#this doubled as a brush test and I quite like it

[art-is-kayos]

K corp's director

[cloverfarm]

— read you like a book

sdv!harvey x f!reader

rated e - 5k

Tags: gentledom/service!dom harvey, mutual pining/ yearning, mention of alcohol, flirting, kissing, begging, teasing, body worship, oral sex, vaginal fingering, implied squirting, multiple orgasms

A/N: had the thought that Harvey would know just how to take care of you, and wanted to explore that idea (and still deep in my Harvey-is-a-dirty-talker era)

“You want to know what I was really thinking about?” Harvey rasps, the tips of his fingers skating against your waist, slipping down to tease against the elastic band.

“I was thinking-,” A finger slips beneath the band, testing the elastic. Inching it away from your skin, but not making to remove them, “A girl like you should be taken care of.”

His voice drops, “And that I wanted to be the one to do it.”

(Or - Harvey overhears about your past lackluster experiences, and can’t help wanting to lend a hand)

There’s the clack of pool balls colliding in your corner of the Stardrop Saloon. The jaunty piano music muted, your fingers wrapping around a sweat-dewed glass.

A late-night Friday evening, the conversation already turning debauched as your off-handed remark of feeling frustrated was quickly misinterpreted and took another turn. Spiraling away from you, with their overlapping ideas.

Your nose crinkling with a suggestion to use the community board, one that has them bent-over with laughter - you could only imagine the shock at seeing such a message.

Help Wanted: Farmer looking to get ploughed. Used to getting a little dirty. If interested, please call…

“Could use an app. Been a while, but I used to do that.” Shane’s wiggles his phone at you, keying in the website for FerngillFlings. Flashing the front page at you, all while you try to ignore the clench of jealousy that flares to life in your stomach.

Sam leans over you, squinting at the screen, “You can’t tell me that works. Your matches come all the way out here?”

“Sure do.” Shane’s shoulder lifts in a shrug, from where his arm rests on the couch behind you. “Haven’t heard any complaints.”

The double-innuendo isn’t missed, your tongue poking into your cheek as your head shakes in exasperation.

“Haven’t heard, or haven’t listened?” Abigail shoots back with a smirk, and he rolls his eyes at her in response.

“Any matches from here?” You can’t help but ask, glancing sideways at him in curiosity.

He slumps a little further in his seat, knee knocking against yours, “Wouldn’t you like to know, farm girl?”

Thick fingers curl around the can before it lifts it to his lips, hiding his own smirk as you stiffen beside him.

Shane infuriated you. Always teasing, never answering a question directly. Deflecting a sly comment with a dry one of his own, until you weren’t sure where you stood with him.

You’d given up a while ago.

Your heart now quite taken with another.

“I think we’d all like to know.” Abigail chimes in, and you send a grin her way.

“I thought we were still talking about Miss Grange Queen?”

Your look turns apologetic - you know Pierre has been prepping all week as well - but she brushes it off, “I don’t care. Honestly, I hope you win this year. But he is right…”

A chipped polished nail taps her lip, before she fixes you with a look of concern, “When was the last time you got laid?”

The gulping swallow of your drink goes down wrong, making you splutter. A solid hand thumps you on the back, as your palm swipes across your mouth.

“What?” You manage, through watery eyes.

“Okay, we definitely gotta know.” The hand still rests against you, pinned against the plush cushion of the couch. Fingers tapping expectantly between your shoulders.

Yoba almighty.

You know they won’t back down. Even Sam lingers, eyebrows raised as his hip rests against the edge of the pool table.

“It’s been… a while.” You hedge, glancing around the room before you can answer. Voice lowering - not worried about the bar, it’s too far away.

More concerned about the booth that sits just across the room. Occupied when you arrived - your gaze flicking to Elliot often as he had sat alone, waiting.

Knowing who would be coming - a little flip in your stomach with Harvey arrived late, red-cheeked from the run, the novel pinched between his fingers.

You thought it was cute. Their little weekly book club. On another night you would have hoped to eavesdrop - figure out what the choice was for this month.

“You talking weeks? Months?” Sam asks, ignoring the glare from Sebastian, the hip check that follows - indicating his turn.

“Pre-farm,” Your head shakes, “Two years, maybe?”

“Years?” Abigail screeches, as your eyes widen - a hand coming to press unconsciously against a burning cheek.

Unable to help the sidelong look at the table across the way. The heat in your cheek rising to your ears when your eyes meet hazel ones, before you’re dropping your gaze.

“It’s not worth it,” You try to rein them in, all but pleading, “It’s not like it’s all that satisfying either, you know?”

“You mean you don’t…?” Abigail suggests - looking at you dubiously, and even Sebastian is turning to give you a pitying look.

“I mean… sometimes, I guess?” Your shoulder lifts, and then drops, “It’s not a big deal.”

You could get there yourself just fine. Have certainly managed, with your current dry spell. Before, you sometimes would afterwards - alone - easing the unresolved pleasure that licks in your belly.

But you’re sure it wasn’t the same as having someone there with you. Having their focus so solely on you.

It’s not something you’re about to explain. This has gotten too deep. You’re used to the tales of Shane’s old one night stands. The occasional complexities that come from Sam and Abigail both dating the same person, but these talks rarely focus on you.

“What kind of guys are you fucking?” Shane asks bluntly, making you gasp.

“Normal guys.” You hiss, “Besides, it’s probably just me.”

Taking a sip of your drink then to deflect, the sharp flavor making you cough.

“You don’t starfish, do you?” Sam pipes up, helpfully.

It has you almost choking again.

Shane smirks, “Maybe it is you, Farm Girl. Should have someone here take a look-”

You miss the end of his comment with the sudden, loud scrape of wood. Heads turning to where Harvey half-stands, his chair pushed back. Staring your way, with lips parted and brow furrowed.

“You got something to say, Doc?” Shane scoffs, his voice a little too loud.

Harvey blinks, and reddens. Coming back to himself, a sharp click of teeth as they close - swiping his half-full glass from the table.

Mumbling something about needing a refill - before his head is dipping, and he makes towards the bar.

Your eyes follow him, before your hand is scrubbing over your face - the heels pressing into your eye sockets. And finally, mercifully, the subject is changed, a collective groan as Sam accidently knocks two stripes in the corner pockets.

But even as the evening fades - you can’t quite shake Harvey’s expression from your mind.

The air is cool, hinting at the coming frost. Your jacket shrugged on as you step outside, before plunking down on the cobblestone path outside of the Stardrop.

It’s dark, late. The scattered streetlights outside offering pockets of the town, the rest cast in hazy shadow.

There’s a flare of light to your side. Sebastian sneaking out for his smoke break, now that Robyn and Demetrius have called it a night. You sometimes go with him, keeping silent company.

Content to let your legs dangle, to listen to the croak and groan of the frogs near the river. To let your mind wander.

Tonight though, it’s still so singularly focused.

You don’t feel embarrassed about what you said, only that he overheard it. Harvey had so much of his life together - surely a man who was there to discuss books and drink wine would not want to spent his evening listening to the lewd gossip of folks younger than him.

What if he took your words to heart, and thought you were not interested? What if he thought you weren’t good? A sigh to yourself then, as you pull yourself together with a reminder. Not that he thinks anything of you.

But… you admit that you had hoped.

It’s only now that you hear voices just down the path, two friends bidding goodbye. That shade of green you’ve come to associate with Harvey has your ears pricking up - catching where they linger, near the park benches.

Bravery steeling itself, in your belly.

“I’m gonna head out,” You hear yourself saying, as you push to your feet, “I’ll catch up with you guys tomorrow.”

“You sure?” Sebastian asks, with a smoky exhale.

“Yeah.” It’s distracted. Giving him a wave, just as you skirt around the door that opens behind you.

Missing the pair of eyes that follow you as you leave.

Too far out of earshot to hear the murmured words, as he exhales another held drag from his cigarette, “You’re missing your chance, man.”

And then the answer, growled out as Shane’s hands shove deep into the pockets of his well-worn jacket.

“Never had one.”

“Harvey!” You call out, as he splits from his companion.

Missing how Elliot settles amongst the trio of benches, his book cracking open to finish the chapter under the streetlight.

Harvey lingers, in the middle of the cobblestone path. His expression almost wary, your explanation coming in a rush.

“I am sorry if we made you uncomfortable.” Your hands clasp together, fingers twisting, “We should’ve been more considerate. You and Elliot were there first.”

His expression clears at that, a slight mark between his eyebrows. He’s tall, you’re realizing. Not that you didn’t know, not that you haven’t stood next to him on occasion.

But your heart had never quite pounded like this, never so acutely aware of your proximity - too used to the barrier of the counter in his office.

“No, uh, not at all. I wasn’t uncomfortable.” Harvey clarifies, his voice soft, “I certainly didnt mean to try to interrupt. I’m afraid that was rude of me.”

His answer sends your mind careening into overdrive. Not quite taking his half-hearted excuse earlier, but too wrapped up in your embarrassment to truly process it.

That has you thinking - realizing that he had some sort of intention. Your heartbeat kicking up a notch, unable to help but wonder.

“Can I ask you something?” Your eyes search his, voice quiet in the night, “You don’t have to answer.”

The slight curve of his lips fall, an almost uneasy look passing his features - though he does not deny you, “If you’d like.”

“What were you going to say?” You ask him “Back in the bar. You can tell me, I won’t tell anyone.”

Your words hang, for a moment. And then silence, enveloped by the soft sounds of the night.

“Oh.” He hedges, a hand rubbing at the back of his neck, “It’s, ah… it’s just a shame.”

Your eyebrows lift, worry flooding through you as you wonder what he means.

“That you haven’t had a more… positive experience.” He finishes lamely.

The worry transforms, turning into a heated curiosity.

“Why would it be a shame?”

The shade of pink deepens across his cheeks, hidden in the shadows. A finger unconsciously hooking around his collar and tugging.

“Because there’s no reason satisfaction can’t be mutually inclusive,” He manages, “From uh, the point of view of a medical professional.”

Your lips press together to hide your laugh, charmed by his careful answer, “How I wish that were true.”

And that had him fixing on you, catching you in the brunt of his gaze, “It could be. Maybe you just haven’t met the right person yet.”

It makes your breath catch. That hope flaring to life again. Reading into his meaning, daring yourself to ask, “Is that right? You know anyone around here?”

Only to watch the way his face goes carefully blank - his words slow, “I’m sure… I’m sure you don’t need my help to find out.”

It’s hard not to feel disappointed. Hoping that there was an offer, woven into his words. The bit you had clung to leaves you, with the next exhale of your breath.

“I’m sure you’re right.” Your smile is small. Deflecting with a joke, because it’s all you know, “I don’t starfish, by the way. If you heard that part.”

He huffs a laugh, the corners of his eyes crinkling.

“I didn’t think you did.”

The look he gives you is at odds with his hesitance in answering. A soft, amused smile that makes your heart flip.

Yoba, you have it bad.

“Goodnight, Harvey.” You smile back - intent on ending the night before you make it worse, “And, thank you.”

His answer echos yours, his feet firmly rooted as you disappear into the night. Silence lingering under the soft glow of the street lamp, as his mind races.

“If you were looking for an invitation, old friend,” An amused voice comes from the benches - where Elliot still sits, his book long forgotten.

“That was it.”

The television blares as you stretch out on the couch - intent on unwinding a bit further, after a long day. Immediately stripping down to your loungewear as soon as you stepped in the door, cracking a window to let in the autumn air.

Your head rests on a pillow, an old quilt pulled haphazardly around your hips as you watch a rerun of The Queen of Sauce - something that fortunately required little attention.

Because your mind is occupied elsewhere, thinking back to the square with both chagrin and disappointment. Hoping that maybe Harvey had drank more wine than you thought - that maybe he wouldn’t remember how you all but threw yourself at him.

Gentleman that he is, he probably just wouldn’t bring it up in the first place. You don’t know if that’s more preferable, or less - perhaps you owe him yet another apology.

A timid knock at the door draws your attention, your feet silent as you slip from the couch. You really should move it - giving yourself a view of the small, narrow porch. Maybe installing another light outside.

But this was Pelican Town, you remind yourself - you’re not in the big city anymore. It was probably Abigail, not wanting to head home yet.

For now, you move to the door, pausing to shrug on the worn, plaid barn coat that hangs by the door, buttoning it in an last-minute attempt at modesty.

Your hand on the frame of the door as you crack the front door open, close enough to grab the old wooden bat you have tucked next to the rickety side table.

Eyes going wide when you realize who it is.

Harvey. His face half-turned away, looking like he’s second-guessing himself from your delay - half-way ready to book it down the steps that lead to the packed dirt road.

“Hi again,” You nudge the door open wider, leaning against the frame.

He turns back, surprise crossing his features again when he sees you. Eyes dipping down, snagging - slowly dragging back up over the bare skin of your legs, the low dip of the collar, as if he has forgotten himself for a moment.

“Hi.” He answers belatedly, blinking as he comes back into the present.

You wait a beat for him to explain, for any sort of sign as to why he’s here. Wondering why he travelled all the way in near-darkness, you knew more than anyone what a trek it could be.

And he must realize, because he blinks again, worry pulling down the edges of his brows, a small crease appearing in the middle.

“I-, well, Elliot-,” Harvey begins, throwing a thumb over his shoulder into the darkness, his other hand still clutching the book from the Saloon. Starting over when he realizes he’s making zero sense, “Back, in the square.”

His lips pressing together for a moment, an inhale of breath before the words rush out, “Am I misreading this?”

An emphasis on ‘this’, a small gesture with his fingers between the two of you. It makes you smile, relief flooding through you - enough to where you’re reaching out, tapping a fingernail against the solid cover of the book.

“I think you’re reading this just fine.” Your head tilts up to look him in the eye, seeing the relief on his own features as well, “Would you like to come in?”

“Yes,” He breathes, and you’re stepping aside with a smile - taking his book from him to rest on the little side table.

Hanging his moss-green jacket on your one good hanger by the door, showing him where to put his shoes.

Steps that make the floorboards creak because he doesn’t know which ones to avoid - not yet - as he lets you guide him to the couch. Carefully sitting on the middle cushion, the sharp, white starch of his dress shirt standing out against the worn, rust-orange fabric.

Your own feet following until you’re standing in from of him. Not quite believing, as your face tilts down to meet the upturned angle of his own.

Harvey was here.

The man who got more than a little bossy with you when you came in to the clinic with a bad scrape, or a cold. Who always has a smile, who listened intently when you keep him up to date about the new crops you’re growing, even though he knows nothing about farming.

Who you never had let yourself daydream about too often, because he had always kept you at arms length. You had always thought it was part of his profession, or that perhaps he just didn’t see you like that.

Like he’s looking at you now - like you’ve hung the stars.

You really want to kiss him.

You hope he’ll let you.

Slowly, like when you’re approaching a new calf, you move toward him. The slight, automatic spread of his knees as you step between them, before your own knees are bending.

Hands resting on the wooden frame of couch as you lower yourself - until you’re straddling his thighs, bare knees pressing into the worn cushions on either side.

“This okay?” You ask, close enough to smell a hint of his aftershave, the solid weight of him beneath you.

Hands that slide from their place at his side, up the curve of your calves, until they’re resting on the bare expanse of your thighs.

“Yes.” The word comes out low, fingers pressing against your skin as your own drop to the thick buttons of your coat, slowly working each one open.

Until you’re shrugging the fabric off to pool on the wooden floor - all bare arms and legs beneath in your too-large t-shirt, a pair of cotton underwear.

About to apologize for your choice in clothing - never actually expecting to take someone home - but the hands rise, cradling your face as he tips it to meet his.

A low sound in your throat at his lips touch yours, your hands resting on his chest, fingers fisting in the fabric. A feather-soft brush until you shift, pressing yourself against him as you lean in.

His groan matches yours. Hands moving, skating down your arms, curving around your hips. Your hips roll on their own, seeking the friction of his trousers. Something warm pooling in your belly, when he deepens the kiss.

Encouraging you, as those hands guide the roll of your hips again. As his tongue brushes against lips that part without thought.

There’s the sharp punch of fruit on his tongue, paired with the taste of him. A heady mixture, making you feel like you could get drunk off just this.

You can feel him harden beneath you. Pressing against your cleft as your thighs inch further apart. It’s only when your hands leave his - reaching for the bottom of your shirt, that he breaks away.

His lips kiss-swollen and pretty. Disheveled, his tie crooked, shirt wrinkled from your fingers. Equally dazed, his eyes flicking down to your mouth, and then further again.

“Not here.” Harvey’s voice is a low rasp, unmoving despite his demand.

It has your pausing, until you catch the way his first two fingers slip under the hem, petting against skin.

“Bedroom?” You offer, and he’s smiling. Leaning forward to kiss you again. Easing you off him but it’s reluctant - his fingers twining with yours as you stumble into the next room.

It’s darker in there, the light from the television flickering against the floor. Dissolving as it reaches your bed, your knees parting this time as he stands between them.

Your eyes greedy, focused on his fingers as he loosens his tie, the first few buttons of his shirt. His own drifting over every inch and curve of you. A short intake of air as you tug the shirt from your shoulders, leaving it to drop on the floor.

It feels like you’re on display, but you can’t bring yourself to care. Not with the way he looks at you - his eyes snagging on the damp patch between your thighs, the pale fabric darkening with your arousal.

“You want to know what I was really thinking about?” He rasps, the tips of his fingers skating against your waist, slipping down to tease against the elastic band.

You’re near-mute. Left nodding, as the bed dips. As he urges you back into the pillows, folding himself onto the mattress with you.

“I was thinking-,” He tests the band, a finger slipping beneath. Inching it away from your skin, but not making to remove them, “A girl like you should be taken care of.”

His voice drops, “And that I wanted to be the one to do it.”

You feel yourself clench down around nothing. A low whine in your throat at the tone of his voice. So matter-of fact. Like he knows how to do just what he says.

“Can you?” It comes out strangled, your breath held as his eyes fix on yours, “Could you show me? What it’s like to be taken care of?”

“Would you like that, sweetheart?” He asks - his gaze searching. Slipping a second finger under, the blunt nails grazing sensitive skin.

“Yoba.” Your hips feel like they lift on their own, seeking him, “Yes. Please, yes.”

He smiles again, the moonlight catching on his glasses. A hand running through tousled curls, mussing them further. Fingers joining yours as your panties join the floor, baring yourself fully.

You expect him to touch you and he does - but not in the way you’re thinking. Lowering himself next to you, guiding your mouth to his again. His hand skimming the inside of your thigh. Fingers slipping along the crease where it meet your hip, inches away from where you ache for him.

“Harvey.” You sigh into his mouth. Chasing it when he pulls back, hearing the pleased hum in his throat. Carefully removing his glasses, tucking them into his shirt pocket.

Then his mouth is dropping to your neck, where your pulse flutters. To your shoulder. All while his fingers trace your skin, making you squirm in anticipation.

When his tongue peeks out to brush against tight, peaked nipple, you hear yourself cry out. Clinging to him again, as teeth graze against your breast - followed by a soothing kiss, his mustache tickling against the soft curve.

“I need you to touch me,” You pant.

Long forgetting what it was like to feel like this. The anticipation swirling in you like a dam about to burst. The desperation - knowing after all this time of wanting him, that tonight he is yours.

Your own hands grasping at him - tugging at the buttons. Pale skin and dark hair appearing with each one that loosens, trying to pull the hem from where it tucks into his trousers.

The hand against your thigh twitches, his gaze dark as he glances up at you. No longer hidden behind frames, you can see how his pupils are blown wide, inching out the hazel.

“I just want to make sure you’re ready, sweetheart.” He rasps, inching closer - fingers parting on either side of your mound.

“Want you nice and wet for me.”

It’s too much. You’re too wound up, needy. In your daydreams you’ve thought of him - in your bed, bent over the table in his office. Everything pales in comparison to this, turning you into a begging mess.

“I am,” You breathe, “Fuck, Harvey. You know I am, I’m-”

The words break off, turning into a ragged moan as he finally touches you. Parting your slick seam, where you’re dripping from the press of his mouth and the teasing glide of his fingers.

“There you are.” He hums, though you can feel the way his hips press against yours. Chasing his own urges, seeking friction where he strains.

Your eyes flutter half-shut as he teases as your entrance. Fingertips slick as he brings them up to circle your clit, sparks going up inside your belly.

Watching as he moves, the careful ease from where he lies next to you - now settling between your thighs.

“Yoba, you’re beautiful.”

He says it so simply, almost as if in awe. Your thighs start to clamp shut around his hand but he’s smiling - his left palm pressing your leg to the bed, opening you further.

Not used to his gaze like this. It flicks from your face, down to where his hands shift - his thumb rolling against your clit, as his middle finger sinks inside you.

He can feel how you clench around him already. Movements slow, drawing himself out just to sink further each time.

“So fucking pretty.” He says it again - you think, just to see you squirm. The way your eyes pull from his, the flex of your muscle under his palm.

Transfixed by the way his fingers move. The pressure against your clit, the way he presses deep. Your small room filled with the little sounds you make and the slick plunge of his finger.

Your panting breath catching, turning sharp as his finger crooks on the next pass. Carefully stroking against your inner walls, a throb of pleasure following.

He catches your sounds, a mark forming between his eyebrows. One you’ve seen before, in the way he focuses when you’re explaining something about your farm. A sweet stretch of pressure when he adds his ring finger, opening you further as he strokes again.

You haven’t felt anything quite like this. A ghost of it, with past lovers. Something that made your muscles tighten, but never so focused.

Like he’s intentionally searching for this spot that makes sparks arc up your spine. Making you ache for more - to be filled by him.

“Mm,” He hums with satisfaction, “Right there. Does that feel good?”

It’s hard to think, with the thrust of his fingers. The circling pressure against your clit. Your own fingers curling - one in the sheets, an anchor. The other drifting up to cup at your breast, unable to help leaning into his ministrations.

“Tell me, sweetheart.”

There’s an edge to his voice. One that he uses in his place of authority, one that only stokes the roaring flame in your belly. Everything winding tight in anticipation, each steady pump of his fingers hurtling you towards your peak.

“Yes,” You moan, “Yes. Oh, Harvey-”

His head dips, mouth pressing a kiss against your abdomen.

“Good girl.” He husks, with your answer. The words shoot straight to your cunt, just as you begin to arch into his touch.

“Oh, please-” You whine, eyes sliding shut, “Fuck, you’re gonna make me come.”

The pinch of your fingers harsh against the tight bud of your nipple. The flicker of pain melding with the tight swirl of his thumb.

“Good.” He all but growls, the words low and rough in his throat, “Come on, honey. Show me.”

Your next moan turns high and long - as that tight string inside you finally snaps. A throbbing pleasure that begins at the apex of your thighs, radiating outwards as you bear down around him.

The hand in your sheets grasping and slipping on your way to him - his hand leaves your thigh to twine with it. Anchoring you as your hips buck into fingers that have gone still, giving you something to clench around.

“Just like that,” He coos, “Ride it out, I’ve got you.”

His breath warm against your skin, a kiss pressed to your stomach again, then hip.

“It’s not you,” Harvey tells you, each kiss moving lower, “You know that, right?”

Your breath catching - it feels like your cunt is still pulsing, when his mouth dips further. Not waiting for your answer this time - driving his point home with the talented tongue that suddenly presses against the bud of your clit, wet and warm.

Ensuring you won’t forget.

A moan is ripped from you, as he teases. Tight pointed licks, a flat lick following. A rough groan as he tastes your orgasm that coats his fingers, only just how beginning to move.

You’re too sensitive, squirming at his touch. Panting breaths and little jerks of your hips, the tight twist of overstimulation bleeding into something smooth and sweet as honey.

He’s ruining you for everyone else. The thought is a blurry one, something you can barely snatch. He hasn’t even fucked you yet, and you’ve already come harder than you ever have.

And is already working you towards a second. A rough groan when you let your fingers leave his to twist in his dark curls. Grasping onto his shoulder with the other one, his shirt wrinkling further.

You want it off. You want all of it off, want him bare and on top of you. Want to taste him on your tongue. Taste yourself against his lips, after this.

Unsure how he’s able to do it. Bring you to the edge again so quickly, but maybe it’s because you’ve never desired someone like this.

Deeper than desire, though you’re not quite ready to admit it.

You’re brought back, as his palm presses beneath your thigh. Hiking it over a shoulder, opening you to be devoured. Those fingers more confident now, sure and slick as they pound into you. Louder now, with the way you coat them, your release smeared across your thighs.

This time when you come, it’s against his tongue.

Brought over with the way his lips close sound and suck. The way he groans at your taste, his clever fingers leaving you breathless.

Choking on your heartbeat as you shatter. His wide palm curled around your thigh, keeping your cunt pinned against his tongue.

This time he can feel your pulse. Each throb of pleasure as it resonates through you. Feel the way you gush for him - his fingers dampening further, across knuckles and the flesh of his palm.

“Fuck.” You moan, when you can breathe again.

You expect him to pull away, after this. He must know you’re more than ready. But instead all you can see is dark eyes, a tongue that slips between the fingers that are still buried in you.

“Harvey,” You gasp, as his tongue then lifts to curl over your clit again, “Don’t you want to-?”

Doesn’t he want to fuck you?

Isn’t he aching, like you are?

“Tonight is about you,” He answers firmly. Lips glossy with your release, and despite his words you don’t miss the way his hips press into the bed.

“Sounds like I got some time to make up for.”

Your head falls back onto the pillow as you huff a laugh, breath catching as you feel his fingers slip free just long enough to work in a third.

Already finding that spot again, as he begins to build towards a third.

If he can read you this easily already, you think dizzily…

You can’t wait to find out everything else he knows.

So here for the Harvey Renaissance 🙏💕 would love to know what you thought! Are you enjoying 1.6? (If so what are your mod recs???) | part ii is up here!

[dilemmaontwolegs]

The Bucket List || CL16

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x fem!reader Summary: Life changes in the blink of an eye with a diagnosis and you are forced to face your mortality with the help of Charles Warnings: 18+ only, nsfw, implied smut, grief, implied character death.

WC: 5.8k

Story || Death Scene || Two Years Later || Bucket Moments || Five Years Later

The winter break was meant to be a time for Charles to relax but one simple act had put an end to those plans. It had been a little joke between lovers while you were getting dressed. Charles had seen an opportunity and taken it, cradling the swell of your breast in his palm and giving it a quick squeeze.

“Honk, honk!”

You gasped at the sudden pain that flared and rubbed at the aching area. Charles was immediately sorry, apologising profusely as he brushed your hand aside and massaged it gently for you.

“It’s ok, Cha, this one’s been a bit tender lately.”

“What do you mean?” His concern was palpable and his hand flattened so the palm was pressing into your flesh. You couldn’t hide the wince at the spot he touched and he couldn’t hide the fear in his eyes.

“What?!” You stepped away and grabbed your breast, almost immediately feeling what he felt as your heart began to hammer hard in your chest. “It’s probably nothing, boobs are lumpy all the time.”

“Yeah…” he murmured distractedly. “We should probably check just to be sure. Right?”

You tried to nod casually but it was too hurried. “I mean, just to be sure.”

Everything moved quickly after that. The exhaustion was no longer jet lag. The low red blood count was no longer anaemia. The lump was no longer just fatty tissue.

“What happens now?”

You looked at your boyfriend, but his eyes were fixed on the doctor who had been explaining the test results. Charles had done all of the talking while you sat in a state of shock. You didn’t even feel like you were inside your own body but floating somewhere in the room and watching from outside.

“We could take a biopsy to be certain but the tests so far are quite conclusive and I wouldn’t recommend waiting. We could fit you in to remove the tumour in the next couple of days and have you home for Christmas.”

You knew this already. He had spoken about removing the lump. You couldn’t bring yourself to call it a tumour because, benign or malignant, it made it too real. Removing the lump was the extreme simplification of what he really meant. Mastectomy. Double to be precise. The risk was too great to leave the other breast untreated, apparently.

“We’ll take the surgery as soon as possible.”

You blinked at Charles, waiting to see if he would even look in your direction before making such a decision but his chin was resting on the tip of his steepled fingers. He leaned forwards, digging his elbows into his knees as he always did when he was deep in thought.

“No,” you rasped. “I can’t do it.”

“Yes, you can,” Charles replied without even looking at you. He had hardly looked your way since the first appointment a week ago.

“I’ll give you two some time to talk,” Doctor Hall said softly as he rose from his chair and left the room, the click of the door closing too loud in the heavy silence.

“It’s my body, Charles,” you whispered, your throat too hoarse to manage anything louder.

“I know that, but this is your life we are talking about.”

“We don’t even know for certain that it’s…that it’s…”

“It’s cancer,” he said with a sigh, “not saying it doesn’t change the test results.”

Your eyes burned, your tear ducts working overtime all week. The harsh lines on Charles’ face softened as he saw them well on your waterline before spilling over. Pulling you into his lap, he cradled your head to his chest as you ruined yet another one of his shirts with your makeup and tears.

“Mon amour, we will get through this but we have to trust the doctors.”

“I won’t have boobs,” you whispered as your voice broke.

Charles curled his finger under your chin and tipped it back as he searched your eyes for the answer. He found what he was looking for and dropped his forehead to yours with a shake of his head. “You will still be the most beautiful woman in the world. And I need you in the world, mon amour, do you understand that? I need you to fight this.”

A few days turned out to be just one after the oncology department received a large, anonymous donation. The private room in the hospital was filled with bouquets from friends and family, their floral scents were almost able to erase the tart smell of bleach. You still felt numb to the entire experience and Charles watched on with concern as you stood in front of the bathroom mirror.

Your reflection was the same, yet it wasn’t. Permanent marker pen lined the skin that would soon be permanently marred. The outlines accentuated what would be taken from you and you turned to your side profile, trying to imagine waking up without the pieces of your body Charles had loved.

“The surgeon said there are options, if it’s really that important to you,” Charles said as he pushed off the doorway he had leaned against and walked into the room. “But you don’t have to think about that now.”

You let him drape the surgical gown over your arms and they fell limp at your side while he tied the bows to keep your modesty. “Come and lay down with me,” he murmured as he took your hand and led you to the bed. You hadn’t been sleeping well, neither of you had.

It was narrow but Charles made space for you to lay in his arms with his chest pressed to your back. Monaco was alive outside the window you faced but the sounds didn’t reach you. Instead of watching the cars on their journeys you turned your eyes up to the cloudless sky and spotted the gulls that danced in the salt air.

“I lo-.”

Charles’ chest shuddered with the breath he took before he kissed your temple and whispered, “Don’t.”

“I need to tell you.”

“We promised, not until you wake up.”

“But what if I-”

“Don’t,” Charles begged, a wet drop falling into your hair. “Please.”

A knock sounded at the door but you kept your eyes firmly only the white feathers of the bird that landed on your windowsill outside. Charles pressed his lips to your temple once more before releasing you from his hold and climbing off the bed.

“I’ll be right there when you wake up, mon amour.”

“I…I’ll see you soon.”

He smiled sadly as you caught yourself from saying what you wanted to say, that sad smile remaining while your bed was wheeled away. You craned your neck as you were taken further down the hall, wanting to memorise the way he looked in case it was the last time you had the chance.

As promised, you woke up bleary eyed and groggy to those gold and green eyes, his hands holding yours tenderly as he sat beside your bed.

“Hi, beautiful,” he greeted as his smile brightened your day. It was a true smile, one you hadn’t seen for over a week, one that crinkled the corners of his eyes and revealed the dimples in his cheeks. “I love you.”

You felt drunk as the anaesthesia still circulated your body and you were sure you slurred the words you had been banned from telling him before. “I love you.”

You dozed in and out of consciousness until the pain relief began to wear off and breathing itself hurt. The bandages across your chest irritated your skin and the stitches pulled with every little movement. Charles noticed it all.

“I’ll see if they can give you anything for the pain.”

You caught his hand before he could leave and winced as the IV line in your hand tugged uncomfortably. “I’m hungry.”

Charles chuckled, knowing you would be after eating nothing before the surgery, and cradled your cheek gently. “Maman’s on her way with your favourites. I’ll be right back, baby.”

Charles arrived back with a large bag of hot dishes from your favourite restaurants around the city and the promise that the nurse would bring some medicine around soon. 

“We’ll have someone come and move you up to the ward shortly,” the kind nurse said after she had given you another dose of pain relief. “You’ll be able to see your visitors there.”

You thanked her since you knew your parents would have been waiting with Pascale, Arthur and Lorenzo too. Charles had been keeping them updated since you woke up and his phone was constantly going off with notifications from your friends. 

“How are you feeling?”

You placed your fork down into the empty bowl and Charles whisked it off your lap and tidied up the rubbish with the need to keep himself busy. “I don’t know,” you admitted as your head began to clear from the anaesthesia. “Two weeks ago we were partying in Baku and now we’re here. I still don’t know how this even happened. What if they made a mistake? This was all done so quickly.”

Charles carefully tucked the sheet back around your body after helping you to lie back down. “Mon amour, this is one of the best hospitals, they wouldn’t have done this unless it was the right decision for your health.”

“I know, I know. I just don’t know how to feel anything right now, except confusion.” You took his hand as he sat back into the chair beside your bed and kissed his knuckles. “How do you feel?”

“Me?” His brows pinched together as if he hadn’t been thinking for himself, and he really hadn’t. All of his thoughts and feelings had been focused on you. “I’m relieved, I suppose. You are here, I get to kiss you and hold your hand. That is good.”

You smiled at the hope in his voice. “I don’t remember a kiss.”

“Ah,” he hummed with a nod as he leaned closer until his lips were so close you could feel the heat of them as he whispered, “This one.”

You were warned that day two would be the hardest. The hard drugs had worn off and what you were supplied with took away the dull throbbing ache when you were stationary but did nothing to prevent the sharp pain of moving. 

Charles had just lifted you back into bed after helping you go to the bathroom when the surgeon arrived with a forlorn look on his face. Immediately you felt the air leave the room.

Doctor Hall started with the good news, that the surgery went as planned with minimal bleeding from the tissue removal, but then there was a pause. Your fingers tightened around Charles hand as the doctor flipped the piece of paper on his clipboard over and clicked the end of his pen. 

“When we began the removal of the tumour we found that the shape wasn’t exactly as we expected from the ultrasound.” He drew an oval shape on the paper before adding webs spindling off in all directions and pointing to them. “We removed as many of the tentacles as we could find but they are invasive and so we would like to start chemotherapy as soon as you have recovered from the operation.”

Charles' knee shook the bed as it bounced nervously. “Chemo?”

“Does this mean it is definitely c-cancer?” you stumbled over the word as you said it aloud for the first time.

The doctor nodded. “We were quite sure before but pathology confirmed it with the sample we sent.” 

“What about Christmas?” you asked. “Can I still go home for Christmas?”

The doctor nodded again and you exhaled in relief. Christmas had been organised to be held at your house for months and it would give you a chance to do something normal after your life had been thrown off the rails. You needed this Christmas. 

“We will schedule you in for after New Years, but you wouldn’t want to delay it much further than that.”

“Thank you,” Charles choked out for the both of you as you fell silent and he left. “What are you thinking so hard about, beautiful?”

“The menu. It needs to be special. And I want to invite everyone.”

“What, slow down, what are you talking about?”

“Christmas, Cha, I need to start planning now.”

Charles knew you were deflecting, pouring yourself into a future task so you didn’t have to think about the present. You had already gone through enough, so he bit his tongue and took a second to clear the thoughts he wanted to voice. Instead, he asked, “who, exactly, is everyone?”

“Slow down, you’re meant to be relaxing,” Charles warned as you rushed around the house for a last minute tidy up. “Don’t hurt yourself, baby, let me help.”

“I love you, but please leave this to me. I know where everything is.”

“I do too,” he exclaimed, falling silent when you picked up a remote that had stopped working. You had asked him to get the batteries for it the night before, but he hadn’t been able to find them. 

“Second drawer in the kitchen,” you said as you tossed it to him and folded the blanket you snuggled under with him every night. “But you knew that right.”

He sent you a charming smile as he backed out of the room. “Of course, honey.”

You chuckled at his retreating figure. “Thought so.”

You had just finished lighting the scented candles around the house when the front door opened and Arthur breezed into the living room. 

“Merry Christmas, ma chére. Shouldn’t you have your feet up?” he tutted as he kissed your cheeks, careful not to hug you since your chest still hurt. 

“Merry Christmas, Tuthur.” His smile lifted at the old nickname and it only grew as you said, “You know how well your brother cooks. Be glad I don’t have my feet up.”

Everyone arrived steadily after Arthur and as the night grew colder every seat in the living room was taken by your guests. You could have imagined it being just like every other family Christmas as you sat on Charles lap and listened to Joris recount how he had spent the winter break so far.

You could have imagined it being just like every other family Christmas, but it wasn’t.

You were self-conscious in a way you never were before. The dresses you had loved so much were now something you couldn’t bear to wear as it accentuated the changes in your body. You had taken one shopping trip with Pascale so you could buy some presents but by the time you had got home there was a photo circulating the F1 WAG pages. The comments had nearly made you sick as they compared your flat chest to that of a young boy, or joked that the championship wasn’t the only thing that was lost at the end of the season. 

You knew it was only a matter of time before the truth came out but you doubted they would feel any remorse, anyone who could say such things through a keyboard didn’t have the emotional capacity to feel guilt. 

When midnight came and went, so too did the guests. Tipsy and jolly, they said their goodbyes and well wishes until the house fell quiet except for the music playing softly from the speakers. Charles pulled you into his arms and gently rocked you side to side as you laid your head on his chest. “Merry Christmas, mon amour. I didn’t know what to get you this year, so I was absolutely selfish and got this.”

Charles stepped out of your embrace as he dropped to one knee and held a ring out. Similarly designed to his mother’s, the ring was timeless and elegant with a large princess cut diamond. “Will you make me the happiest man and marry me?”

You had waited years for the question but the answer that fell from your lips went against every fibre of your being. Your hands covered your mouth but there was no silencing the words as they hung in the air. “I’m sorry, I can’t.”

Confusion slapped Charles’ pink cheeks and he swallowed twice before his voice could work again. “Why not?”

“You know why,” you whispered. 

“No, I don’t.”

“Because I’m sick, and I don’t want to make plans if I’m not going to be there to…I just don’t think now is the right time.” You took the ring from his fingers and sighed with longing. “It’s beautiful, Char.”

“Hold on to it for me,” he said as he stood up and closed your hand around it. “When you beat this, I’ll be waiting, mon amour, however long it takes. I’ll wait for you.”

You held the ring tight as you closed the distance and put all the words and emotion you couldn’t articulate into a kiss, deepening it until you were breathless and needy. “Come to bed,” you breathed against his lips.

“I don’t want to hurt you.” He looked pained by the very idea, or maybe it was the weeks of celibacy after your surgery.

Lacing your fingers together, you took a step towards the stairs and gently tugged him to follow. “You could never hurt me.”

The moment had been weeks in the making as the chemotherapy took its toll on you. For days after the treatment you had been ill and Charles had been at your side with a bowl ready for when you emptied the contents of your stomach. Then your muscles ached and you could barely hold your own weight up to walk. Just when you thought the worst had come to pass you felt the first strands come loose.

“Hello, my dear,” Pascale answered your call, only to be met with a hiccup. “Sweetheart, what’s wrong?”

“M-my hair,” you stammered as you looked at your reflection in the bathroom mirror. Charles had been out shopping but you saw his face appear behind you as you turned to show him what filled your gripped fist. “It’s my hair.”

“I’ll be over shortly, just let me lock up the shop,” Pascale soothed before ending the call.

“I just brushed it,” you hiccuped as you touched your hair again, more of it floating to the tile floor. “It won’t stop.”

“I know, baby,” he murmured as he took your hand and brushed the hair from your palm. “Maman will know what to do. We’ll get through this like we have everything else, together.”

Pascale promised she could have a wig made for you if you wanted one but it was already late in the evening and you knew she was exhausted from working all day. You did however accept her offer to shave the rest of your head so at least the patches of missing hair didn’t stand out as much. Charles had sat with you in the bathroom and held your hand the entire time before asking his mother to shave his next.

“No, I love your hair,” you argued as he pulled his shirt over his head to save it from getting covered in the short dark strands.

“I told you we are doing this together,” he replied as he kissed your knuckles and nodded to his mum to proceed.

It took a while to get used to the smooth feel of skin on your head but you came to prefer it to the wig that Pascale crafted, somehow finding hair that was almost the exact same shade and texture to your natural hair. The moment you got home from any outing you would pull the wig off with a grateful moan just as you used to do with your bra.

“Are you going to be alright? Maman said she can come and stay with you.” Charles sat on his suitcase so he could zip it closed before looking up to where you sat in bed with a book on your lap. “I don’t like leaving you here alone.”

“I’ll be fine,” you reassured him. “It’s only for two nights.”

His team had let him get away with having one extra night at home before going to Bahrain for the 2024 pre-season testing, but it was still too long away from you in his eyes. You would have been with him but you were due some follow up tests.

“You’ll be so busy you won’t even have time to miss me,” you teased, spurring him to climb onto the bed and cage you beneath him.

“I miss you every second we are apart.”

You recognised the number calling your cell phone because you still had nightmares from the last time they rang. A pit of dread was already opening in your gut as you hovered your finger over the green button. You debated not answering the call but if you didn’t answer it then he would try Charles’ number next - and he needed to focus on driving.

You wished you never answered the call.

You had been quiet the entire drive from the airport to the hotel Charles was staying at. He wasn’t one to push you to talk before you were ready but he was certainly worried when he reached across the gearbox and placed his hand on your lap. He spared a glance to you as he gently squeezed your thigh but still you didn’t react, or take his hand, or even blink.

You didn’t remember the walk from the car to the hotel room. You were busy thinking about how you were going to break Charles’ heart, something you had never imagined you would have a hand in. You never wanted to hurt him, you loved him more than life itself, a life that was going to be shorter than you had once thought.

Charles stood quietly in the doorway to the bedroom, your suitcase still in his hand. He watched as you pulled your wig off for the first time since leaving Monaco and listened as you sighed heavily. His feet only carried him closer when you pulled a piece of paper from your pocket and held it out silently.

“What’s this?” Charles asked as he unfolded the note you had written on the plane. You had almost 10 hours to think of everything you wanted to do while you could and his eyes scanned over the list. “Baby, what is this?”

“It’s my bucket list.”

“A bucket list?”

“It’s a list of what I want to do before I die.”

“I know what a bucket list is!” He took a breath and ran his hand over the fuzz that had grown back on his scalp before lowering his voice as he shook the paper. “Why am I holding yours?”

His green eyes blurred with tears as you bit your lip and looked at your feet. He was already shaking his head in denial, wet droplets soaking into the list.

“My results came back…”

“Non, non, baby, non…”

“I’m sorry, Charles,” you choked as he fell to his knees and let the paper fall to the floor. His arms encircled your hips and you cradled the back of his head to your stomach as he cried against you. You finally let your own tears fall, the tears you had held back since you received the news. “I’m so sorry.”

Charles missed testing the next morning as he held you in his arms. The tears had long run out but the sadness still remained. He had laid with you all night as close as your bodies would allow and together you had seen the sunrise over the desert. He had listened to you quietly recount the doctor’s words but most of it made no sense to him. 

Metastasized. Stage four. Terminal. The information ruined him.

“How long?” he finally asked. He looked at the paper that was still on the bedroom floor before clearing his throat and trying again. “How long do we have?”

You didn’t know if answering him would help or not but he was waiting for an answer as you rolled over to face him. The last three months had taken a toll on him and dark circles rimmed his eyes and they no longer held the same brightness. They were only going to dim more at the news. “Six months, maybe a year.”

He was silent, but you knew it wasn’t because he hadn’t heard you. Emotions warred behind his eyes before he climbed out of the bed and walked into the bathroom, locking the door behind him.

You hated the silence but the screaming was worse. The painful wail echoed around the room and you felt it shatter something deep in your chest, before something shattered in the bathroom.

Pulling your knees up to your chest, you held yourself together while Charles fell apart.

You weren’t sure how long he screamed at the universe, how many times he asked it why, what he had done to deserve to lose someone else he loved. You weren’t sure how long it took him to clean the blood from his fist and wash his face of the tears before he unlocked the door and slipped back into the bed.

“Whatever you want, mon amour,” he promised as he unclenched your hands and curled his body around yours. “Anything you want to do, we’ll do it. We’ll do it all together.”

You stood at the edge of the lookout and smiled at Charles as he took the photo, another one for the memory box you were making together. Charles kept his promise, taking you everywhere around the world with him to tick off the items on your bucket list.

You had watched him win his home race for the first time and gone to a couples cooking class.

You visited all the Disneyland Theme Parks you hadn’t been to before: the Tokyo one when he raced in Suzuka, the Chinese one when he raced in Shanghai and the Floridian one when he raced in Miami. 

Charles had taken you to Iceland to camp under the northern lights and to Pamukkale in Turkey where the blue waters were meant to work miracles. It hadn’t cured the illness that ravaged your body but each activity you crossed off cured some of the sadness in your soul.

“It’s bigger than I imagined,” Charles commented as he looked up at Christ the Redeemer. “What size shoes do you think he wears?”

“Well you know what they say about big feet.”

Charles’ head fell back with a laugh. “You cannot say that about Jesus.”

You fluttered your eyelashes innocently as he stepped closer to take a photo of you together. “I was going to say he wears big socks, get your head out of the gutter.”

“Of course you were, mon amour.” Charles’ lips curled up in amusement and you relished the way his eyes crinkled before you rose onto your toes so you could kiss him before the smile faded. 

The flash of his camera captured the moment and you reluctantly pulled away as the sun began to set on another day spent living. The days were getting tiresome, your energy flagging as the medication changed from treating the illness to managing the pain. You had read enough to know that time was running out.

“We should get going, don’t want to miss our flight to Vegas.”

“About that…” he trailed off as he pulled a piece of paper from his pocket and placed it in your hand. “I made a list of my own.”

Marry the woman of my dreams.

“I can only do it with you by my side.”

—

Pascale had created a beautiful headpiece for your wedding but when it came time to leave you hadn’t been able to place it on your head. A year ago you had only dreamt of the day you married Charles and in all those imagined scenes you had your hair styled up like she had crafted on the wig with pearl pins and a delicate tiara. But a lot had changed in a year, you had changed. 

“Oh, sweetheart, you look beautiful,” she said as she wiped her eyes. Your own mother was speechless as she pulled you into her arms and held you tight.

“I’m going to ruin my makeup if you two don’t stop crying.”

“Honey, let her go,” your dad said softly as he placed a hand on your mother’s shoulder. “It’s time.”

Your throat felt as if it were closing and for a second you held on tighter before you both opened your arms. “I love you,” you said to them all as you looked at the proud but sad smiles on their faces. “Thank you for making this possible, for both of us.”

Your father grabbed the wheelchair you had been using, the exhaustion sometimes too much for you to handle, but you shook your head. “I’m going to marry him on my own two feet.”

You knew Charles had a lot of help organising the wedding because there was no way he could have done it on his own. The entire paddock had come to a standstill at the end of Media Day and you found yourself walking down a makeshift aisle on the grid to the starting lights. 

Hundreds of friends joined your families on the track and you had no doubt that Charles had flown them all there at his own expense. 

“When you said married in Vegas, I thought you meant the White Chapel,” you whispered with a giggle.

Charles' smile grew at the sound and he took your hands in his. “That’s something tacky Pierre would do.”

“Hey,” the groomsman objected beside Charles. “Elvis isn’t tacky. Focus on your own wedding, mate.”

You laughed at the exchange before Lorenzo cleared his throat and your eyes widened as you realised he was the celebrant. “Is this legal?”

“The online certificate I got says so,” he said with a wink. “But if you’ve changed your mind I can skip the legal bits.”

Your eyes lit up with amusement. “No way, I’m not going to miss having you as a brother-in-law.”

“And I thought we were here because you wanted to marry me,” Charles joked. He had waited so long to marry you but now that the moment was here he was in no rush for it to end. He wanted to stay in this moment forever, where you were lighthearted and smiling. Where you weren’t lost in thought but present in the moment, with him. 

“I do,” you said with a grin before peeking back at his older brother. “Does that count, can I kiss him now?”

Lorenzo wrinkled his nose and shook his head. “I’m afraid it’s not quite, shall we get started?”

Charles could hardly keep still with his excitement. “Ready, baby?”

You reached into a hidden pocket in the dress and pulled out the engagement ring he proposed at Christmas with. Slipping it into your finger, you gave him a serious nod. “Now I am.”

—

“Good morning, Mrs Leclerc.”

You smiled as Charles kissed your shoulder blade and rolled you over to face him. He had already showered and dressed for the day before climbing back into bed with you and you peeked at the clock to see he would almost be late. 

“You should be at the track already,” you hummed between the sweet kisses he peppered across your skin. 

“Wasn’t going to miss watching you wake up as my beautiful wife for the first time.” His smile wavered as he kissed your forehead before pressing the back of his hand to it. “How are you feeling?”

“A little tired, but last night was worth the lack of sleep.”

He smirked and traced your lips longingly with his eyes. “Definitely worth it. But you don’t feel hot or cold?”

“Focus on FP1, Cha,” you said with a little push for him to get out of bed. “You’re going to be late.”

He playfully nipped your collarbone before getting off the bed and blowing you a kiss. “Rest up, mon amour, I’ll come back between the practices.”

“I love you.”

“I love you too, more than the moon and the stars.”

“Hopeless romantic.”

“Love of my life. Fire in my loins. The apple of my-“

“Go away!” You tossed a pillow at him before falling back into the warm blankets with a laugh that turned to a yawn. “Profess your love to someone else and let me sleep.”

“Never,” he chuckled quietly as he watched your chest rise and fall into a steady rhythm. “It will only be you.”

Your health deteriorated rapidly after Vegas and your doctor urged you to return to Monaco, but you weren’t ready to leave just yet. There was only one thing left on your bucket list and it was within your grasp. Charles and Max were neck and neck in the championship but you had faith your husband would triumph in the end. So instead of heading home you remained by his side in Qatar and Abu Dhabi, letting him hire a medical team as a trade off for ignoring your doctor's advice.

It wasn’t just the season coming to an end and you could both feel it as Charles prepared for the final race. You didn’t have the strength to go to the track and see him start from pole, the prime position for the championship deciding race. You barely had the strength to stay awake for the whole race but you fought against the heaviness in your body and scanned the screens that had been brought into your room.

Pride made you heart light as you watched the world through Charles’ eyes. The onboard camera was clear ahead, all his competitors in his rear view, and as the laps passed by his lead grew wider. Charles was flying and he was taking you with him.

Charles took a seat on the centre podium as confetti rained down and fireworks exploded overhead. He wiped the sweat and champagne from his face before reaching into his race suit and grabbing the pen and paper he had tucked away.

Putting a strike through the last line he held it up triumphantly to the camera. “We did it, mon amour, we did it.”

You smiled as if he would see it and closed your eyes as you lost the battle. “I’m ready to go home now.”

The Bucket List:

Sleep under the northern lights 

Swim with sharks

Skinny dip (not with sharks)

See Christ the Redeemer

Bowl a strike

Go to every Disneyland once

Ride an elephant

Go to India for the colour festival 

Win an escape room

Learn to whistle 

Have a mud bath

Teach Charles to cook

Watch the Grand National horse race

Get a tattoo

Learn to use chopsticks

Throw beads at Mardi Gras 

Have my palm read

Try absinthe 

Ride a luge

Go to a rage room

Join the mile high club 

Catch a fish

Make a will

Bathe in healing waters 

Charles Leclerc - World Champion

Click here for the requested last day alive.

[desideriumwriter]

Could you write something about Hufflepuff reader studying late in the library and she realizes she has to get back to her common room before curfew. As she’s walking back Fred finds her, walks her back to her common room while flirting and talking about random things. Just something sweet and cute. Thanks love 💗💗💗

this is suchhhhh an adorable idea!! a fun one to write too! tysm for the request!! <3

wc: 1.4k

f.w. masterlist | navi

The sun was still in the sky when you entered the library to study peacefully. Various classes had slapped you with an array of tests planned this week and you felt like a bundle of nerves.

So, you chose somewhere you knew there’d be no disturbances or noise to pull your attention from your books.

The sun had completely set now, the sky outside was black. You were probably one of the only people left in the library.

It was just you, several textbooks, notes sprawled across the desk you were sitting at, and the sound of the clock ticking.

You let out a heavy breath and flipped the page of your Potions textbook. Before beginning to read over the next section, you took a look at the clock on the wall.

9:47 PM.

You had less than fifteen minutes before curfew. Maybe you could finish this next page, maybe you could start heading back to your common room.

The walk back wasn’t terribly far, but you should probably start going now if you wanted to get there before the curfew bell rang.

Rubbing your eyes and gathering your things, you quietly began on your path back to your common room.

Turning the corner down one corridor, you ended up a bit behind a tall, ginger-haired, Gryffindor boy.

It didn’t take long for him to realize you were there, he looked behind him, looked back, then did a double take.

“Merlin, you scared me. I didn’t even notice you were behind me.” He halted.

“I know you.” You stopped and narrowed your eyes at the freckled boy.

“Me?” He pointed at himself, you nodded. “Is that a good thing?” He took a few tiny slow steps towards you.

“You're the one who set off all those fireworks off on the train home last year.” You stated, Fred winced.

Maybe it wasn’t a good thing. Most kids found that end of the year prank funny, until the express was stopped for nearly an hour.

“I’m one half of it.” Fred said, tilting his head to the side. “I’ve got a brother. We er…set them off together.” He explained when he noticed your puzzled staring.

He watched nervously as your face lit up in realization.

“The twins!” You pointed, “You both tried to put your names in the Goblet the other week!”

“Oh no, you heard about that too?” He let out a nervous laugh, hoping you wouldn't see the blush seeping across his cheeks.

Fred didn’t understand why he felt so flustered, he thought the incident was hilarious himself. But you were a stranger, a pretty stranger too.

“I witnessed it.” You tried to bite back any more laughter. “You had quite a mighty beard there.”

“Reckon it was better than Dumbledore's?” He brushed his fingers through his long hair.

“I’ll say you’ll be able to pull it off when you're a hundred years old.” You shrugged. “I’m assuming you’re Fred?” You guessed as you two began to walk side by side.

“I’m George.” He lied, no matter how many times he’s done it, he’s never got tired of pretending to be his twin just to mess with people. You nodded embarrassedly and looked at the ground, a twinge of guilt suddenly hit him.

“I’m kidding. I’m not George. I don’t know why I said that.” He stammered and shook his head, “You were right the first time. I am Fred.” You glanced back at him and gave him the sweetest smile. He felt like he could melt right into the floor.

“Well then, Fred, where are you coming back from?” You lifted your chin at him in a playful manner.

“Detention with Filch.” He sighed, you grimaced.

“Uck. Did they punish you because you tried to outsmart the age line?”

“Oh no, no. Being stuck in those stiff hospital beds felt like a punishment itself.” He scoffed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Anyways, I got caught trying to steal ingredients from Madam Pomfreys cabinets.”

“Oh?” You let out a breathy chuckle.

And what about you? Where are you coming back from

“Just the library, I have a test in Potions tomorrow. I decided I should just try and cram in whatever knowledge I could.” You cringed at the way you began to ramble. While pushing open one of the kitchen doors it was impossible to miss Freds large frame moving in front of you to hold it open for you.

“Shouldn’t you be getting back to the Gryffindor tower?” You said half-jokingly as you walked into the kitchen.

“I wanted to steal a pastry from here before I went there. Shouldn’t you be getting back to yours?” He poked.

“I am, I’ve been on my way back to the basement this entire time.” You crossed your arms playfully. His smile dropped and his brows knit together.

“Basement? Your dorm is in the basement?” Fred’s face scrunched up. You just let out a small mhm and nodded, pointing to the entrance hidden behind a stack of barrels at the end of the room.

He had to tilt his head a bit to the side to see the round door hiding behind the pile of wooden barrels.

“Seems a bit crummy to put a common room down there.” Fred said flatly, yet still looking displeased at the fact your dorms would be where the dungeons also are.

“I think it’s the coziest place in the entire castle.” You shrugged; Fred let out a small noise of disagreement.

“Eh, the Gryffindor tower is the coziest. We can put Hufflepuff as a not-very-close second, yeah?” He grinned at you.

“I say you’re wrong on that.” You hummed as you tried to bite back your smile, you failed.

“Yeah? You can come see for yourself! I’ll let you have a visit and see how wrong you are!” He teased, nudging at you with a playful sparkle in his eyes. You could feel your face heat up at how his voice sounded so much flirtier than a second ago. You just prayed he wouldn’t see it. To prevent him from seeing you in your blushing state, you swiftly stepped up to the barrels.

“Er, you should probably stand back a bit.” You pointed, Freds brows knit together in confusion as he looked at the ground and back up at you.

“It…sprays you if you get the code wrong, and there's already been a few times where I’ve messed up the pattern.” You explained, Fred only nodded and took a few steps back.

You tapped the barrels in the correct rhythm and stepped back once the door began to open slowly.

From the glimpse Fred got of the Hufflepuff common room, maybe you were right. The uncountable number of plants and warm glow of the room made it look like one of the most comforting places he’s ever seen.

“It was really nice talking to you.” You told Fred as you stepped inside. “Goodnight.”

"You said you had a test in potions tomorrow, right?" Fred pipped; you stopped the door from closing with your hand.

"Yeah, we have to make a certain one by memory."

“Perfect, I've got just the thing…” He said as he dug into one of his robe pockets. “If you're not sure you made yours correctly, try and sprinkle some of this in. It’ll help.” He pulled out an extremely small sack, filled with sparkly purple powder and dropped it into your hand.

“It won’t make my cauldron explode?” You teased, knowing of him and his twins' history of blowing up the school toilets.

“No, I wouldn’t do that to you. I promise.” Even with that little smile on his face, you could tell he was actually being truthful.

“Awesome, thanks.” You grinned again, looking down and beginning to move away from the door.

Fred called out your name one more time, blocking the door from closing with his foot.

“I’ll probably be back here tomorrow night, if you’d like to chat some more?” His voice had gotten so quiet, there was a hopeful glint in his eyes.

“Yeah, I’d like that. I’d really like that.” There you went again, with that sickeningly sweet smile. “‘Night, Fred.”

“‘Night.” Fred left the kitchen with a stomach full of fluttering butterflies and a grin on his face. He didn’t even bother to steal any pastries on the way out, he was too busy being excited for tomorrow night.

tell me what you thought!

[parisoonic]

Ur art is really Really good and it just got me wonderin. Do u have any art that, to you, isn't postable?

Like those times where u dont care about the outcome, and u just feel like drawin somethin.

Sry if it's a weird q lol :p Big fan of ur stuff‼️

oh! interesting question! quite often i usually test out new brushes with a small quick drawing. I often don't post these mainly b/c i think the drawings sort of suck if i'm not paying attention or if they're my first drawing of the week or something. i like the big-coat-heavy one below though - that was just having fun with watercolour brushes and i wanted to see what mixing different colours of lineart looked like...and then i did some negative lineart for DOUBLE fun.

if its non tf2 art i've got quite a bit of non-posted-anywhere stuff : O mainly meeting-doodles.

[wosoamazing]

Portugal Training Camp & Roommates

Part 4 - Fire on Fire Series

It was your first day in Portugal, meaning you were now also officially part of the team, having joined the first team training session of the year in the morning, spending the afternoon on the beach with the girls, as this wasn't an official team trip for competitions you had roommates. Leah was yours, you didn't quite know what to think of it but it couldn't be a bad thing. Right?

After dinner the team spent some time outside before all heading to their respective rooms for sleep. However you weren't asleep, and from the amount of rustling coming from Leah's bed she wasn't either. However unlike her you were still, as you laid on your back, staring at the ceiling, you couldn't get the 2 missed calls from both your parents each out of your head, they hadn't called you in years, let alone messaged, so why now? You couldn't understand, until you spoke to your Moster before dinner. She had informed you that they wanted to talk to you, apologise for what they had done, now realising that they did the wrong thing when you were younger. But you couldn't fathom the sudden change in beliefs. They had to have an ulterior motive. Leah must've realised you were awake at some stage, as you noticed her move onto her side, resting on her elbow as she brought your attention to you.

"What's wrong?" She questioned, the sudden words slightly scaring you.

"Nothing," you tried brushing her off, as if she would care about your problems.

"I can tell something is bothering you, you can just talk and I can listen if you want"

"My parents want to talk to me," you spat out, "oh," you turned to face her, mirroring her position.

"I've haven't seen or heard from them for years, the last time they contacted me was before, well, um, no it doesn't matter, but every time the have contacted me since I moved out they have thrown things at me, they even offered to buy me a penthouse apartment in New York if I quit football and did a PHD. They don't believe someone can be successful unless they like have a PHD basically. I moved out when I was almost 11. My Aunt says they are reaching out to say sorry but I find that hard to believe after all these years,"

"Why don't you just message them, ask them to come to one of our games."

"Yeah I suppose, I mean if they aren't really determined with whatever they are planning on doing they won't come, it would be time much time, effort and money otherwise," the fell into a silence before you blurted out, "They were the reason I wasn't getting played, they were paying the club money as a support under essentially a fake company, they figured if I wasn;t getting played I would fall out of love with the sport, but it clearly didn't work." "I'm sorry, that's unfair, you're a really great player, and your aunts must be good people, as you've turned out to be an amazing human," Leah started to ramble as she got anxious. You were glad there wasn't much light in the room as you felt yourself blush.

"Thank you, good night," "night," you rolled over and eventually fell asleep.

_____

The training staff decided that they were going to do fitness testing, the beep test included, you had been going for quite some time you, Lotte and Emily were the only ones currently still going, the rest of the team had either stopped or been pulled out by the medics or trainers so they didn't over do themselves.

"How?" Lotted huffed out as she doubled over trying to catch her breath, having given up, you on the other hand looked like you were still just doing a light jog.

"Okay Y/N, we're stopping you there, sit down and make sure to have plenty of water, we're also going to get you an electrolyte drink," you huffed in annoyance but complied and walked over to were Leah was sitting on the sidelines, taking a seat next to her, she lent towards you with her arms open ready for a hug.

"I don't think you want to do that, I'm like seriously sweaty," You warned her, "That performance deserves a hug, no matter how sweaty," you laughed as you lent in briefly hugging her, before moving to lie down, your legs still bent up, "you weren't wrong about being sweaty," she joked causing you to laugh "I did warn you,". 

You and Leah were alone, as she watched the rest of the team do the other tests, you were recovering lying on the grass, with a towel over your eyes to protect them from the burning sun. "How did you do that though? Are you actually fine?" Leah asked, ever so slightly concerned, she didn't want you to be overworking yourself due to being new, "I could've kept going if it wasn't so hot, or the fact that I wasn't stopped," you said and she nodded, not that you could see though, you were informed you couldn't continue testing until you had cooled down the medics not wanting to risk you getting heat stroke, however there was no way that was going to happen anytime soon, due to the scorching sun, "Can we go inside for a bit? Speed up the cooling down process," you asked her as you pulled the towel off your eyes, lifting you head slightly to look at her, "Sure," you stood up quickly, and turned to Leah who had reached her hands out for you to grab and help her up, "you haven't done any testing today, you should be the one helping me up" you joked, and she pushed you playfully once she was standing, "that's no way to treat someone who just helped you up," "oh shut up," she said as she wrapped her arm around your shoulders pulling you into her side as you walked.

_____

"I don't even know why you like playing them, they're so boring," you said as you sat down next to Leah on one of the sun loungers, you had to admit they were really strange sun loungers, as they were double ones, for some reason meaning two people had to sit on one, but it didn't matter too much as the team was close.

"They use my brain, keep me smart," she teased "Don't want you falling behind the rest of us I suppose," you teased her back, "Oh shut up, just because you duxed," you stuck your tongue out at her before pulling out your phone to message some people, until Leah managed to rope you into helping her do sudokus, you both giggled away as you spoke, before you were interrupted by Beth, "Why wasn't I invited?" she whined "We're doing sudokus," you explained, "oh ew, what movie are we watching tonight?" she asked, not getting a response.

"Beth," you both whined as you looked over to her who just shrugged her shoulders, "what?" she knew what, she just sent a message to the team asking when everyone else would be out because she felt like a third wheel with you two. Before long the whole team was outside and the movie had started, they had decided on ABBA which you didn't really like and so you quickly found yourself succumbing to your exhaustion from the day. Your eyelids opened around half an hour later and you realised you had moved closer to Leah and snuggled into her side while you slept, she had her arm out around your shoulders, "Oh sorry," you groggily spoke as you lifted your head preparing to move, "Oh, it's fine don't worry, you don't have to move if you don't want to, it's more warm like this too," she said softly smiling as her eyes stayed on the screen, you let out a small hum before placing your head back on her shoulder and quickly drifting off again.

[randomyuu]

the way it follows you home, the stories i never told

My guy Vox once again graced us with lovely Goyuu fanfics, and the way it follows you home, the stories i never told, made me go FERAL.

Time travel? Two Gojou Satorus? Double affection for our sunshine Yuuji? Yuuji sandwich? What feels like possible continuation of (you'll whisper, serpent tongue) what you fear you have become???

FUCK.

I need to stop indulging my imagination too much. I should’ve been content with writing long-ass comments but noooooo, my brain goes “you gotta draw it”. DAMMIT VOX, YOU AND YOUR DELICIOUS WRITINGS HHHHHH

So… usually I should’ve picked a favourite scene that is within my drawing capability, but I just… love all three chapters??? So I made a questionable time investment? I can’t stop??? Help???

This is probably the most ambitious fanart project I’ve ever done so far. Fair enough, considering I might combust if I keep these welled-up emotions inside from reading Vox’s Goyuu fics. Fuck.

Fic info:

Title: the way it follows you home, the stories i never told

Author: @voxofthevoid

Pairing: YuuGoGo. Future!Yuuji, Future!Gojou, Teen!Gojou

(idk why I laugh writing YuuGoGo. I’m beyond help)

Currently, it is 3 chapters out of 8. And it’s gonna be NSFW chapter 4 onwards, so don’t forget to read the tags first, folks!

The drawings are under Read More, because I have lots of thoughts surrounding each chapter and drawings. It’ll be hella long if I didn’t hide it here. It was a mess down there. A combination of hours before, during, and after I read said fic. I’d say good luck finding the art among the sea of jumbled words but… you’ll find them easily. Don’t worry about it haha

SPOILERS FOR ALL 3 CHAPTERS! I highly recommend reading those first before diving into these drawings!

Also for the comics, read from right to left please!

From here on, I will be referring to the Future!Gojou as Gojou and the teenage one as Satoru.

Overall, drawing all these is fun! Really fun! This project pushed me quite hard, forcing me to test my limit (because I rarely draw this much back to back). Since this is a combination of drawings and comics, the coloring style will not be consistent. In a way, I want to try some brushes I never get to use, as well as try out my new graphic tablet. Drawing these got me giggling because I was finally able to let loose during line art. It's much easier to do so, and sometimes I just get to reread the fic and giggle to myself for the nth time.

CHAPTER 1:

Whooo. Whooooooooo—

Ok, ok, the premise is just that good. It intrigued me, fascinated me, and I just… oomph. I cannot refuse a Time Travel Yuuji Sandwich. Sign me up.

Honestly, there are two scenes that are just… a bit too clear in my mind when reading this chapter. That would be the one I drew above, and the other is when Yaga called Gojou to come outside of the class. I love, loooove how Vox wrote Satoru’s POV. And when Yuuji fucking giggles?

I lost it.

Can you imagine, drawing Yuuji grins, with shiny stuff, maybe some sunlight, just purely happy and indulging Gojou?

Help me, for I am drowning in my love and adoration for Yuuji.

Page 2 is an experiment on using harsh black as shading (kind of?). I really enjoyed colouring Yuuji, and drawing those buffalo skulls! I wish I can grasp the concept of contrast a bit better tho :v

CHAPTER 2:

This is probably the only chapter where I picture still images instead of comic panels. A bit like those cool chapter covers in mangas. The one I really, really want to draw is the scene with Satoru on the table. Can’t pass the opportunity to highlight Satoru being a brat, albeit a really cool brat.

Cool idea drawing always proves to be a challenge, because of course my artistic skill just so happens to be below the requirement. Thank you, Sketchfab, for the chair and desk’s perspective otherwise I’m screwed lmao

The second scene that I want to draw the most is this:

Gojou is one step away from climbing Yuuji. Also, I have a bit of a problem picturing a man pouting that makes him look crazy instead, so please have Gojou pouting adorably instead. Because, as Yuuji said (with love), Gojou is (also) a brat.

This is possibly my favorite art in this project, after Yuuji's in Chapter 1 page 2. It's clean because I don't have to draw background, and I was having a fun time drawing Yuuji. And Gojou's squishy cheek as well.

Oh, actually, there is a “manga” scene in this chapter. It’s when Yuuji said, “I love Satoru.”

I just—

AAAAAHHHHH YUUJIIIIIII YOU AND VOX ARE GONNA BE THE DEATH OF ME. That secure relationship between Yuuji and Gojou? Satoru’s description of how Yuuji’s smile could blot out the sun??? Not me screaming 💀 I also see bits of hints of possible co-dependency, though I could be reading those wrong, but either way I’m good. Secure and possessive relationships are fun to consume hhhhhh

But yeah. There are too many wholesome Yuuji smiles in this fic, and I… I am not confident enough to draw genuine happiness. It’s too much for me ∠( ᐛ 」∠)＿

For this chapter, another reason why I chose these two scenes is just because I want to try and draw cover-worthy pictures of Yuuji and Satoru, and Yuuji and Gojou (cough)

CHAPTER 3:

We start the chapter with Nanamin. Ah, Nanamin. I forgot what his teen self looked like and was surprised to see his design again lmao

I want to draw Yuuji and Nanami scene because… I just want to, I guess. I have never drawn him before (Yaga as well) so that's an interesting challenge. I got two ideas on how I want to draw it. One is a bit painting-esque, and the other one is like another chapter cover. In the end, I chose the cover one because I want to emphasise the difference between teen!Nanami and the Nanami from Yuuji’s original timeline, and how the watch feels like a connection between the same (yet not) person. It’s a bittersweet feeling? In a way?

I’m not really good at explaining my intention ∠( ᐛ 」∠)＿

I love Yuuji’s answer to Nanami's question.

AND FINALLY.

A Yuuji SandwichTM scene.

And oh B O I do I love it. Have I told you I like every chapter? I probably have. But this one? Satoru’s curiosity, Yuuji’s on-brand self-deprecation, and Gojou come strolling down to show more of Yuuji to his mini-self. I want to draw this whole scene, from Gojou finding them, feeding Yuuji snacks, bitch-slapping Satoru into the backroom, to Yuuji growling. Them trying to hide a boner from Yuuji’s growl got me cackling so hard I LOVE IT 😭

I love it all. Please love Yuuji in my stead, Satoru and Satonyan :3

Oh! Also! 40-finger Yuuji sounds really, really cool! I’ll be happy with whatever Vox will give us in future chapters, but 40-finger Yuuji… possible scene with this timeline’s Sukuna… my god. The action! The drama! The bloodshed! One can only hope.

However, as much as I love that whole scene, it’s still too much for me :”) I’m still not yet confident in delivering the humour and action. Also my already-long drawing plan had my brain groaning in protest so I can’t push my luck :'D

When Gojou said "He looks sweet, but he's a bit of a beast", I kept picturing Yuuji staring innocently, but there was an edge to his look. As if the moment Satoru looks away, he will pounce. But in the end I just stick with innocent-looking Yuuji because I accidentally drew his eyes that way and I want to keep it in lol

Since Satoru points out how soft and cuddly Yuuji is, I also want to draw soft Yuuji :v

And the last one… is the last scene. For some reason, I read that both Gojou and Satoru share Yuuji’s lap and was having a frustrating yet fun time figuring out how it’s… physically possible, without having their butts on the ground because they both are not small at all. As I lined the art, I reread it again and… perhaps I read it wrong? Satoru is beside Yuuji, and not on his lap? So yeah, this one might be the least accurate, but hey, at least you can view it as a crack drawing or something :v

AAAANNNDDD I HAVE EXCEEDED TODAY’S BRAIN CAPACITY OF FORMING WORDS

Have I told you I love this fic?

…I probably have.

Have an amazing week (❁´▽`❁)*✲ﾟ*

[makeyoumine69]

Guilty Pleasure

— PAIRING: Patrick Bateman x Fem!Reader

— SUMMARY: After you made a mistake in one of yours latest reports, Patrick Bateman — your boss — calls you to the meeting room to teach you a lesson.

— CONTAINS: Smut, Daddy kink, degradation, praising, dry humping, pet names, dirty talk, humiliation, nipple play/sucking, hair hulling, biting, spanking, marking.

— WORDS: 1.2k

— A/N: Sorry, I had to repost this fic due to this situation. More information about my writing challenge you can find here.

— LINKS: [MASTERLIST]; [2k CELEBRATION MASTERLIST]

Your heart was beating like a ticking bomb inside your chest as you made your way to the conference room where your big boss — Patrick Bateman — was waiting for you. You had no other choice but to comply, even though you didn't want to go. Tense, yet annoyed, you turned the last corner and saw a small group of yuppies whose arrogant expressions made you sick. Although you tried to ignore the way one of them looked at you — Timothy Bryce as far as you could remember — something heavy dropped in your gut, you hated that kind of attitude, so you had to bite your tongue and open the door to the meeting room.

As soon as you stepped inside, you noticed Patrick sitting at the large wooden table across from the entrance, wearing his favorite black pinstripe suit with red tie and Oliver Peoples O'Malley glasses.

"You're late." He muttered, not even bothering to look at you as he flipped through a folder of documents.

"No, I'm not! You asked me to come at eleven."

Only then did he deign to glance at you — his piercing gaze instantly sent shivers down your spine. "11 o'clock was 10 minutes ago, darling."

Damn it!

A sharp breath escaped your lips as you checked your watch and realized that he was right. "I'm sorry, sir."

Bateman couldn't help but grin with satisfaction and put the folder aside, tapping his long fingers on the table surface. "Do you know why you're here?"

Embarrassed, you looked down for a second, unable to bear the way he was staring at you. "Actually, no."

His low hum bounced off the walls of the meeting room, and now you could finally admit to yourself that you were so damn nervous and even scared, but you couldn't show it to him. After all, you needed this job, you'd already done so much to get the chance to work at P&P, you couldn't let it all end like this.

"I wanted to talk to you about the last report you did for me," Patrick beckoned you with a soft smile, and you could swear that this jerk was enjoying every second of this situation, almost like having the power over you was his personal kink. "I think I found a mistake that is quite serious."

"That can't be," you gasped, moving toward his seat. "I've double-checked everything so many times and—"

"Hey, it's all right," he cut you off, watching you come closer and shamelessly checking out your legs. "Mmm, this skirt is better than your previous ones, but it's still not short enough."

Scowling, you took a deep breath to not just punch him right in his perfect face and just leave.

"C'mon, have a seat." He playfully motioned to his knee, but you pretended not to understand his gesture and tried to sit on the chair nearby. That annoyed him slightly, so he grabbed you by your hips and forced you to sit on his lap. "Are you testing me, babydoll?"

His large palm was already tracing invisible patterns along your breasts through your silk blouse, not even giving you a chance to protest. Taking advantage of your shock, he nipped at your neck, leaving a few hickeys that made you squeal.

"Mr. Bateman!"

"Shush," he growled in a raspy voice, quickly positioning you in a way that made you face him, and his knee was right between your thighs. "Do you want the whole office to know what a slut you are? If I remember correctly, you care about your job."

Smirking, he watched you close your eyes in embarrassment and pulled up the hem of your skirt to squeeze your ass. The cold metal of his Rolex brushed against your skin, making you gasp, and he used the moment to kiss you hard on the lips. He plugged his warm tongue in and your mouth and you immediately squeaked against his lips.

"Ahh, look at you," Bateman crooned sweetly, drawing a long, wet line across your face. "Such a dirty little whore! You like it when Daddy plays rough with you, huh?"

Panting, you whimpered as he tugged on your hair to make you look at him. "Yes, Daddy...I l-love everything you do to me."

"Ohh, is that so?" He chuckled and unbuttoned your blouse so he could slide his hand inside to play with one of your swollen nipples. "Now be a good girl and prove it to me."

God, everything was too much, his hoarse voice sent shivers down your spine, and not to mention the way his skilled fingers twisted your little tip, pinching it a bit too tightly, but that only spurred your pussy to pulsate even more. You let him pull you into another kiss, his lips moving greedily against yours, and you didn't even notice that you were starting to grind against his thigh, your throbbing clit rubbing against the expensive fabric of his pants, increasing the tingling in your lower abdomen.

"Mmmhm, Daddy," you clang desperately at his strong biceps through his suit, causing him to grunt in response. "Someone can see us."

"Then be quiet," Patrick licked your neck and groped your hips, forcing you to move faster. "I'm going to rip your panties off and fuck you right here if you don't cum soon."

Holy shit.

You wanted to cry at the strength which he held your thighs, pinning you to his lap and twisting your taut nipples one by one until he took one of them into his mouth.

"Aww!" You yelped quietly as he bit your peak with his sharp teeth. "I'm so… I'm s-so close… mhmm…!"

Wrapping your hands around his neck, you surrendered to his power, letting the delightful rapture consume you completely as your soft inner walls began to clench around nothing. When Bateman noticed the way you were twitching, he squeezed your hips even harder, pressing you close to his firm body as you couldn't stop shaking. You thought you would bite your lips so hard till the point of drawing blood, but Bateman stopped you by pushing his thumb inside your warm mouth, and you sucked on it as if your life depended on it.

"Yes. Just like that," he cooed to you, unable to take his eyes off your shivering body. "You make Daddy so proud."

With that, he slapped your ass and stood up, holding you in his arms. Gently, he placed you on the table and spread your legs to admire the view of your soaked pussy. He then roughly pulled down your panties — you didn't have the strength or courage to resist.

"Imagine if someone came in and saw me eating you out," he snickered, giving your cunt a quick slap that made you whimper and flinch from the overstimulation. Smugly, Patrick adjusted his pants and hid your wet underwear in the pocket of his suit. "I bet you want this."

The voices behind the door only grew louder, but you couldn't hear them because your own heartbeat drowned out all sounds. If you ended up losing your job, at least you would know who was to blame, and one day you would take your revenge, one way or another.

P.S. Thank you for reading until the end! I don’t have a taglist. You can follow my side blog @makeyoumineagain and turn on notifications to know when I update!

[wutheringcaterpillar]

An Assassination of The Heart

Pairing: High School!Jackson Rippner x Reader

Summary: Jackson had always had a rough life after being taken into foster care, having no positive outlook on life until you walked into his life. Only an unforeseen circumstance changes him forever.

Warnings: Established relationship, mentions of blood and murder, heartbreak, mentions of drug abuse, cigarette smoking, very brief mention of smut

I wanted to have a take on Jackson’s life before he became whom we know him to be on Red Eye. I hope you all enjoy this concept as much as I do.

August, Autumn of 1989

Waking up to the sunlight peering peacefully through the blinds, Jackson brushed the beads of sweat from his forehead, glancing toward the alarm clock ringing before pressing down on the button.

“Jackson are you up yet?!” He rolled his eyes from the screeching sound of his foster mother Evie.

“Yeah!” He hated his life. His biological mother had abandoned him on the sheriff department’s door, step father dead before he was even born from overdosing on heroin.

Now here he was in the small town of Harpeland, Georgia, in a house with seven other “siblings”, cramped in a small square room with nothing but a twin size bed and a rickety old dresser. The only plus side was the small window that looked out toward the creek where deer often resided for food and rest.

He had no friends, often staying to himself and failing in school but his needs were often pushed to the side, his achievements ignored, causing him to believe there was no point in trying anymore.

Pulling out his converse from underneath the shitty excuse of a bed, he grabbed his backpack, throwing on his beanie and began walking down the dirty old trail to school.

There was hardly ever anyone around since he liked to get a head start not wanting to deal with his foster siblings annoying him. He rarely ever got peace and quiet, often finding solace in old novels and looking forward to the time he had study hall but his schedule was quite different this year. With failing so many classes he had to double up, which he didn’t really care about. He was a smart individual, always acing his tests but never turning in homework or showing up and participating in side projects.

Walking up to the school, other students shouted their jokes at him for his last name being Rippner. He never payed attention to them, their words never bothering him.

As the bell tolled, he walked into the classroom late.

“Mr Rippner, the rules haven’t changed, you’re expected to be in your seat at 7:15 am.” He ignored her protests silently, and took an empty seat near the back wall, getting ready to put his head down until he noticed the principal walk in with a girl he didn’t recognize.

The teacher huffed at the interruption as the man whispered something in her ear and she nodded in response.

“Class we have a new student, this is Y/N L/N. She’s coming here from Ohio, give her a warm welcome and-“ Jackson faded her voice out, breath hitching in his throat when he layed eyes on you.

His crystal blue eyes transfixed on your immense beauty, he couldn’t help but think you were kind of cute with your backpack hanging off one shoulder carelessly, arms wrapped around your torso nervously.

Butterflies fluttered in his stomach when you approached him, pointing to the desk in front of him.

“Is this seat taken?” 

“Ugh-no, no. All yours.” He smiled brightly, your cheeks blushing a rosy shade of pink from the strange boy’s smile as you thanked him and sat down.

Jackson couldn’t stop himself from staring at the back of your head in disbelief, his hormones running wild. He had never felt like this before and was convinced there wasn’t a girl out there for him but now, maybe that wasn’t the case.

“Shit..” Your pencils fell down onto the floor, the students around you giggling and chuckling at the incident while Jackson was quick to bend down and help you retrieve the yellow wooden utensils.

“Oh, thank you. You didn’t have to-“

“I know, but I wanted to.” The class carried on but his mind couldn’t escape the intrusive thoughts, thinking what it would feel like to have his fingers interlaced between yours, stargazing with you, knowing your hobbies, exchanging books. 

Time passed slowly, watching the clock tick by with each excruciating passing second. 

When the bell finally rang you gathered your book, stretching and standing from your seat but when you were in the midst of walking out to your next class a hand brushed against your arm gently, that swoonful voice.

“Hey! Um, let me walk you to your next class?” You nodded kindly, biting down on your plump bottom lip trying to simmer the butterflies fluttering in your stomach. He was cute, ridiculously cute and the only person who’s reached out and been kind to you, who would you have been to deny the boy a simple walk to class?

Jackson shared many classes with you, and always offering to carry some of the heavier textbooks out of the kindness of his heart.

The last period of the day seemed to be the only one you hadn’t shared and it completely dragged on considering it was algebra, the worst subject to ever exist.

When the bell rang at the end of the day, you packed up your belongings and headed to your locker only when you opened it a note fell out. The writing was particularly neat, and the grammar and punctuation nearly perfected.

Scanning the words, you read the mysterious letter.

“Meet me at the at the dock down the hill by the creek. You seem like a smart girl, I know you’ve done your research as you said. I’d love to have the chance to get to know you better. I want to know your interests, hobbies, everything. I look forward to seeing that beautiful smile tonight.”

Jackson

Your cheeks heated a rosey blush painting your skin as your stomach fluttered with butterflies. Maybe this school wasn’t so bad after all.

~

Arriving home, Evie noticed a spark in Jackson. He didn’t walk through the door brooding or tired, he didn’t throw his backpack onto the sofa like he normally does. More importantly he actually sat down in the chair at the kitchen table while she continued to rinse off vegetables for dinner, the soft sound of the antenna radio playing in the background while his siblings were outside playing in the summer heat.

Jackson tapped his foot nervously, hid mind still revolving around you and he wanted to hold it in, but for some reason he couldn’t.

“I met a girl at school today.” Evie’s eyebrows perked up in interest while tossing the roast in the oven snd the vegetables in a pot on the stove before removing her apron and taking a seat across from her son.

“Oh yeah? What’s her name? Given it’s a small town I assume she’s new, am I right?” Jackson nodded adoringly.

“Her name’s Y/N, and she is breathtaking. I’ve never seen a girl as pretty as her before. I um-“ Jackson itched at the back of his neck nervously.

“I asked her out tonight by slipping her a letter in her locker. I think she likes me to, I hope at least.” His mother settled her hand atop of his motherly, expressing how overjoyed she was for him. 

“That’s great honey! Remember what I always say, you’ll know when you know. You did the right thing by trusting your gut, the smart kid you are.” She ruffled his hair and excused herself to check in on her other children outside by the sandbox and tire swing. 

Mentioning that dinner was almost done, she sent everyone to go wash their hands and mentioned that Jackson had first dibs on the shower tonight, winking his way happily. For the first time in a long time Jackson sat at the dinner table, tossing jokes back and forth with his siblings enjoying the meal Evie had prepared.

Washing up and showering Jackson slipped on a jacket and jeans, tying his converse while heading out in the starry night sky toward the dock.

Evie couldn’t stop the acute smile painting her face as she watched her son chase out the door after a girl. He was always a difficult book to read and if it just so happened there was a girl that was able to decipher the writing inside his mind she wasn’t going to complain.

Opening the window, she shouted out through the screen.

“Don’t forget curfew is at 10!” Jackson waved at her, and turned down his path.

Upon arriving to the wooden dock, crawdads sang melodically throughout the atmosphere, crickets singing harmoniously in rhythm with the critters. This always held a special place to him, where he would go to clear his thoughts and just get away from the noise and clutter of his house. He had never brought anyone here, it was his only little peaceful sanctuary.

Sitting down, he placed his backpack beside him and checked his watch, it was only five pm but his heart pattered in anxiousness to see you and if you’d show.

He passed the time by pulling out his notebook, creating a portrait from memory of this morning when you walked into the class room. Reminiscing the way your hair flowed effortlessly over your shoulder, the blue jeans and black sweater draped over your body. He had always been a talented artist but like the dock, they were his creations that he didn’t wish to share with the world.

As he was etching out your figure, he thought he heard a tumbling in the grass, his head whipping around in curiosity only to be met with nothing and carrying on with his drawing.

That was when your hands curled in on his sides, spooking him but his frightened frown and girlish scream ended abruptly, a sincere grin forming when he saw it was you.

“Didn’t think I’d show did you?” You challenged him, taking a seat beside him and flinging off your flip flops into the grass, dipping your feet into the chilly water.

Jackson was quick to close his notebook, embarrassed and not wanting to you to see his drawing in fear of creeping you out.

“So, you said you wanted to get to know me. Ask away, also I brought snacks.” You shook a baggy filled with chocolate covered pretzels, sprinkled with your love.

Jackson took one willingly out of the baggie, slipping his shoes off and dipping his feet in next to yours. The sudden skin to skin contact causing bursts of electricity to pulsate through your body.

Looking down shyly, Jackson did the same but hadn’t moved his ankle away.

“Alright. So what’s your story? Any siblings, what do you like to do for fun? Any stories I should know about?” He chuckled slightly, his blue eyes shining subtly in the moonlight as he explained the complicated living situation he had been involved in his whole life. He normally would have felt uncomfortable talking about the reality of what his biological parents were like but you didn't seem very judgemental, if anything listening with open ears and an open mind. Although you felt sorry for him with the nearly non existent memories he had of his parents, there was a pang of jealousy when you'd learn he had siblings, and just that his mother was genuinely concerned about him. You would have killed for that.

“I can’t imagine what it’s like to have siblings. It gets quite lonely at times and I find myself falling asleep reading a book on the floor of my room. My parents constantly fight, hardly pay any attention to me. I could be dead, floating down the river right now and I still don’t think they’d notice.” Maybe Jackson hadn’t realized how good he had it compared to others. His face softened at the sad story, lapping his bottom lip in thought of what he could say to turn that inquisitive frown upside down.

"Well, for what its' worth you're more than welcome to come steal one of mine, though I must inform you if you are used to privacy, you will learn real fast it's nearly non existent with siblings." And there it was, that delicate, alluring laugh that left him hypnotized by your beauty.

Time passed slowly, but the conversation never staggered. You talked about the past, present, and the future. Fears, school. The basics, but he didn't want to mention about his interest in art, not yet, at least until the portrait was done. He didn't want to scare you off too early.

A week passed like the speed of sound, every night you ended back down at the dock.

Jackson had spent his nights after leaving you perfecting the portrait he was drawing of you sitting in a meadow, a small stray cat sitting beside you while birds and deer perforated the background at sunset.

When he would rest his head to sleep he found it difficult due to his mind running wild with the vision of you and him together forever. The way your eyes shined in the sunlight, how you smiled widely every time you saw him, and the way your voice sometimes staggered when you were nervous, he had never heard a laugh that sounded so heavenly and perfect, everything about you was perfect to him. He was falling fast, and it didn't scare him.

The following day he had to run to the post office for Evie whom was sending a package to his grandmother for her 80th birthday. In the process of walking back home, as he passed stores, he stepped backwards when a bracelet caught his eye.

It was a simple white band with different types of flowers decorating the width and he couldn't stop himself from going inside and purchasing the personal gift for you, knowing that you'd love it.

When he arrived home, he rushed to his mother, wanting to show her what he had bought for you in excitement and anticipation of her approval.

"Jackson, it's beautiful! She'll love it!" He smiled brightly, not being able to contain the clear blush heating his cheeks. Evie took him into the dining room to find a gift bag and some tissue paper, her heart warming that her son was finally opening up to her more and more every day now that you had entered his life. She just hoped that it would last for the sake of her son.

At the normal time, he had met you down at the dock, gift bag in hand. You had loved surprises and dropped your bag in the grass as he passed you the bag.

"Jackson what is this?" He shrugged, smirking confidently.

"I saw something I thought you'd like, so I bought it." Pursing your lips, you untied the bag, tossing the tissue paper out onto the ground to reveal the simplistic accessory. Your stomach fluttered with butterflies much like the first day you met him. No one had ever bought you anything just because, but maybe that was because your parents were too busy trying to buy out each other on business deals to care too.

"Jackson, you didn't have to do this for me..." Your voice was low, tone settling in disbelief. He reached for the bracelet pushing it onto your wrist gently.

"Don't say I never gave you anything." Wrapping your arms around, you rested your head on his shoulder, hands caressing his back while you listened to his pulse thumping rapidly.

When you pulled away, you pecked him on the cheek before taking your usual spots next to each other on the wooden surface.

“You smoke?” You shook your head shyly, never having really tried. 

“Do you want to? You don’t have to. It helps calm my nerves.” Motioning with your head, he pulled the tobacco tube from the containment of a hidden compartment in his backpack.

He handed you the lighter, giving you the honors of alighting the unlit tip.

You watched the butt glow orange, the smoke diminishing into the summer air as he puffed from the tube, his plump wraps securely around the white object.

Passing you the cigarette, you took it nervously, Jackson showing you the best way to hold it between your fingers.

“Now when you put it between your lips, you’re going to breathe in gently. You’ll feel the smoke clouding your lungs. You’ll then release and expel the remnants, got it?” Nodding nervously, Jackson watched intently as you inhaled.

You didn’t get very far, the discomfort in your chest causing you to cough and choke on the smoke, passing Jackson the cigarette back causing his insatiable laugh to reveal itself for the first time. He began patting your back, hand rubbing soothing circles into the delicate skin.

“Okay, okay. Fair is fair. What do you think about roller blading? It was all I really did where I’m from. Never really had friends and found a thrill feeling the wind blowing through my hair. It’s actually quite fun and I researched some trails in the area and checked them out before starting school. Wanna give it a go?” Jackson shook his head checking his watch realizing he was already late back home. 

“I can’t, my mom will have my ass if I’m not on my way back. I’m not going to make you walk home alone though, where do you live?” You giggled slightly in astonishment that his parents cared enough to give him a curfew, something you weren’t used to.

Nodding forth, he picked up his belongings following after you. 

To his own surprise, you didn't live far, quite the opposite. Your family had just moved into a new home next door deep in the woods. He hadn't even known they were doing construction but the more you know. Now he knows how you found the dock so easily.

The following afternoon, he had met you down the road near the roller rentals business that had just opened. Jackson was slightly unsettled that the bearded, partially overweight man running it he didn't recognize. It was a small town, everyone knew everyone but he shook off the uneasy feeling when your arms wrapped around him from behind. After all people moved all the time.

"Boo! Did I scare you?" He chuckled awkwardly, not wanting to admit that you did in fact startle him.

Having never done this, he followed your lead.

"Two pairs please!" After telling him your sizes, the man disposed his cigarette in a plastic container sitting on the edge of the stall.

The man's hand brushed over yours to exchange the cash but you didn't think much of it as things like this happen all the time, surely it was an accident. This went unnoticed by Jackson as he was looking out at how empty the park was for a sunny saturday afternoon. The only thing that caught his sight was a bird taking a bath near a bush. He knew your love for animals and grabbed your attention. Handing him the blades you gasped in awe at the adorable scene, before bending over in front of the stall to put your own on.

"You ready?" The guy behind you grunted as if he were waiting a tip but you didn't bring your wallet and Jackson had no more cash on him. Honestly he thought it was quite rude of him to do so. Nodding forth, you skated side by side down the empty streets, wind blowing freely through your hair as the sun shined down in it's ball of heat, warming your skin. Jackson had fallen quite a few times, his cheeks turning red embarrassment but you thought it was quite cute. With each incident he seemed to be more determined to not mess up, wanting to impress you that he was a quick learner and able to skate even while smoking a cigarette.

For once in his life he felt care free with you by his side, once he finally got into a steady stride. You screamed and laughed together like you were in complete control of the world, not a worry in your heads. He didn't think he'd enjoy this as much as he did.

Stopping to get ice cream, you shared a cone like lovers do, giving him the cherry while you showed him the skill of how you could tie the stem into a knot within seconds. He believed you to be quite impressive, and just an easy, kindhearted person. Who couldn't love you?

After making a few stops at a book store, and some antique outlets, Jackson skated home with you, kissing you goodnight on the cheek, skating home with a smile that never left his face but he felt like someone was watching not only him but both of you. When he'd look back no one would be there, maybe he was just being paranoid.

The following night the crickets chirped throughout the breezy atmosphere, water rippling calmly in the pond as you layed on the wooden dock star gazing.

“I promise, I’ll always be around.” Jackson smiled softly, crystal eyes shining under the moonlight. Involuntarily, your hands inched toward one another, intertwining your fingers together and latching in a display of affection. You giggled from the touch, staring at the size difference of his hand on yours. After a few moments of star gazing, Jackson caught your stare in him, biting down on your bottom lip playfully. He watched you quizzically but with an endearing smile on his face.

“What?” Before he had time to think you leaned in, not being able to resist the urge to kiss him any longer. In an alluring motion, your lips captured his, causing Jackson’s breath to hitch in his throat and his eyebrows raising in surprise.

Your lips were chaste, soft, the taste of the strawberry lip gloss insatiable. His hand grazed over the softness of your cheek, heart thumping rapidly in his chest while he deepened the kiss, his lips slowly curling into a smile as he dipped his tongue playfully onto yours.

The night sky settled as you slowly grazed your hand up the nape of his warm neck.

Falling back into the dampened grass, the atmosphere seemed to come to a still. Adrenaline and hormones rushing through your veins in a wave of disparity and lust as your lips curled in unison, hands skimming one anothers' bodies slowly scratching at each other’s clothes.

“Are you sure? I-I don’t want you to feel pressured, and-“ You shushed his concerns by pulling him back  down, hips grinding upward to feel his hardened mound, giving him all the reassurance he needed to pollen your untouched rose.

The night had passed slowly, the sun starting to peer up as you awoke in his arms, checking the time on your watch.

“Shit. Wake up we’re going to be late!” Jackson groaned from his deep slumber, goosebumps on his skin from the chilly evening, wiping off an ant from his arm in the process.

Shoveling around, he began to panic when he saw the sun knowing full well his mother would have a field day with him once he returned home.

“Fuck, I-I don’t mean to run off but my mom will kill me. It’s better if I just go home and let her know I’m alright then to even bother going to school. Will you be okay walking alone?” Giving him a reassuring smile, your hand caressed his soft cheek, calming him down merely instantly.

“I’ll be alright. I wish I had parents that cared as much as yours. Go home I’ll catch up with you later, I’m sure your mom will understand. You worry too much y’know?” He chuckled kindheartedly, his hand inching toward yours and thanking you for being understanding and just having a calming demeanor. Leaning in you placed a kiss to his lips, reminiscing back to the memory of last night, falling asleep in his arms after making passionate love. He was the boy you had been waiting for all along.

As he left you shouted after him. 

“Oh and Jackson, I don’t regret last night, I um- I’m really happy it happened.” He smiled sweetly, rushing back to give you a passionate kiss before agreeing he hadn’t regretted it either and he would see you soon.

Evie paced the kitchen, hands trembling as she bit her nails nervously waiting for the clock to strike 8 am so she could call the school. The police were of no help, informing her that a missing persons report could not be created until it was at least 48 hours past when she had last seen or heard from him.

Marcie, Jackson’s older sister consoled their mother, reminding her of the fact Jackson was a teenager, surely he was alright and just forgot to call.

“Bye, love you.” Your voice was like soothing music to his ears and for a moment, he didn’t think you realized what you said. Those two words, seven letters, making his heart patter quickly, stomach fluttering with butterflies while he smiled to himself watching you walk off through the meadow back home, not giving him a chance to say it back but one thing he was sure of was that he was falling fast at the speed of love, knowing in his gut from that moment forward he would do anything to protect you.

When Jackson arrived home, his mother slammed the door closed behind him in fury and anger.

"Where have you been?! I've been worried sick about you, for all I know you could've been dead in a ditch, you know the rules!" Jackson began to apologize right away, explaining that he had fallen asleep at a friend's house but she knew better than that. In his flustered state, he attempted to speak further but Evie wasn't having any of it.

"You are grounded for a week. I expect you home right after school." When Jackson tried to argue, she cut him off.

"It's not up for discussion son. Now go to your room." Scoffing, he threw his hands up in defeat, walking in a fast pace toward his room slamming the door shut in irritation. What was he to do not having alone time with you, especially after last night.

He needed to be near you, to talk with you. It was only your touch, your voice that could calm him down, keep him sane from this fucking house. He wrote a letter, asking his mother if she could at least walk it over to your house and give to your parents. He didn't want you to think that last night was a mistake or that you weren't good enough.

After much debate, Evie gave in knowing how much you had helped Jackson come out of his shell and settle his disruptive emotions. She had explained to your parents it was for only a week but they acted as if they didn't even know you were dating Jackson. When she peered in through the door way, papers were scattered across the table, expensive decor hanging on the walls. She hadn't known that they were that financially set.

When the moonlight bore and the ruckus settled in the house, Jackson quietly inched his door open, seeing that all the lights were off and not a person in sight.

Walking back to his room and closing the door, he snuck out through the window, walking over to your house and seeing a singular light on. Maybe that was your room, maybe you found it hard to sleep as well. Glancing down at the driveway, he picked up a few pebbles before going to throw them at your window, praying he had the right one.

The sound reeled you away from the book you were indulged in, your heart pounding in your chest when you raised the window to see Jackson standing outside in the midsommer night.

"Jackson, what're you doing?"

"I had to see you, can you come down?" Nodding, and telling him to wait a moment. You wrapped a robe around you, tumbling down the stairs and rushing outside, jumping up into his arms while he caught you effortlessly. He was everything you wanted, everything you needed. You nuzzled your head into the warmth of his neck, breathing in the freshly shower scent of his sea breeze body wash while he held you, basking in the moment of solitude with one another, nothing but the sounds of the awakened night animals cooing softly in the background.

"Your bracelet, you still have it on." He smiled in adoration, his voice like a velvet day dream.

"And I'm never taking it off for a single second." He didn't have long, knowing Evie would often wake up through out the night.

"I have one more surprise for you that I'm always done with. I've been working on it since the day we met but I want to wait until I'm off from being grounded and then I'm going to make sweet love to my baby girl." You giggle, pressing your lips to his before bidding him goodnight. He waited to ensure you were back in your house before heading back over to his.

The following morning Jackson arrived at school, he walked to class worried that he hadn't seen you at all but tried to convince himself that perhaps you had fallen ill. It wasn't too far fetched that there was a bug going around school. He sat anxiously, finishing up the final touches of his portrait for you, hoping it would help time pass. Around 12:00 pm, there was a phone call made to the school and Jackson was pulled from class. Only it wasn't his mother who made the call, bu they must have received some kind of verification for him to be pulled. Furrowing his brows, he gathered his books, walking back home.

The school hadn't told him much but the teacher and other supervisors watched him with sorrowful eyes, looks of pity. Jackson was confused as to what was going on but he just lived down the road so he'd have an answer soon.

When he approached his house, Evie was on the porch sitting on the swing with a reddened face, tears streaming effortlessly down her cheeks while she blew her nose. This was unlike his mother, she normally didn't cry, and why were there police cars in the driveway? His first thought was something happened to one of his siblings.

“What’s going on?” Evie cried with a whole heart for her foster son, she had never seen him so happy, the light at the end of the tunnel seeming visible until now. This would surely wreck any and all progress Jackson has made. She wasn't prepared to tell him but what choice did she have?

“Honey maybe you should sit." He nodded awkwardly, gulping back an anxious lump before taking a seat next to her. She didn't really know where to begin or how to rip the band-aid off. How could she explain a situation she didn't truly understand herself?

She stood from her seat sighing and glancing out the window knowing that if she didn't speak now, he was going to find out for himself. She owed him the explanation. Softening her tone, she turned to her son with apologetic eyes with a look of motherly endearment and sorrow.

“It's Y/N. They found her body in a river this morning behind the tracks, Jackson honey I’m so sorry.” In that moment time seemed to stop. Jackson was frozen in his seat, lips partially agape. When Evie took a hesitant step forward to attempt to console her son with open arms, Jackson merely shoved her away the tears springing freely as he ran out the door.

Sprinting all the way to your house, he saw the police cars in the driveway, your pup whimpering with sadness next to your father’s leg. When the ambulance carried out your body on a stretcher, covered with a white sheet the reality crept in harshly, all too sudden.

“Jackson!” His mother yelled after him trying to get him to come back inside but her voice was merely a whisper, his eyes fixated on the bloody sheet covering his first and only love’s body. 

He stumbled and ran to the ambulance, tears springing freely. Ripping the sheet off of your head freely, he was met with the cold, hard reality of the situation. Your skin was pale, lifeless, blood stains on your cheeks and in your beautiful hair. It had looked like your face had been beaten in with a weapon. He wasn't sure if he wanted to vomit, to keep crying, or kill someone.

The ambulance workers pulled him away against his will, recovering your body and closing the ambulance doors. Jackson fell to his knees, your mothers touch on his shoulder startling him.

"I-I just saw her last night. I-I didn't even get to say goodbye...I never got to say it back."

He searched every trail you walked, every pond, every dock, every diner but there was nothing. Not a single clue. Strangers passed by him hastily, rushing to get their morning coffee, none of them appearing familiar. 

He was desperate, he was tumultuously sad and depressed, but the anger outweighed any other emotion.

After a long day of searching and investigating, he returned home to his bed, ignoring his mother and siblings wanting nothing more than to just be left alone. No one understood his pain, no one could understand the profound connection he shared with you. Most importantly no one would ever be able to surmount the palpable, tentative, fragile love you held for one another.

Toward the end of the long, dreary, tiresome day Jackson found himself walking toward the dock where you shared probably one of the most intimate forms of love, the moment that you made love with one another.

Sitting down on the ground, the rain continued to pour down relentlessly, lightning shocking the sky and rendering the animals into a safe space for the night. His feet swished in the water, staring down at the ripple effect when he noticed the bracelet he had bought for you laying in a mud puddle in the dampened grass.

He didn’t hesitate for a second, reaching for the only thing he had left of you. He examined the beaded accessory in his hands, squeezing it, causing him to cry more. How did this get here?

“What am I supposed to do!” He screamed at the sky, feeling completely hopeless, knowing someone had done this to you and he hadn't had a clue. If it was here, that meant someone had eyes on you, but who?

Looking through the photo album, he skimmed as his tears painted the pages until he realized there was a common, terrifying theme that neither of you had caught in the photos.

The man from the rollerblading rentals was somehow in every photo lurking in the background menacingly. How had he not noticed? Perhaps he was too blinded by living a happy life with his first love to notice anyone but him and you together.

Shutting the album he ran to the phone book pulling the hefty book from a side table drawer near the landline in the living room. 

Flipping to the back where local advertisers were listed in hopes of figuring out the man’s name. With his thumb he traced down each page, ready to give up until he reached the last one.

Derek Lauer was his name, listed along with a business and personal number. Finally one step forward into finding out who this man was that took his innocent little birdie away.

The following morning Jackson had set an alarm, wanting to be at the clerks office as soon as they opened hoping to find an address.

When he retrieved what he wanted after some convincing to the older woman sat at the desk who clearly hated her job and life. The odd thing was the address was nearly three hours away.

Formulating a plan, he waited until Evie and his siblings were asleep, taking the car keys and heading out to the road. His knuckles were turning white from how tight his hands were wrapped around the wheel. Jaw clenched, in anger and fury, his heart rate increasing with each passing moment.

When he pulled up to the driveway, the house contained a sold sign, the date being just yesterday. This didn't make any sense. He knew he wrote it down right, glancing down at the paper again, he was about to look back up when a man's voice echoed through the night.

"Jackson, right?" He whipped his head around, recognizing the man to indeed be the one from the roller blading rental. It took everything in him to think rationally and not pounce at the man and rip his toxic, sick, twisted brain out.

“I know it was you. You sick fuck, what did you do to her.”

“Oh you don’t want to know, a pretty young thing like that. I think your imagination will suffice.” Jackson’s blood boiled inside, heart pounding with anger. He was ready to jump at the man, wanting to strangle him and torture him slowly for what he did to you but the cops around the corner staring at the scene made him stop. He wouldn't be any use to you locked up in prison for killing a murderer he couldn't prove to be guilty.

With technology not being too advanced at the time, Jackson had no actual proof, DNA identification was just beginning and it wasn't rare for the wrong person to be convicted. It's not like he could go to the police station and just say this guy confessed when he had no idea where he was going. How did he know his name?

"You should really watch over your girlfriend more, never know what kind of demented people roam the streets, do ya?"

What was his motive for taking you to the dock? How long after Jackson left you did he break into your home and abduct you? There were still missing pieces Jackson had to fill in but he would get his revenge one way or another, even if he had to do it himself. The law, the police, the courts they were always corrupt, never fully doing their job. No, the only way Jackson was going to get his revenge was to leave home, and start a life of his own. Surely an 18 year old was better at researching the some old sick fuck. People always doubted Jackson's thinking and learning skills, well he was about to prove them all wrong with his first target.

The man got in his car with his final box, making the rookie mistake of having a clear plate on his car. Jackson wanted him to think he wasn't going to follow him and stayed stood there in the rain until the cop cars left. He'd figure out a way to dump Evie's car somewhere once he finds a new, safer ride.

He clutched the portrait and bracelet he kept in his jeans, taking off in a fit or rage but remaining calm to keep his thinking clear, and tactical.

From that day forward Jackson vowed to obtain his revenge by taking these rich, scumbag assholes off the streets for good. They never had to pay any time, always sweeping things under the rug, cops covering for them. No, no that just wouldn’t do. If they thought for even a second they had the upper hand they were sadly mistaken. Jackson would forever be a frigid, moral-less man after losing his one true love, unable to love another woman ever again.

[fandomfluffandfuck]

I don't have the energy to actually write much about Sebastian knowing proper choking techniques, so just a quick thought:

Ignoring an obvious kinky undertone that I strongly get the vibe from for Seb, I judt know he's been choked a time or two and has picked up techniques through bascially osmosis, lmao, what if Seb knows how to choke someone properly because of his role for Bucky? The winter soldier does it a shit ton. He had to have been trained for that. Stunts don't fuck around and choreography takes time to learn. Time that, Chris, we know, takes less of. He picks up stunts wildly fast, being shown beats back to back and parroting them perfectly. Seb, like a normal human, takes more time.

So, Sebastian probably worked a lot more with the stunt doubles and stunt performers before finally having Chris show up for a few practice runs before the final shot.

They practice a lot.

They test a few different camera angles, trying to figure out exactly how to solve this artistic problem. The tension pulls Chris' muscles into a tangled knot of anticipation. He could vibrate out of his fucking skin.

The intensity of that repeat repeat repeat, hand-around-your-neck problem solving is hell. Sisyphean if the boulder were pressing on your throat and you liked it. It's the closest Chris has been to Seb. Maybe. They've shot lots of scenes. Lots of stunts. None quite like this, though. Even when they were wrestling, all but fucking grinding, for Captain America: Winter Soldier, Chris at least knew how terribly torturous that would be, how much he would struggle through gritted teeth not to get hard. Here, now, he didn't expect this. It hits.

It's good.

It shouldn't be. But it is.

Chris has been fucking lusting after Seb hard since that first film--who could stare up at Sebastian (standing on an apple box to give the illusion hieght difference for skinny Steve) and not fall madly in love lust with such a pretty man--and needing to have his fist, cold and hard yet so gentle and caring every time they call cut, wrapped around his throat for his fuckin' job only makes it worse.

It was worse already when Seb showed up to set jacked outta fucking control, looking thick as fuck, prowling around, heavy and taking up space but still being so fucking sweet.

It's worse than worse the next morning when Chris rolls over in bed, sleeping naked, to feel a low, thrumming ache deep in the tendons and muscles of his throat to go with the gentle, expected pulse of morning wood between his legs--he knows how he gets on set with Sebastian, so close to him, breathing in his cologne, watching his face evolve, choking back the constant urge to praise his skill, his beauty, his everything.

Chris knows, immediately, with such a sensation around his neck even without the assistance of a mirror that he's got bruising, probably faint. He's just pale enough for it to show, he's sure, but, yes, bruising.

Huh.

Chris swallows on reflex, his mouth suddenly dry, then again on purpose, reveling in the ghostly, intimate sensation of squeezing touch. Tight. Touch. Just enough constriction to make him start to feel the edge of dizzy, like being tipsy.

Yeah.

The memories of yesterday lazily replay in Chris' tired mind.

A shiver rolls through him, leaving behind an army of goosebumps raised over his bare skin despite the heat of his body trapped in his bedsheets. The idea of Sebastian touching him--touching him--his mark left on his body, pressed into his skin, reminding him of exactly what he did, grabbed him and pulled him close, biceps fucking bulging, shoulders shifting, eyes so intense, mouth pink, face, just, like that.

God.

Chris remains in his bed, swallowing, sweating, and... thinking... for a little longer than he should.

He's late for his call time.

And he absolutely does not blush when the makeup artist clicks their tongue, carefully brushing their fingers across his jaw this way and that to get a sense of the bruising, and tells him he should ask the director for a raise. The stunt performers get adjustments, you know, when they take a really hard fall, so should you. That, or, see if you can bruise Seb up in return--they don't mean it, everyone loves Seb on set. It's impossible not to, look at the guy!

Chris doesn't want a raise. He doesn't want... he wants... he kinda wants Seb to do it again. He might really want to ask Seb to show him how so he can use it against him 🥴🥴 He wants red-faced and gasping and hitching breaths that are more moans than anything else, he wants eyes rolling back, he wants trembling, he wants lips loosely whimpering tighter, harder, more, please 😮‍💨

[katsu28]

hii!! i love your writing (especially your ted lasso works, although, i am a tad bit biased), and i was wondering if you could do 'orange rose' for the flower prompts with my bby sam obisanya? i've noticed an extreme lack of fics about him, but i absolutely adore him

thank you so much my dear!! sam is such a ray of sunshine and such a criminally underrated character and he deserves so much more love (and i will give it to him)

orange rose: experiencing constant as well as distracting thoughts of the other person, sam obisanya x reader, reader is the team physio (except my medical knowledge is basically nonexistent pls forgive any concussion inaccuracies oops), 1.3k

Sam’s mind was not with him on the pitch today. He’d been distracted during practice before, but never like this. He attributed it to you. It was always you. 

He saw you everyday, sometimes even multiple times a day, always volunteering to pop into the treatment room if one of the boys needed ice or tape. Sometimes he visited you without having an actual reason other than wanting to talk to you for a little bit. You were always a nice change from locker room talk (and you smelled a lot nicer too). 

You plagued his thoughts day in and day out, often distracting him from whatever he was doing because he was too busy thinking about what it would be like to do things with you. Mundane things like making breakfast together. Taking an evening stroll around Richmond. Helping him test out new recipes for Ola's.

There was a rather specific reason why you were the source of his distraction today, though. 

------- 

Sam heard his name echo through the empty car park, looking up from his phone in bewilderment that soon turned to joy when he spotted you jogging towards him.

He slowed his pace to a crawl, giving you time to fall into step with him on the way towards the facility entrance. You looked almost unbearably pretty like you always did. 

“Good morning,” He said cheerfully, smiling brightly at you. “How was your night?” 

“Good! I stayed in, so it was pretty quiet, just the way I like it.” Your arm brushed against his as you moved to let another person squeeze past you, and Sam swore his heart raced double time in his chest. He had to ward off thoughts of spending quiet nights with you before you noticed him acting weird. “Any fun plans tonight after training?” 

“Yes, actually! One of my friends is having their engagement party at Clos Maggiore, near the Royal Opera House. Maybe you know it?” 

“No way! I’ve been dying to try that place, but the waitlist is miles long. I’d probably be geriatric by the time I could get a table.” You sighed, offering him a shrug. A brilliant plan sprung to Sam’s mind at that very moment, and he decided to take the plunge and outright ask you what he wanted to. 

“Would you maybe want to go with me?” He asked, rocking back on his heels nervously. The corners of your mouth turned up into a small, hopeful smile. “As my date.” He added, praying that he wasn’t overstepping his bounds. 

That got a much bigger smile out of you, a beam whose magnitude could quite possibly rival the sun, in his opinion. It was one of Sam’s favorite things about you. 

“I would love to be your date, Sam.” 

“Really?” 

“‘Course. Dunno if you’d noticed, but I like you.” 

Sam’s answer was immediate. “I like you too.” 

He wanted to continue the conversation so badly, but you’d somehow arrived at the locker room without him even noticing. Normally he’d make an attempt to prolong the conversation, offering to walk you to your office, but he could see most of the team already booted up and ready to train. 

“I have to go.” He said, sounding a touch disheartened. You must’ve noticed, because you snaked your hand into his for a quick second, squeezing fondly before dropping your hand back down to your side. 

“Well, I guess I’ll see you tonight then. Six o’clock? Don’t be late.” You called, backpedaling down the corridor with another sunshine smile aimed his way. Sam nodded furiously. 

“I wouldn’t even dream of it.” 

-------

“Sam! Sam, watch—” 

Sam shook himself out of his thoughts, but not in time to see the ball hurtling right towards his face. 

Had he been paying attention, he would’ve seen the beautiful cross-field pass Jamie had lofted his way upon seeing that he was unmarked. Since he wasn’t, it slammed into the side of his head, sitting him right down on his ass in a sprawl of limbs. 

There was a symphony of shouts and the boys were by his side in an instant, crowding around him nervously as they waited to see if he was okay. Sam sat up slowly, rubbing his temple with a bewildered look aimed at his teammate. 

“You were lookin’ right at me, man, I thought you were open!” Jamie protested, raking his hands through his hair. “Did I break anything??” 

“Yeah bruv, did he crack your skull?” 

“How many fingers am I holding up?” 

“Do you remember how much money I owe you?” That one was Jan Maas, and it earned him an elbow to the gut. “What? I don’t want to pay him.”

“Sam! Do me a favor and come over here a sec!” Ted called, beckoning Sam over to the sidelines. “The rest of you boys head on over to Coach Beard for defense drills, chop chop!” 

With another shake of his head, Sam headed over. “Yes, Coach?” 

“First of all, you alright, son? Pretty nasty knock to the noggin you just got.” Ted looked genuinely concerned, but when Sam nodded, his mouth flattened into a rather disappointed line. “Good. Glad you’re okay. Second of all, your head’s further away from this pitch right now than E.T. from his home. Wanna tell me what’s going on, or do I gotta get all stern coach on you and make you tell me?” 

“Sorry Coach, I am just…” Sam trailed off, racking his brain for the right word to describe how he was feeling without having to tell Ted that he was distracted because he was thinking about you. Telling his coach he wasn’t one hundred percent into his training was definitely not a good move. “It’s nothing. I promise I won’t lose focus again. You have my word.” 

Ted tilted his head at the young player, as if contemplating whether or not to force the reason out of it. Eventually, he just shrugged. “Alright, well, why don’t you mosey on over to the treatment room to pay the good doc a visit? See if she can’t fix you up, make you right as rain again.”

Sam nodded, his eagerness to get back onto the pitch (and maybe at the prospect of seeing you again, even for just a little bit) sending him hurrying through the facility quickly. 

The door to the treatment room was ajar when he arrived, but he knocked anyway, poking his head in to scan for you. 

“You just couldn’t wait until after training to see me again, hm?” You sighed, smiling at him warmly from where you were looking over a chart. Sam offered a rather bashful smile and a soft greeting back, boots clicking on the floor as he shuffled into the small room. “Alright, come sit. Tell me what happened.” 

“The ball hit me in the head.” He mumbled, his cheeks growing warm with embarrassment. You clicked your tongue, fingers pressing against his scalp for any bumps or abnormalities. Your touch and close proximity made him shiver, but he liked to think he kept it under wraps quite well. 

“Do you have any nausea? Dizziness? Trouble remembering things?” Sam shook his head. He enjoyed being doted on by you, even if you were just doing your job. You patted his cheek goodnaturedly. “Well, other than that nice sized bruise where I’m assuming the ball hit you, I’m not seeing any signs of concussion.” 

“Thank god. I would’ve hated to disappoint the team.” 

“Just take this cold pack and ice your head for a while. Twenty minutes on, twenty minutes off, and repeat. The swelling should go down fairly soon, but I want you to let me know if you start feeling off.” You went to grab a bag of ice and a washcloth to wrap it in as you spoke. Sam’s eyes never left you, even when you came back to place the cold pack in his hand. “Would hate to lose out on Clos Maggiore because you got knocked on the head.” 

He nodded slowly, bringing the ice up to his head. “So you are only using me for my connections, I see.” 

“Pretty obvious, innit?” You winked playfully and getting hit in the head suddenly didn’t seem like the worst thing in the world. “Right, well you should get back to the pitch. Tell Ted you’re cleared for training after you ice.” 

“Yes, doctor.” He hesitated a moment, then crossed the room to press a quick kiss to your cheek before he could chicken out. “See you tonight.” 

Had he stayed a second longer, he would’ve seen how big your smile had gotten at the simple action. 

follow @katsu-library to be notified when i post new fics :)

[mochiwrites]

scar is a little more alert during nights, during tcd nights were the worst, it was more dangerous and he had more difficulty seeing, when he went to hipixel when he was living on the streets he always held his breath when it was late at night, almost expecting infected to spill around the corners. when he moved in with grian, grian noticed this. their second date grian takes scar up to the top of their apartment building and they have a little picnic and stargaze, there holding grians hand he saw just how beautiful the night could be. whenever scar looks at the stars he feels that warmth of grians hand beside him. on his worst nights when grian was gone he would go out and look at the stars, and would feel alittle comforted. when grian gets back, scar lays beside him on a double bed, in mumbos peaceful testing world, and they stare up at the stars. scars universe is right again, he thinks, tucking some hair behind grians wing feathers

“Aaaaand, open!”

Scar lifts his hands off his face, eyes slowly popping open. He blinks a few times to clear the blurriness over his vision, and when it’s gone, he’s met with a wonderful sight.

The starry night sky is bright in front of them, stretching all over the city block of Hypixel. String lights line the roof of the apartment building they stand on, other buildings down below still alive with light. Scar can feel the breeze through his hair, gentle and calming as it presses its lips against his skin. Perhaps the best part of it is the small picnic basket and blanket set up a mere few feet away. His jaw is open in awe.

He walks over to it, standing on the blanket. “This is… whoa.”

Grian smiles, coming to stand beside him. He slips his hand into Scar’s, holding it. “I figured you could use some change in perspective,” he hums, giving Scar’s hand a squeeze. “You don’t have to fear the night here.”

Scar’s head whips toward him, green eyes growing wide. “How did you…”

“I’m very observant, Scar,” Grian chuckles, smiling softly. “I notice things.” He looks back up at the star speckled sky, that softness never leaving his face. “I want to make sure you know how beautiful the night can be too.”

Looking at Grian, at how mesmerizing he is, Scar thinks he understands quite well. Like this, he thinks he can see the stars reflecting in the darkness of Grian’s eyes. He’s never seen anything more beautiful — except for Grian himself, of course. “You’re perfect,” Scar mutters, breathless.

It causes Grian’s face to burn red with embarrassment, “And you’re embarrassing.”

Scar grins at him, pleased by his reaction. They move to sit on the picnic blanket, and they spend the night pointing out the stars together. It’s one of the first nights in a long time that Scar didn’t feel afraid of the darkness. With Grian’s hand in his, he felt completely at peace.

———————

The old memory comes to mind as Scar lays beside his husband, looking between him and the stars above. Grian’s head rests on his shoulder, the feathered wing of his ear twitching every now and then. Scar gently combs through his hair, brushing any loose strands out of his face.

He sees the stars reflecting in Grian’s eyes once more, and everything feels right again. His Universe is back in place.

[hooked-on-elvis]

How did Elvis took care of his awesome hair? 🚿🍃

Plus, a quick overview on one of the King's hairdressers and Memphis Mafia man, Larry Geller: How somewhat he was the friend Elvis needed and how Elvis' over-controlling inner circle banned Geller from their surroundings for a while.

I was actually looking if I could find Elvis' haircut name - precisely the type of haircut he had on the '68 Comeback Special and "Charro!" (1968), since I'm a girl and I have zero idea about the names for male haircuts but I just love that haircut he had so much I wanted to talk about it... anyway. But I found an article about Elvis' hair care routine and that sounds very interesting to me, so it might be something you wanna know too.

This is told by Larry Geller, so this means this was Elvis' hair routine starting from mid 60's on, precisely from 1964 to 1967, and possibly also from late 1972 to 1977 *, periods in which Larry was responsible for taking care of the King's hair.

Geller, who will be launching his own line of organic hair products later this year, tested out some of his first custom mixes on Elvis. “I used to go to the health food store and get a benign base shampoo and get some vitamin capsules and pour 99 percent pure aloe vera and other herbs into it, and shake it up,” Geller tells Yahoo Beauty. “That’s what I used on Elvis’ hair. He said to me, right from the get-go, ‘You can do whatever you want with my hair, but one thing — make sure I keep it!’” Source: Yahoo Beauty: Elvis Presley’s Hairstylist Spills the King’s Secrets by Lilit Marcus. The article was shared on a Graceland's website on January 28, 2014.

Elvis, you're the best, man. LOL. Just that comment is worth this entire post. It made me laugh. But the article goes on.

Then there was the daily routine. “I shampooed his hair regularly, usually every day. I would massage his scalp for a few minutes, then brush his hair at least 50 or 60 strokes. I was focused on long-term health of his hair, which was so important,” Geller explains. He also used products like vitamin E and jojoba oil to style Elvis’ hair and replace conditioner. Hairspray was used to set it, with Geller alternating multiple brands so that none of them would dry out Elvis’ coif too much. As for its color, Geller dyed Elvis’ hair every two to three weeks with a L’Oreal formula. What did the two men discuss during all that grooming? Religion, philosophy, books, life, and anything else you can think of. “Elvis had everything,” says Geller. “He was an extraordinary human being. He had the greatest eyes, the greatest voice, fans galore. He also had great hair.”

Elvis in "Frankie and Johnny" and "Spinout", both 1966 movies.

Larry Geller styled Elvis’ hair for: "Roustabout" (1964), Girl Happy (1965), Tickle Me (1965), Harum Scarum (1965), Frankie and Johnny (1966), Paradise, Hawaiian Style (1966), Spinout (1966), Easy Come, Easy Go (1967), Double Trouble (1967), and Clambake (1967). Geller prepared Elvis’ hair for the last time for his funeral in August, 1977.

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

Elvis' hair must have been so good smelling and soft. Washed every day, organic products to make it smooth and shiny as it was. 🫠🥹

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

Now, if you want to understand why there's a pause in Larry's association with Elvis, here it is:

LARRY GELLER QUITS WORKING FOR ELVIS IN 1967: INDIRECTLY CAUSED BY ELVIS' HEAD INJURY POSTPONING THE FILMING FOR 'CLAMBAKE'.

On March 9, 1967, Elvis was staying in him home in Bel Air, Los Angeles, and one incident (Elvis tripped over a TV cord in his bathroom and banged his head against a porcelain bathtub) caused the beginning of the production for the movie "Clambake", for which he was preparing to, to be postponed. Colonel Parker was fuming when he heard about the need for Elvis to take a couple of weeks of resting to recover from the mild concussion he had. It was a critical moment in Elvis' life. By the time the filming begun, Elvis even put up some weight from his normal 170 lb (77 kg) to 200 lb (91 kg) — I said it before, whenever this happened to Elvis' body it was because he was extremely distressed. He was an emotional eater.

Getting back to the accident, Parker even thought Elvis did it on purpose not to fulfill his Hollywood commitment since Presley clearly was not happy about his movies anymore, something Parker somehow blamed it on Elvis' spiritual quest. He pulled some strings to manipulate Elvis to remove Larry Geller from his inner circle by saying to him that all that spiritual thing was getting too much into his head, distracting him from his business obligations. If not enough Parker said to Presley that Larry Geller was brainwashing him because of some personal agenda he must have had in his mind — it's mentioned by someone, somewhere (i'm sorry, I'm not gonna remember where I've read it now) that Geller was planning on using Elvis' money to open a religious study center or something like that).

Basically, Parker thought Larry was a threat because if Elvis decided in throwing his career away, like some say he was by becoming a preacher, Parker would lose his most profitable and only client. Consequently all the religion and spiritual "shit" (as they called) that Larry Geller had put inside the King's head (as they thought), presenting him with many books and having deep conversations for hours with Elvis about several religious and spiritual subjects but not exclusively that, they also talked about meditation and self improvement as a human beings, astrology and so on, all of that was threatening Parker's plans over Elvis.

But Parker didn't make it on his own. Even Priscilla says in her memoir book that Elvis was obsessively reading non-stop and wanting to share his learning with everybody else, but his friends and herself didn't care about none of this self-improvement and religious talk. His inner circle even looked at Presley's spiritual quest as somewhat annoying, including Priscilla. Their thoughts about Larry Geller were something like "Larry changed his mind. Elvis is not spending time with us as he used to." Ugh!

Nobody actually told Larry to leave, tho, and Elvis wouldn't do such thing if he didn't have a good reason to - until this point Larry was a confidant to him, one of the only people he could talk about life and wonder what was God's plan for him, his true life mission, something Elvis would never cease trying to understand. However, Elvis' inner circle and Colonel Parker begun making Geller feel uncomfortable, unwelcome among the group, while they took Elvis' attention back to them, practically forcing Geller to decide to finally leave and go away for good, and he did it. But it was not something definite.

Many things happened in Elvis' life since Larry Geller and him went different ways but by August 1972, tho, Geller got back in contact in Elvis when he attended one of Presley's concerts in Las Vegas, and from then on Larry begins working for Elvis again, till the end of the King's life in 1977.

[lokimobius]

🧡 Lokius (obviously lol)

Todays offering includes: soft, domestic Lokius living on the timeline together, kissing, and a little bit of teasing.

Also uploaded to AO3 if anyone prefers reading that way!

🧡 kissing in bed / lazy kiss / cuddling

“Did you remember to lock the back door?” Mobius asked.

Loki pops his head around the door of their en suite with his toothbrush in his mouth. “Of course I did,” he said through the foam of toothpaste. He flashed a smile at Mobius and returned to the sink.

Mobius waited. Any second now...

The sound of Loki brushing his teeth slowed, then stopped altogether. Mobius laughed quietly to himself as he heard Loki turn off the water. He knew it wouldn’t take long for him to second-guess himself.

Ever since Loki forgot to lock the door last summer, they went through this at least once a month. Mobius would always ask, and Loki would always assure him that he did, in fact, lock the back door, and then he’d have to go check himself, not believing anything he just said. It was like clockwork.

After rinsing his mouth, Loki reappeared at the doorway and gave Mobius a sheepish look. “I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to double-check,” he said, ducking out into the hallway and down the stairs before Mobius had a chance to say anything.

Mobius smiled fondly at the space where Loki had stood, took his glasses off, and shut the book he was reading. He folded them neatly into his glasses case and placed them both on his bedside table.

The sound of Loki testing the door handle could be heard clearly in the quiet of the night as Mobius adjusted the pillow behind his head and snuggled further into the bed.

“It’s locked!” Loki called as he made his way back up the stairs, “You should have more faith in me, Mobius.” He leant against the doorframe and smirked.

“I have plenty of faith in you, honey.” He said, pulling back the covers and patting the mattress next to him. “Now are you coming to bed, or what?”

Loki kicked off his slippers and climbed into the bed, pulling the covers tight over both of them as he fell into Mobius’ arms.

Mobius pulled Loki close so that he was lying snugly on top of his body. Loki’s weight on him was comforting; it reminded him that he was real. Before Yggdrasil became self-sustaining, Loki had spent a lot of time going back and forth between the TVA and the End of Time. Most of which he spent casting an illusion of himself to Mobius so that he wouldn’t have to be alone again.

That period of their relationship was hard on them both. They had come to seek comfort in each other’s touch long before they deepened their relationship. Loki’s hand would ghost across Mobius', unable to touch him from where he sat alone, and Mobius’ hand would fall through Loki’s shoulder or waist when he forgot that Loki wasn’t really there.

But now they could touch whenever they wanted. Loki was real, and he had been for quite a while.

Loki looked down at Mobius from his position on top of him. His hair was longer now, and a few strands fell gracefully across his face, blocking Mobius’ view of his beautiful eyes. He reached out to touch the soft hair, stroking it off his face and tucking it behind his ear. He kept his hand gently against Loki’s cheek, revelling in the warmth of his face against his palm.

“Hey there, beautiful.” He whispered, bumping his nose against Loki’s playfully.

Loki smiled softly and nuzzled his face into Mobius’, placing a feather-light kiss on the corner of his mouth. “Hey, yourself.”

“Good job with those weeds today,” he said, moving his hand to stroke through the hair at Loki’s ear. “I can't handle all that kneeling anymore.”

Loki smirked. “It didn’t seem that way when you–”

“Don’t start.”

“But you–”

“Shut up and come here,” Mobius said, pulling Loki’s face to his and sealing his lips with a slow kiss.

Loki hummed and shifted to try and straddle Mobius, but Mobius gripped his waist tighter, keeping their bodies close together.

Mobius broke their kiss as Loki whined in protest. “Slow down, sweetheart,” he soothed. “I’m tired and just want you close for now.”

Loki nodded and cupped Mobius’ face in his hands. He stared into Loki’s eyes; they were still bright despite the low light in their bedroom. Loki’s lips curled in a delicate smile, and his eyes crinkled at the edges, glistening and full to the brim with adoration, and he knew the same loving look was reflected on his own face. After all this time, he still couldn’t get over the way Loki looked at him as if he hung the stars in the sky.

They both moved at the same time, closing the gap between them with a deep kiss.

They're experts at this now. They knew how to fit together perfectly and how to tease just enough to keep the kiss deep but not heated. Even in Mobius’ sleepy state, he was still alert to every move and breath that Loki took.

Mobius trailed his hands down Loki’s back as he kissed him, his fingertips dancing over all the places that made Loki shiver. Loki was an impulsive and thoughtful lover, one who always wanted to put Mobius first, always trying to push him to the edge in new and exciting ways. While Mobius was slow and steady, taking the time to understand what it was exactly that Loki needed and supporting him through the highs.

Loki opened his mouth slightly to let out a soft sigh, and his body relaxed further into Mobius’. It was the perfect opportunity for Mobius to deepen the kiss, so he licked into Loki’s mouth tenderly, drawing heavier sighs from Loki. He knew he shouldn’t tease him too much, but it was easy to wind him up, and it thrilled him to know that he was so sensitive to his touch.

When Loki’s chest began to heave against his, Mobius knew he had to calm him down before it became too much for him to handle.

“Loki,” he said between kisses.

“Yes, darling?” Loki replied after pulling himself away. He stared at Mobius’ lips, only half paying attention.

“Time to sleep, Loki.” He gave Loki a small nudge, and he begrudgingly moved himself off Mobius' body and flopped on the pillow beside him.

“You tease,” Loki huffed, his dark curls sprawled against the white pillowcase. “I’m never kissing you again.” He crossed his arms over his chest and turned his head away from Mobius.

“So, you don’t want a goodnight kiss then?” Mobius smirked.

He waited. Any second now... and...

Loki turned over to face Mobius abruptly, a scowl plastered to his face.

“You’re insufferable you know that, right?” Loki said, giving him a short yet aggressive kiss.

“I learnt from the best, sweetheart.”

Mobius winked and pulled him into his arms again.

[oldiesstationlover11607]

Absolutely adore your work! It never fails to make my day <3

I was thinking a josh x drummer reader! Maybe they drum for a pop punk band so they're in similar scenes and josh has just been admiring and pinning for them, I don't have a specific era or anything in mind! Just something fluffy with the drummer boy <3

WWWY - Josh Dun x Iero!Reader

Warnings: none hehe

Word count: 1555

A/N: I've been watching all the WWWY videos and thinking about MCR and PTV a lot recently so here's a cute little fic about a pop punk drummer and Josh being at WWWY fest :)

The sun was setting behind the Las Vegas skyline, painting the sky in hues of orange and purple as I slid my drum sticks into my back pocket. We’d just wrapped our set on one of the smaller stages at When We Were Young Fest, and I was still riding the adrenaline high, my hands tingling from the final drum solo that I’d nailed—thank god. As the drummer for Neon Rebellion, I’d been dreaming of playing a festival ever since I first picked up a pair of sticks and plastered my bedroom walls with posters of all the bands who were now, somehow, my peers. It still felt surreal.

I wiped the sweat from my brow and grinned as I caught sight of a familiar face—my uncle Frank. He was talking to Mikey, and as I walked up to them, they both turned to greet me with warm smiles. Mikey gave me a little fist bump, and Frank pulled me into a quick, sweaty hug.

“Hey, Y/N, you killed it out there!” Frank said, his voice loud enough to carry over the hum of conversations and the distant echo of whatever band was rocking the main stage. “It’s so great to see you making music hun. You’re just like me!”

“Yeah, you guys sounded great,” Mikey added, nodding approvingly. “How’s it feel to finally play a festival?”

“It feels like a dream,” I admitted, brushing a strand of my damp hair out of my face. “I feel like I’m going to wake up in my room any minute now.”

“Nope, you’re definitely awake.” Frank grinned and ruffled my hair. “And you’re not going back to bar gigs anytime soon.”

I laughed and swatted his hand away. “Yeah, yeah, you’re right. This is just… huge. Thanks for all your support.”

He waved me off, looking almost embarrassed. “You don’t have to thank me. You did this all on your own, kid. We just knew you were gonna be a star.” He shared a proud look with Mikey, who nodded in agreement.

“Speaking of stars, though,” Mikey said, gesturing over my shoulder. 

I furrowed my brow and turned around, only to find myself locking eyes with someone I recognized immediately—even though I’d never met him in person before. My breath hitched, and for a second, I thought I was hallucinating because Josh Dun was walking toward us. Like, Josh freaking Dun. I must have looked like a deer caught in headlights because Frank chuckled under his breath and patted my shoulder.

Josh had this shy, nervous energy about him as he approached, his eyes flicking between me and my uncle, almost as if he was worried he was intruding on a family moment. His red hair stood out against the dark fest grounds, and he wore a faded band tee that I couldn’t quite make out. There was a nervous smile tugging at his lips, and it was like he wasn’t quite sure what to do with his hands—he shifted awkwardly for a moment before tucking them in his jean pockets.

“Hi, um… Y/N?” he asked, his voice a little hesitant, almost like he was testing out the sound of my name.

“Yeah,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady despite the fact that my heart was beating faster than the double-kick I’d just played on stage. “Hi.”

“I’m—well, I’m Josh,” he said, then laughed at himself. “Obviously. Sorry. I, uh, caught your set earlier, and I just wanted to tell you that you were amazing. Like, really amazing. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

I felt heat rising to my cheeks, and I cursed myself internally for getting flustered. “Oh, wow, thank you! That means a lot, coming from you. I’m a huge fan. Your band was one of the first that made making it seem possible to me.”

Josh’s smile widened at that, and I thought I saw a hint of relief in his eyes. “Really? That’s awesome. I actually, um… I’ve been following you guys for a while. You’ve got this insane energy on stage. It’s super cool.”

I didn’t know how to respond to that. Josh Dun, a drummer I’d idolized for years, was standing here, telling me that I inspired him. It was almost too much to handle, and I felt my mouth go dry. Mikey stepped in to ease the tension, giving Josh a friendly nod.

“Josh, good to see you,” Mikey said, extending a hand. Josh shook it quickly, and they exchanged pleasantries, but I barely registered their words because my mind was still reeling. I managed to glance at Frank, who gave me a knowing smirk before stepping back with Mikey to give us space.

“So,” Josh said after a moment, shifting a little closer. “I noticed you’ve got some pretty unique gear. You’re using custom cymbals, right? I thought I heard a different kind of tone during that breakdown.”

He leaned forward slightly, and suddenly we were deep in conversation about drum gear—the exact sizes of our snares, the brands we swore by, how to get the perfect tone for different genres. I told him how I loved experimenting with hybrid kits, and he shared how he modified his drum pads to get the right sound for live shows. We geeked out about drumming techniques, the struggles of keeping up with intense touring schedules, and even laughed about mishaps during sets.

At some point, Frank and Mikey wandered off, leaving us alone. The festival buzzed around us, the noise a constant backdrop to our conversation, but it felt like we were in our own little world. Josh was so easy to talk to—passionate and animated when discussing the intricacies of drumming, but gentle and attentive when he asked me about my experiences on tour.

“You know,” he said, after what felt like no time at all, “I’d love to catch some sets with you, if you’re up for it. There are a few bands playing tonight that I really don’t want to miss.”

“Yeah, that sounds fun!” I agreed, trying not to sound too eager. “Who do you want to see?”

“Well, My Chem are playing soon so we should definitely head there later,”” he said with a lopsided grin. 

My heart skipped a beat. “I’d love to,” I said, barely able to contain my excitement. 

We spent the next few hours wandering around the festival, squeezing through the crowd to get the best view of some of my favorite bands. Pierce The Veil, Sleeping With Sirens, Taking Back Sunday—it was like reliving my teenage dreams, but with Josh by my side. When the time came for My Chemical Romance, he guided me to the side stage, his hand brushing mine for a moment before we stepped into the chaotic world of backstage passes and crew members.

Frank saw us as we approached and shot me a teasing look. “So, Josh, you finally managed to pull her away, huh?”

“Frank!” I groaned, feeling my face flush, but Josh just laughed.

“She’s a tough one to impress,” he said, sending me a sideways smile that made my heart flip. “I had to pull out all the stops.”

“Good luck,” Frank said, winking at me before turning his attention back to the stage, where Gerard was getting ready to kick off the set.

I felt a flutter of excitement in my chest as Josh and I took our spots at the side stage, the bright lights from MCR’s setup casting long shadows across our faces. I’d seen them play a million times before, but something about watching from here, with Josh leaning close to make comments about the drum technique or to share an inside joke, made it feel completely new.

The set was electric, every song hitting me harder than the last. There was a moment during “I’m Not Okay” when Josh and I both looked at each other, grinning like idiots as we sang along at the top of our lungs. It was the kind of moment I knew I’d never forget.

As the last notes of “Helena” faded out and the crowd roared their appreciation, Josh turned to me, his eyes catching the dim lights of the stage. “So,” he said, a little breathless from singing and shouting, “can I… take you out for real sometime? Like, a date?”

I stared at him, feeling my heart hammering in my chest. “Yeah,” I said, almost too quickly. “I’d like that. A lot.”

“Awesome,” he said, grinning so wide that his eyes crinkled at the corners.

Before I could say anything else, Frank reappeared, clapping a hand on my shoulder. “Well, well, well,” he teased. “Looks like someone’s got herself a date with a rockstar.”

“Shut up,” I muttered, feeling a blush rise to my cheeks.

Josh just laughed, looking over at Frank with a playful expression. “Hey, you know what they say,” he said, nudging me gently. “It’s all about the drummers, right?”

“Right,” I said, feeling a warm glow in my chest as I looked back at him. “It’s all about the drummers.”

And as we stood there, watching the stage lights fade and the crew begin to break down, I felt like I was exactly where I was supposed to be—right here, in the heart of the music, with Josh by my side.

//

REQUESTS OPEN

[daydreamgoddess14]

The Escape Artist - Chapter 6

Well... it's been a long time coming! You might know that this chapter was dragged from me kicking and screaming 😅 It wasn't until spin class on Monday that it really started to come together, and then today I really cracked on so I could avoid doom scrolling all day... so silver linings and all that.

To that end, I really, really hope you enjoy this one - let me know your thoughts! Comments, as always, are love, and I do truly love to hear from you 💜

Masterlist

CH 1 | CH 2 | CH 3 | CH 4 | CH 5

Tag list: @moonmaiden1996 @theskytraveler @acrackintheteacup @succulentthief

He watched Clover in the garden running rings around the dog who was clearly over the moon to see her. He'd wondered on the way over if he should have called beforehand. 

He'd secured the dog the evening before, Eugene had gone to River with no fuss. Sensing zero danger, he’d sat patiently on the passenger seat next to him, staring at him like they were new best friends. The puppy yapped excitedly when it caught the scent of one of Clover’s headbands left in the car. It had been far too late to show up at Ella's, so they'd sat together on River's sofa watching a late night film. He'd put out a bed and a couple of toys but Eugene had followed him from room to room as he switched off lights, locked up and brushed his teeth, then the dog had slept on the end of River's bed and snored all night. 

It was worth sharing his space for the look on Clover's face when he'd knocked the door. She peeked out of the barely open crack in the door, shot a wary look across the road at the Range Rover with two of Flyte’s men inside, and then looked directly at River holding the wriggling puppy, then back to the car, doing a perfect double take.

She was rolling around on the floor with Eugene before he could even say hello. 

And then Ella had appeared on the stairs, skidding to a halt on wet feet. Soap suds still clung to her bare legs and he'd followed their path upwards to where the two sides of the towel didn't quite overlap. 

His mouth had gone dry as she'd fidgeted with the end, trying to pull it down, her blush crept down her throat and beyond where her arm was desperately pining the towel against her chest. 

“You -” she started, the disbelief written all over her face, River fought against the smirk of victory at catching her completely unaware. “You got the dog?”

She gently batted the dog away from nipping her ankles, demanding her attention but she struggled to tear her eyes from River until Clover had begged to go outside.

“How'd you get the dog?” Her voice was full of wonder, something he hadn’t heard before. There was an underlying wariness and he got the feeling she’d been baited and trapped like this before.

Her dripping hair had left fat drops of water on the floor and Eugene until River had suggested that she get dressed. Mainly for his own sanity.

Dried and dressed, Ella made her way across the kitchen to stand next to him at the window to watch as Eugene tripped over his ears again. 

He felt her look over at him, her eyes narrowed.

“Please tell me?”

“I’m not going to tell you.”

“You didn’t break in?”

“I promise I did not break in. And I promise this isn’t some kind of trap or test.” She softened with relief.

“I don't know what to say,” hearing the wobble in her voice, he turned to watch her watching Clover in the garden. “Thank you doesn't even begin to cover -”

“Thank you is fine,” he said firmly. 

“But you're here so early as well, what are you even going to do?”

“Whatever you need me to. Blow up balloons, string up some banners,” he paused at the wide smile on her face, “what?”

She shook her head, grinning. “Nothing. I just… nothing has ever been this easy before,” she said quietly. “None of this has ever come without some kind of conditions or expectations attached to it.”

“No clauses, no ulterior motives. This is what actual people who are friends do for each other. So I’m told.”

 “So you’re told,” she sniggered. “Ok. Let's get you to work then, if you insist?”

“Do your worst, Cole.” He shrugged.

“Oh, now you're talking -”

“Alright, alright. Don't forget the thing with the dog, ok? I put up with him snoring all night.” 

At that, she looked up sharply. 

“Wait, what? You looked after him all night? At your place? In your bed?”

“On my bed, not in. I'm very particular about who's sharing my bed.”

“I… you…” She stumbled over her words briefly, before choosing to glare at him instead. “Sandwiches. You can help me make sandwiches.”

So they stood side by side making sandwiches. 

She sighed, adding more cheese to an already full slice of bread. 

“Thank you. Again.”

“You’re welcome. Again.” He looked over purely to see the small smile and shake of her head. She cut her sandwich into precise triangles and put them alongside his slightly wonkier ones.

“I just… I just want to know why.”

“Why what?”

“I’m not sure we… I’m not sure I deserve any of this. Clover, sure, she’s just a kid. Though god knows how she’ll turn out after all of this. What if she’s like him?” He could hear the fear in her voice, her hands had slowed their rhythmic work.

“I told you, it’s what friends do, and she won’t. She’s got you.”

“Yeah, but what if it’s not enough?”

“I found out who my father was,” he started slowly, “Not long before you started. I'd never known before. My mum hasn't really been around, and she lied whenever I asked before.” Ella carried on with the sandwiches, but he could tell she was listening intently. “He's not a good man, he's about as far from good as you can get. And she… she left me. I reminded her too much of the life she wanted with him. Got in her way.”

“God, River, that’s awful -”

“My grandparents brought me up,” he continued. “All of this with you, with Clover, it’s made me think a lot about how we’re raised. I could have had a different life, I had brothers I didn’t know existed. He brought them up as these fucking cult assassins, kidnapping women from all over Europe, getting them pregnant and then keeping the kids for himself. That could have been me, easily. My mum was… brainwashed by him.”

“How did you get out?”

“I didn’t, I wasn’t even born. My grandad swapped my mother for cash, passports, weapons - anything he could. He found out she was pregnant with me once he'd gotten her back, but she didn’t want to be here,” he said bitterly. “She didn’t want me.” Ella’s hand reached out to cover his own. “That’s why I know Clover is going to be fine, El. You wouldn’t allow anything to happen to her.” He took his hand back to brush roughly over his cheek, taking a deep breath and regaining his composure. “Once I was with my grandparents, things were… different. Mostly better. I think my grandfather still resents where I come from, and he’s never forgiven my mother.”

“But you were loved?”

“I wasn’t unloved,” he shrugged. “Clover will be nothing like her father -” 

“And you’re nothing like yours,” she added. “God, what a fuck up.”

She slipped an arm up and over his and pulled him into an unsuspected hug. He let his head drop into the crook of her neck and the scent of her shampoo overwhelm him. She sighed, her voice muffled from pressing herself against him. “How are any of us supposed to know how to do this?”

“Do what?”

“Life,” she let go of him and raised her hands, palms to the sky. 

“There must be some people out there with a regular life,” he laughed a little. 

“Not us, though.”

“Not us.”

“Do you ever worry that everything that happened, where you really come from, is going to infect everything around you?” She asked.

“Every day. I was a total fucking mess before you started with us. Louisa and Catherine… they’ve been helping me see that it’s not true. It doesn’t have to be family who saves you.”

“I wouldn’t even know where to start with mine. I couldn’t have done any of this without all of you,” she said openly. “I still don’t know how I’m supposed to show Clover what real love looks like when I don’t know myself. I feel like I haven’t been myself since before I met Eddie, and I was a kid then, what if I’m not a good enough person?”

He stood behind her, took hold of her shoulders and turned her to face the window. Clover was sitting in the too long grass with Eugene in her lap hugging him fiercely.

“She says otherwise,” he said softly into her ear. She nodded and turned back to him.

“C’mon, back to work, slacker. I’ve got a cake to ice.”

They got back to work, River finishing sandwiches and Ella on the cake. 

“Does she know what’s going on today?” He asked after Clover had appeared for the third time to steal food he was preparing.

“She knows a few people are coming over. I mean, that’s all that’s happening. I doubt anyone from work will show up, except maybe Louisa and that’s only because I promised cake.” She’d pulled her hair up and out of the way so she could lean over the cake, piping bag in hand. River finished his prep and made his way over to watch as she carefully piped Clover’s name onto the top of the cake.

“Why’s it say Blower?” He asked from over her shoulder.

“It says Clover, you dick.” She laughed, digging an elbow into his ribs.

“How does that say Clover?”

“There’s the C -”

“Looks like a B.”

“Piss off. That’s the V -”

“That’s not a V.” She stood up straight quicker than he’d anticipated and turned to him with the piping bag still in hand. As she turned, she left a line of icing on his t-shirt. She glanced up at him, a flash of fear crossing her face. He was quick to put her at ease with a snigger of incredulity, the fear dissolving before it had set in. Her tightly pursed lips hid her smile as she swiped a finger over it and brought the finger to her mouth to lick off the luminous pink icing. 

“Sorry,” she said sheepishly. 

Eugene and Clover clattered through the back door and the spell was broken. 

“Mum! Can I get changed for the party?” Clover bubbled excitedly.

“Course you can babe, let’s wipe Gene’s muddy feet before he goes upstairs though.” Clover and Eugene ran off to the small bathroom next to the kitchen.

“You did that on purpose,” River said with a wry smile.

“If you say so. But that,” she challenged, “is definitely a V.” 

“Oh Eugene, don’t do that!” 

“Oh look, I think that’s my cue,” Ella grinned with a ‘what can you do, eh?’ shrug upon hearing Clover’s giggles in the bathroom.

“I’ll get you back,” he warned, trying to clean the pink line of sugar.

“You can try, Cartwright.” Her singsong voice faded as she wandered to the bathroom to assess the chaos caused by Eugene. 

He surveyed the room, noted the small pile of banners and balloons waiting to liven up the space and got back to work. 

*

“Is it straight?” He asked, standing on a slightly creaky chair with one end of the last banner in hand. Ella looked over from the other side of the room.

“Not remotely.”

“Maybe some suggestions then?”

“Your side needs to go up a bit.”

“Up? How?” He asked incredulously, arms fully stretched up above his head.

“How’re you so tall?” She muttered. “Nah, I’m joking. It needs to come down a bit,” she giggled. He moved the banner down a bit and she eyed the banner critically. “Little more.” He moved it again. “That’s it.” 

As he stepped down, the doorbell rang, sending Eugene wild. Clover ran to open the door to Louisa and Catherine. By the time Ho and Shirley arrived with Coe not far behind, as well as Lulu and Sofia, River could see how overwhelmed Ella was with the turnout.

“You ok?” He asked as she passed him to go to the kitchen. He got up to follow her.

“Yeah, just… I didn’t expect them to actually show up. I thought it would be just me and Clo dancing around the living room, eating an entire cake and crashing in front of the TV.”

“I don’t think we’re done yet,” he said knowingly.

“I think we probably are.” She smiled. The doorbell went again and Ella peered around the kitchen door to see who Clover was greeting. Jackson Lamb stood on her doorstep with an unwrapped gift.

“Happy birthday, kiddo.” 

“Barbie! Thank you! We’re having cake, are you coming in?”

“I’d prefer a whisky.” He muttered unhappily. Catherine moved up the sofa to make a space for him and nodded her approval that he’d turned up.

“No. Way.” Ella whispered, nudging River.

“Looks like there is something in his chest other than cigarette smoke and a swinging rock.”

“Who’d have thought it?” She wondered, reaching behind River for the whisky bottle. He passed her a glass and she poured a generous measure.

In the living room, Ho was having trouble keeping his eyes off Lulu and Sofia who were typically decked out in the full glam hair and nails befitting a 9 year old’s birthday party.

“Oh babe! You’re cracking open the good stuff?” Sofia cooed on seeing the whisky glass.

“You want a real drink?” Ella asked.

“Depends, how appropriate is it to get shitfaced at a kid’s birthday party?” Lulu asked.

“It isn’t appropriate, Lu.” Sofia chastised and cuddled up to the birthday girl in question, leaving a lipstick kiss on her forehead.

“I beg to differ.” Lamb muttered.

“If it means someone will dance and do karaoke with me then you’re allowed?” Clover suggested, holding up the small karaoke speaker and microphone she’d opened from Louisa and Shirley. 

Lulu held out her mug to Ella.

“Fill her up, kid. I’m about to break out my best Whitney,” she declared. 

“Cake first. Then you can get pissed.” Ella reasoned. She took the mug anyway and disappeared to the kitchen. From the doorway, lit cake in hand, she gestured for River to switch off the lights. Catherine got the hint first and led the Happy Birthday chorus. River watched as Ella approached Clover with the cake, the candlelight catching in both of their eyes. He pulled out his phone and took a batch of photos while trying to keep Eugene from jumping in to attack the cake. With the candles blown out, he swiftly took the cake from Ella who looked surprised, but grateful. With her hands free, she enveloped the girl into a hug, peppering kisses into her hair. “Happy birthday, my baby girl.”

“Muuuuum!”

“She’s not a baby anymore, El.” Sofia smiled. “She’s wise beyond her years, aren’t you my darling?”

“It’s her job to embarrass you,” Louisa told Clover who huffed in response.

“And at least she’s a cool mum. Mine is so cringe.” Shirley supplied.

“It’s a fine balance between cool and cringe, I expect.”

“It’s a tightrope.” Ella grimaced.

“You make an excellent acrobat.” Louisa laughed.

“Nah, I’m not having that unless I see physical proof that she can get her legs behind her head.” Ho chimed in.

“Gross, Ho.”

“You’ll never know what my legs can do, Roddy. It’ll have to stay in that limited imagination of yours.” Ella flicked his forehead.

“Ow! My imagination is far from limited, actually.”

“A real renaissance man.”

“Would the renaissance man care for some cake?”

“Go on then, Cole. Since you’re offering some sugar.”

“Now that’s cringe,” Ella pointed out as she left Shirley to mercilessly tease Ho. 

*

She was carefully cutting the cake into generous slices which Louisa and River were distributing throughout the room. Lulu and Clover had set up the speaker and were loudly taking it in turns to perform both the Whitney Houston and the Taylor Swift back catalogues.

“Do you think they take requests?” Louisa asked as Lulu strived for, and failed to hit a high note.

“Depends, how badly do you want your favourite song murdered?” Ella asked. “Personally, I wouldn’t risk it.”

“Great tip. That’s the last piece, by the way. My excuses for not watching the show have now run out, unless there’s anything else I can do?”

“Lou, you don’t have to stay, but no - nothing else to do other than watch terrible karaoke performed by a tone deaf child and an ageing sex worker. Enjoy.”

“Sad as it is to admit, watching a 9 year old kid having the time of her life is the best my weekend is going to get. Plus, this is an excellent cake.”

“I feel like you’re right on both counts there. Though actually, River succeeding in burglary is probably another highlight.”

“Who said I was on the rob?” He asked.

“You said you didn’t break in, but you must have dognapped? That is stealing, no matter how much charm you throw at it.”

“How else did you get the dog?” Louisa asked.

“Yeah River, exactly, how else did you get the dog?”

“I think you should probably just tell her, she looks like she’s about to fight you.” Louisa warned him with a shrug, taking a slice of cake on the way back to the living room. 

“It’s really not that big a deal,” he assured her.

“You don’t know the people I know. If any of his dickhead minions finds out -”

“His brother left the house unlocked.” Ella stopped still, a forkful of cake halfway to her mouth.

“What?”

“I got the address off Ho, went for a look around to see whether I could just, y'know, hop over the gate and take the dog, and his brother was there. He was asleep on the sofa - absolutely steaming drunk. I could see him through the window.”

“So you just let yourself in?”

“I tried the door, it opened. It’s really not my fault that Eugene just wandered over to me. He basically followed me to my car.” He shrugged.

“That’s ridiculous.”

“I do have some skills, you know? It’s not just about good looks.” He teased.

“Who said anything about good looks? That bloody dog is just a softy.” She countered. He moved towards her, ignoring the question.

“Now you’re the one with icing,” his hand moved of its own accord, the pad of his thumb brushing icing from her bottom lip.

He felt her cool breath shudder over his hand. With the short distance between them, he caught the faint scent of sugar and vanilla on her breath, he could see every freckle dusting her nose and cheeks.

The two that were so close they’d blended into one heart shape between the outer corner of her eye and the top of her cheekbone, the three in a line which looked like they belonged in a wider constellation.

He wanted a closer look. He needed a closer look. The memory of Ella drunkenly pressing herself against him, her soft mouth against his, played on his mind.

“Ella, you're up!” Sofia’s voice carried through to the kitchen. His hand fell limply to his side. 

“Be right there,” she called back, standing perfectly still. 

“You were drunk,” he said as she finally went to move away, a light hand on her wrist. 

“Pardon?”

“Before, when I drove you home. You were too drunk to know what you were doing. I didn’t want you to think I was taking advantage of you.”

“I knew what I was doing.” She murmured.

“You did?” he asked, unsure.

Ella nodded, though she was clearly wary of confessing anything, her expression was adamant.

“Yes. But I get why you didn’t want to kiss me back. Or don’t want to, whichever. I’ve made such a fuck up of everything, look at the state of me. Living in a fucking safe house, covered in bruises.” She said quietly. She shrugged, “least I’ve got Clo, eh? And the dog.” 

“Ella,” his hand kept her from leaving. “Is that what you think?” 

River's voice was low, filled with a restraint he didn't know he possessed, his gaze never leaving hers. "You think I don't want to kiss you because what?”

“I’m damaged goods, River,” she said, as if it were a totally obvious observation. He could practically hear her add the “duhhh” to the end of her sentence.

"Damaged goods," he echoed, his tone taking on a hint of disbelief. "Is that really what you see? What you think I see?"

River's hand on her wrist didn't loosen, his thumb gently brushed over her pulse point.

Ella forced a smile, an easy shake of the head.

"How can you not? It's fine, really.”

She pulled her wrist back from his grip and headed back to the party. He held back for a minute, he’d been certain that she hadn’t even remembered the kiss at all. 

That she’d been so drunk, half of the evening had been lost to gin. 

But she had remembered it, and that changed everything.

As he watched her go, he couldn't help thinking about the way she had spoken about herself – like she was broken, no longer wanted. The way she saw herself was so different from the way he saw her. 

He leaned into the doorframe between the kitchen and the party. Catherine and Lamb were deep in conversation, and she was actually smiling.

Shirley was fidgeting with her phone, half out of the door when Ella told her to go and have fun. She bolted with a haphazard wave. Ella had been dragged onto Clover’s makeshift dance floor and was spinning and twirling with the puppy in her arms and Clover holding one hand, her previous melancholy had been replaced by a big smile.

She looked wild and happy, and though he knew it wasn't entirely true, she put on a decent facade for Clover. 

“The timing for this is wank, Cartwright.” Louisa stood next to him, reading his mind. She followed his gaze to Ella.

“Yeah, pretty much.”

“The good thing about that though,” she told him, “is that times change. All of this -” she gestured around the safe house, “the dogs outside, it will all come to an end. Her ex will rot in a prison cell, and one day, she’ll be ready.” She squeezed his shoulder reassuringly.

“And until then, the timing is wank.” He added.

“You got it.”

*

He had three missed calls from Coe. For a man who rarely spoke, River assumed something big must have happened. He tapped the desk impatiently waiting for the call to connect. In the room across the hall, Ella was pacing, also on the phone. He wasn’t sure to whom, but when Coe finally picked up, it confirmed to him that they weren’t waiting on the same call.

“She’s gone.”

“What do you mean?”

“He came, fuck knows how. He’s got her.”

“What about you?”

“Ugh,” He heard Coe spit on the ground before he returned to the call, “banged me up pretty good.”

“I'm on my way.”

Waiting the handful of seconds for Ella's call to finish was like waiting a lifetime.

“He’s got bail. Over the weekend, he’s out and my solicitor didn’t even know! Can you fucking believe that?” She looked furious, her hand balled tightly around her phone as she stalked back into their office.

“El, something -”

“The incompetence is off the charts,” she ranted, not noticing him with his keys in hand, waiting to leave.

“Ella, stop.” Her mouth clamped shut as she looked at him, frowning. “I know he’s out. He’s got Clover.”

“No -” Her face paled as the anger was replaced by sheer terror.

“I’m going now to get Coe, we’re going to find her and -”

“I’m coming too.” 

“The fuck you are. I’m getting Coe, you’re staying here with Shirley.”

“River! No, I need to come with you -” she argued, hustling him towards the door. He stopped, his body filling the doorway and blocking her path. She pushed against him but he held fast.

“Ella, you need to stay here,” her hands came up to his chest as she rained fairly useless and ineffectual punches onto his chest to try and make him move. He took hold of her wrists lightly.

“No, I can’t. I can’t stay here! Let me fucking go, River. Let me go!”

“C’mon, El, you can beat the shit out of me if you want,” Shirley said from behind River. “You need to let him go and get Clover.” Ella gave a final, furious push. River leaned down to look her in the eye.

“Ella, babe, I’m going to bring her back to you. I’m going to get her.” 

Her hands fell limply into his, her eyes filled with tears of betrayal and hurt. 

He brought a hand to her cheek, “I’ll be back soon.” He kissed her forehead and turned to run down the stairs, taking them two at a time. 

As the bottom door slammed, he faintly heard Ella’s heartbreaking wail of anguish.

He didn’t wait for Coe to shut the passenger door before he moved off, the car weaved in and out of traffic.

“You know where we’re going?” Coe asked, holding his ribs. 

River nodded. He hadn’t known as he’d left Slough House, but during his impromptu career change to common burglar, he had riffled through a stack of paperwork which all mentioned a storage yard in Eddie’s name. 

He hadn’t told Ella that’d he’d managed a decent look around the house while her brother-in-law slept only feet away from him. 

River had filled the information into the recesses of his mind, his eidetic memory only kicking in after Coe’s initial call.

“Ella’s fucking raging that I didn’t let her come,” he muttered as he swerved into oncoming traffic to go around a slow moving bus. The cars coming towards him braked sharply, horns blaring.

“She’s scared.”

“I know -”

“Of losing you.” Coe added. 

“Fuck,” River hit up at the roof of the car. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

*

They approached the storage unit as dusk fell. River’s heart raced as he and Coe approached the dimly lit building. Shadows stretched across the spaces between buildings. He could still hear Ella’s distraught cries in his ear, could still see the betrayal in her eyes as he left her behind. 

He scanned their surroundings, neither he nor Coe had a weapon. He took a deep breath, steadying his nerves. He knew had to put Ella to the back of his mind, he couldn’t afford to be distracted by fear or doubt. 

They reached the entrance to the storage unit and paused, his ears strained for any sound coming from within. The silence felt oppressive, he could hear only the sounds of their breathing. Coe pointed towards the first door they came to and gripped the handle. 

A faint noise broke the silence - a soft, shuffling coming from somewhere inside. River felt his body tense as Coe slowly turned the handle. Another shuffling sound came from within the unit, and then a low, gruff voice he recognised as Eddie’s muttered something unintelligible. 

River’s heart clenched, he knew he had to trust that Coe would get Clover out, he wanted to take care of Eddie himself. He wanted to remove him from Ella’s life completely. 

The door opened with a metallic click, revealing the dark interior. Dim light spilled into the unit and River let his eyes adjust. They cautiously stepped inside, avoiding crates and boxes, and scanned for any movement. 

Further into the unit, he could still hear Eddie. They moved forward more quickly, staying close to the walls of the unit. A light from deeper within crept towards them. Getting closer, River could see Clover huddled in a corner, visibly distressed. 

River’s heart tore at the sight of her, her school uniform covered with dirt and dust from the floor and the terror in her eyes. In front of her, Eddie paced back and forth.

“- your fucking mother? I’ve given her everything, angel. I’ve given you both everything.”

“Daddy -” Clover whimpered, it pained River to see her so scared. 

He knew it would never be the same, but he felt a brief sliver of how Ella must have felt over the last 9 years. He suddenly realised why she’d endured everything she had for so long, why she was so fixated on keeping Clover safe. 

He felt it himself, a gut-wrenching urge to scorch the earth as long as it meant Clover’s safety. 

As Eddie continued to rant, Clover looked into the shadows, her gaze landing firstly on him and then on Coe. He watched her carefully as her eyes widened with a mix of fear and hope. 

He held his breath, half expecting her to call out to him, but to her credit she stayed perfectly still and tried not to draw her dad’s attention. He gave her what he hoped was a reassuring smile and thumbs up.

She sighed with relief. As she did so, Eddie seemed to realise that her attention was elsewhere. River froze, his heart hammering in his chest. 

Eddie stopped in his tracks, the silence was deafening as he followed Clover’s eyeline towards River and Coe. Even in the dim light, they could see his eyes darken in rage.

“I might have known she’d send the fucking cavalry.” He growled, his voice low and menacing. “Couldn't do her own dirty work, eh? Hateful bitch.”

River and Coe stood firmly. Before River could respond, Coe answered.

“Give us the girl.” He warned steadily.

“My daughter? You dickheads think I’m going to let you walk out of here with my girl?” He scoffed. “Fuck right off!” He turned sharply and stalked towards them. “Didn’t take you long to cozy up to my fucking wife, did it?” He sneered at River.

River’s jaw clenched, his expression hardening.

“Leave Ella out of this,” he spat. “Let Clover go, she’s terrified.”

Eddie scoffed derisively, not impressed by River’s response. He looked over at Clover who watched them silently, fear writ large on her pale face.

“Angel, c’mere.” 

Clover hesitated, looking back and forth between Eddie and River. Her hostility towards her father was clear, but so was her fear of him. She was clearly scared of what he might do if she dared refuse him.

River saw her internal struggle, wanting to say something to reassure her that it would be ok but also not wanting to set Eddie off on a rampage.

Eddie’s patience wore thin, he slammed his fist on the nearest crate, making Clover flinch in fear.

“Come. Fucking. Here.” He barked loudly. River tensed, ready to intervene. He sensed Coe doing the same thing.

Clover visibly shook as her father’s anger escalated.

“It's ok, Clo.” River said softly, the nickname falling from his lips for the first time, as though he'd named her himself. He no longer cared about tiptoeing around Eddie, his only concern was getting Clover out quickly and safely. 

Eddie's face contorted with rage as he heard River use Clover's nickname. He looked stunned.

“The fuck did you just call her?” He growled. 

“Her name,” River said firmly. 

“River -” Clover pleaded, her voice wobbling. 

“It's ok, sweetheart, I'm not going anywhere.” He assured her. 

Eddie sneered at River's response, his hands balling into fists at his sides. 

“You've got some fucking nerve talking to my daughter like that. First my wife, then you take my kid?”

“I'm just trying to protect her. Take your anger out on me, not her.” 

Eddie scoffed at River's words. 

"You think you're some kind of hero, standing up to me like that? Trying to protect my kid?" he spat out. "She's my child, not yours. You don't get to tell me what to do with her."

“And what? You're going to treat her like you do Ella?”

"What's that supposed to mean?" Eddie snapped, his voice rising. "You think you know anything about me and my daughter?"

He took a step closer to River, his eyes narrowing further. River stood his ground, his jaw clenched tightly. In his periphery, he could see Coe moving cautiously towards Clover, his hand outstretched. 

"I mean, you've been beating Ella for years, it's only a matter of time before you move on to Clover.”

Eddie bristled at River's blunt words, a dangerous glint in his eye.

"Watch your fucking mouth," he warned. Eddie's focus shifted to Clover. He turned towards her, his eyes cold and calculating. 

He saw her reaching for Coe and his expression darkened further. 

In a burst of rage, he lashed out, grabbing Clover's arm roughly and yanking her closer to him. She squealed in terror, tears swimming in her eyes. 

River felt his chest tighten at the sound and, unable to stop himself, he lunged forward, aiming straight for Eddie with every ounce of strength he had.

Eddie dropped Clover's arm, grunting as he pivoted to meet River's charge. He raised his fists, ready to defend himself against the attack.

"Coe -"

"On it," Coe read River's mind and scooped Clover up and out of the way. He moved fast, quickly heading towards the exit with Clover in his arms.

“You've got nothing left, dickhead,” River said, unable to hide his smirk.

Eddie glared at River.

"You think you're tough, huh?" he sneered. "You don't know who you're messing with.” He reached into the waistband of his jeans and pulled out a gun. He held the gun steadily, aiming it at River.

"What do you have to say now, eh?"

River tensed up as he saw the gun in Eddie's hand, his heart pounding in his chest.

"You're really gonna use that, huh?" he asks, trying to keep the fear out of his voice. "Go on then," he taunted, pressing his forehead onto the barrel of the gun.

Eddie's eyes narrowed as he heard River's derision.

"You asked for it," he growled, pressing the gun harder against River's forehead. 

The trigger clicked once under Eddie's finger and River twisted on the spot as the shot rang out, hitting a crate a few feet behind him.

Just missing its intended target, River took advantage of Eddie's momentary distraction and spun around, trying to gain the upper hand.

As he went to duck behind the next crate, another shot pinged, and this time he heard the unmistakable sound of the bullet tearing through flesh.

River cried out in pain as the bullet hit him, the impact jolting through his body. He stumbled and fell, clutching at his side. 

The pain was sharp and intense, and he could feel the warm, sticky blood staining his clothes and fingers. He tried to push himself up, but the impact of the bullet had left him weak and disoriented.

"Come on then, pretty boy," Eddie jeered.

"Over my dead body," a new voice called. River opened his mouth but no sound came out. Ella.

He felt his breathing shallow. His eyes widened in horror as he heard Ella's voice and saw her throw herself at Eddie.

"No," he gasped, trying to get up to stop her. As River struggled to get up, his vision going blurry from the pain and the loss of blood, he saw Ella standing defiantly in front of Eddie, shielding him with her body.

Eddie's anger seemed to reach new heights as he saw Ella standing up to him.

"You little bitch -" he started, ready to lunge at her.

Eddie's hand clenched tightly around the gun, an expression of pure rage on his face.

"You'll pay for this, all of you," he snarled. As blackness crept into his vision, the last thing River saw was Eddie raising the handle of the gun to Ella. 

just two dumb dumbs off to save a kiddo 😊

Happy reading!

Chapter 7 - coming soon!