arthur’s voice was slurring now, almost hesitate, his usual confidence slipping. His hand lingered, fingers brushing yours as if he wasn’t quite ready to let go. You froze, your friends’ voices fading into the background as they stepped onto the platform.

You glanced back at him, your heart racing for reasons that had nothing to do with the alcohol. He looked at you with a desperation you hadn’t seen before, his eyes searching yours for an answer.

The train doors began to close.

You stopped for a heartbeat, the train doors sliding shut as your friends call out in confusion from the platform. But you don’t move. Arthur’s hand is still holding yours.

Without saying a word, he guides you back to your seat. His grip doesn’t slip, instead, he intertwines his fingers with yours, as if afraid you’ll change your mind and leave. It’s not like him to be quiet, Arthur’s the life of the party, the one cracking jokes and unaffectionally kissing random guys. But now, he’s uncharacteristically still.

As you sit down, the train lurches forward, the train station lights casting soft shadows on his face. Slowly, Arthur leans into you, resting his head on your shoulder. Your heart is pounding, the adrenaline of the night replaced with something more intimate.

“Thanks for staying,” he murmurs, so softly you almost didn’t hear him.

You don’t know what to say. Instead, you squeeze his hand gently, hoping it says enough. He sighs, a long exhale that feels like he’s been holding it in for ages. The train rocks gently, the world outside a blur, and for once, neither of you seems to care about getting off at the right stop.

“Arthur,” you start, your voice barely above a whisper, but he shifts slightly, his face turning into your shoulder.

“Shh,” he says, his lips quirking into the faintest smile. “Just… stay like this. Please.”

So you do. You sit there, his hand clasped tightly in yours, his head heavy against your shoulder. The loud rattling of the train fades into the background, the neon remnants of the night melting away. It’s just you and him, in this quiet moment that feels like the start of something you hadn’t dared to hope for.

And as the train barrels onward into the night, you can’t help but think that maybe, just maybe, this is where you were meant to be all along.

The train finally pulls into the stop closest to Arthur’s flat. He’s still leaning on you as you walk off the platform together, his grip on your hand still tight. His steps are a little uneven, his head drooping slightly, but he’s still Arthur, softly murmuring jokes and light apologies under his breath.

“I’m fine,” he insists when you adjust his arm over your shoulder for balance. “Totally fine. Just…maybe a little sleepy.”

You roll your eyes, a fond smile tugging at your lips. “Yeah, I can see that.”

By the time you reach his building, you’re practically holding him up, the exertion making your breath come a little faster. You fumble with the doorbell, and a moment later, George and Chris, Arthur’s flatmates, swing the door open.

“Arthur!” George says, his voice laced with amusement. “What state has he gotten himself into this time?”

Chris steps forward, taking Arthur from your side. “God, mate, how much did you drink?”

You shrug helplessly, wiping your forehead. “Honestly, not that much. He’s just.. well, I think he’s had enough for one night.”

Chris chuckles as he steadies Arthur, who clings to him like an overgrown vine. George, meanwhile, gives you a curious look. “You stayed with him this whole time? Thanks for looking after him. Are you sure he didn’t drag you into any trouble?”

“Not this time,” you reply, grinning. “Anyway, I should head out. He’s your problem now.”

You turn to leave, but Arthur’s voice stops you in your tracks.

“No, no, please,” he says, his words slurring slightly. He pushes off Chris with surprising determination, reaching toward you. “Don’t go. George, tell her to stay. Please, can you stay?”

George raises an eyebrow, looking between the two of you. “Stay? For what, exactly?”

Arthur’s head lolls toward George, his expression earnest despite the alcohol fogging his eyes. “Because she’s…she’s great, okay? And she makes everything better, and—” He pauses, his voice softening, almost pleading. “I don’t want her to leave yet.”

Chris snorts, muttering something about Arthur being dramatic, but George nudges you gently. “Your call,” he says with a half-smile.

Arthur’s gaze meets yours again, his hand still outstretched. “Please,” he says, quieter now, but just as desperate.

And before you can stop yourself, you’re stepping back inside, letting the door close softly behind you.

You sit down on the worn but comfortable sofa in Arthur’s living room, your body sinking into the cushions as the adrenaline of the night begins to wear off. Chris plops down next to you, sprawling out like he owns the place, a faint smirk tugging at his lips.

“So,” he says, turning toward you, “Arthur’s roped you into staying the night, huh?”

You shrug, trying to play it off as casual. “He asked, and I didn’t really have the heart to say no. Plus, I didn’t want him to throw himself down a staircase or something.”

Chris snickers. “Yeah, that tracks.” He nudges your shoulder lightly. “But you’re the first person I’ve seen who actually manages to keep him in check. It’s impressive.”

Before you can respond, George shouts from somewhere down the hall. “Hold on, I’m looking! I know I’ve got a hoodie or something you can borrow.”

Chris leans back, folding his arms behind his head. “You’re lucky it’s George and not Arthur picking clothes for you. Arthur would hand you some ridiculously long jeans and hope you don’t heave on them.”

You laugh at that, the tension in your shoulders easing. “Thanks for the warning. I’ll make sure to avoid his wardrobe in the future.”

“So,” Chris says, his tone shifting to something lighter, “what’s the plan for the rest of the night? You want to just crash here, or should we put on a movie or something? George and I usually end up binge-watching terrible TV and ordering pizza after a night out. It’s kind of a tradition.”

“Terrible TV, huh?” you ask, raising an eyebrow. “Like what?”

“Oh, you know,” Chris replies with a grin, “stuff that’s so bad, it’s good. Horror films, weird reality shows, that kind of thing. Honestly, it’s the best way to end a night.”

Before you can answer, George reappears, a bundle of clothes in his hands. “Found something!” he announces, tossing them onto the arm of the sofa. “There’s a hoodie, some joggers, and socks. Should fit well enough for tonight.”

“Thanks, George,” you say, smiling as you pick up the hoodie.

“No problem,” he replies, dropping into the armchair across from you. “So, what’s the verdict? What are we doing while Arthur sleeps off his dramatics?”

You stand up getting ready to go get changed. Chris raises an eyebrow at you, clearly waiting for your answer. The warm energy of the room feels easy, unhurried, like you’ve all done this a hundred times before. You glance between them, trying to decide if you’re ready to commit to a night of terrible TV—or maybe something else entirely.

After changing into George’s clothes, Arthur stumbles into the room, his hoodie a tangled mess around his shoulders and head, you sigh and rise from the sofa. He looks completely defeated, one arm trapped in the sleeve, his hair sticking out in every direction. Chris and George are already chuckling at the sight, but you can’t help but feel a tug of sympathy for him amidst your amusement.

“Arthur,” you say, walking toward him, “just sit down for a second, would you?”

He hesitates, his head still half-covered by the hoodie, before nodding slightly. You guide him back to his room, and he drops down onto the edge of his bed, his legs sprawled out as he tries to free himself with one last, futile tug.

“Stay still,” you say, stepping closer. “You’re going to dislocate your arm if you keep flailing like that.”

Arthur huffs, clearly frustrated, but he obeys, his head tilted slightly forward to give you better access. Standing over him, you tug gently at the fabric, trying to maneuver it off without pulling too hard.

“This would be so much easier if you weren’t moving so much,” you mutter, half-joking as you work.

Arthur lets out a soft laugh. “Sorry for the inconvenience. I’m not usually this much of a mess.”

“Uh-huh,” you reply, finally freeing his head and tossing the offending hoodie onto the bed beside him.

When you look down at him, about to make some sarcastic remark, the words catch in your throat. Arthur’s looking up at you now, his face still slightly flushed, his hair a rumpled disaster. But it’s his eyes that hold you still, half-lidded, almost desperate for something.

Your breath quickens as the room suddenly feels smaller, quieter, the sounds of Chris and George’s laughter from the other room fading into the background. Arthur’s gaze doesn’t waver, his eyes darting briefly to your lips before flicking back up to meet yours.

“Thanks,” he says softly, his voice rougher now, like the tension between you has stolen some of his usual ease.

You nod, your throat tight, your pulse thrumming in your ears. “It’s…no problem.”

For a moment, neither of you moves. The air feels intensely thick, the distance between you both almost nonexistent. You can feel the warmth radiating from him, and you can’t help but wonder if he’s feeling the same pull that you are.

The sound of George calling from the living room breaks the moment, shattering the spell. “Oi, is Arthur decent now, or is he still stuck in his wardrobe malfunction?”

Arthur blinks, the intensity in his gaze faltering as he gives you a sheepish smile. “Guess I owe you one,” he murmurs.

You manage a small smile in return, stepping back to give yourself room to breathe. “You can start by not getting stuck in your clothes again.”

Arthur laughs quietly, the moment slipping into something lighter, but the feeling lingers, hanging in the air between you like an unfinished sentence.

As you step back from Arthur, tossing his hoodie onto the bed, his gaze lingers on you a little too long. You’re about to say something to break the awkward silence when his eyes narrow slightly, trailing down to what you’re wearing.

“Wait a second,” he says, his voice low and almost accusing. “Is that…George’s hoodie?”

You glance down, tugging self-consciously at the oversized hoodie George had lent you earlier. “Uh, yeah. He grabbed it for me so I’d have something to wear for the night.”

Arthur’s expression darkens, his lips pressing into a thin line as a faint flush creeps up his neck. “George gave you his clothes?”

“Yeah?” you reply, a little confused by his sudden change in tone. “I mean, it’s not a big deal. I didn’t exactly bring a change of clothes, did I?”

Arthur stares at you for a moment longer, then suddenly turns toward the door, yelling out, “George!”

From the other room, George’s voice floats back, casual and distracted. “What?”

“You should’ve put her in my clothes!” Arthur shouts, his voice loud and indignant.

There’s a moment of silence, followed by Chris bursting into laughter. “Oh, this is rich,” he calls. “Arthur, you’re literally wearing your own clothes. What were you gonna do, lend her your socks?”

“Shut up, Chris!” Arthur fires back, his face growing redder by the second.

George reappears in the doorway, a bemused look on his face. “What are you shouting about now?” he asks, crossing his arms.

Arthur gestures toward you, his frustration clear. “You gave her your hoodie. Why didn’t you grab one of mine?”

George blinks, then raises an eyebrow. “I don’t know, mate. Maybe because I was trying to help, and you were too busy getting stuck in your own clothes to be useful?”

Arthur groans, rubbing the back of his neck, and mutters something under his breath. His eyes flick back to you, still in George’s hoodie, and he looks almost sulky.

You can’t help but laugh softly, shaking your head. “Arthur, it’s just a hoodie. You’re being ridiculous.”

“Am I?” he grumbles, his gaze dropping to the floor. Then, quieter, he adds, “It just…would’ve made more sense for you to wear mine.”

The vulnerability in his voice catches you off guard, and you don’t quite know what to say. Before you can respond, George claps Arthur on the shoulder, a teasing grin on his face, before leaving. “Well, next time, mate, maybe try not to get stuck in your clothes first. Then you can play hero.”

Arthur glares at him, but there’s no real bite behind it. Instead, he looks back at you, his expression softening just slightly. “Next time,” he murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper, like he’s already planning how to make up for it.

You had barely taken two steps away from Arthur's room when you heard his voice call out, soft and desperate, as if he'd been holding it in until now.

"Hey.." His voice croaked, softly whispering to you, penetrating through the silence, pulling you to a halt. You turned back toward the doorway, your heart beating faster as you saw Arthur propped up on his elbow in bed, his face flushed and eyes wide-vulnerable making something in your chest tighten.

"Arthur?" you asked quietly, stepping back toward him. You could see the conflict in his eyes, the alcohol still clouding his judgment.

"What's wrong?"

He hesitated for a moment, struggling with his words. Finally, he swallowed hard, his voice forcing its way out his throat.

"Can you stay here tonight?" he asked, his words slurring slightly. "I need you... Please."

For a moment, you stood there, the world narrowing to just the two of you. It was hard to ignore the way his gaze held yours, the sincerity in his request, even if it was a little muddled by the alcohol. He was asking for something more than just company—he was asking for your presence in the most vulnerable way.

You took a deep breath, trying to keep your own emotions in check. “I already am, Arthur,” you said gently, your voice quiet but steady. You took a step closer to the bed, your hand instinctively reaching out to touch his arm, your fingers brushing his skin softly. “I’m not going anywhere.”

But Arthur’s gaze didn’t soften. His face, though still clouded by drink, seemed to express something else now, a deeper need. “No… I mean here,” he clarified, his voice shaking slightly. “In my bed… please.”

His words hit you like a jolt, sharp and honest, and the air between you two thickened with the intensity of what he was asking. He was no longer speaking in the detached, carefree way he usually did when he was drunk. This was real. This was him, raw and unguarded, reaching for something, someone, he needed in this moment.

The tension in your chest grew, your mind racing with the implications of his request. You hesitated for a second. You’d always been there for him, but this… this was something different.

You met his gaze again, and the weight of the moment was undeniable. “Arthur,” you said softly, trying to keep your voice calm, “you’re drunk right now. You don’t really mean this. You need to rest.”

But he shook his head slowly, his expression pleading, his hand reaching out for yours. “No, I do mean it. I need you here. I don’t want to be alone.” His voice cracked slightly, and the vulnerability in it made your heart ache.

Everything inside you told you to stay, to help him through this, even if it was a blurry line you weren’t sure you should cross. You could see the fear in his eyes now—not just the intoxication, but a deeper fear of being alone in this moment. And you knew that no matter what happened next, the night had already taken a turn that would change everything between you.

Sighing quietly, you finally nodded. “Alright, Arthur,” you said softly, your hand finding his again, gently intertwining your fingers. “I’ll stay.”

You watched as his shoulders relaxed, as though your acceptance was exactly what he needed to hear. Slowly, he lowered himself back onto the bed, his body sinking into the sheets, still reaching for you with his eyes. You sat down on the edge of the bed, unsure of how far you should let this go, but in that moment, all you knew was that he needed you, and for whatever reason, you couldn’t turn your back on him.

Arthur didn’t say anything more, his eyelids fluttering closed as if he were finally allowing himself to let go of everything. You stayed, your hand still resting on his, feeling his warmth and the quiet rhythm of his breathing as he drifted back into a fitful sleep.

The night stretched on, and though your mind raced with thoughts and uncertainties, you remained by his side, holding onto the fleeting moments of quiet comfort, unsure of what tomorrow would bring but knowing that tonight, you weren’t going anywhere.

The bed creaked slightly as you carefully climbed in, your body still slightly buzzing from the intimacy of the moment, from the warmth of Arthur’s presence so close to you. You pulled the blanket up around you, your back facing him, trying to maintain some distance in the confusion of what was happening. The room was dark except for the soft glow from the streetlights outside, casting faint shadows across the walls.

You closed your eyes, your mind racing with the whirlwind of emotions, but still, the quiet lull of the night seemed to settle around you. Arthur was drifting into a deeper sleep, or so you thought. But then, you felt the bed shift. The air around you stirred as he moved closer, his body pressing gently against yours.

His arms slid around you, pulling you back toward him until your back was flush against his chest. You froze for a moment, unsure of how to react. Arthur’s body was warm and solid against yours, and his breath, warm and slow, fanned over the back of your neck. He nuzzled into your hair, the weight of his head heavy and comforting against your scalp.

“Arthur” you whispered, your voice betraying the mix of uncertainty and curiosity you were feeling.

But he didn’t respond with words—he only tightened his hold, as though there were no room for anything but the two of you, tangled together in the quiet dark. His lips brushed lightly against your hair, and you felt a shiver run down your spine, both from the unexpected closeness and the way his touch felt so natural.

“I wish you wore my clothes,” Arthur murmured softly. It wasn’t just the alcohol this time. There was something else, something deeper in the way he said it. “You’d look so good being mine.” His voice trailed off, almost as if he hadn’t meant to say it out loud, but the words hung in the air between you, heavy with unspoken meaning.

A flutter of heat spread through you, and you felt your heart race at his confession. You knew he was drunk, but that didn’t make it any less intense, any less real. The words settled in your chest, making everything inside you feel tight, your thoughts spiraling as you tried to process what he meant, what he was feeling.

You shifted slightly, not knowing exactly how to respond. His arms were still wrapped around you, his chest rising and falling with each breath as he settled deeper into the curve of your back. You could feel the weight of his body, the steady pulse of his presence against yours, and somehow, it made you feel both safe and vulnerable at once.

His hand slid lower, resting at your waist, his fingers splayed out across your side, as if marking his territory without words. You couldn’t deny the thrill that raced through you at the feel of his touch. His breath tickled your ear, and you could sense how deeply he was affected by the closeness, his body pressing closer as though he couldn’t bear the distance between you.

“You promise you’ll stay with me?” he whispered against your ear, his voice thick with something possessive. The question was gentle, but there was a sharpness to it, as though he was testing the waters, trying to gauge how far you were willing to let him go.

You swallowed, your throat tight. “I’m here, Arthur,” you said softly, the words barely more than a breath. You couldn’t say anything more—didn’t know what to say. His words had already crossed a line, and you didn’t know whether to pull back or let it unfold.

He nuzzled your neck, his lips pressing a soft kiss against the skin there, sending a wave of warmth through you. “Good,” he mumbled, his voice thick with satisfaction. “You’re mine tonight.”

The weight of his words hit you hard, but you didn’t pull away. Something in you was drawn to him, drawn to the need that radiated from him. And even if it was muddled by the alcohol, even if the timing was all wrong, you didn’t want to push him away.

You both lay there in the stillness of the room, his arms wrapped tightly around you, your heart hammering in your chest. Neither of you spoke again, but his body against yours said everything.

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a/n: love u arthur tehehe

[futfemfantasies]

The one \\ alanna kennedy x reader

Nothing but pure Alanna fluff with the mention of an injury (no details)

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Picking up an ankle injury in your last game was a blessing and a curse. A blessing as the physios, doctors and Jonas allowed you to stay in Manchester for your recovery period with the occasional drop in to the training facility. It also meant you get to spend 5 weeks with your fellow Australian teammate and love of your life, Alanna. As soon as you said the Arsenal team allowed you to stay in Manchester, the blonde was out the door and driving 3 hours to pick you up.

Hobbling around your room to put clothes in a duffle bag took longer than expected. You feel strong arms circle around your waist and soft kisses on peppering your neck. After recovering from you mini heart attack, you turn and hug Alanna tightly. 6 weeks apart is too long. You look up at Alanna's lips and waste no time smashing your lips on her as her hands grip your waist.

"As much as I love doing that my love, let's get you packed so we can go home"

Home.

With your contract is expiring at the end of the season, you've had several teams from various leagues reach out. One club stood out over all the Barcelona's and Gotham FC's. Manchester City. It's a no brainer and since mentioning it to Alanna, she;s been calling Manchester home and London a holiday. A decision has to be made by the end of the month and as you look into Alanna's eyes, you know your decision.

"Go sit your cute butt on the bed while I pack the rest of your bag"

You hobble over to the bed and rest against the headboard as Alanna put pillow under your moon boot. Seeing Alanna dance around your room sparks something in you.

"Lani?"

"Hmm?" Alanna turns to see you pat the small space on the bed next to you. She sits down and you hold her hands.

"I've made up my mind. I'm moving to Manchester baby"

"You're kidding? Baby that's amazing news" Alanna hugs you tightly and kisses all over your face, making you giggle with happiness.

"Let's get you packed so we can go to our home together"

After a few more outfits get packed, Alanna helps you down the stairs and into her car. Zooming down the street, Alanna's hand holds yours and you sigh in content of how perfect this is going to be. Alanna pulls up to the apartment complex carpark and she quickly gets your bags out, before helping you out of the car. She holds your hand through the short elevator ride and then you both arrive at the familiar apartment door.

"Home sweet home baby girl"

3 weeks in to your recovery and you have just finished your stretches and mobility exercises so you decide to watch a romance movie to pass the time until Alanna comes home. Halfway through, Alanna comes home and flops on top of you (mindful of the ankle). She leans up and pucks her lips, silently asking for a kiss. You bend slightly and give her multiple before Alanna cups your cheeks with her big hands and stares at you ever so softly and lovingly.

"You're the one. You're the one I want everything with, good, bad and everything in between"

Your eyes are brimming with tears as you take in what Alanna had just said.

"You're it for me Lani. You're stuck with me for good"

"There's no one else I'd rather be stuck with my girl"

[scrumptiouskoalahottub]

One of your girls| George Clarke smut

It's not a secret that George Clarke is the man every woman wants, just a look of approval from him would send anyone into paralysis. It's like he has a spell on all the women who approach him, you see him in the same club every weekend. you see him leave with multiple girls each time, what if you were one of them?

Once again Friday approaches, you're just finishing work, walking through the streets of London. It's a crisp but warm day the bustling streets surround you as you make your way to your flat. You tussle with the keys in your pocket and open your flat door, tossing your work bag into the door way as you slip your stilettos off. A slight sigh comes from your mouth, relieved your work day is over and you can focus on getting ready for your usual Friday antics.

You start the shower running as you collect your stuff for your "everything shower". Washing your hair, shaving and a deep cleanse. It's what you need after the day you've had. You finish in the shower, dry off and douse yourself in coconut lotion. A subtle but strong smell to anyone in an arms length, you tie your damp hair into a towel and wrap another round your body scuffling to your room. You set yourself down as you begin to blow dry your hair. Suddenly your phone rings

"Bestie 🫶🏻🪐" is calling "hey girl!" You answer whilst setting your hair dryer down "are you ready for tonight?" Your friend asks "of course, I would never miss the regular Friday club trip" you laugh as you continue to talk outfits and hair. "Meet at 8 yeah?" Your friend asks "ofc see you at the tube stop" you reassure her, the phone ends and you carry on getting ready.

6:30pm

You check your phone at the time just as you'd finished your makeup, you go full deep glam this time, dark Smokey eyes with a pop of glitter. Your hair styled exactly like Pamela Anderson's if she was a brunette, you wear a tight leather dress that accentuates your figure nicely outlining your top and bottom assets. You throw on your block heels and take a white denim jacket with you as you set off to the tube stop to meet your friend. Taking a small pre mixed can for the journey.

7:50pm and your friend finally meets you at the stop, you both hug and get sat in a seat preparing for the night ahead. "Do you think he'll be there?" Your friend asks, you knew she was talking about him. "Who?" You ask confused "you know, George" she ponders. "Maybe, he always seems to be there, why do you ask?" You ask you friend "oh..no reason" she bows her head. You hear your stop approaching and grab your things and make your way to your usual, a small club. As you pay your way in you head to the bar and order your usual vodka lemonade & lime. You get sat at your table as your friend goes up to the dj and asks for your usual dance song "sound of the underground" by girls aloud.

"CMON" your bestie shouts dragging you up, you both flick your hair and dance like nobody's watching, the tight leather moving with you as your friend pulls you in and twirls you round. Suddenly you feel a hand on your lower back, you turn around and you see a man you've never seen before "don't stop dancing on my accord darling" he muffles drunkly, you pull away and smack his hand "don't touch me you creep" you hiss "can't really help it when you're parading around like that" he scoffs "now come here" he lunges forward to grab your arm when all of a sudden you hear a loud "OI!" Bellow over the music

"She's moved away from you once, that means no you fucking imbecile" a deep voice spits, all of a sudden he emerges, it's George. "Now leave her the fuck alone" he retorts, the guy scoffs and walks away. "Thanks" you say to him "you didn't have to do that" you rub the back of your arm a little shaken. "Yes I did, nobody comes out to be treated like that by a man, no matter how good you look" he replies "I'm George" he holds out his hand, you shake it "I'm y/n" you smile "and I'm Izzy!" You friend chimes in. "Hi Izzy, hi y/n" George smiles "well I'll leave you two to it, let me know if anyone else bothers you y/n, I'm over near the bar with my friends" he points as he walks away.

"Omg!" Your friend squeals "he's deffo into you!" She says clapping. "No he's not Izzy, he was just being nice. Shots?" Izzy nods her head as you make your way to the bar to do your infamous tequila shots, you lick the palm of your hand as you add salt to it, grasping your shot as you place the lime on the edge of the plate to get it ready, you feel eyes burn into your back as you look to the side and see George eyeing you up, his gaze so powerful and protective. You chuckle as you lick the salt off your palm, knock back your shot and slip the lime into your mouth. You both shake your heads and giggle to eachother as you both head to the bathroom to top your lipstick up. Your friend gets a phone call in the bathroom "two secs y/n im just gonna head outside and take this call" she says as she scurries out the toilets through the crowd. You fix your dress as you make your way out the bathroom too.

You wait for 5 minutes at the bar, Izzy's not back yet, you check your phone "sorry! Had to go, emergency. Get home safe xox" a text from Izzy, you sigh and neck your drink you just got, it was 10pm and seemed like it was home time already. You throw your bag over you shoulder and make your way for the door "going so soon?" You hear a husky voice say, you turn round and see George looking at you with a devilish smile. "Yeah unfortunately, my friend left and I don't wanna be intoxicated on my own hahaha" you chuckle "stay with us?" George advises "oh no it's fine, I wouldn't wanna intrude, we don't really know eachother" you furrow your brows "well im sure a few drinks will sort that out, only if you want to though, princess" he smirks "okay fine, you've twisted my arm" you giggle you make your way over to George's table to be greeted by 2 of his friends, Chris and Arthur "guys this is y/n, she's gonna join us for a few drinks, so be nice" he says to them "hi guys" you say with a soft smile.

An hour goes past of just constant talking, getting to know them more, your jaw hurts from laughing. You get up to go to the bar " 4 tequila shots please" you ask the bartender, you carry them back over on a tray? The boys look at you defeated "more?! You're trying to kill us!" Arthur laughs "don't be a wimp" you shoot a wink at him as you pass him the shot. You all knock them back and shake your heads as you laugh. 12am draws in and you all decide to call it a night. You could barely walk as you got up to leave, you stumble as both George and Chris catch you "steady on you'll have us all on the floor at this rate" Chris laughs "sorry guys, I'll just get an Uber home don't worry about me" you slip from the grip and fall backwards into a bush. "Right I'm gonna go sleep guys thanks for a good night, I love you" you're now starfished in a bush in the middle of London

"Right lads, rescue mission, she's stopping at the flat there's no way she's staying alone in this state" George said, a slight inkling of concern in his voice as they pull you up, George helps you over his shoulder and carries you back to their flat. Your arms floppy over his shoulders, Arthur ties his jackets round your waist to stop you mooning the whole of London. You finally get back to the flat and your drunkness slowly slips from you "oh shit im so fucking sorry" you heart sinks as you've embarrassed yourself, George lowers you to the floor "I'm okay George I'll get an Uber home now I'm sorry" your eyebrows furrow "don't be daft, you were in no state to be left by yourself, even if you have sobered up after the nap on my shoulder, you're still dropping here, right boys?" They all nod "you can take my bed" George says handing you a cup of water "oh no it's fine I'll stay on the sofa I don't wanna kick you out of a bed" you insist "who says you are?" George laughs.

He holds his hand out as he walks you to his room, he pulls you out a t-shirt to wear, handing you some baby wipes for your makeup "do you need help taking your makeup off?" He asks "no I think I'll be okay, thanks George" you head off into his en suite and change into the t-shirt he gave you, you wipe your makeup off as you stand on your tiptoes the t-shirt lifts over your ass cheeks, George catches a glimpse and lets out a soft groan, you turn around and notice "like what you see?" You smirk as you look at George. "I can't deny that I do" he shoots a hot look at you. You deposit the makeup wipes on the bin as you stride over to him. "What are you going to do about it?" The alcohol in your system still lingering urging a boost of confidence in you, George hesitates "I don't wanna take advantage of you." He pauses "treat me like one of your girls George, no boundaries" you slip your hands around his neck, planting a small kiss on it. You feel George's hands wrap around your waist, ruffling the bottom of his shirt to the bottom of your back "jump" he says softly in your ear

You do as he says and jump into his hands, he cups your ass as he leads you to his desk, planting you on top of it, a shiver rolls down your spine as the cold wood sinks into your body, you wrap your legs around him as you slip your fingers into the lining of his boxers. "Tell me what you want baby" he asks "I want you to fuck me with no regrets" you hiss biting your lip, he smashes his lips into yours with no hesitation, some deeper than others, biting your lip as you let out small moans, he moves his way down to your neck with enough friction to leave marks making you whimper to his touch. You decide to tease him more as you cup your hand over his prominent hardness, slowly unbuttoning his jeans as he continues to leave marks on your neck

You push his head back with your hand has you look up at him with menace in your eyes "step back" you say as you lower yourself off the desk and kneel to the floor, pulling down his jeans with his boxers following, his cock pulsating through the material as it springs out and hits his lower belly, your eyes widen "fuck" you let out a small moan, George smirks as he hears this. You form a spit bubble in your mouth as you prepare to take George in your mouth "show me what you can do baby" he says pushing a piece of hair behind your ear. You let out a tiny bit of spit onto the tip of his shaft spreading it around with your tongue as you lock eye contact with him "you're so fucking naughty" he says in a husky tone, you decide to tease him, taking him in slowly watching his head jolt back as his breath hitches. He forms your hair in a ponytail as you're still locking eyes, you decide to show him how talented you really are, unleashing your hidden non existent gag reflex you take George fully in your mouth, feeling him at the back of your throat with no struggle "holy fuck" he moans, breath hitching "fuck me y/n you're amazing" you move into him as he motions your head with your hair, seeing George moan uncontrollably and erratic makes you tingle, you slowly remove yourself from him as you still remain tightly suctioned around him. You lick your lips as George pants, you slowly get up off your knees and meet with him

"Now let me repay the favour" he says pushing you onto the bed, spreading your legs welcoming George in with no hesitation, he drops a ball of spit on the top of your entrance, motioning it around with his thumb, your head smashes back into the pillows and you legs seize to his touch, he starts to leave kisses on your inner thighs teasing you "shit" you gasp breath hitched "good girl" grumbles as he slips his tongue on the top your your clit, moving in figure 8 motions. Sucking as you sink into the covers as your body goes into over drive, your stomach filled with butterflies as he works his magic on you. Suddenly he sits up, placing a pillow under your lower back, he once again teases your entrance but with the tip of his shaft motioning up and down "holy fuck George" you say panting "beg baby" he says smirking at you "please" you say "please what?" He asks again "please fuck me im begging" you jolt your head back as he slip himself inside with no hesitation, his grip becomes strong on your thighs as he thrusts into you with so much desperation to be inside you "fuck you're so tight around me" he grunts "fuck" you moan, trying to keep yourself together he lowers his thumb as his circles your clit in 8 motions again while fucking you, "you're so fucking pretty" he praises you as you whimper, "fuck George I'm nearly there" you whine, George takes this as an opportunity and picks up his pace, thrusts becoming more hard and painful, more forceful. His grip becomes more tense as he locks his hand round your neck, you lean into it as you lock eyes with him while he chokes you "fuck y/n, you look so good" he groans.

You start to reach your max as legs tighten around him, he can feel the grip and smirks "cum for me" he says and with that you let out a release "OH FUCK GEORGE" you scream, it was so loud Chris and Arthur definitely heard it, George lets out one final thrust as he joins you in release. "Fuck" he groans out of breath. He pulls out as he flops onto the bed next to you "that was fucking amazing, you're fucking amazing" he says covering you in the duvet.

You both lie and catch your breath for a minute when George turns to look at you "you know, I've noticed you in the club a few times, but didn't approach you incase you wouldn't like me" he says pushing the stray hair from your face. "I've seen you too, but only when you're leaving with someone else, guess I just am one of your girls" you say, a slight sigh comes out your mouth. Although that's what you said to him, you couldn't help feel a small break in your heart.

"Not at all, you're more than that. I slept with others to fill the void of not talking to you, you're all I really wanted" he said pulling you in for a hug "that's why when I saw that guy creeping on you I was immediately protective, that's when I knew I had to interact with you, you mesmerise me" he admits "never knew you'd have a soft spot for me, especially how I've just embarrassed myself infront of you all drunk as a fart" you laugh "it's the most fun I've had in ages those few hours in the pub, you really do have something special y/n" he places a kiss on your head.

"Thanks, Georgie" you snuggle into his chest and you both fall asleep, maybe you're not just one of his girls.

-

🫶🏻

[padfootdaredmetoo]

Hey, could you maybe write something with Tommy where the girl he likes is a bit of a party girl? How would be react to her wild behaviour? 🥂

Hey Anon,

I LOVE this idea! Thank you for sending it in! Hope you enjoy it!

Warnings: heavy drinking, fluff, murder, all the good stuff

He sat there watching her dance recounting all the times he’d been black-out drunk. None of them resulted in him dancing like a whore in public. Or laughing so loud it carried over the music. 

He didn't understand how the same woman that had single-handedly got him out of a bind with not only another crime family but also the police, was the same woman here dancing on a table. 

Just hours previous to the celebration she had shot a man and now she was here dancing like she always did. 

The club was dark but the pink dress she wore would glow even with the lights out. Her hair was messed up and somehow looked even better that way. 

When she got like this he wondered somewhere in the back of his mind if she was worth pursuing. Parties were her thing. He’d met her as an event coordinator and while she complained about how boring his events were they had got along very well. 

Too well. 

She was always bombarded with men offering her drinks, expensive trips, and houses in tropical lands, and yet she always came back to him. She wanted to be by his side even in the cold British rain. 

She danced until the song stopped then let out a loud squeal when Esme poured more champagne into her mouth. 

“WE WONNNNN” She called out with her bejeweled fist in the air. Everyone erupted into loud cheers around her. 

Getting into clubs to celebrate wasn't an issue for a Shelby, but she had an even easier time. She once got dared to leap off a loft railing onto a chandelier. Not only was it official lore woven into the fabric of London, the owner just shook his head and laughed when she did it. 

She was a friend, valuable business partner, excellent lover, but could she be a wife? His stomach twisted at the thought of being with someone else, that was a feeling he hadn’t felt since Greta. A frown fell on his face. 

Would that be something she wanted? He looked for her again dancing and singing her heart out. Would she feel trapped? 

The night wrapped up and she crawled across the backseat of the cab. She slumped against him and smiled up at him brightly. 

“I saved you today.” She slurred happily.

“Yes, you did.” He answered with the slightest bit of a smile on his lips. 

“You owe me.” She said bringing a well-manicured finger up to push his nose.

“Is that so” He grabbed her jaw gently keeping her face tilted up towards him. Her eyes flared and he didn't know what he would do without her. Even if she wasn't incredible at her job, and networking, even if she was just a party girl, he wouldn't want to be with anyone else. “How can I make it up to you?” 

“Stay with me?” There was a deep sadness in her eyes that took Tommy by surprise. 

“That’s the plan.” He whispered.

“Stay with me forever?” She clarified and he smiled. 

“Forever.” He kissed the top of her head and handed her the box that had been on fire since he started carrying it weeks ago. He felt like he shouldn't give it to her when she was drunk. It should be some grand gesture, a proper event with people around. That’s what she would want, but he felt like it was the moment. 

Her eyes went wide. 

“SHUT UP” She took the box and gave him one last look before opening it. 

“Would you -” 

“YES -” She let out another squeal waving her hands animatedly. After lots of hugging and screaming she rolled down the window to shout at the people on the street.

“I”M GETTING MARRIED!!!!!!” She pointed to her finger and laughed as random people waved and cheered for her. 

Tommy just leaned back into his seat and enjoyed the pure joy that radiated off of his soon-to-be wife. After shouting at a few more people when stopped at red lights she rolled the window up and climbed onto his lap. 

She pressed her lips onto his and they enjoyed the rest of the ride back to their London apartment.

[mistydeyes]

Thinking about the scenario where secret agent reader (so like CIA or MI6 and things like that) meets Gaz at a bar and scores. Drinks and talking and dancing, until Gaz suggests you go back to his place. Once there, before things get steamy, you excuse yourself to the bathroom to freshen up and get ready, but it's actually to stash away your hidden weapons you carry with yourself all the time. Only, when you figure out a good spot, you already find weapons there already.

And it clicks. How he gets dodgy when work comes up, how his dance moves vaguely resemble basic fighting regiments, etc... Seems theres more to the man than just his charm.

THIS WAS SUCH A GOOD IDEA! thank you so much for submitting, I had so much fun thinking abt this funny scenario. also fr peep the side eye because that's how he'd be looking at you during the reveal HAHA

the intertwining of secret lives

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summary: When you meet a handsome 20-something in the club, you look through your rose colored glasses and ignore his eccentricities. However, when it comes time to hide a few of your necessities, you are absolutely blindsided.

pairing: Kyle "Gaz" Garrick x fem!reader

warnings: swearing, mentions of weapons/violence

┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊

Two men by the door, performing a sweep across the dance floor in opposing schedules. They're standing in front of the primary exit with another guard standing at the emergency exit. The solo guard appears 5'10-5'11, weighing around 200lbs and the bruised knuckles means he's accustomed to rowdy customers and bar fights. Based on his wide stance, I could probably sweep at his leg befor- "Hey, want to take this back to mine?" Kyle's voice whispered in your ear, interrupting your covert surveillance. You blinked a few times as you took in his offering. It was difficult for you to shut off your years of CIA training and actually relax for once. Even now, you were slightly suspicious of this unemployed and handsome 20-something who was holding you by the waist at the bar. Yet since he locked eyes with you in the crowded room, it was clear the tension was palpable. Before he could ask again, you put a hand on his.

"Is it close or do you plan on carrying me, Kyle?" you winked, and even under the dim lights, you could see his cheeks slightly heat up. As he tried to stifle down the remainder of his drink, you decided to interrogate him a bit more before he took you to his. "Your silence is telling me, you haven't been to the gym in a while," you teased as you eyed his fit figure, "you look like you're more of a cardio man anyways." He shook his head at your not-so-subtle observations, having an endearing chuckle at the comment. "Well you did say my dancing looked like some silly American MMA thing," you giggled as he said that. It was just a sarcastic comment you made as you saw him methodically make his way across the dance floor, dodging the various drinks and drunken moves of the other patrons. "Anyways," he continued, downing his drink, "you might have just revealed my love for some combat training." With that, he gave you a wink and you melted in your seat. You found yourself endeared by his subtle jokes and shining smile. It made you push aside all the stress of work and effortlessly lie through your teeth about your hidden life.

After you closed your tab, Kyle held the door for you and ushered you politely out of the loud club. He walked beside you, hand in pockets and a relaxed smile on his face, as he navigated through the streets. You made small talk about some of the wild moments from the club and the fact you had both spent a fortune on drinks and shots. "Glad I saved up for this vacation," you lied, continuing with your story of an American tourist in London, "the 9-5 was all worth it for some strong drinks and a pretty face." In the cold night air, you could see his face become illuminated with the street light and the way his cheeks curved up in a hearty laugh. "You Americans and your toxic work culture," he chided as he bumped you with his elbow, "hopefully I can show you how to take it slow tonight." You blushed profusely at the comment and bit your lip as Kyle took a turn to a row of flats. 

"This one's mine," he whispered and fumbled to find his keys. You stood there idly as you looked down at the street. It seemed quiet, nothing, particularly of notice. In fact, if you were looking for a safe house this would be ideal as it was perfectly tucked in between mundane families. "Home sweet home," he presented and you walked into the furnished flat. You peeked around and noticed the lack of personality within the home besides some paintings and postcards. A thin layer of dust lay amongst everything and the house smelled distinctly of a wall plug-in, probably bought this morning. He noticed your gaze and shrugged slightly. "I haven't had time to make this place nice," he sheepishly confessed, "been helping out with my family for the last few weeks." You nodded before you walked closer to him. "So what do you want to do now that I'm here?" you flirted before you closed the gap with a soft placement of your lips on his.

You felt a mix of happiness and uncertainty in your stomach. To the special agent inside you, it was the sign things were going a bit too well. But to the normal person, it was the presence of butterflies in your stomach. He tasted of a mix of alcohols and smelled vaguely of wood and santal. He wrapped his strong arms around you as you shuffled backward to the bedroom. You could feel him lower you softly onto the bed before you pulled him a bit closer with your arms around his neck. As he pulled up to look at you in this vulnerable state, you realized you were being poked by an object. Your mind went to a certain place for a moment until you realized it was actually the knife strapped to your thigh that was poking you. Your face dropped when you realized where things were going. You hastily pushed Kyle off of you before running off unceremoniously to the bathroom. "Sorry just have to pee! Those drinks are running through me," you joked through the door as you navigated to the master bathroom across the room.

"Take your time," you could hear him echo through the door as you put down the toilet seat. You looked around the small bathroom and tried to figure out where to hide the knife. More like knives, you thought when you realized you had another two strapped to your boot. "Oh fuck me," you whispered as you tried to look around. Within the bathroom, there was a small medicine cabinet with a mirror and a few drawers underneath the sink. You flushed the toilet hurriedly and ran the sink as you opened up the bottom drawer ever so carefully. When you opened it, you were not expecting to see another collection of tactical knives and a gun facing back at you. You tried to stifle your surprise as you gently picked up the firearm. You turned it to see it was inscribed with PROPERTY OF THE ROYAL ARMY etched into the side. You placed it down gently as underneath it lay an official-looking ID. You read the details quickly as you focused on the serious face of one Sergeant Kyle Garrick. You looked at the picture resembling the man in the next room, verifying all of the signature markings of an official government ID. "You alright in there?" you could hear his question as you quickly shut the drawer. You hastily turned off the tap before returning to the bedroom.

Kyle was lying casually on the bed and you could tell he had generously sprayed some vanilla room spray to cover up the mustiness of the unattended flat. Explains the dust and lack of furnishings, you thought as you stood leaning against the doorway. "Find anything interesting?" he flatly asked and you couldn't help but be caught off guard for the first time this evening. "What do you mean?" you bluffed but he stopped you with a flick of his hand. "The sink was running for a bit too long," he joked, "plus I know what those drawers sound like when they slam." You let out a dry laugh before sitting back next to him. "Well, I guess I should say I did find something," you said as you looked at his eyes, mixed with uncertainty, "you really should keep your weapons in a better location." As he tried to come up with a myriad of excuses, you put a hand on your chest. "As long as you don't mind if I put mine away, I won't question it, Sergeant," with that, Kyle tried to hide his surprise as you unsheathed your weapons from your person. "Do I want to know?" he joked hesitantly before you made your way on top of him. "You can ask in the morning, Garrick."

The next morning, you raced over to your hotel and barely made it to your 9 am meeting in the office suite. "Wonder who Laswell has me working with now," you mumbled as you nodded to the agents guarding the secured room. You should have seen the look on your face when you locked eyes with Kyle, who sat equally as shocked and secretly sporting a hickey underneath his uniform collar.

[fafnir19]

Sporting Incentive

I stood outside the charming London apartment, feeling an electric thrill in my bones. Six months in this enchanting city awaited me, and I was ready to embrace every adventure it had in store.

I simply swapped apartments with another student who was also studying abroad. The other student’s name was William, and his apartment was centrally located—a perfect find for me.

As I stepped inside, the interior was as impressive as the exterior. Clean and stylish, with a touch of sophistication that made me feel right at home. A letter from William sat on the dining table, welcoming me to his apartment and assuring me that a cleaning lady would come weekly. I grinned as I read the part about making use of William's sports equipment and clothing. The apartment was a treasure trove of athletic gear. It seemed William was quite the athlete, unlike myself. From the bike leaning against the wall to rows of equipment for various sports, I couldn't help but feel a surge of admiration and a pang of guilt for not being as sporty.

The day London's public transportation went on strike, I found myself in a on a dilemma. I needed to get to the university, and without hesitation, I decided to ride William's white racing bike.

It was a new experience, and at first, I struggled to find my balance. Alas, as I pedaled through the streets of London, a newfound exhilaration filled me. I was hooked. "Whoa!" I mumbled to myself, my heart racing and laughter bubbling up as I zipped through the streets, reveling in the freedom and speed of the bike. From that day on, I ditched public transportation for my trusty two-wheeled companion.

"Hey, Aiden, why don't you join us for a game of hockey?" The invitation came from a couple of guys at the university. I was hesitant at first, not being much of a hockey player, but eventually, I gave in to their pleas. Before I knew it, I was suiting up in William's hockey gear and taking to the nearby park.

The game turned out to be a surprising success. I found joy in the friendly competition, and soon enough, hockey became a regular hobby for me. "Aiden, have you ever tried rowing? Our club could use someone like you," a fellow hockey player asked one day, sparking my interest in a sport I hadn't considered before. I thought that since I was in London, I might as well try rowing—after all, it's typically English.

I took William's rowing suit and ventured to the rowing club.

The sense of unity and purpose I found there had me hooked from the very first stroke. Before long, I was waking up at the crack of dawn to row every morning before heading to the university, relishing the tranquility of the river and the rhythm of the oars. As days went on, I noticed a change in my physique due to all the sports. My own clothes no longer fit properly, so I began wearing William's refinde attire. It felt a bit odd at first, but soon, I grew to love the posh style. "Well, well, look who's turning into quite the athlete,"

a friend remarked, and I couldn't help but smile at the transformation I had undergone.

With a deep breath, I stepped into the familiar pub, the scent of ale and chatter filled the air.

William was waiting for me, a grin spreading across his face. "Aiden! I'm back earlier than expected. How's the apartment been treating you?" "It's been fantastic, William. I can't thank you enough for letting me stay here." "I'm glad you enjoyed it. By the way, you don't have to sleep on the sofa. It's not really my apartment, and I actually haven't been abroad," William confessed with a chuckle. "Wait, what do you mean it's not your apartment? What's going on?" I asked, feeling a knot of confusion forming in my stomach. "It's all part of an experiment for my master's thesis. The apartment is designed to influence your subconscious and turn you into an athlete. And I must say, it's been quite a success!" William's eyes danced with excitement. "You did what?" My voice rose in incredulity, but I found myself unable to muster anger toward William. There was an odd sense of acceptance and understanding that came over me. Before I could protest further, William dropped another bombshell. "And it seems my experiment turned out more successful than anticipated. I also tried to make you my best friend, and it looks like it worked!" I blinked, trying to process everything, but then something remarkable happened. A warmth settled in my chest, and I couldn't help but mirror William's grin.

"A world trip, you say? I've always wanted to travel with you, William." "I thought you'd say that! I've already booked the tickets. It's the perfect way to celebrate the success of my thesis," William said, excitement lacing his words. The thought of traveling the world with William filled me with an indescribable joy, and for the first time in a long while, I felt genuinely excited about something. As the days passed and the world trip drew closer, I found myself caught in a whirlwind of preparations and excitement. The sparkle in William's eyes was infectious, and I couldn't deny the thrill of experiencing the world with him. The first light of dawn illuminated the airport, casting a golden glow over the eager faces of the travelers. An array of emotions churned within me—anticipation, excitement, and a flicker of apprehension.

"Here's to new adventures, Aiden," William said, clinking his glass against mine as we waited for our flight. "To new adventures," I echoed, a genuine smile curving my lips. The world awaited us, brimming with possibilities, and for the first time, I was eager to embrace it all. As the plane soared into the boundless sky, I couldn't help but feel a semblance of freedom that I had never experienced before. Leaning back in my seat, I closed my eyes and let the hum of the aircraft lull me into a state of contemplation. What awaited me beyond the horizon?

"Hello, Josh. Yes, it's been quite an interesting experiment, and I believe it's time to put the cherry on top," William’s professor spoke into his phone, his eyes glinting with anticipation. "Thank you for the generous financial support. Aiden has proven to be the ideal candidate for your law firm. He will change his subjects to law after returning from his world trip. I’ve influenced his subconscious so that he will become a dedicated and loyal employee." William’s professor said, his voice dripping with confidence.

"Oh, and I've taken up the suggestion of the HR department. Aiden will be pleased to contribute to the diversity charter as well. It seems he'll be a nice little addition to London’s gay community soon," William’s professor said with a mischievous glint in his eyes.

[make-friends-with-the-rats]

Newsies Interview with Christian Bale for Seventeen Magazine, 1992

(transcript under the cut)

---

Cristian Bale lumbers into a conference room on a rainy Saturday morning. He plops down in a chair, yawns, and wipes sleep from his eyes. Dressed in black jeans, a sweatshirt, and sneakers, he apologizes for being late. "I'm just getting over the flu and I'm still jet-lagged," he explains, "so I'm moving a little slowly."

But the six-foot-two British-born actor, best known for his film debut as a young schoolboy in Steven Spielberg's epic Empire of the Sun and more recently for Kenneth Branagh's Henry V, need not apologize. For the past few weeks, he's been flying round and round from L.A. to London to Prague and back again.

"I've been doing reshoots for Newsies here, doing preproduction work on a new film, Swing Kids, in Prague, and visiting my mom, sister, and girlfriend in England. And I don't even like to fly!" he says with a slight shudder. "Before I came here, I flew on a plane that sounded like it had a window open the whole time."

When Bale heard about Newsies, a live-action musical recounting the tale of the New York newsboys' strike of 1899, he claims he had no interest in auditioning for the project. "I'd never sung or danced, and I didn't think I could do a musical," he says. "I read for the film in England, and then Disney flew me to Los Angeles for a screen test. But before I signed the contract, I meet with the director [Kenny Ortega] and told him I wasn't comfortable with the dancing and singing and I didn't want to be a bloody Artful Dodger in a remake of Oliver!, jumping down the street with a big smile on my face. But he told me it wouldn't be like that, and then he lied to me about all of these different actors who had done musicals, like Al Pacino."

After he was cast as Jack Kelly, the head Newsie, Bale joined the rest of the films actors and dancers in two months of "Newsies school." He studied singing, dancing, speaking with a Brooklyn accent (circa 1899), gymnastics, and karate. "We had a kung fu master," he recalls with a laugh. "Thirty of us would be standing in a room doing something like t'ai chi to this humming music. It's very relaxing, but when you see yourself in a mirror, it's really funny.

"Filming Newsies was a blast," he says. "By the time the cameras started rolling, we were so prepared we were ready for anything. The blend of technically great dancers and actors with great characterizations made it all work perfectly." And what about his Oliver! fear? "Sure, we're singing and dancing in the streets," he says, "but we don't always have smiles on our faces."

Immediately upon finishing Newsies, Bale flew up to Prague to begin Swing Kids, which costars Robert Sean Leonard and Frank Whaley. "It's set in 1930s Hamburg, Germany," the eighteen-year-old explains. "There was quite a big culture then among teenagers who liked to dress in zoot suits and go to swing clubs. The story is about three friends from different backgrounds who love swing music. I play the bad seed."

In between movies, Bale tries to squeeze in time with his family and girlfriend. "I've been going with the same girl for three years," he says shyly. "But she's going to a university in England and I'm relocating to Los Angeles, where my father lives. If I had nothing to do with the film industry, I'd stay in England, but Bournemouth [the city where he's lived for the past five years] isn't exactly the film capital of the world."

If he never made another movie, however, Bale says he wouldn't mind a noncelebrity life. "I love making movies," he concludes, "but I also love my privacy. If it all ended tomorrow, I'd just live by the sea and be perfectly happy."

[slutty-transformation-stories]

Night Life

In the bustling heart of London, a quaint little café tucked away on a side street was the regular haunt of five friends. Their laughter echoed against the walls, mingling with the aroma of freshly brewed coffee and the occasional clink of porcelain. Among them was Rachel, a young woman with a shy smile and a penchant for vintage dresses that often made her feel like an out-of-place blossom in a concrete jungle. Her friends knew her as the reliable one, the anchor that kept their group from floating too far into the wild currents of the city's nightlife.

Tonight, however, was different. Rachel's eyes danced with excitement as she twirled a lock of her auburn hair around her finger. The chatter grew louder as they all gathered around a table, their faces flushed with a mix of nervousness and anticipation. It was Rachel's turn to be the center of attention, as they were all there for her hen party, a night she had promised to be wild and unforgettable.

The café grew dimmer as the sun dipped below the horizon, signaling the transformation from day to night. The five friends finished their drinks, trading knowing glances, and decided it was time to head to the club they had heard so much about. It was called "The Crimson Kiss," a place known for its vibrant energy and the promise of letting go of inhibitions. As they stepped out onto the cobblestone street, the café's warm embrace was replaced by the cool evening air, carrying with it the distant throb of bass and the scent of potential adventure.

The club was a maelstrom of flashing lights and pulsating rhythms, a stark contrast to the quiet life Rachel and her friends usually led. The line to get in was long, but their excitement only grew with each beat of the music that seeped out into the night. When they finally made it through the velvet ropes, they were greeted by a sea of bodies, all moving as one to the rhythm that seemed to pulse through the very walls of the building. Rachel felt a thrill of something she couldn't quite name as she looked around, her heart racing faster than the tempo of the songs that filled the air.

The first sip of their drinks brought a taste of sweet rebellion to their lips, and Rachel watched as her friends' eyes lit up with excitement. They had all agreed to step out of their comfort zones tonight, to shed their usual personas and become someone new, even if just for a few hours. The music grew louder, the lights more intense, and Rachel felt the first stirrings of the change that was about to sweep over them. Little did they know that "The Crimson Kiss" had a secret, a seductive power that could redefine the very essence of who they were.

As the night progressed, Rachel found herself drawn to the bar, her body moving almost of its own accord. The bartender, a tall, dark-haired man with a smirk that promised trouble, took her order, his eyes lingering on her in a way that made her feel both thrilled and a little scared. He handed her a drink, and as she took a sip, Rachel felt something strange happen. The lights grew brighter, the music louder, and suddenly, she was behind the bar, dressed in a skimpy outfit that left little to the imagination. The customers around her were not the usual mix of tourists and locals; they were a sea of hungry eyes and lustful smiles. Rachel's heart raced, but she felt an odd sense of belonging, a feeling that this was where she was meant to be.

Her friends Laura and Emma had returned from the bathroom, their cheeks flushed and their eyes sparkling with mischief. Rachel noticed that they too had transformed, their conservative attire replaced with tight bikinis that hugged their bodies in a way that screamed for attention. They grabbed her hands and led her to the dance floor, where they began to pole dance with an ease that belied their innocent facades. Rachel stared, transfixed, as their bodies moved in sensual waves around the gleaming metal. The crowd gathered around them, and Rachel felt a thrill of exhilaration as she realized that her friends had also been swept up in the club's seductive embrace.

Their other two friends, Jenny and Sam, had gone missing. Rachel's heart fluttered with worry, but the concern was quickly forgotten as Laura whispered in her ear about the club's infamous backroom. Rachel felt a tingle of curiosity and a thrill of danger, and before she knew it, she was being led down a dimly lit hallway, the thump of the bass growing more intense with each step. The door to the bathroom swung open, and Rachel gasped as she saw Jenny, kneeling in front of a wall with a series of glory holes, her mouth full and her eyes glazed over with pleasure. Sam was nowhere to be seen, but Rachel's thoughts of her were cut short as Laura grabbed her and pulled her into a private booth, where two men waited, their eyes full of hunger and anticipation. Rachel felt a shiver run down her spine as the reality of their situation set in, but she also felt something else, something dark and delicious. It was as if the club had unlocked a part of her she never knew existed.

The men were tall, muscular, and dressed in black leather, and Rachel could feel their eyes devouring her as she stumbled into the booth. Laura gave her a wink, her own eyes sparkling with excitement, and Rachel knew that she was about to experience something she had only ever read about in her secret fantasies. The men didn't waste any time, one of them grabbing her roughly by the hips and pushing her onto the sticky vinyl couch. Rachel felt a rush of heat as she was filled, her body stretching to accommodate the stranger's thick cock. Laura was already straddling the other man, her bikini top abandoned on the floor, her breasts bouncing as she rode him with wild abandon. Rachel watched, her mouth watering as she felt the second man's hands on her, guiding her into a spit-roasting position she had only ever seen in the most explicit of porn videos.

The sensation of being filled from both ends was overwhelming, and Rachel's moans grew louder with each thrust. Laura's cries of pleasure spurred her on, and Rachel found herself moving in sync with her friend, their bodies a tangle of limbs and sweat. Rachel's mind was a whirlwind of sensation, each stroke of the men's cocks sending waves of pleasure crashing through her. She had never felt so alive, so free, so utterly consumed by desire. The walls of the booth seemed to close in around them, the music outside becoming nothing more than a distant echo as Rachel lost herself in the rhythm of their bodies.

When Rachel finally emerged from the booth, panting and glowing with satisfaction, she found that the club had changed again. The once-familiar faces of her friends were now a blur of smiling, eager strangers, all dressed in the same slutty attire, all eager to serve the needs of the club's patrons. Rachel looked down at herself, her new body on display for all to see, and felt a strange sense of pride. This was who she was now, a creature of the night, a living embodiment of the club's decadent spirit. She took a deep breath and stepped out onto the dance floor, ready to embrace her new life, her heart racing with excitement for what the rest of the night would bring. The Crimson Kiss had claimed her, and Rachel had never felt more alive.

[kneelingshadowsalome]

Man-Sized

7/9 Shadowplay

Pairing: Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x F!OC

Tags: Explicit content, +18 audiences only. Smut, romantic angst, fluff. An unapologetic LOVE STORY. Sexual tension, mutual pining, banter, flirting, developing relationship, strangers to lovers. Simon Riley has a dark past (partly inspired by Modern Warfare 2: Ghost comics).

CW/TW: References to PTSD, depression, past torture and abuse in later chapters.

Summary: A uni student who pole dances at a strip club to pay her rent encounters a mysterious giant of a soldier seemingly incapable of falling in love.

Christmas came and went, and all she knew was that Simon wasn't working. She still didn't know where he lived – whether he had a home in Manchester or if he resided elsewhere. He could live in London for all she knew. He could live down the street, and she wouldn't have a clue about it.

She sent him pictures of her family and the Christmas tree, of the cute pajamas her parents had got her – they still got her cozy sleepwear as a gift, like she was a child. She sent her a photo of herself later with that thing on. Or most of it on, anyway. She even added a few hearts to her texts, knowing he wouldn't return them. Simon was born at a time before emojis were even invented.

She didn't know if he spent the holidays with his family. It was odd to even imagine Simon in a happy, domestic setting, sipping grog or decorating a tree. His father was dead, and he rarely talked about his brother or mother. All the details he had given her of his life were from a pre-military time.

True to his habits, he only sent a short reply on Boxing Day that said: "See you soon."

And she waited. She went back home the next day and sat in her lonely apartment watching historical dramas and eating chocolate until she felt sick, and he never came. She stayed there the day after, didn't leave the house even for the store. On the third day, she started to get anxious, on the fourth, rather angry. No one turned that extra key on the lock of her front door, and she felt like an idiot.

On New Year's Eve, she decided she would get the fuck out. She would not stay at home like a whimpering, lovesick puppy, waiting for its master to come home.

The long-distance relationship was getting on her nerves, and his occasional unavailability didn't feel exciting anymore. It was just vexing. Sometimes it felt like a paranoid exaggeration that he couldn't tell her when they would meet again. She didn't need much: just a fixed date would have sufficed. Her other life was stupidly on hold because she was always on high alert for him. This had been going on for months, and it was high time she did something else. Just for the shits and giggles. To hell with his soon.

So she went to see her friends and drank herself into an impressive stupor.

It wasn't her usual approach to dealing with anxiety and frustration and a yearning heart, and it didn't work as well as she had hoped. But at least she got out of that stupid flat and saw some people who actually had time for her. She had been invited to a party before the holidays with the knowledge that she would not attend – just like she never attended any student shenanigans and was rather curious as to why people kept inviting her.

But right now, an evening full of alcohol and uni people who had normal problems, problems she should've been thinking about too instead of her supersoldier, sounded better than binge-watching Outlander for the fifth day in a row.

And it was actually loads of fun. She decided right then and there, while having her fifth or sixth drink, that she should leave the house more often. Connect a little, get acquainted with new people who did normal shit. Even if they were a bit boring compared to a certain brooding giant who made love to her like she was a goddess.

She laughed so much that night that her stomach hurt, and a few boys from school were really after her at the party, quenching her need for validation and attention just a tiny bit. The whole crew went to see the fireworks to the city, and they all shared some bubbly in the frigid night, and even if she wanted Simon to somehow teleport himself behind her at the turn of the year, to grab her from behind and raise her in the air and whisper something naughty in her ear, the longing wasn't enough to rob all the fun from that night.

When she walked home, feeling a bit wobbly and more than a bit guilty for having flirted with not one but two guys, she reached for the pocket that held the push dagger Simon had given her. It received loving attention every time she walked to school or to the club, the excitement of doing something forbidden soon having turned to a feeling of security and a promise of prowess, all granted by Simon. It was almost like a comfort object, the way it instantly carried her thoughts to him.

Home felt dark and shabby and even more lonely after having a few good laughs with cheerful people her age, who studied the same subject and had big plans for the future. Her plans for the near future were another day alone, but this time, with a hideous hangover. That future felt so dreary that she didn't quite catch the familiar dark shoes in the hallway as she barged in and fought herself out of her heels all but suavely.

She went straight to the bathroom for a late-night shower, and the men's shower gel bottle – the one Simon had brought to her apartment because he didn't want to smell of "girl shampoo" – stared at her like a reminder of what she couldn't have. She then brushed her teeth and went to get a glass of water before crashing into bed.

Even in the dark, she could see a man sitting on her couch as she stepped into the living room that extended to an open kitchen.

She didn't panic this time. Her reaction was a simple, annoyed sigh upon seeing that he was yet again trying to gauge a reaction out of her.

"You really need to stop doing that."

She could see him tilt his head a little at her bitter tone. They had never fought, but right now, feeling emboldened by the booze, she had a feeling that an explosion was about to happen. Returning to a dark home filled with a dark man was such a contrast to the spirited, youthful gang she had spent her evening with that all the laughter left her for a moment.

How long had he even been here? It was nearly 3 AM. She had gone to the party as early as she deemed acceptable, wanting to get some fresh air and fresh vibes as soon as possible. If Simon had come to surprise her in the evening, he had had a long night.

"Where were you?"

The raspy voice was demanding, and she fought back a jolt of irritation just from hearing that dominant tone. It was just a simple question, but it felt like an interrogation.

And she wanted to scream.

Where were you?

How many times have I waited for you to bless me with your presence?

She had been away just this once, and he hadn't called, hadn't sent a text, had chosen to wait here for her to return from her all nighter, and then accused her of not being home.

"At a friend," she said.

"Which one?"

"Marc."

She heard him draw air upon hearing that she had been to some other guy's apartment.

"A new friend," he noted.

"He had a party," she explained, then tested her luck like an idiot. "It was fun. I made lots of new friends."

She turned to get that glass of water and noticed Simon had done her dishes while she was away. There were flowers in a vase on the counter, too. He had wanted to surprise her on New Year's Eve, probably hoped to spend another peaceful evening at home together.

A tiny needle pushed into her heart at the sight of the pink tulips. Simon didn't know it, but they were her favourite flowers. She wondered whether he had been to the club to see if she was there, only to come back when he noticed she wasn't up tonight. If he had sat on that couch as hours passed by, with dread sinking in from the thought that she might be out somewhere, cheating him with another guy. The needle inside her heart burst into flames.

"Where were you?" She whispered. He finally rose and walked to her, much in the same way he had done when she had been upset in this exact same spot when morning light had filled the room.

"Covering my tracks."

She already knew that "covering tracks" meant he took extra precautions before coming to see her, whether there was a real, heightened risk or not. Christmas time might be a heightened risk: those who wanted him harm would probably want to know where he spent his holidays. Who his loved ones were.

It meant that he was devoted to her, an actual sign of care and deep affection. Simon had just made sure he wouldn't set her in danger.

She could feel his warmth behind her, could smell him, and felt distress spike in her chest when he wouldn't proceed to touch her but just stood there. She turned to face him with a quivering lip and wasn't sure whether she was about to burst into tears or a manic giggle.

He was wearing a black hoodie this time, but it didn't quite manage to make him look any more youthful or boyish. But it was snug, almost cute. The size of it probably double or triple XL to accommodate those shoulders and that chest. That hoodie told her he had definitely planned to stay home, cuddling and making love while the tulips slowly opened their blossoms in that vase.

She knew he came here for her softness. He would never admit it, but he craved the softness of her bed, her couch, her body, even the food she made for him with love. He had just wanted to spend the evening filled with some color, laughter, and affection, certainly not go and watch exploding fireworks that would only remind him of war and death and darkness.

Suddenly she felt guilty about getting so worked up. She felt shame for her condition: she was still drunk, like a sailor, wearing nothing but flushed cheeks and a towel.

"Are you angry?" She searched for judgment in his eyes. He watched her sternly, didn't betray any emotion other than that of guardedness.

"Why would I be angry?" He said in a Should I be? kind of way.

"Because I'm drunk?"

She must smell of booze, of a whole pubful of drunkards. Not ladylike at all. He had heard the state in which she had barged in — she had even sung a dirty song in the shower.

She felt like a child compared to him, felt like every guy she had talked to at that party tonight was like a child compared to him. The shyness never quite left her, even if they had known each other for months now.

What if he was angry? Or disappointed?

Or worse yet, disgusted?

"You said you didn't like women who drink."

She certainly wasn't a drinker, even if this night had been a bit rowdy. But trying to explain to a man who disapproved of drinking that she wasn't an alcoholic while smelling of booze was somehow too funny in her sleepy, partied, lovelorn state.

She couldn't hold it in any longer, and a stupid little chortle pushed through her lips. This time, he raised a hand and took hold of her shoulder, as if to ensure she was okay.

"I never said that," he said gently. The brown of his eyes was blown dark, and she vaguely remembered that dilated pupils meant drugs or darkness or love.

"One of the guys wanted to walk me home," she blurted out of nowhere. The alcohol in her system had apparently decided it was quite alright to tease him a bit for taking so long. His head pulled back, a subtle indication that he didn't like what he was hearing.

"Or actually, two. It was funny when they both came to give me my coat when I was leaving."

He was silent, the feeling of being reduced to a flustered child – or a drunken moron – in his presence only increasing by the minute. Either he was genuinely astounded by her behaviour, or then she was really pushing her luck with her drunken babble.

And fuck, she would never get over his eyes. Perfectly almond-shaped and so big that supermodels would kill for them. But it wasn't the warm, dark chocolate or the eternal exhaustion of hooded lids that made them so enticing. It was the look of having walked through hellfire… and having emerged undefeated, with scars and a sardonic, knowing smile. He was like Lucifer cast out from heaven, a fallen dark angel who had been thrown to Hell, who merely shrugged at his fate and then started to rule the whole goddamn place.

She opened the towel and let it drop to the floor, then took a step and wrapped her arms around his neck. He went rigid as she pressed her body flush against him, the amber eyes roaming her face while the rest of him was stiff. It was a new situation, her meeting his solemn stare with bold teasing while making it clear that she wanted him to rut her — on that counter if need be. Or better yet, she wanted to climb onto his lap and ride him, run her nails down his chest and sink them in, perhaps to the point of drawing blood.

It was usually he who ravished her…

"I've been a bad girl," she tried to imitate a seductive voice but it turned into another giggle.

Good God… She wished someone would come and put some duct tape on her mouth.

But then a hand was placed possessively on her hip, a thumb brushed over the side of her stomach. Those eyes were now looking at her much in the same way they always did when she was dancing for him. Hungry and dark. Proud… Pleased.

He had looked at her like that for months and months now. Like he owned her. In a stupefied recognition, she realized he had looked at her that way before they had even shared a word with each other.

He moved in a sharp flash, scooped her in his arms and started to walk toward the bedroom.

"Are you gonna punish me?" She whispered without even bothering to cover the heavy anticipation in her voice. He wouldn't say anything, but when they reached her bed, she was thrown on it. Gently and with care – but it was still more of a flung than setting down.

"It's not really a punishment if I enjoy it, right?" She laughed with excitement, all the remnants of her anger dissolving into a soft buzz that gave a nice edge to the upcoming retribution. "I guess the joke's on you."

He still wouldn't budge, still wouldn't speak…

"Are you sure you're not angry?"

She rose to lean on her elbows and watched him undress with a soldierly sharpness. Under the black hoodie was a black t-shirt — of course. But only now did she notice that he was wearing grey sweatpants. Fucking sweatpants.

Why did he have to be such a kissable, huggable cuddle muffin on this night of all nights? Those sweats were so far from the glitter and glamour she had surrounded herself this evening that she felt another burning sting beneath her sternum. The ample bulge against that soft, grey cotton was visible even in the darkness.

The muscles bunched as he pulled his shirt off and tossed it to the floor. She would probably never tire of seeing those shoulders, not to talk of his divine forearms that were so different from the skinny little things she usually saw at school or even at the club she danced in. Even she had more muscle in her forearms due to pole dancing than some men – but Simon… God, he was an absolute specimen. And with that tattoo slapped on that bulky, veined muscle, she could verily fall on her knees and pray to this man.

Her earlier teasing felt stupid as hell. She wasn't interested in anyone else than him walking her home. That ship had long since sailed.

And how could anyone compare to him? Those boys she had talked to would shit themselves if they saw Simon, even without his gear. Would turn tail and run seeing him in those cozy sweats, even. She wanted to explain herself even if the cleverest thing would be to just shut up.

"Marc's just a friend from school. He was in this group project and then we started to talk about our plans for the New Year, and then I figured I should go to this party because I never go anywhere, you know, and -...mh."

His pants were off, all of them, and she could see his cock spring free, already hard, like he always was when she was lying down like this and he was about to descend upon her. The night swallowed most of him, but it wasn't enough to hide those forearms, that hungry, slightly amused glint in his eyes – or that heavy, obscenely thick erection that was jutting from between his equally massive thighs. It was veined like his forearms, surrounded by the palest, faint hair, similar to the almost invisible ones that coated his chest and back here and there. Everything in him was heavy and thick, except that pale breath of hair…

Her mouth shot full of water, and rich heat pooled between her thighs, which instinctively clamped together as if knowing that this man was too big for her, even if evidence already proved otherwise. He always told her how tight she was, but she felt like it was more the cause of his size than any asset of hers.

"I thought it would be good to connect with people because you never know, right?" Her mouth kept yapping on while her eyes were glued to his massiveness. All of it.

He crawled to the bed between her legs, which opened by themselves for him as if this man was a whole VIP pass that granted access to the exclusive area of her.

"If you wanted to know where I am, you could've just called me. You never tell me where you are or when you come back. You know, "soon" could mean anything."

She expected him to insert himself to her opening, to push in with a full-blown ego because he must already know she was wet from just seeing him, the bastard. But instead, he dove face first to her folds while sweeping her thighs over his shoulders like they weighed nothing.

"But I get it, you need to–"

A pair of hot lips surrounded by a peak stubble hit her skin, and her head fell back with a moan. Her thighs drifted even further apart as his tongue traveled up her slit, parting the swollen lips with so much love that she knew he definitely wasn't angry with her.

Oh no.

She had only managed to amuse him again.

And of course she had. Her intoxicated state and desperate attempts to make him jealous must've told him that she was a bit of a mess because of him. He wasn't petty, even if he was possessive. It was crystal clear to everyone in this room that she had just tried to distract herself, and she was featherbrained if she thought she could fool him.

"I was mad at you," she confessed with a sigh. "I still am…"

She peeked a look down. The sight of a brawny, wide man on his knees between her legs made her more heady than all the punch she had had that night. The bulk of muscle on his back made her legs look sleek and slender and weak, the coarse stubble against her delicate, swollen folds made her head spin even when she was lying on her back. The faint scent of tobacco and his musk were like incense to her; she inhaled it like it was her only way to heaven, that haze of blazing masculinity, of fire and smoke that was thoroughly him enveloping her as she fell back on the mattress.

Her hand found his hair; it was cut shorter from the sides, but the top had generous amounts to grab hold of, and she curled her fingers there while pushing her cunt against him. She was tired of pretending that it didn't feel fucking best when he gave her head.

An exceptionally hungry kiss echoed through her body, making her spine arch and her legs slide up and down his back. How could it feel like he was kissing her instead of fucking her with his mouth? She had taken Simon as a man who didn't worship women like this, but like always, she had been wrong. Even the very thought of a commanding officer of some super special tactical unit having his face buried between her legs was enough to send her to the verge of orgasm. Not to talk of seeing and feeling him actually there.

She sighed as his hands drew her against his face by the thighs, then gasped as a firm, thick tongue – thick like the rest of him – thrust inside her.

"God… yes, just like that…"

If she was pulling his hair a little too hard, he didn't mind. Or at least he didn't say or do anything about it. At first, she had thought that perhaps he tried to make her shut her mouth this way. Speak with moans and sighs instead of words. But now she felt like she was his prisoner, about to make the confession of a lifetime.

"It drives me crazy, the waiting… I'm always waiting for you." It was a miserable sob, and she was arriving at the center, the numb, veiled core of this whole conundrum.

"You drive me crazy, Simon."

He let her monologue go on. If anything, he encouraged it with his tongue, with his lips that nibbed her swollen bud and sucked.

"You're so annoying." She felt him huff a brief chuckle against her, inside her even, as she was open and dripping and hurting, wholly at his mercy. "Like, no one comes even close. And, and, I…"

The darkness made it seem that she could spill any secret in such a lightless, safe cavity where there was suddenly no time, no past and no future to make her pay for what came out of her mouth next.

"...I love you."

But the laws of cause and effect still applied to this world, and Simon stopped, breathing into her pussy like a long-distance runner.

"What?"

His first words since forever hit her folds with a husky, tentative roughness. That voice was better than any dark rum or gooey chocolate cake or even a hot tub bubbling with maple sugar bath bomb. The heated knot in her stomach coiled and twisted, her eyes were brimming with tears.

"...Nothing."

He breathed into her tender folds, she could feel his lips draw into a smile. He kissed her right at the center, at the core of her, and she jerked a little, bit her lip, and waited.

"You sure?" The gruff, murky voice still talked to her pussy, like it was there where the confession of his prisoner was to be found.

"Yes..?"

A devastatingly languid lick stroked her folds, and the starved sigh was that of a happy, happy man. He had a winning hand, and he knew it.

"Are you absolutely positive?"

She swallowed, her lips trembled, and her heart rammed against her chest as her drunkard's brain thought of the terrible fate that awaited her if she yielded to him. What if they were still playing? She hated poker, especially when she was playing against Simon who always had a royal flush in his hand. She wanted to play together, not against each other.

"For fuck's sake, why do you always have to…" she started, then bit her lip again as he plunged his tongue inside, so deep that it made her chin shoot up toward the ceiling and her hips grind against his face.

"You always have to win," she sighed strenuously, on the brink of tears.

"Love you too," he rumbled against her, and her walls clenched around nothing, more moisture leaked to coat his chin.

"Wh-...What?"

He picked up where he had left, proceeding to kiss and lick and suck like it was just some small talk they had briefly shared while he was eating her out.

"Simon…"

"Shh."

She pursed her lips from happiness and allowed him to finish the job, which didn't take long in her state of bliss and drunken overstimulation. She came with a cry, leaked love in the air – leaked literally, on his lips.

He rose to sit after he was done, panting like it had been a while since he had tortured anyone like that.

"What took you so long?" She asked when he threw himself to lie on his back next to her.

"What took you so long?" He huffed, and she wasn't sure if they were talking about their mutual absence or the late confession. She turned to press against him, thrumming with love. He shifted too and took her in his arms, and her head was shoved against the plates of muscle that made his chest. He was still hard, and she wanted to take him in her mouth, to return the favor tenfold.

"You're so annoying," she chirped with a broad smile while crushed against the world's safest chest.

"Copy that."

"I love you."

His cock twitched between them when she said those words. It was his only reaction to her repeating that long-kept secret.

"You're drunk," he commented with sleepy, honeyed amusement.

"I'm drunk, and I love you."

He sighed and pulled her into an even heavier hug. "Come 'ere."

They cuddled sometimes, mostly after sex, but it was never this ardent. She ran a hand up and down his back while the other was squeezed somewhere between them. She could hear his heartbeat, steady and powerful underneath her cheek.

"Don't send me pictures of your family," he grumbled through half-sleep. "It's an unnecessary risk."

He had rigged her phone with schizophrenic detail so that their calls and messages couldn't be traced. He had even built a sort of a Faraday's cage out of a shoebox, wired mesh, aluminum foil and whatnot, where he put his phone when he came to her place. She didn't even know all the things he did to ensure no one knew about their relationship. Safety measures weren't doubled, they were tripled with Simon.

She gathered the photos she sent of herself were a weakness for him since he never forbade her from sending them. She didn't know if they got destroyed right after, though, or what kind of a headache it was for him to get rid of all the metadata.

"Whatever you say," she murmured while pressed flush against him. His erection wouldn't die, and in her opinion it was unfair, downright sinful, to leave him in such a state after he had given her so much love. She raised her leg and swept it up the side of his thigh until it came to rest on his hip so she could rub against him.

"You need to sleep," he said, but didn't stop her. He even allowed her some space to snake a hand between them to grab him and guide the tip to her folds, still soaked from his treatment. The notion that he prioritized her rest over his own pleasure only made her more wet. He responded with a shallow, hoarse exhale as she helped his cock against her slickness, coating it with moisture.

"You love me?" She was a lovesick puppy now, and he grunted at her neediness.

"How many times do I have to say it?"

"You only said it once."

"Once is enough."

She glided along his length with slick, moist sounds filling the darkness pulsating with love.

"No it's not."

"Insatiable woman," he muttered, slightly out of breath from what she was doing to him. And as if he had only now noticed that she was handling him and not the other way around, he switched their roles and rolled partially on top of her.

"Could you just say it?" She watched him with what must've looked like the most desperate, needy stare she had ever worn. He simply seized his cock and adjusted it to her entrance.

"Pretty please?" She whispered while he pushed in, only halfway, knowing she was more than ready to take him fully. She even grabbed his ass to force him, but he refused her.

He always had to win… Always.

"I love it when you beg."

The voice was harsh, rugged, but his eyes were soft, even softer than the double bed under her.

"I love your cunt," he continued, and a moan slipped from her as he teased her with a few shallow, unhurried thrusts. "Love the sounds you make when I fuck you hard."

"Mh-..."

"...or gentle. Fuck you real slow and deep. I know you like that."

He finally went completely in, finally gave her that sweet satisfaction that came from being filled. It felt so snug, so gratifying that it could only be compared to having a piece of your favourite cake after a shitty day or taking the first sip of coffee in the morning or easing into a hot jacuzzi when you were cold.

"I love it when you say you're a bad girl when you're the swee'est girl there is."

That one ended in a short, mocking laughter. As if she was absolutely shitty at trying to deceive him in anything.

He continued to tell her everything except the thing she wanted to hear. He told her he loved her bedhead, her cooking, the look of concentration when she was curled somewhere to read a book. He told her he loved her laugh, her sharp tongue, and how adorable she was when she was mad at him. The list went on and on, it even had the time when she had slapped him, on it. She was just about to plead again, beg for it if she must, when he finally relented.

"Yeah, sweetheart… I love you," he whispered in her neck with a burnt voice, burnt from tobacco or barking commands. "Should be bloody fuckin' obvious by now."

She dug her nails into his back, not worrying about the consequences, which were only delightful. The coarse stubble chafed her neck as he kissed and sucked her skin, surely leaving marks.

She was so wet for him that she was creaming around his shaft. Big as he was, he glided inside her with no effort at all, even when she felt herself tighten around him with another upcoming release. She was going to come a second time, a rarity, even with Simon.

He pressed her against the mattress with every thrust, the feeling of being crushed between the plush, soft bed and a bruisingly hard body absolutely glorious. Feeling weightless and completely open, she came while clinging to him, knowing it would send him on another ego trip for having worked her to a climax twice already.

The sound that left her, more like a helpless wail than a satisfied moan, meant she had lost all her chips in a bet against someone who had invented the whole game. Her cries painted the darkness as she throbbed and clenched around his cock like it was the sweetest thing in the world.

"Now what did I say? Insatiable." His voice turned into a wined and dined tone when he was pleased, almost braggingly so, and she wanted to dig her nails in his back again and make him grunt instead. But that voice also caressed her, much like his hips that gently rocked her through the waves of the orgasm.

He came shortly after, through gritted teeth and a feral edge to his peak. Her neck was burning from all the love it was getting, but the last roll of his hips was almost lazy, and he collapsed on top of her, trapping her under a blazing hot chest. A palm slid along the dip and swell of her waist, caressed the side of her thigh, and pulled her leg to rest on his back while he remained buried deep inside her. He turned from a savage, heated man into an affectionate lover so quickly that she could only hang onto him as best she could.

His back had broken into a sweat, but when he eventually pulled out, he didn't roll to the side like he usually did. Instead, he shifted to lay his head on her chest, and clutched her in a sideways hug, slack against the bed and partly on her. The ragged breathing was interrupted by an uneasy swallow.

"Life was easy before you came along. Didn't have to worry about gettin' killed."

More confessions were spoken in the fading night, and she raised a hand to stroke his hair. The light had slightly changed, the wintry night was easing into a break of dawn while they were finally about to get some sleep.

"Guess I have to stay alive now."

Only Simon could make something like that sound romantic, but his tone was somber, as if he was letting an essential part of himself go when he chose life and her. She wondered if she had brought Simon back to life like he had brought her. It wasn't what they had planned for themselves, but here they were: spent and alive, meshed together at the dawn of a new year.

"You're spooking me to death as it is. I don't want to know how you would be like as an actual ghost." She tried to lighten the mood that was slipping into something darker, something she didn't wish to think about after a night like this. But Simon had chosen to make her cry.

"Would haunt you still."

She couldn't say anything from the bittersweet pain that spread through her heart. It was hard to breathe when a choked sigh clawed at her throat and tears threatened to cause a whole flood.

"Did you like the flowers I got you?"

…And just like that, he changed the subject. She blinked back tears and tightened her hold of him, so snugly settled there over her heart.

"I love tulips. Thank you," she whispered in the crown of his head.

"Hm."

He was already on the verge of slipping into sleep, like men used to after a good fuck, especially when already exhausted from work. Or from loneliness. She hugged him so tight she could feel the flare of his ribs as his breath slowly evened out. She caressed his hair, the back of his neck, stroked his back and felt him rumble softly against her.

"Not your pet..."

His last note was more of a weary sigh that turned into soft snoring as he fell asleep on her chest. She was not far behind, drifting off to sleep too while cradling him — precisely like a pet, or a child, her last thought being how oddly beautiful it was that he finally allowed her to hold him like this.

[mercyreg]

“Just Barely.”

Notes at the end!!

Strollonso “Just Barely.”

Taglist: @spookystitchery @rockingpeeble @wawawaka @sweet-allien

Model!Lance , Driver!Fernando

Summary (What started it all) :: “A possible fic where big shot model Lance spends his 20th birthday at a club where he goes home with someone, That someone Just so happens to be a World Champion Formula One Racer. More specifically Fernando Alonso. Only to find He is now the cover boy for his team by a phone call a day later.”

Day 1 ? Chapter 1?

The music was loud and the colored lights were glaring out into the streets, a beautiful glance at the party going on inside whenever the door slung open to yet another mind who wished to drown in the place. It was exactly what Lance wanted at least. The only problem being his age which was what most of his friends argued, yet it really wasn’t a problem, not when he’s touring London. 

The life he lived for being so young as people would say, is eccentric, ecstatic. Ecstasy, and Sex bundled into one with the occasional flash of camera that caught his good side. Every side of him was his good side and damn did he know it. Lance took pride in the name he’d built for himself, The natural Stroll fame he received couldn’t compare to what the model had built up for himself over his career. The very same career people claim is too young to be as fair as he’s claimed. Truth being, when your father is a trillionaire and you get blessed with insanely good looks? You’re bound to be set in life. 

Lance handed over his ID, The line awaiting for the club had finally came own to him and the group of people he arrived with. The glance over his ID and a quick smile later, Lance was in the club. Him and the group he arrived with quickly found a table and started ordering drinks, all with loud cheers and celebrations to Lance. He didn’t see the big deal, It wasn’t a milestone like 21, 18, or 16 but he had a reputation to live up to. He was hardly like that in all reality. 

The hard drugs, endless sex, and partying wasn’t the life he lived. Not when he is who he is. Really he’d never done a hard drug in his life let alone have sex with regular drinking. The scathing stories of how majority of models came to be was just not one he lived. His father was already famous as it was, giving him a free easy gateway to any career possible. Lance was undeniable in front of a camera, He knew what to do and he did it well, He even took pride in it. For that exact reasoning he usually avoided.

He looked around the bar, his mind swirling with so many thoughts as he downed a shot handed to him, The souring taste of vodka hitting him like no other. Everyone had started migrating to the dance floor, the buzz of oncoming alcohol and loud music kept everyone in cheerful moods but Lance stayed sitting. His mind was on the offer his dad said he was given, He didn’t even know what it really was for besides the fact it was some random motor sport happening all over. He had a flight to catch to Spain for it in two days, His Spanish skills did need some improving anyways. A staff member waltzed over, drink in hand and a surprising look in his eyes as he hands Lance a drink he knew for a fact, He never ordered. 

“Drink on the house for you, It’s from a guy a few tables that way.” The guy said, seeming to be in a rush as he hurries off to do his job. Lance takes the drink eyeing it before taking a nimble sip of it, expecting a tarnishing taste to ruin his mood for the night but instead being met with a pleasant fruity mixture that made his eyes crinkle with a smile.

He looked in the direction the waiter had motioned to when the drink was handed to him, his eyes searching through the people until he made eye contact with a guy across the bar, Shining and mysterious brown eyes met his, a smile playing at the man’s lips as he raised his drink, nodding his head to Lance as he took a sip of his own drink. 

Now Lance would a flat liar to say he wasn’t intrigued by the man. He was good looking and rightfully so. What better thing to do than to go talk to him? He lived by a strict “You miss every chance you don’t take” lifestyle and he wasn’t going to abandon that now. He needed excitement in his life and older men did nothing more than fulfill that just right.

He got up, holding the drink gently between his fingers before walking over to the man, navigating his way through the crowded club goers with somewhat ease. “Hi there..” He says upon reaching the now clearly VIP, The line drawing right before the Older Man’s table. Lance leans on that very line, smiling his usual big smile.

“Hello there… mí Sol.” His accent thick as the words flowed, a glint in his eyes as he looked Lance up in down, taking in the delicious sight of the young man before him. Now Lance doesn’t know a lick of Spanish, nor has he ever cared but the man sitting front of him has him craving to hear every world roll of his tongue in the language. “I’m Lance.” He says, eyes gleaming as he looked at the older male. A smirk tugged at the Spaniard’s lips as he eyed Lance again as he said “Pleasure to meet you Lancito.. Call me Fernando.”

A devilish look was in his eyes, one that turned Lance on if he was being truthful. “Fernando? I like that.” The Canadian says, testing how the name feels on his tongue, evoking a dark gleam in Fernando’s eyes that caught his attention again. He tilted his head and smiled, doe eyes meeting a ravishing gaze. “How old are you, sweetheart.” His voice called over the music, making Lance lean in a bit more, the question sounding more like a demand. “20 Today, sir.” He replied swiftly out of habit, his eyes quickly meeting Fernando’s again to be met with a grin. “Oh you’re a young one..” He said more to himself if anything, taking a sip of the drink on his table, eye contact not wavering. “Just barely..” Is all Lance could say as Fernando motioned him closer with one finger. Lance knew one thing and one thing only he stepped through the VIP area, sitting his way to sit beside Fernando. 

Tonight is going to be fun.

Okay I know what you’re gonna say! I did not forget about this idea!! I just got wrapped up in a whole of Microfics and Drabble. (Expect those soon.) I did not proof read this but bear with me. I’ll try to upload every two days for This fix and “Visit A Far.” Hope you enjoyed it!!

[yelena-bellova]

Heartfirst: A Ted Lasso Story - Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Sixteen: Failure

Plot: Y/n deals with the emotional ramifications of her night with Jamie.

Word Count: 3.1k

Warnings: f!reader, heavily insinuated smut, language

A/N: We’re rounding the final turn and we’re nearly to the end…I mean, there’s five or six chapters left but we’re very much in the last quarter of the story. As always, I don’t let my characters just have their happy endings so fair warning lol. Hope you enjoy!!

——————

Most alcohol-drenched nights are followed by a healthy dose of regret the next morning. When the sun comes up and shines a light on mistakes made under the influence, there are red cheeks, apologies and promises to never let it happen again.

But when Y/n woke up, head pounding and body curled into Jamie’s, the earth beneath her shattered.

She was up and out of bed faster than her hangover wanted her to move. Thankfully, Jamie was a heavy sleeper and hadn’t budged when she slid out of his arms.

Y/n’s sober self had had the good sense not to unpack, cutting her getaway time in half. She threw on her jeans and sneakers from the day before, hurriedly threw her toiletry bag in her purse and tiptoed to the door.

Just as her hand reached for the knob, she looked back at Jamie. Peacefully sleeping, arm still stretched out around the air she’d occupied…

Y/n took a shuddering breath, pushing out the door before she could think anything of the sight.

Room 502 was closest to the elevator, giving her a quick escape. As she pressed the lobby and ‘door close’ buttons repeatedly, the memories began to flesh themselves out. As much as they could through the vodka fueled haze.

After dinner, Jamie and her had gone to a club. At some point, one of them had pulled one of them onto the dance floor. Y/n couldn’t remember who’d suggested it, only that it had sounded like a great idea in the moment. Things began to blur after that.

She frustratedly dug her palms into her eyes. How the hell could they let something like that happen?

In reality, it hadn’t been anyone’s idea. Y/n hadn’t invited Jamie in, and Jamie hadn’t asked. The whole thing had come about as naturally as the rest of their relationship. Their bleary and bright eyes had locked in the empty hall, Their bodies, so near, had drawn closer and their lips had met before they knew what they were doing.

Y/n’s stomach clenched, the nausea of both the hangover and the memory hitting suddenly.

The elevator dinged, signaling she’d arrived on the ground floor. She squeezed herself and her suitcase out the doors before they’s fully opened and marched through the lobby. It was still too early for the hotel to be busy, even for it being London. It felt like an hour only meant for people with secrets, sneaking out with nothing but shame and a prayer.

The brisk morning air slapped Y/n, angering her post-drunk state more. Nevertheless, she pushed forward and began to wave wildly at the street, waiting for a cab to catch the signal. She glanced over her shoulder every few seconds, half-expecting a half-dressed Jamie to come running through the lobby, chasing her down.

Blessedly, a cab pulled up to the curb and saved Y/n from the possibility. As the driver got out to help her with her suitcase, she stopped him.

“I’ve got it,” she called, waiting for him to pop the trunk and dropped her luggage in.

Y/n’s phone buzzed in her pocket and stole her focus. She opened her home screen to find the worst possible headlines.

‘Jamie Tartt Celebrates England Victory with Mystery Woman.’

‘Tartt’s New Tartt? New Couple Spotted Exiting Club.’

‘A Perfect 10? #9 and +1 Dance The Night Away.’

“Shit,” Y/n’s voice broke. The cars whooshing past her and their horns pulled her back to reality. She threw herself in the backseat and took stock of herself. She hadn’t realized how sweaty she was, how fast her chest was rising and falling, the slight tremble to her hands.

“Where to, love?”

Y/n jumped at the question, briefly meeting the cabbie’s eyes in the rear view mirror. “Richmond Green.”

He grunted in reply and steered the car back onto the road. As they pulled away, Y/n glanced back at the hotel. Jamie lay inside its heart, blissfully unaware of the nightmare waiting for him. Warm and solid, he’d stay asleep, holding onto her ghost.

In her stupor, she hadn’t even bothered to look at what top she’d been sleeping in. She didn’t recognize it. It was a dark grey t shirt, oversized with a familiar and distinct smell to it.

Jamie’s.

Y/n’s breath trembled, the tears welled in her eyes. She had made a terrible, terrible mistake.

—————————

“Fuck, shit, hell,” Y/n whispered under her breath, using every four letter word in her vocabulary. She hastened her steps, hitting the cobblestone of her street with a new fervor. She needed to be in her home, hidden from the world and everybody in it.

But the world was rarely ever so accommodating.

Stood outside Y/n’s door was Keeley, dressed more casually and fidgeting more than Y/n had ever seen.

“There you are!” Keeley exclaimed, running to her friend and grabbing her arms, “I’ve been texting you all morning.”

Y/n’s head throbbed at the pure volume of Keeley’s voice. If there’d been any alerts on her phone, she hadn’t seen them past the tabloid headlines. “Yeah, I, uh, went away for the night. Just to clear my head.”

Keeley was far too preoccupied to think anything of it. “I’ve got amazing news,” she smiled, “Rebecca offered to back the company.”

Either Y/n was dreaming, or the vodka was coming back for a second round of delusion. “What?”

“She’s financing us,” Keeley’s grin spread.

Y/n supposed that she should have felt relief. 24 hours before, she’d have been joined Keeley and probably started dancing in the street. The job she loved was saved. The life she’d built would stay whole.

Now it terrified her.

“Oh my gosh,” Y/n breathed, relieved at least that she still had a paycheck, “Wow. Okay.”

“I thought you’d be thrilled,” Keeley nudged Y/n’s arms, “You don’t have to leave Richmond now. Nothing changes.”

The fear deepened.

“Right, of course,” Y/n tried to smile, “I’m just…surprised.”

“Yeah, you and me both,” Keeley agreed, “I didn’t ask for her help or anything. She just offered and I tried to turn her down but…I really wanted to save this.”

Y/n ran a hand through her hair, her brain felt like it had been chopped into pieces and were floating around her skull. There was too much information to process, but this much she knew…

She’d slept with Jamie and she’d gotten her job at Richmond back.

Two things that couldn’t co-exist.

“Okay, I just wanted to tell you the news,” Keeley broke her out of her thoughts, cheerily wishing her goodbye.“I’ll leave you to your weekend.”

Just as she began to walk off, Y/n called her back. “Wait! You’re…you’re gonna need help getting the office back together. Why don’t I move into the building for a while?”

Keeley’s brows furrowed, “You want to leave Richmond?”

“I mean, there’s gonna be a shit ton of work to do,” Y/n explained, “Plus with a smaller staff, we’re going to have to work harder to maintain our clients. If I’m there, we can get twice as much done.”

Keeley didn’t object, giving the idea a fair hearing out.

“I can still take care of everything Richmond related,” Y/n assured, she was half defending the idea to herself, “Just from a distance.”

It had been an emotional 72 hours, for both women. Keeley had lost her company and gained it back, among other events. She was still raw. If Y/n was willing to help, she wasn’t going to turn it down.

Keeley reached for Y/n’s hands, her voice lowering. “Thank you.”

Y/n took a breath of relief, the whole plan hinged on Keeley not asking questions.

“Okay,” Keeley smiled, “Go get some rest. We’ve got a lot of work to do.”

“You got it,” Y/n replied, squeezing Keeley’s hands before parting. As soon as her boss’s back was turned, Y/n’s smile collapsed.

She unlocked her apartment door and shoved inside. She fell against the wood as soon as it shut.

Y/n had allowed herself to open up to her co-workers because it had killed her not to. She’d craved their kinship more than she’d coveted her solitude. It had been difficult, letting the Greyhounds in, but they hadn’t disappointed her. She’d had no regrets.

Until now.

Not only was her friendship with Jamie ruined by one stupid decision, it had opened the floodgates to all sorts of questions. Why had this happened? Was there a reason why it had happened with Jamie specifically? What was he thinking? What was he feeling? What was she feeling?

Was there…something?

Y/n had successfully avoided getting attached to anyone past a platonic level. But Jamie had become…something far past a friend. He was an extension of her, like an arm or leg might be. No one had ever gained her trust like he had. No one had ever made her happier than he had. If Y/n hadn’t known better, she’d have thought he was somehow sent to help heal her.

Days before, when she’d thought she had lost her job, the thought of leaving Jamie had leveled her. It had driven her to tears before she could get the full idea through her head. Missing Rebecca or Keeley would hurt, but nothing and no one could compare to losing Jamie.

Somewhere in her subconscious, Y/n could recall the kisses they’d shared. The feel of Jamie’s arms wrapped around her, hands grasping at whatever he could hold. But above all else, she could still feel the tenderness. The safety. The peace.

Y/n knew by the ache in her chest, she’d failed.

She buckled under the weight of the revelation, sinking to ground and curling in on herself. The tears came quick, as they only could from true emotion. The kind of feeling that holds the power to lift you up or crush your soul.

She was fucked.

—————————

Was avoiding your problems harder than dealing with them?

Y/n pondered the question as she circled Nelson Road Stadium for the third time. Practice started at 10AM sharp, but she was waiting a few extra minutes. Chances couldn’t be taken.

It had been nearly a week since the Wembley match and she’d developed a system to avoid ever crossing paths with Jamie. She’d packed up her office essentials the day after Keeley had given her the good news. She scheduled her meetings with Rebecca and Higgins during training and made sure she was out the door before the boys broke for lunch. All other matters were handled over email. So far it had been successful, she hadn’t seen Jamie once.

Privately, she’d dodged 32 calls, 15 voicemails and 25 text messages.

She knew she was running, that it wasn’t fair to Jamie just up and leaving that morning without so much as a note. But her fear was stronger than her empathy.

Since returning to Richmond, Y/n had felt the sparkle fade. The quaint little town’s magic was either passing over her head or had denounced her entirely. She supposed, as she passed the Crown and Anchor on her way home, that it had to do with her mood. Nothing had seemed right in the world since her night with Jamie.

Pulling her keys out her purse, Y/n looked ahead to her front door. There on her front stoop, anxiously tapping his foot was the very man she’d been avoiding.

Jamie looked up, half-surprised that she was actually there. He jumped to his feet and pushed back the hood of his sweatshirt. “Hi.”

“Hi,” Y/n replied, her voice unnaturally high.

There was an overwhelming amount of things to be said but neither of them could utter one. The last time they’d seen each other had created ten new walls for them to break through.

“I, uh,” Jamie scratched the back of his neck, “I tried callin’ ya and texting ya.”

Y/n took a deep breath, “Yeah, um, I’ve been busy.”

“Yeah,” Jamie nodded, “Course.”

Y/n fiddled with her keys as he fisted his pockets nervously. Their conversations had never been so lacking.

Jamie inhaled, “Look, I need to apologize for that night-“

“No,” Y/n squeezed her eyes shut, “Jamie-“

“No, I just need you to know that I didn’t, like,” he struggled, “Plan it or something.”

“Neither did I,” Y/n shook her head.

“I didn’t think that was gonna happen.”

“I didn’t either.”

Their words overlapped each other, both so eager to clear the air. The only difference were their intentions.

“Look, Jamie,” Y/n pinched the bridge of her nose, “What happened was a mistake. We were both drunk, we were both excited about the win and it just happened. I don’t blame you for anything so…we’re good. We never have to talk about it again.”

Jamie wasn’t sure how he’d expected the moment to go, but Y/n brushing off the whole thing was…it wasn’t it.

“Right, yeah,” he nodded. He had a choice in front of him, two conversational roads leading to either the best or worst conclusions. Jamie knew if he didn’t try, he’d regret it. “But…what if it wasn’t a mistake?”

Y/n was firm in her stance, but it didn’t show through her person. She was nearly trembling. “No, Jamie, it was.”

“No, I get we were drunk and there was a lot goin’ on, but,” Jamie took a hesitant step forward, “What if…what if we…I don’t know, what if it meant-“

“Jamie,” Y/n cut him off. Where his thoughts were leading was unbearable and she refused to entertain any part of it. “We fucked up. We don’t have to talk about it.”

In the days since the England win, Jamie had gone through every emotion he thought himself capable of feeling, plus a few new ones. The second he’d woken up in bed alone, he knew it hadn’t started that way. He’d put back together the memories of the night, dancing and drinking, stumbling back into the hotel room. Y/n was at the center of it all, soft and warm and his, just for a moment in time. Before he’d even opened his eyes that fateful morning, Jamie was at peace.

The calm ended the moment he glanced around the room and realized Y/n had left. In a hungover panic most likely, she’d run out. Jamie had been quick to try and catch her, throwing his clothes on and running down to the lobby. There was no trace or her. Back in the room, he’d found nothing left over of her. Jamie knew he’d messed up before he even knew if the blame was his to take.

He’d texted her, asking to talk. When there was no reply, he called and left messages, begging for two minutes of her time. He’d waited in the parking lot of Nelson Road, watching for her car to pull in until the very last minute before training. He’d raced into the building after each practice, roaming the halls expectantly. He’d knocked on her office door ten times a day, finding it empty every time. Finally, when he felt like he was fully losing his mind, Jamie drove to her place. He’d stay on her doorstep all night, that was perfectly fine with him. He needed to see her.

All of it had confirmed in Jamie’s head what his heart already knew.

He was crazy about Y/N.

He wasn’t sure when it had happened or what had changed, but somewhere along the line he’d fallen for her. The only thing about their night together Jamie regretted was how it happened. He didn’t want some drunken hook-up. He didn’t know what the fuck he wanted, but it wasn’t what had brought them to that moment. Standing outside of Y/n’s flat, avoiding the topic in its entirety.

Jamie swallowed, his eyes bouncing around her face looking for any cracks in her exterior. She wasn’t budging.

“Yeah,” he relented, “Okay.”

The conversation had scared Y/n enough, she was terrified to face Jamie in all her uncertainty about him. What truly made her afraid was the hesitation in Jamie’s eyes, the new tenderness in which he looked at her with. The possibility that he knew exactly what he felt. Y/n couldn’t handle any of it.

“So…we’re good,” she faked a smile, it didn’t reach half her face.

“Yeah,” Jamie’s whole body seemed to be caving in on itself. His tall posture had become lazy, his head drooped with resignation, “We’re good.”

In the space between them rested everything they weren’t saying, creating an ever thicker silence.

“I’ll, uh,” Jamie briefly pointed down the street, “Guess I’ll see ya at work.”

“Yeah,” Y/n tried to sound cheery, “See you.”

With clear hesitation, the two of them walked past one another, Jamie toward the road and Y/n to her door.

“Wait,” Y/n called, slipping her key in the lock and popping inside.

Jamie stayed on the sidewalk, his eyes tracing the stairs past the door. He’d never not been invited in.

Y/n crossed back over the threshold, holding a folded piece of grey fabric in her hand. She held it out to Jamie.

“I, uh,” she stammered, “I’ve been meaning to get this back to you.”

Jamie unfolded it to find it was one of his shirts. In their drunken stupor, he must have given it to her to sleep in. The crack developing in his chest deepened.

“Great,” he quickly covered, balling the top up and nodding gratefully.

“I washed it,” Y/n added.

“Yeah, thanks,” Jamie replied, he didn’t even know what he was saying. They’d crossed some new line of intimacy and it was killing him. If nothing more was going to come from them talking, he needed to leave. “I’ll see ya.”

Y/n’s breath caught as Jamie hastily descended her front steps and walked off into the night. He didn’t look back.

Entering her apartment and shutting the door, Y/n felt like she’d just laid a part of herself to rest. Simultaneously, a piece she’d long thought dead was blooming back to life. Neither one settled her.

Allowing herself to feel…something…for someone was the great mile marker she never dared to cross. It was one thing to get coffee with Keeley or go out clubbing with the team. It was a whole other arena to let someone to see her most vulnerable self. To give someone your best, your worst, and everything in between. To trust someone that much…

Y/n knew she could never let someone in that far, and that it had been a mistake to let Richmond in at all.

She sat down on her staircase, pulling her knees to her chest. She could never come so close to losing her sanity again. Whether she liked it or not, everything had to be different going forward.

——————

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