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starlingbite · 11 months

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22. reunion hug with buddie for the soft prompts <3

Thanks for the prompt! Hope you like!

Buck lets out a heavy sigh as he slowly trudges up the path from his car to the front door. He barely remembers the drive home thanks to a long forty-eight-hour shift preceded by four whole weeks of long tough shifts.

He hadn’t realised when Eddie had got that call in the middle of the night a month ago that his dad had been in a car accident just how difficult the next four weeks would be.

Luckily, his father had only broken a few bones and suffered a knock to the head and would make a full recovery but he wouldn’t be up on his feet for a couple of months at least. Unfortunately. his mom wasn’t able to care for him on her own so of course Eddie took some last-minute unpaid leave and got on the next flight to El Paso, taking Christopher with him.

Buck had tried to go with, had all but begged on his knees at Bobby’s feet to let him go, but there was a weird summer flu doing the rounds, both Ravi and Hen were out with it and they really couldn’t spare another person.

Two weeks, Eddie had promised originally as they said their goodbyes, just until they could find some more support for his dad.

“Two weeks is nothing,” Buck had responded, plastering a smile on his face and pretending the thought of two weeks without Eddie and Christopher wasn’t absolute hell. It was completely selfish to want Eddie to stay when his dad needed him, he knew that, but they hadn’t been apart that long since they had gotten together and the whole thing just sucked.

Eddie called every day, like he also promised to do and it helped but then Eddie would hang up and Buck was left alone once more. The house was too quiet without his boys and on nights he can’t sleep due to a lack of a warm body pressed up against his, he wandered around like a ghost haunting the place.

On day thirteen, Eddie’s call contained bad news. They hadn’t found someone suitable to help with Ramon’s recovery and Eddie’s help was needed for at least another week. When that week passed with no update on Eddie’s return flight home, Buck had a sinking feeling confirmed a few hours later when Eddie called to say he had to stay one more week.

“One more week, I promise, and then I’m coming home.”

Buck tried to believe him, but seven days passed and in that time Eddie hadn’t mentioned when he was coming home. Buck didn’t dare ask.

Working without Eddie by his side is hard. He keeps looking over, expecting him to be there. The temps don’t get what he wants them to bring him without asking, they don’t understand the in-jokes that Eddie gets with just a look. Sometimes it feels like he’s crawling out of his own skin at how wrong it feels at work and how lonely he feels at home.

If the last month hadn’t been hard enough, he and Eddie have been playing phone tag all day and Buck hasn’t been able to speak to either him or Christopher since yesterday.

When he finally gets inside, he bypasses the kitchen, ignoring the growl of his stomach and heads straight to the bedroom. His clothes are left in a pile on the floor as he climbs into bed, his head pressed into Eddie’s pillow. If he breathes in deep enough, he can still smell his boyfriend’s shampoo, lingering in the fabric.

Despite the hunger, he falls asleep quickly and manages a mostly restful night. When he wakes up seven hours later, half an hour before his alarm is meant to go off, he’s not exactly sure what wakes him.

He pulls on a pair of Eddie’s sweats and pads through the quiet house, still half asleep. When he makes it to the kitchen, desperate for breakfast and a bucket of coffee, he stops in the doorway. His boyfriend of six months is casually leaning up against the counter, mug in hand.

“Hey.”

Buck blinks as he tries to comprehend the sight in front of him. “Hey?” He repeats “That’s all I get?”

Eddie thinks about it for a second, “Honey, I’m home?”

Buck doesn’t want to waste another second, He barrels across the room, nearly colliding with the corner of the table on the way, and launches himself straight at Eddie. His boyfriend has barely enough time to put the mug down before Buck has wrapped his arms around him tightly. Eddie’s arms curl around Buck’s body on instinct and the two stand there for a long minute, just holding each other.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were coming home?” Buck asks into Eddie’s neck. He fits there perfectly, like the space was made for him.

“And ruin the surprise?” Eddie replies, his hand running up and down Buck’s back in a soothing motion.

Somehow Eddie seems to know exactly what Buck needs and something deep inside his chest settles back into place.

“Managed to get a red-eye at the last minute, It was Chris who wanted to surprise you. He’s completely sacked out in his bed by the way, couldn’t stay awake long enough for the surprise.”

Buck grins and finally pulls back far enough so they can greet each other properly with a kiss.

“Next time I’m going with you.”

“Deal,” Eddie says with a soft smile. He pulls Buck back in for another tight hug and that's where Chris finds them fifteen minutes later, coffee long since gone cold.

***

From the soft prompts list here

#soft prompts #ask #fic prompt #thanks!#Buddie #buddie fic

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mamatater · 2 years

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My husband is going through a crisis with his mom and I'm at a fucking loss as to what to do. Sorry for the rant.

So my husband's mom (MIL) is very chronically ill. She has COPD and congestive heart failure from years of smoking, plus advanced kidney failure. She is also overweight, which isn't a problem by itself but makes physical recovery from the other problems difficult. She's currently on an oxygen cannula 100% of the time, and also uses a bipap machine to sleep.

She used to be relatively mobile, but has regressed to only being slightly mobile (she can stand and pivot, and walk a short distance with a walker). Because of this, she requires a lot of assistance; she needs help going to the bathroom, she needs someone (i.e., my husband and I) to shop for her and run arrands because she can't drive or leave the house. My husband has been doing almost everything for her for years and both of us are tired.

So a couple of months ago she got sick (my fault technically; I got a cold and gave it to her) and her breathing got so difficult we had to take her to the hospital. She was in the ICU for about 3 weeks and had an end-of-life scare towards the end before she started bouncing back (her oxygen was about 70% for two days and really heavily altered her mental state to the point where we thought she was getting ready to pass away).

So now she's stable but incredibly weak, and can't even sit up on her own, so she was discharged to a skilled nursing facility (SNF) to give her physical therapy to help get her strength back.

The problem is that she was very iffy about participating in therapy. She didn't refuse every time, but would do it often, and when she did participate, she was extremely difficult. So the head physical therapist (correctly) reported to insurance that she wasn't very cooperative. The insurance then decided that "alive but completely bedbound" was her new baseline (it isnt) and that they were discharging her. They told us this on a Thursday morning, and gave us a discharge date of Sunday.

So obviously this isn't medically advisable to discharge her home. She can't even sit up unassisted. Neither of us are available to give her the round-the-clock care she requires. Plus her gas service has been off for a month and will not be restored for another few days, and it's 20 degrees here right now. So my husband has been strung out of his mind, fighting with insurance and calling everyone who can possibly help him file an appeal. He filed 2 appeals, tried filing his power of attorney with insurance, everything he possibly could. He got about 10 hours of sleep total over the course of that week. Of course it didn't matter though, because insurance purposely made this call at the end of the week so our appeals wouldn't go through in time. So she was discharged yesterday.

We had the thought of just taking her home and arranging home health aids the next day (because of course on Sunday you can't do anything), but we can't get her home safely in my car because it's too small and we can't maneuver her by ourselves. So we called an ambulance and had her taken back to the ER. She's currently admitted but we don't know for how long. Hopefully a caseworker or social worker will call us today to see what we can do.

My problem is what this whole thing is doing to my husband. Both of his parents growing up were abusive, but his mom was the "safe" parent (i.e., she didn't physically abuse him like his dad, but was manipulative and emotionally abusive), so he still clings to her. She has absolutely zero regard for how exhausted he is. She will routinely call my husband from the SNF or hospital in the middle of the night and demand that he come see her because she is uncomfortable in bed and is getting impatient waiting on the nurses. Visiting hours were over at 8:00pm at the SNF and we wouldn't be able to get to her, but she would still call at midnight and beg and cry for him to come move her. Not that she missed him, not that she was lonely and scared, she was just uncomfortable. It's important to note that my husband doesn't drive, so he would either have to walk in the cold over 20 blocks just to move her in bed, or I would have to drive him when I should be getting sleep for work. He would explain this to her and she wouldn't care. She would fight with him for 20 minutes and then say "Oh, okay, I guess you don't love me" and hang up.

I know she's not an evil person, but she is quite literally killing my husband with how she treats him and how exhausting of an environment she is creating. He is at his wits end and crying every night, but he feels that he can't abandon her because she raised him and he doesn't want to be a monster. What's worse is that he is very aware of how she treats him, and has told me several times that when she gets home and settled, he intends to be done with her. I know this won't happen though. I want so badly for him to leave her behind because he is tearing himself apart for someone who doesn't care about anyone except herself. I understand that she wasn't the most abusive of the two parents, but she did a lot of irreparable damage.

He is almost 30 and hasn't been able to find a solid career because she is so demanding of his time. He is in debt because she put utility bills in his name at a young age and couldn't pay the bills. His credit is shot for the same reason. We aren't even legally married because he doesn't want to tie me to his mountain of debt he can't even begin to pay off. She never let him have a life of his own, because his whole life has to be spent taking care of her.

I'm so tired of watching this happen. And I know it's selfish, but I'm also tired of being roped into this. I'm tired of being out into the wee hours of the morning picking him up from the hospital, using all of our free time on weekends doing shopping for her, not seeing him for days at a time because he has to take care of her. I feel horrible. I try to help as much as I can, but I'm also under a lot of my own stress with a new job and still being in school full-time, and sometimes I snap at him, which isn't fair.

I just want this to end. I want him to have his own life. I want to get married for real. I want him to stop beating himself in the ground for this woman who doesn't care. I want us to start our life together. I'm so tired.

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youjustwaitsunshine · 2 years

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RTL Interview with Sebastian Vettel, 24.4.2022

[so sorry for the absolutely atrocious quality of this screencap]

Translation under the cut

Sebastian, with this place, i can't see it right now but it that enough for a smile?

Yeah, uhm [lifts mask to show smile], nobody's standing here [takes mask off, coughs] there it is [laughs], yes, I mean, if I'm being completely honest, it's an eighth place but for us it's like a victory, you'll have to be honest there, there wasn't more in it today, the opposite, there was way less in it actually; I think the first lap was very good, the start, the patience but then also aggression, a restart, surprising Fernando round the outside, i think he didn't count on that; but uh yeah, all in all we did everything right and tried to keep the faster cars behind us for as long as possible same as yesterday and had a bit more, more fun today.

Is such a success enough already to move the team forward in the long run?

Noo; but I believe the important thing for us is that we have a good result now, the first points in the bag but yeah, we have to be realistic, the next races will be really really hard for us, the pace isn't there yet, our car is very hard to drive, I'm definitely going to sleep well tonight; you can't let your concentration slide on the straights at all so it was very exhausting but it's of course fun when you know you have something countable.

Before the race we talked about school grades [note: he gave himself a six (worst grade in Germany) for Australia], so I'd like to know, which grade are you giving yourself for the race now?

A 1 (best grade in Germany). We went to one extreme and now we're going to the other. No but I'm happy, as I said, of course not where I want to be but you have to be realistic and from that point today was very good already.

Thank you.

Well, that's a leap, from 6 to 1, how would you grade the whole thing?

Yeah, so I have to say I'm with him a bit there, you could hear how euphoric he is without him really daring to announce it like that, but the beautiful thing about Sebastian Vettel is still that he terribly likes driving race cars, terribly likes driving in Formula 1 and you can see that passion in him and that leads to, a really hard to drive car, really difficult conditions and now an eighth place, excuse me, an eighth place, normally he would never, it wouldn't be of note but the way he did it today, I have to say, I'm happy, he's getting a 1 from me too.

#translation is a bit rough sorry about that i started this at 3 am it is now close to 5 n i cant sleep #sebastian vettel #f1 #it's so nice to see someone talk positively about seb.#like danner saying 'he's actually super euphoric but keeps it down' being this far cry from any of the artificial drama of sky uk? yea <3 #again pls excuse the shitty audio. it's a screencap n i didn't manage to download the video and had to keep upload limit #if anyone can do a better quality upload please do it; you have my permission to (with credit ofc) use my translation if u want #even if it's a bit rough 😅

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 3 years

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Portrait of a Dangerous Man🎨3

Warnings: (series) non-consent sex and rape; slow creep; cucking; (this chapter) sleep paralysis, stress.

This is dark!mob!Clark Kent x reader and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Synopsis: Your dream of having your work hung in an art show comes true but your first buyer is not all he seems to be.

Note: I’m so happy people are liking this story. Thanks so much to everyone reading and sorry if I’m a bit inactive lately, I’ve been exhausted and yesterday didn’t end, I swear.

Thanks to everyone for reading and thanks in advance for all your feedback. :)

I really hope you enjoy. 💋

<3 As usual, I’d appreciate if you let me know what you think with a like or reblog or reply or an ask! Love ya!

On Monday, you yawned over your keyboard as your fingers moved on instinct alone. Your eyes ran along the text but the words were just letters to you. You had a lot to think about, a lot to do.

You decided you would skip lunch and get through your work day an hour early so you could head to Clark’s right away. He was hard to deny when he asked if you could make it back so soon. You told him you worked everyday from home and you had hours beside that at the gallery three times a week at least. He accepted it with a nod but his silence was telling so you caved and said you could make it but not until the evening.

You texted Marcus as you waited for your Uber. He had a few hours to go still and you left him everything he needed to make supper with instructions; the veggies were cut, the meat thawed, and the pans already arranged on the stove. You had faith he could manage on his own.

The mansion was just as intimidating as the first time you visited. You walked up the drive and to the front steps. It was human nature to be envious of the sprawling yards and lavish estate and yet, it didn’t feel as if someone could truly live here. It would be like staying in a hotel as you were always overly aware of your every move, afraid to break something or make a mess.

You hammered the large knocker when your soft tapping brought no answer. You heard someone on the other side and wiggled your foot nervously. The door opened and square-faced woman greeted you in another language. You couldn’t tell if it was Swedish, German, or some other dialect. You were never a skilled linguist.

“Um, hi, I’m…”

“Ah, you are the lady painter,” she said, “I remember. I am Nina, Mr. Kent’s housekeeper.”

She turned and beckoned you to follow her. You closed the tall door and trailed her across the spacious foyer and behind the stairs into the kitchen. She turned through another room and led you out through the glass doors that opened onto the pool.

“Miss, would you like a drink? Tea? Coffee?” she asked.

“No, thank you,” you said as the water moved and your eyes were drawn to the figure moving beneath the surface.

“Miss,” Nina nodded and left you.

You stood, awkward and listless, and glanced around at the loungers and the umbrella over the round table. You weren’t entirely sure what to do. Had he forgotten about you?

“Hey,” your gaze was drawn back to the pool. Clark waded to the edge, his broad shoulders and chiseled chest visible as he made his way to the shallow end, “sorry. Lost track of time.”

He grabbed the metal railing and climbed up the stairs. The water slaked off his tight trunks and down his thick thighs. He appeared even larger with less clothes. You looked away before your thoughts lingered too long.

“It’s fine, I should have texted I was on my way,” you said, “I can go wait for you--”

“No worries,” he took his towel and rubbed dry his dark hair. The scruff along his chin was thicker than before, almost a full blown beard, “you’re not in a hurry, are you?”

“No, not really, can’t really rush… painting,” you shrugged, “I just… I didn’t mean to catch you off-guard.”

“Pfft, I’m ready for anything,” he grinned, “but I should also listen to the artist. I’ll go get changed and you can get settled in the studio.” He directed you ahead of him as he approached the sliding doors, “you just finished work? You should take a few minutes to unwind.”

“Uh, yeah, but it’s just, um, typing, not exactly hard labour,” you said as he followed you inside.

“Work is work,” he said, “I will never fault anyone who works hard, regardless of what they do.”

“Yeah, I suppose,” you stifled a yawn behind your hand.

He let out a breath as you came out into the foyer, “I’m sorry, you could’ve… you’re tired. We could have rescheduled. I’m sorry if I came across… pushy yesterday. I don’t mean to take advantage of you.”

“No, no, it’s fine,” you assured him, “I’m fine.”

“Alright,” he said doubtfully, “but you let me know if you need a break.”

“Will do,” you murmured as you neared the stairs.

🎨

You weren’t even close to done just the background of the portrait. Clark really didn’t even need to be there as you shadowed the folds of the curtains around his figure and the marble bust. Your arm hurt from reaching across and up the gigantic canvas and your eyes burned from squinting at your work.

You backed off the ladder carefully with your paintbrush and palette balanced in one hand. The paint was drying and you needed to mix more. You set down your armful and wiped your hands on the rag. He was watching you, he was always watching you. Well, no, he was just looking in your direction; it was all for the portrait.

You hit the button on the side of your phone and gasped. It was midnight. You had several messages from Marcus and you blanched as you unlocked the cell and quickly texted back. You rubbed your eye as you hit send and turned to Clark.

“I didn’t realise it was so late,” you said, “I gotta go.”

“What time is it?” he asked and looked at his watch, “oh.”

He pushed himself to his feet with a grunt and stretched out his arms as he neared. You took your brush and rinsed it in the tinted water in the jar.

“I’ll just clean up as I wait for an Uber,” you said as you let the brush rest in the jar and lifted your phone again.

“I’ll drive you,” he said as he grabbed a rag, “it’s a long way. I’ll hire a driver for you from here on out. It’ll be easier and cheaper.”

“You don’t have to--”

You flinched as he wiped your cheek with the rag. He smiled and showed you the paint on the white cloth.

“I wouldn’t offer it if it was too much trouble,” he tossed the rag down, “and I did have something to talk to you about. The drive will be more than enough to get it sorted.”

“Oh, okay,” you eked nervously. Had you done something wrong? Were you not painting fast enough?

“I’ll meet you downstairs,” he touched your arm gently.

He left you and you finished scraping off the palette and cleaning your brushes. You dumped the jar in the sink just inside the nearest bathroom and rinsed the porcelain back to white. You left everything arranged neatly on the table and descended to the first floor.

Clark stood by the door in a different jacket, his tie gone and the top button undone. He held the door for you and showed you to the garage. There were at least a half-dozen cars inside and he took you to the same silver one he drove the night of the show. You settled in and groaned as the tension left your shoulders.

He started the car as the doors rose behind him and he backed out smoothly. He turned down the long drive and onto the desolate roads of the wealthy countryside. He kept one hand on the wheel and dropped his other to his thigh casually.

“So, your job, you like it?”

“It’s work,” you said, “I get paid to sit at home and type. Half the time, I’m just waiting for an assignment.”

“I asked if you liked it,” he said more pointedly.

“Oh, well, not… really?” you answered, unsure.

He could be so pleasant and then so blunt. He made you nervous and the more you thought of it, the more you realised you knew almost nothing about this man besides his name. You didn’t know how he made his money or what exactly he did outside of his extravagant mansion.

“If I doubled your fee, would you quit?” he asked without hesitation.

“Quit? This… the painting won’t take forever,” you said, “I can’t really just drop everything--”

“This is an opportunity,” he said, “you could spend your days doing what you love. And who’s to say it’s just one painting? I already have something in mind for the dining room and I have friends asking about you.”

“Friends? Who--”

“One thing at a time,” he said curtly, “I’ll introduce you to them in time. Is it a deal?”

“I… it’s all very sudden, can I think about it?”

He looked at you in the rearview and you caught his eye. For a moment, you were afraid. There was something in his expression that left you breathless. He lifted his hand and stretched his arm between the seats, his fingers gripped the leather just above your shoulder.

“Sure, I’ll give you a couple days,” he said at last.

“I--I’m sorry…” you didn’t know why you were apologizing but it felt appropriate, “I just, I’m tired.”

“It’s fine, sweetheart,” he assured and the epithet hung in the air.

“I have to go to the gallery tomorrow, I’ll get back to you on Wednesday,” you said as you rubbed your chin nervously. Your lips was quivering. He was smiling but you felt his impatience in the small space of the car, “if I… if I say yes, I have to talk to my boss and that might get messy.”

“No problem,” his voice softened, “you take some time and figure it out.” His thumb rubbed the leather seat and he pulled his arm away to grasp the steering wheel, “why don’t you close your eyes. We got some time left.”

You peeked over at him and nodded.

“Okay,” you murmured and hugged your bag against you as you tried to relax against the leather. You turned your head and looked out the window up at the starry sky. You closed your eyes as the fatigue settled over you but you could only fake dozing as your nerves stormed inside of you.

He was right, it was a great opportunity, but you just couldn’t believe it would last. Was it your own doubt getting to you? Or should you be weary of this fairytale buyer? It was late and you couldn’t think. All those worries could wait until tomorrow.

🎨

You crept into the dark apartment. It was after one and you foresaw a long day ahead of you. You’d get maybe four hours in before it all started again. You put your purse down and went into the bedroom, undressing in the shadows and crawling into bed next to Marcus as the colours of the tv moved around him. The playlist he was casting kept on even as he slept.

He grunted as you laid on your back and he turned to graze your arm with his fingertips.

“You’re home,” he grumbled and kissed your cheek, “I was worried.”

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, “I… it’s so far out there and it’s a lot of work. The canvas is like nine feet-- I’m sorry, I’ll let you sleep.”

“No, no, it’s okay,” his voice was gristly as he propped himself up on his elbow, “you’re gonna finish the job right?”

“I don’t know,” you said, “I don’t know if I can.”

“Of course you can,” Marcus insisted, “I mean, at that price, you can do anything.”

“It’s not about the money, Marcus,” you huffed, “I don’t know if it’s worth all this. Going back and forth…” you ran your hands over your face, “he wants me to quit my job and just paint for him.”

“You should,” Marcus said blithely, “why not? He’s paying you well enough.”

“And what about when I’m done,” you whined.

“You’ll find more work. Vanessa even offered to take on more of your work in her shows, so what’s the problem? Isn’t this what you want?”

“Y-yeah, it is but… I don’t know, it just seems too good to be true.”

“You do this and we might even have enough for a down payment,” he said, “something had to give after all these years. Why can’t it be this?”

You looked at him and tried to smile, “you’re only saying that because he has a pool.”

“Maybe,” he kidded, “but I also want it for you. You spend all your free time painting anyhow so why not get paid for it?”

“Mhmm,” you mumbled, “yeah, I just don’t know why I feel so… I don’t know. It just all seems off.”

“Sleep on it, you’ll feel better,” he leaned over and kissed your lips that time, “love you.”

“Love you,” you echoed as he grabbed the remote and shut off the tv.

You closed your eyes as the darkness shrouded you and despite your anxiety, you fell into a deep sleep. You didn’t even roll onto your side before you sank into your REM but found yourself caught in limbo. The abstract and intense sensation of paralysis overtook your body and your eyelids flicked open.

It was an awful feeling you knew too well. You knew you were dreaming, you knew it was all in your mind, but your body was filled with sand and your subconscious conjured visions of doom. The tall man stood by the door as he always did and just stared. He got closer, just a little at a time, and you fought to move just a finger and free yourself from the trance.

You felt like you were drowning as your body remained heavy and unmoving. He was getting closer and closer. As he did, his figure changed and his shoulders got wider as his features came clear in the slat of the streetlight that leaked between the curtains. It was Clark staring down at you, his blue eyes sinister and sparkling.

He reached for you and you woke with a start as your name rose from his lips. You inhaled sharply and looked over at Marcus as he snored. It was only the two of you. You reached for your phone, it was just after three. You turned onto your side but your heart still raced. It always happened when you were stressed, the dreams felt so real that you never really came back down after.

You stared at the wall and curled up under the blanket. You didn’t expect to get much sleep anyway, not with the question on your mind. Should you quit and live your dream or should you kill all hope before life did it for you?

#clark kent #dark clark kent #dark!clark kent #clark kent x reader #superman #series #portrait of a dangerous man #fic #dark fic #dark!fic #au #mob au #mob!au #dc #dcu

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m0srael · 3 years

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Drunk Texts

For the @drarrymicrofic prompt: Love Letter

One balmy night in June, Harry’s lying in bed wide awake--unable to sleep again--when his mobile lights up on the nightstand. The only people who ever contact him on his mobile are Teddy (“All the cool wizards have them these days, Harry, please get one so I can send you memes!”) and Hermione, and neither of them would be texting this late.

Friday, June 6 2008, 1:27 AM

+445195555555: I’ve been hopelessly in love with you since we were sixteen, won’t shut my bloody mouth about you actually, can I take you on a date? I’m still very rich, all things considered, and know all the best restaurants in Wizarding Britain.

+445195555555: Maybe just a shag, then?

Harry: bloody hell, who is this??

Harry: This number is unlisted, I don’t know how you got it but I’m blocking it now. Kindly, fuck off.

+445195555555: WAIT

+445195555555: What do you mean, who is this? I thought muggle mobiles know who you’re talking to already.

Harry: Not if a strange person is texting in the middle of the bloody night from a number I’ve never seen before!

+445195555555: If you don’t want to date me or shag me just say so, Potter. No need to play hard to get and toss around insults

+445195555555: Unless that’s a thing for you, cheeky ;) ;)

Harry: Last chance, tell me who this is or I’m blocking your number.

+445195555555: Draco

+445195555555: Obviously ;)

Harry: Draco...Malfoy?

Harry: You expect me to believe Draco Malfoy is confessing his love and hitting me up for a shag at 1am. On a *muggle* mobile.

+445195555555: Believe it scarhead, now answer the question do you or do you not want to shag me

Harry: Look, you’ve obviously read one too many Prophet articles…

Harry: Somehow found my number...did you confund someone I know??

Harry: And thought that...pretending to be Draco Malfoy, of all people, would entice me to meet up with a total stranger?

+445195555555: Ooh, the logic of it all, Potter ;)

Harry: Stop doing that

+445195555555: what ;) ;)

Harry: The emojis. Malfoy would never use emojis.

+445195555555: You don’t know what I would or wouldn’t do anymore Potter. Would you like to learn? ;)

Harry: Fuck

Harry: Even if I believed you, I’ve never given Draco Malfoy my number. My *muggle* mobile number.

Harry: I’ve never given him my number because Draco Malfoy would never use a *muggle* mobile.

Harry:...among other reasons

+445195555555: Always so preoccupied with blood purity, Potter, haven’t you learned anything?

+445195555555: And there you go again, assuming that you know what I would and would not do

+445195555555: It really would be much more efficient if you just let me demonstrate

Harry: oh my god

Harry: I can’t believe I’m still messaging you

Harry: ffs, you have one chance to convince me that you’re really Malfoy otherwise I’m blocking you immediately

+445195555555: You are a tetchy one, hm?

+445195555555: Fine. You cornered me in a bathroom in 6th bc you were *obsessed* with me and tried to murder me using sectumsempra (which you claimed not to know the effect of, pft) but only because I tried to Crucio you and I would have died if Snape hadn’t found us and cleaned up your mess (again)

+445195555555: They definitely didn’t print THAT in the Prophet. Unfortunately.

Harry: Bloody hell um...okay…

Harry: Look, about that, Malfoy…

Harry: Wait, unfortunately…??

+445195555555: So you see, Potter, it is in fact I, Draco Lucius Malfoy, confessing my love and “hitting you up for a shag at 1am” as you so elegantly put it.

+445195555555: ;)

Harry: Okay. Malfoy, then. Jesus.

Harry: How exactly did you get my number?

Harry: For that matter, when did you get a mobile?

Draco Sodding Malfoy: I got it from Pansy, who got it from Ginny, you recalcitrant twat

Draco Sodding Malfoy: See, I can do the sexy insults thing, too :*

Draco Sodding Malfoy: And if you must know, Potter, I purchased a mobile years ago to stay in contact with my cousin, Teddy. Teddy Lupin. I think you’re acquainted? The little brat refuses to owl, apparently it’s “sooo medieval”.

Harry: Oh. That...actually makes sense. He said the same thing to me.

Harry: Hang on, Teddy isn’t a brat. I thought you two got on rather well…?

Draco Sodding Malfoy: Whatever, the point is I’m mad for you and I never told you because, well, there was the whole war thing and then the whole trial thing, and since then I’ve become a bit of a self-righteous coward. Also, I fancy myself something of a martyr. I think the constant pouting makes my mouth look more kissable, don’t you?

Draco Sodding Malfoy: We could do the dinner thing if we must, or you can just come round mine I can meet you there right now

Harry: Oh. You’re drunk.

Harry: Never pegged you as the type to get sloshed and text your ex-childhood-nemesis for a hookup

Draco Sodding Malfoy: not with that attitude you haven’t

Harry: Hah

Draco Sodding Malfoy: Not drnk

Draco Sodding Malfoy: Honestly, Potter

Draco Sodding Malfoy: Harry

Harry: weird

Draco Sodding Malfoy: I’ve seen the way you watch me when you think I’m not looking. You look at me like some lovesick teenager. Why deny what *literally everyone* can plainly see?

Harry: I do not look at you like a...lovesick teenager, Malfoy.

Draco Sodding Malfoy: Draco ;)

Harry: I do not watch you, DRACO.

Draco Sodding Malfoy: I only notice because I’m watching you too, Harry. All the time. I’ve been watching you for as long as I can remember.

Draco Sodding Malfoy: You’ve practically been the center of my universe since I was eleven years old, for Merlin’s sake. I think about you all the time. I miss you all the time, even when we’re in the same room.

Draco Sodding Malfoy: I mean I LITERALLY do not shut up about you I wasn’t exaggerating about that. It drives Pansy and Blaise, who have the patience and constitutions of actual saints and who are very, very good friends, absolutely mental and they’d like nothing more than to hex my mouth shut permanently.

Harry: um

Draco Sodding Malfoy: Admit it.

Draco Sodding Malfoy: You’ve wondered what it’d be like.

Draco Sodding Malfoy: Imagined it.

Draco Sodding Malfoy: Us

Harry: Malfoy…

Draco Sodding Malfoy: Draco

Harry: Draco…

Draco Sodding Malfoy: Yes, Harry? ;)

Harry: I...could do dinner.

Draco Sodding Malfoy: You could “do” dinner? That’s all, after everything I’ve just said, you can “do” dinner??

Harry: For the love of Merlin

Harry: Fine. You’re right, Draco. I...have wondered

Harry: About us, I mean

Harry: Ahh and actually Draco sometimes when I look at you I just want…

Friday, June 6 2008, 2:15 AM

Draco Sodding Malfoy: what

Draco Sodding Malfoy: you want what

Friday, June 6 2008, 2:48 AM

Draco Sodding Malfoy: harry

Friday, June 6 2008, 3:09 AM

Draco Sodding Malfoy: harry, bloody hell

Saturday, June 7 2008, 6:45 AM

Harry: Draco, I’m so sorry

Saturday, June 7 2008, 8:18 AM

Harry: My mobile died and I didn’t have my charger

Saturday, June 7 2008, 9:23 AM

Harry: Draco

Saturday, June 7 2008, 11:47 AM

Draco Sodding Malfoy: Potter, why on earth are you contacting me so early on a Saturday?

Draco Sodding Malfoy: Scratch that, why are you contacting me at all? Where did you get my number?

Harry: Oh, so you were drunk

Draco Sodding Malfoy: How is my present or past level of intoxication any of your concern?

Draco Sodding Malfoy: Oh.

Draco Sodding Malfoy: No.

Harry: Draco, what’s wrong? What happened?

Harry: Draco…?

Harry: I’m sorry, if I said something…

Harry: Look, YOU’RE the one drunk messaging ME at all hours of the night looking for a shag!

Saturday, June 7 2008, 7:08 PM

Draco Sodding Malfoy: Dear Harry,

Draco Sodding Malfoy: I hereby formally apologize for my previous messages. They are inappropriate and entirely out of line, do forgive me. Although it appears that Blaise Zabini and Pansy Parkinson absconded with my mobile yesterday evening to, “have a bit of fun”, I take full responsibility for what has transpired. Do not report me, or something. I do hope you were not too offended. I will henceforth refrain from contacting you by this, or any other, means. I assure you that my traitorous, juvenile, back-stabbing, inconsiderate, so-called friends have been soundly reprimanded. You may expect their formal apologies via owl, posthaste.

Draco Sodding Malfoy: Apologetically, Draco L. Malfoy

Harry: Wow, uh, ok. I’ve never gotten a formal apology over text before. Did it take you...8 hours to write that?

Harry: And for the record, I knew something was up. We may not be best mates or anything but I know you wouldn’t use emojis like that.

Draco Sodding Malfoy: Oh, bugger off, Potter you had no idea it wasn’t me. You were ready to spill your innermost desires to a stranger on your mobile! Stupid Gryffindor.

Draco Sodding Malfoy: Ah.

Draco Sodding Malfoy: I mean, goodbye! So sorry, again, for the inconvenience! We will never speak again from this moment on!

Harry: Draco, wait

Draco ;): Merlin, what, Potter?

Harry: Harry

Draco ;): No.

Harry: Fine. Look, if you accept full responsibility, does that mean your offer still stands?

Draco ;): What offer?

Draco ;): No. It doesn’t, whatever it is.

Harry: Your offer to take me on a date.

Harry: ;)

Draco ;): Bloody...Potter, that wasn’t MY offer!

Harry: Perhaps not, but I’ve seen the way you watch me when you think I’m not looking...Draco.

Draco ;): Who is this? I’m blocking this number. I’m going to ask Pansy how to block a number.

Harry: Draco, I’m serious.

Saturday, June 7 2008, 9:14 PM

Harry: Draco, I can tell that you didn’t block my number.

Saturday, June 7 2008, 11:47 PM

Harry: Fine.

Harry: Draco, could I take you out for dinner some time? I know someone who knows all the best restaurants in Wizarding Britain.

Draco ;): …..

Harry: ?

Draco ;): If you must

Harry: If I must?

Draco ;): It's true that I'm still rich, all things considered, but you’re paying

Draco ;): ;)

#drarrymicrofic #drarry drabble #drarry #harry x draco #texting au #hey harry u up?#pansy and blaise got bored at a party #they were trying to help #they promise #minimose

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lightsovermonaco · 3 years

Text

His Good Sweater: Chapter 10

Masterlist

Shoutout to my bestie @acollectionofficsandshit for all the drunk comments she made while betaing this one... Wish you guys could see them lol

Word Count: 4.8k

Recommended song: “Amnesia" by 5SOS

Pierre paces in his dinky trailer at the Circuit of the Americas and desperately tries to forget you exist. He had already taken down the pictures on the wall but the images were burned into his brain. He had shoved your shirt under his bed, having absolutely no idea how it had made its way halfway around the world to taunt him.

He was slowly unraveling like a spool of thread on a loom as you wove him irrevocably into the tapestry of your life.

The race in Austin started in less than two hours and you hadn't texted him. Not once in the handful of years he'd known you had you neglected to wish him luck before a race, even if it was 2 am your time or you had exams, you always took thirty seconds to warn him to be safe and finish well.

He was beginning to think you hated him for how he'd acted at the gala last weekend, jealous and possessive from afar. Talking to you would have been the better choice. But seeing you laugh and dance the night away had hurt too much. He’d slipped out early after Victoria assured him she could find a ride and sped home to fall apart.

He had only barely managed to piece himself together in time for the race.

Pierre checks his phone for the third time in as many minutes and swears under his breath. He didn't know why he expected it to ring and for your face to pop up at this point. Even if you called to tear into him, he'd still fall to his knees at the sound of your voice. He just wanted to hear you speak, didn't care what was said, only that he could latch onto your words and lose himself in them.

Hope sparks when his phone chimes but he nearly throws it across the trailer when he sees Charles' name.

Heard from her yet?

No. At this point I'm beginning to think I never will again.

Maybe she fell asleep early?

It's 5 pm in London. I'll bet you she's eating a bowl of takeout from the Chinese place down the street, not sleeping.

Its still possible. Don't dwell on it. This isn't the headspace you wanna be in before a race. Block it out. I don't wanna see my best friend wind up hurt today.

Pierre didn't reply, if only because Charles was right. Worrying would get him nowhere. After his shitty qualifying yesterday, he started thirteenth on the grid so he had his work cut out for him. Austin offered plenty of opportunity for overtakes; he could get the job done if his team made the right calls.

And if he made it to the podium, you would have to text him.

The thin mattress groans when he sits to unlace his hastily tied race boots. He folds his legs to sit criss cross and places his palms on his knees. The familiar pose already has some of the tension leaving his shoulders as his eyes slide shut. He breathes in for ten seconds, reflecting on what ails him. He holds the breath for five seconds before releasing it slowly.

He repeats the process until he comes to terms with the fact that you won't be wishing him luck. That was your choice; there was nothing he could do about it and therefore no sense reading into it. He had done all he could to convince you to trust him. The ball was in your court; he had to be patient and wait for you to take a shot.

“Focus,” he murmurs to himself, forcing any erroneous thoughts from his head. “Walk through the track.”

The circuit at Austin was challenging, consisting of a mix of 20 sweeping corners and scattered hairpins. He was almost lucky in a way to be starting so far back on the grid because turn one was only a few hundred meters from pole and their tires would be slightly colder and less grippy upon arrival than his would be. The few extra seconds afforded to him by starting thirteenth could mean the opportunity to leap frog past his rivals in the first corner.

The counterclockwise circuit meant he would have to keep an eye on his front left tire too, as it would wear faster than the others. He'd change gears an average of 66 times per lap, higher than similar length tracks like Monaco. Pit stops cost an average of nineteen seconds, meaning he would need to build a significant gap to the driver chasing him in order to avoid the threat of any undercuts.

There were too many variables occupying space in his mind to afford you a sliver of it.

Some time later he decides that his four leaf clover tucked safely in the worn leather of his wallet will provide all the luck he needs and switches on his pre race playlist after popping in his ear buds.

"Sights on the podium," he murmurs to himself, hand on the doorknob. "Let's race."

The bass flows through him as his feet carry him to the Alpha Tauri garage on autopilot, through the back entrance and to his plain white driver room. The familiar beats are a numbing salve spread on his frayed nerves, his anticipation rising like a crimson wave in his veins. He leaves his clothes in a haphazard heap in the corner and changes into the white fireproofs hanging nearby, thoughts momentarily veering to you knocking on the door and stripping them right back off.

Shaking his head to clear his mind, he runs through his usual stretch sets until Pyry arrives to walk him through reflex exercises.

"How's your head?" Pyry asks, running him through more cool down stretches. "Do we need to take a minute and do some meditation?"

"Beat you to it," Pierre grunts out, pushing back against the hand on his head to work his neck. "I'm good."

"You sound better than you have all week, I'll give you that. Keep that focus, use it to propel yourself forward."

"Run me through the lineup again," Pierre requests, "I need something else to think about."

Because if he let his mind follow the path it wanted to, it would inevitably lead to you and undo the work he had done to avoid that. He needed to be empty of anything that wasn't racing, anything else was an unnecessary distraction that had the potential to end in disaster.

Pyry rattles off the grid in order of who Pierre needs to overtake, pausing between each name to give him time to recall their driving styles and potential chinks in their armor to exploit. He knew from tapes of previous years that Stroll often ran wide into turn one, giving Pierre the option to brake late and sweep up the inside. Vettel was half convinced the track was cursed, so his mind would work against him enough that Pierre could exploit it and get past at some point. He continued until he got to Hamilton and Max locking out the front row, where he would need a bit of luck to overtake.

"You got it?" Pyry asks, stepping back.

Pierre rolls his shoulders and nods.

"Get shit done mate," Pyry says and bumps fists with his driver. He slips out to allow Pierre a moment to center himself before slipping into his race suit, leaving it half unzipped and tying it around his waist before following his trainer.

Pyry leads the way to where the matte navy and white car waits, mechanics swarming it like studious worker bees tending to their queen. No one talks to him save his engineer because words from anyone else threaten to break his carefully constructed race mentality. If they wanted him to bring home points, they knew to leave him alone once he was suited up.

His mind is blank of anything but statistics as he twists his ear buds in and pulls on his balaclava and helmet. As his vision narrows to the sliver of track he can see through his visor, so does his focus. With forty minutes to lights out, he's directed out onto the track. He rips the wheel to the right as he exits the garage, getting a decent powerslide for his efforts.

There was no doubt in his mind that he would land on the podium, if only to see the look on your face when he did.

**********

It took an unfathomable amount of restraint to keep yourself from calling Pierre to wish him luck.

You texted Max instead, wishing him a safe and comfortable podium a half hour before lights out. He hadn't responded, likely already in the garage with his trainer going through his pre race routine.

The pace Max had set the day before had awarded him pole position and the margin between him and Hamilton had been enough that you were confident in his ability to hold off the Mercedes for all fifty six laps.

If you were honest with yourself, you were disappointed that the Alpha Tauri you so desperately tried to ignore would be starting in thirteenth. You try not to think about it, instead queueing up SkySports and opening your laptop for pre race coverage. You avoid the interviews in favor of listening to the commentators analyze the grid.

"It should be an easy win for Max as long as he fends off Hamilton until the first round of pit stops. The undercut works well here, as Red Bull proved last year, and I'm sure they plan on doing the same thing this year."

You hum in agreement, gingerly sipping your steaming tea. You really ought to consider a career as a sportscaster at this point based on how often you came to the same conclusions they did.

"I think one of the biggest shakeups is Russell starting all the way up in eleventh after his amazing qualifying for Williams yesterday. Think he can hold onto that position?"

"He's got some fierce competition not far behind in the form of Alpha Tauri. Gasly starts thirteenth- surprisingly far back on the grid given the otherwise flawless performance he's shown this year. But it seems likely that he should be able to overtake-"

You flick the tv on mute, unable to stomach listening to them sing his praises. You numb your mind with social media until the Formula 1 theme plays on your laptop, alerting you that there's a few minutes until race start. Tire blankets are peeled off and the drivers weave their way through the formation lap with the exception of Kimi who takes his traditional straight line approach to warm up his supersoft tires.

Most of the front runners are on ultrasofts, indicating a two stop strategy. It was Pirelli's recommended approach, and you were glad that Horner heeded their advice for once and let Max use the ultras in Q2. It would give Max the upper hand over Hamilton who starts on the yellow sidewall tire and thus slightly slower lap times.

Crofty and Brundle break down the notable turns as the cars line up on the grid, pointing out the sharp hairpin only a few hundred meters from pole position. If Max got away clean, he would be ahead of the cramped pack and have an even better edge over the silver arrows who would be forced to queue behind him.

The traditional "lights out and away we go" kicks off the grand prix, engines roaring into the first turn. Max does manage to get away clean and is awarded with an immediate advantage. Turn one proves tragic for the Alfa Romeo of Raikonnen and the Asthon Martin of Stroll who collide and cause Kimi to spin. They rejoin at the back of the pack, your eyes snagging on the navy and white of an Alpha Tauri as it streams past.

Your heart spins in a similar fashion when the GAS driver tag leaps up two places in the timing table, suddenly in eleventh due to the incident. Your gaze snaps to the laptop humming on your legs before you remember its Max's driver cam you queued up. The Dutchman is silent as his engineer relays information about the incident and informs him of the widening gap between those chasing him.

“Confirm received,” Gianpiero says calmly. No matter the situation or how heated Max got, he always kept his head. It was what made the duo such a good match and had likely kept Max from going off the rails on more than one occasion.

“Yeah,” Max says shortly, clearly pissed about how quickly Hamilton was approaching. “Let me know when I’ve got enough charge to get out of range.”

“Yep, will do. Just keep this pace and you’ll hold him at bay.”

Live coverage replays the incident between Stroll and Raikonnen from the view of onboard with Pierre. The instant the 10 on the halo appears in the center of your screen you suck in a breath. He yanks the wheel to avoid colliding with Ocon, who had to do the same to keep from hitting his teammate as they navigate through the carnage.

You chew on your lip and try to refocus on the battle between the front runners. Not much is happening in the midfield for the next thirty or so laps and Max just barely manages to build a solid enough gap between himself and Hamilton to dive into the pits comfortably without losing places.

Your phone rings and you answer it without checking who it was as the only person you wouldn't answer was currently occupied.

"Hello?"

"Why the fuck didn't they pit Daniel?!"

You grin, noting the blistering beginning on his front left tire as SkySports switches to his onboard camera. "Because he's about to pass Charles," you tell Dan's girlfriend. She didn't call you often during races. It was likely that she knew you were nearing your wits end and this was her way of offering support.

"He won't be able to with those tires- oh." She breaks off when Daniel passes a DRS detection zone and his rear wing opens, allowing him to pass the Monegasque with ease.

"Told you," you say with a touch of reprimand. "You're always too nervous about those things. Daniel knows how to drive, just trust him to get the job done and he'll bring home another trophy for your apartment."

"I don't live here," she points out and you roll your eyes. She had lived in London as long as you had known her, but she was almost always at Daniel's apartment whether he was in town or not. Daniel digs in as the camera follows him for a lap, highlighting the widening gap between the McLaren and the Ferrari.

"You basically do. At this point, you're paying rent for a dusty one bedroom apartment on the east side that you set foot in maybe once a month." She scoffs but you push on, "a waste of sterling if you ask me, when you're at Daniel's every time I ask you to do anything."

"You act like I never- there goes Pierre!"

His name sparks dread in your gut as your attention flicks back to the screen in time to see him overtake Bottas on the inside of turn one. He'd managed to claw up to fifth with the move, somehow gaining places while you weren't looking.

"Good for him," you croak, trying your best to be genuinely happy for him. He was pushing the car to the limit and you'd be amazed if he didn't wind up on the podium along with Dan and Max. Charles and Hamilton were the only ones in his way, and something told you Charles wouldn’t put up much of a fight when his mate reached his gearbox. Hamilton would prove a challenge but he had been making tiny mistakes all day. Nothing significant, though enough to add up to him barely holding onto second while Daniel rode his gearbox.

"He's got ten laps to get past those two," she murmurs as if momentarily forgetting you were on the phone.

"Can we talk about literally anything else please?" You whisper, half tempted to shut off the race completely.

"Babe, you have to face the music at some point. Either you never want to see him again or you love him, which is it?"

She never failed to be anything but brutally honest. You appreciate it because everyone else let you brush off your problems, but she called you on your bullshit. She would needle you about it until you folded.

"I think it's better for both of us if I pretend we never met, don't you?"

"Easier for you, yes," she agrees. "But it'll kill Pierre. You don't think you could keep in touch with him, just as friends?"

"I don't know if I can handle that. I can barely look at him without wanting to bawl my eyes out."

She sighs, pausing to contemplate what to say. Voice soft, she continues, "Why don't you just take him back? Clearly it's ruining both of you. Are you really gonna let the press wreck the best you ever had? I know its hard but-"

"I'm not like you," you cut in. "I can't just ignore the articles and the comments and pretend there aren't people out there that hate me for being with him. They came to my house, disrupted my family. Hell, Ben can't even go to school without being mobbed by his classmates demanding answers. If my suffering is what allows my family to go about their lives then so be it."

"If that's what you wanna believe."

You sigh, tangling your fingers in the hem of your shirt. "It is."

"Alright," she says, voice teetering on a knife's edge. "I know better than to try to change your mind when you're like this. He's on the podium by the way. Oh, and watch what you say to Max- Pierre will read into it."

She hangs up without a goodbye, leaving you to deal with the realization that the podium is indeed VER RIC GAS on your own. Your eyes are glued to the Red Bull and McLaren drivers, blatantly ignoring the one in the white suit as the anthems play and the champagne is sprayed, turning away to busy yourself with making coffee when Daniel hands his liquid filled race boot to third place.

You weren't quite sure how you were supposed to watch what you said to Max- there was no reason to in your mind. Max was your next closest friend on the grid and you had every right to congratulate him if you wanted to.

Resolute in your decision, you text Max and Daniel a quick congratulations before shutting off the TV and closing your laptop.

Max's insane custom ringtone he'd selected for himself nearly makes you jump out of your skin when it blares from your phone.

"Hey great race-"

"Did you see it? I wasn't sure if you'd watch it- did you see my move on Hamilton when he tried to get past me?" He was talking a mile a minute like he was still out on track. "I was like- and then Dan tried to overtake me on the final lap and I was like no way! And then-"

"Max," you chime in, dragging out the 'a' with a sing-song voice. "You're rambling."

"Oh right. Yeah but I made it! Led every lap and finished with another win."

"That's great." You force as much enthusiasm in the words as possible, trying to match his chaotic energy. "You did great. I know it probably doesn't mean much, but I'm proud to be your friend. You beat a world champ!"

"It means a lot-"

"Who's that?"

You stiffen at the familiar cadence. You had assumed Max was back in the garage when he called, but he must have still been in the podium room. You could picture him in his race suit, smudges of grease and dirt staining the pristine white. Beads of sweat probably ran down his neck, begging to be brushed away by your tongue.

"Uh, no one," Max says in a lame attempt to cover up his digression. "I gotta go," he whispers to you.

"Let me talk-"

"Wait don't," you start, but the call ends abruptly and you blink. You stare down at your phone, completely dumbfounded. Of course his instinct would be to talk to you, to share the euphoria of a podium with you. It was the first victory in three years he wouldn't have you to celebrate with.

It was only a matter of time until his resolve popped like the cork on his champagne.

**********

Pierre's phone is in his hand as soon as Max hangs up. He hefts his trophy in the other, a wild grin on his sweaty face as he snaps a picture. He makes sure he's the only one in the frame, shamelessly wanting himself to be the center of your attention.

"Mate," Daniel pipes up, catching his eye, "you think that's a good idea?"

Pierre sighs, cutting the Australian a glare. "I'm just trying to fill her in."

"Wasn't your plan to give her space?"

"It's been a week, isn't that long enough?"

"Take it from me, sometimes it takes months for someone to figure things out. Hell, you know how long it took me to sort through my feelings for-"

"I know," Pierre cuts in. "I know. I just- a snap can't hurt can it? C'mon, I just got a podium! If it goes bad I can blame it on the post race jitters."

Daniel holds up his hands and shrugs. "You're a grown man. Do what you want."

Pierre studies the photo, scrutinizing the way his hair was plastered to his head and the awkward way he'd posed to keep anyone but himself out of the frame. It's his genuine smile that he knows will do you in, and ultimately the reason he sends it.

His phone is a lead weight clutched in his grip as he winds through the paddock, constantly stopped by vips and team members congratulating him. None of what anyone says registers, he just tries his best to match their mood and sputter praises about his team's contributions to his podium.

The snap you finally send back is only from the eyes up, but it's enough. He's surrounded by people in his driver room, but for ten seconds it might as well have just been him staring at a sliver of your face on a screen.

The tiny lines at the corners of your shining eyes tell him you're smiling, which is a step in the right direction even if you won't let him see your entire face. It's enough to reignite the hope that slumbered in his chest while waiting for you to pull the trigger and make a move.

He sends back a video of the people in the room, who cheer when they realize they're being filmed. 'Wish you were here,' is what he captions it and sends it without giving himself a chance to overthink.

Ten minutes pass with no reply.

The beer he’s already consumed have given him a pleasant buzz as well as an excuse to make a bad decision or two. He takes another video of the room to post to his Instagram story, 'Missing you' written in the lower left corner.

Fuck, he hopes you'll see it and regret leaving him on read. Instead all he gets is a text from Charles chastising him for stirring up drama.

Really Pierre?

Blame it on the alcohol, he texts back.

I know you aren’t drunk. You can’t form a coherent sentence when you are.

Guess i gotta drink more then

Pierre doesn’t turn anyone bearing alcohol away. He's two celebratory shots deep when Daniel finds him sulking in a corner. "You've got my girl texting me freaking out over your story. I've seen it and I gotta agree with her. Was that really necessary?"

"She left me on read," Pierre says like that was enough explanation. His head was spinning and it was getting hard to keep the room upright. "And it's the truth. I miss her like hell. I want her here. She was supposed to come, you know? I was gonna have her fly in with me on the jet. She doesn't start class again until June. I had this whole week planned out. I was gonna show her Texas- she’s from New York and..."

He trails off when he notes Dan’s pitying smile. Daniel sighs and runs a hand through his curls. "I know. I get it, okay? I know it's hard but you can't force it. You've gotta let her come back on her own, all you're doing now is pushing her away."

He was fucking clueless when it came to these things. He'd had you for a few precious moments and now that he'd lost you he didn't know how to act. His mind was running on hazy autopilot; he barely knew which way was up, let alone did he trust himself to make any sort of important decision.

He stares down at the shot he'd been handed at some point before throwing it back. The cheap whiskey burns his throat but he barely registers the sting. "Should I take it down?"

"She already saw it," Daniel says gently, as if he anticipates how bad the fuck up will hurt. And it does. It hits him like a tire wall at two hundred kph, knowing that you were probably ranting or crying on the phone with Daniel’s girlfriend. "But yeah, that's probably best. People are already wondering what happened between you two, no need to throw fuel on the fire."

"You're probably right-" Pierre cuts off when Charles arrives with a grimace on his face. He shakes his head and gives his friend’s shoulder a squeeze.

"For once I'm not the dumb one."

"You're a dick, you know that right?" Daniel says, allowing Pierre to delete the post. It takes him a few tries before he gets it down, but undeniably rumors will be circulating in the morning if they weren’t already.

"Honestly what were you thinking?" Charles demands, edging towards full blown yelling. "I told you to leave her be. The gossip stemming from this isn’t gonna help.”

The last thing he needed was someone else telling him how stupid his decision had been. At least Daniel had the decency to show sympathy.

"Honestly?" Pierre responds with the same intensity, his anger flaring. "Honestly, Charles, I was thinking that she was happy for me but was too afraid to take the leap. She haunts me. Every second I’m awake I have to force myself away from her. Even when I’m asleep I can’t get away from her. So I don’t know, maybe I wanted to haunt her too."

“This isn’t the way you win her back and you know it.”

“I know!” Pierre throws up his hands. “But what else am I supposed to do? She won’t talk to me. She has no problem talking to Max or Daniel but apparently she draws the line at me.”

“You know it’s not-” Daniel's eyes flick to his phone and he fights back a grin. All it does is remind Pierre that he lost the person that could bring that sort of smile to his own face. "Fellas I wish I could stay and help but I gotta get going. Charles, I think Pierre needs another drink." He slaps five American dollars in the Monegasque's hand. "First one is on me."

Pierre is too deep in a spiral to care when his friend drags him from the party to a bar just south of the circuit. Somehow it was within walking distance; the floor was sticky and the lighting was for shit but he didn't care.

Pierre's focus was on downing shot after shot, erasing the broken image of you his mind had conjured up. He never should have posted the story. It only served to feed into what the media had been speculating for the past week and dredged up more tension between you.

Pierre stops checking his phone two shots later. The liquor provides a wet blanket over his senses, dousing him in cold water and scrambling his brain. He could barely remember his own name, but yours still lived in the corner of his mind.

Even drunk, he refused to forget you.

Two hours and who knows how much alcohol later, Charles helps Pierre back to his hotel room.

Pierre falls asleep as soon as he hits the mattress, head too blurry to dredge up memories of you.

#are you feeling the angst yet #pierre gasly #pierre gasly X reader #formula 1 #f1 #formula 1 imagine #f1 imagine #formula 1 fanfiction #formula 1 fantasy #f1 fanfic #f1 fanfiction #f1 fic #f1 fantasy #formula 1 fanfic #formula 1 fic #formula 1 rpf #f1 rpf #pierre gasly imagine #pierre gasly fanfiction

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fridayfirefly · 3 years

Text

Virtual Sleepover

Read Virtual Sleepover on AO3

Masterlist

Written for Maribat March Day 4 - Internet Friends

Quarantine had been rough at Wayne Manor, but for Tim Drake, Marinette Dupain-Cheng was a bright light through it all. Tim was getting ahead of himself, though. The story of Marinette Dupain-Cheng started on March 20th, 2020. Panic over coronavirus was sweeping the nation. Bruce had gathered all of the members of the Wayne family into the dining room to explain the new rules of the house. No one was to go in or out. Groceries would be delivered to the house. There would be no superhero outings for at least two weeks. Tim didn't think his family would be able to survive, trapped in a house together.

So to preserve his sanity, Tim turned to the internet. There were hundreds of cold cases that he had put on the backburner and hundreds of forums and websites dedicated to solving cold cases. Tim turned to the most popular website and started dumping information, hoping for someone to show up and work through it with him. That's how Tim met Marinette. @MarinetteDC showed up on his page with a friend request, a wide range of technical knowledge about textiles and designs, and about seven different theories on a murder case Tim considered all but unsolvable. Her sleep schedule was just as chaotic as Tim's and she also drank a near-inhuman amount of coffee. Marinette Dupain-Cheng enthralled Tim. And when the chaos of his house threatened to make Tim lose his mind, Marinette became his lifeline.

"Can you hear me?"

Tim nodded. "Yep!"

"Nice!" cheered Marinette. Tim relished the opportunity to see her face, even if it was through a zoom call. "So what do we want to do first? I don't have class until Monday, so we have the whole weekend ahead of us."

"I think we should start with the iconic sleepover classic: truth or dare," suggested Tim.

"Alright. Truth or dare, Tim?"

"Dare." Tim was confident in his abilities to pull off any stunt she might come up with. However, his confidence started to fade as he watched a devious look grow on her face.

"I dare you to bake a batch of cookies - any kind of cookies you want - without using a recipe."

Tim blinked, trying to recall the last time he had baked. Besides a few times helping Alfred out in the kitchen, Tim wasn't certain that he had ever used the Wayne Manor kitchen for anything other than brewing coffee and heating frozen pizzas. "Could I have a new dare?"

Marinette shook her head, the grin on her face demonstrating exactly how much fun she was having, watching the panic in Tim's eyes. "I'll give you one hint on how to make them, but only one, so use it wisely."

Tim groaned, unplugging his laptop from its charger so he could move it to the kitchen. "I'm not actually certain I know all of the ingredients in cookies. Or how long you bake them for. I feel like an hour is probably too long, but I feel like half an hour might not be enough time."

On the other side of the screen, Marinette tried to stifle her giggles but was unable to keep them all in. "No offense Tim, but this is going to be a disaster. I can't wait."

Tim let out another groan. "Must you torture me?"

"How about you keep the laptop camera pointed towards the oven, that way I can tell you once something starts to burn?" Marinette joked.

Tim knew that she was teasing, but honestly, he knew he could use all the help he could get. Still, he wanted to preserve at least a little of his dignity. "Very funny," Tim said sarcastically, setting the laptop down on the kitchen counter.

"Start with ingredients," Marinette advised.

"What all goes into a chocolate chip cookie..?" mused Tim. He got out the flour, white and brown sugar, eggs, butter, vanilla extract, and three different types of chocolate chips that Alfred kept stocked.

Marinette raised an eyebrow. "Is that all?"

Tim cast a wary gaze upon his ingredients. It didn't seem like enough, but at the same time he couldn't figure out what he was missing. Tim sighed. "I'm ready to use my hint. Tell me what I forgot."

"You forgot to get out the salt, and more importantly, the baking soda," advised Marinette.

"Can I have a second hint?" asked Tim as he gathered his two missing ingredients.

"That depends on what you're asking," teased Marinette.

"I'm going to start listing measurements, and you tell me if it's too much or not enough."

Marinette pretended to think it over before replying, "I'll do it, but only because I want the cookies to come out edible, not because we're friends or anything like that. There are no friends in the Dupain-Cheng kitchen," said Marinette, her voice filled with faux seriousness.

"Lucky for me, these cookies are being made in the Wayne kitchen, and we're all very nice here, and we don't let Tim burn his cookies."

Marinette giggled. "You have a point there," she acquiesced. "Start listing your measurements."

Tim grabbed the measuring cup and starting approximating. "Two cups flour?"

"That will make about five dozen cookies."

"One cup of each type of sugar?"

Marinette shook her head. "You'll want a 3/4 cup of each."

The rest of the measuring process proceeded smoothly, with Tim guessing measurements of fluctuating accuracy (he correctly guessed that he would need two eggs, but his guess of a half-cup of baking soda led to Marinette questioning whether he had ever been in a kitchen before). Once Tim got the cookie dough mixed, spooned out onto a tray, and put in the oven, they resumed their game of truth-or-dare.

"Your turn, Marinette. Truth or dare?"

"Truth."

Tim tried to think of a good question to ask. "Since you've now seen how abysmal I am in the kitchen, I want to know one thing that you're terrible at."

Marinette scrunched up her brow. "It's nowhere near as bad as you're inability to crack an egg-"

Tim winced a little, remembering the painstaking process of digging out fragments of eggshell after he completely shattered it in his attempts to crack it.

"-But I have really bad depth perception. I trip over every little crack in the sidewalk. I'm probably the clumsiest person you'll ever meet."

Tim chuckled. "And here I thought you were perfect."

Marinette grinned. "Almost perfect. Truth or dare?"

"I'll pick truth this time, and hopefully avoid being humiliated again."

"I'll go easy on you this round. When was the last time you lied, and what was it about?"

Tim combed back through his memory of the past week, trying to pick out the last time he lied. "I think it was yesterday morning. Dick asked me if the coffee I was drinking was my first coffee of the day. I said yes, but really I hadn't slept that night so I just decided to arbitrarily count my start of the day at the time I would have woken up had I actually gone to sleep."

"So how many coffee's had you had yesterday?"

Tim shrugged. "Since midnight? Probably three or four. I've gotten away with a lot more coffee since I modified the Keurig in my room to stop making so much noise."

"I'm lucky," said Marinette. "My parents sleep so far away from me that they can't hear my Keurig."

"Truth or dare?" asked Tim, continuing the game.

"Truth."

"What's the most embarrassing thing you've ever done because you had a crush on someone?"

Marinette flushed red, and Tim immediately knew that this was going to be a good story. "Once I accidentally sent a text to my crush so I stolehisphoneanddeletedthetext." Marinette rushed the last few words, so fast that Tim couldn't quite make them out.

"What was that?"

"I stole his phone and deleted the text before he could read it. In my defense, I made a lot of questionable decisions at that age."

Tim burst out laughing. "How old were you?"

"I was thirteen," admitted Marinette.

Tim couldn't stop laughing at the absurdity of her claims. "You couldn't have asked him to borrow his phone and deleted it then?"

"I was in panic mode. It was between steal his phone or destroy his phone."

"Those were your two options?!" exclaimed Tim.

Marinette blushed even more furiously. "It's your turn. Don't expect me to go easy on you this round. Truth or dare?"

Tim kept up the trend. "Truth."

"What was the worst thing you did at thirteen?"

Tim thought back to his days as Robin, and the many, many stories he could tell. In the end, he settled on one that Jason still brought up when he needed leverage over Tim. "It's not as bad as phone thievery, but it's still a pretty funny story, looking back on it. You know how I have two older brothers, right?"

"Dick and Jason," Marinette confirmed.

"Well, one night I managed to convince Dick to let me drive Bruce's favorite car. Now, keep in mind, I had never actually driven a car before. Surprisingly, I wasn't that bad at driving. I made it home without incident - that is, until I tried to park the car back in the garage and accidentally crashed into Jason's motorcycle. For years after that, Jason used the threat of telling Bruce about my little car crash to keep me in line."

Marinette snorted. "You think that borrowing a phone to delete a text message is worse than borrowing and crashing a car?"

Tim shrugged. "It's a matter of opinion. Truth or dare?"

With a roll of her eyes, Marinette said, "Truth."

"What's one thing you would never tell me?" It was the sort of question that could only be asked during a game of truth or dare. In Tim's opinion, it was this sort of question that made the game worth playing.

Marinette pouted. "I don't like that question."

"Too bad. The rules of truth or dare state that you have to answer it."

"Fine." Marinette looked up at the ceiling, deep in thought. Just as she turned back to face her laptop, her face lit up. It was evident that she had an answer. "Usually I let people learn from their mistakes in the kitchen. However, I will now tell you - because I have to - that your cookies have been in the oven for too long. They're going to start burning if you don't take them out soon."

Tim jumped up to get his cookies out of the oven. They looked a little burnt, brown rather than the golden-brown that Alfred would make, but they still looked edible. "I'll accept your answer, but only because you saved my cookies."

"Now that your cookies are done, do you want to finish up our game of truth or dare?"

"One last question," decided Tim. "And I'll pick truth, to make it easy for you."

"What's the biggest secret that you've currently keeping from your family?"

After Tim's last question, he had expected Marinette to follow it up with an invasive question. Luckily, her question had a very simple answer.

"Easy question - my friendship with you."

Marinette looked confused. "What do you mean?"

"Most of my friendships begin through the connections they have to my family. Because of that, I've never really had serious friendships that my family wasn't actively involved in."

"It's not because you're ashamed of me, right?" Marinette sounded unsure of herself. Insecurity was a side of her that Tim had never seen before.

"Of course not," Tim assured her. "You're the best friend I could have ever asked for, Marinette."

"Good, because you're not getting rid of me that easy. I still have a lot to teach you about baking. I think we might try cupcakes at our next sleepover."

Tim laughed. "We'll see about that." He had no doubts that there would be sleepovers to come, and shenanigans involving baked goods to go along with them.

@maribatmarch-2k21

#maribat #MaribatMarch2021 #timari #Marinette Dupain-Cheng #Tim Drake #miraculous ladybug fic #my work

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willowandfog · 3 years

Photo

Taking Flight

Summary: Kagome has been struggling with her disability most of her life but she's never felt anything but normal with Inuyasha always steadily by her side. But when her neurologist approaches her with the chance to recover full use of her leg, she takes it.

A childhood friends to lovers, soulmates AU

Read on AO3 or Below the Cut

Sorry this is a day late, work got in the way and I literally fell asleep at my desk yesterday trying to write this chapter ^.^

See you soon for chapter six, first date!

Kagome would never let Inuyasha find out about the fact that she had brought work with her. It really needed to get done, and even though she was technically already on vacation she felt responsible for it. Besides, she knew that she would need the distraction it would bring. She was staying with her mother, Inuyasha and herself had reluctantly agreed to sleep apart for the night.

Stupid tradition. She thought. It’ll be good for you guys, they said. Absence makes the heart grow fonder, they said.

Kagome rolled her eyes and sighed. Leaning back she tried to loosen her shoulders and relax a little further into the tub. She would admit that it had been nice to just sit and have some girl time over a lovely dinner with her mother and Izayoi, and her grandfather adding in cheeky commentary every now and then. Steam rose from amongst the lavender scented bubbles as Kagome closed her eyes and shifted her head, trying to get her neck into a more comfortable position, the loose tendrils that framed her face growing damp from the brief dip into the tub.

The tension in her body began to melt away and she hummed in appreciation.

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

Inuyasha was in a daze as he sat on their comfortable tan couch. He was in Kagome’s normal spot because it held her scent more than anywhere else, other than the bed; but he decided he wasn’t going to be that guy, laying in bed missing her, yet. The television was on but he wasn’t paying attention, he was missing her; he’d been away from her before, obviously. But never like this, not in a long time, not since they had both turned eighteen and moved into the apartment together. They spent their work days apart but they always, always were together while they slept. It helped soothe them both, him more so with his youkai instincts screaming at him to bond with her. When she was safe and content in his arms he was settled, he was at peace with himself, mostly. He found that the youkai was most quiet when he was being intimate with Kagome and they had been abstaining from that for the past week.

He sighed, throwing his head back. He felt like there were bugs crawling under his skin, like his youkai was going to claw out of his body and rip the door off its hinges and go find its mate. He knew where she was staying, of course; she was spending the night at her mother’s, but knowing he wouldn’t see her till tomorrow afternoon, and the thought of sleeping without her was driving him crazy. A knock on his door snapped him out of his stupor.

Kagome! No, stupid, Kagome wouldn’t need to knock.

With a sigh, he rose to answer the door. When the door swung open he let out an audible groan.

“What do you guys want?”

“Greetings, my liege. Thy fair maiden has bestowed upon us a quest.” Miroku grinned at him as he presented his arm full of liquor bottles.

“What the hell are you talking about and why are you talking like that?”

“Because he already started drinking in the car and you pick the weirdest friends.” Kouga stated from his position behind Miroku, arms folded across his chest.

Inuyasha sighed. “So why are you guys here?” He stepped to the side to allow them inside.

“Thy maiden-”

“No.” Inuyasha said as he closed the door. “You, speak.” He pointed to Kouga before crossing his arms and continuing. “Why are you here? I’m not great company right now.”

Kouga raised a brow as he ventured over to the couch, just as he was about to sit Inuyasha let out a fierce growl.

“I don’t think so, wolf.” Inuyasha spoke through gritted teeth. “You will sit over there.” He pointed to the armchair. “Don’t think I don’t know why you zeroed in on that spot.” Inuyasha went over and sat in the spot Kouga had tried to claim.

Kouga rolled his eyes before moving to the chair. “Kagome sent us over as the idiot said. She thought it would be best if you had friends over to help you make it through the night. Well technically she said ‘could you guys go over and have a guys night, Inuyasha might have a tough time by himself.’”

Inuyasha’s heart ached and he found himself rubbing a hand across his chest. Of course she would make sure he wasn’t alone without her. She was the most amazing, thoughtful person in the world. She was so sweet, kind, and never selfish. She should never have to do anything for herself, she should be taken care of, always.

Inuyasha suddenly stood, he had to go to Kagome, she might need him. He had almost reached the door when Kouga was blocking the way, holding a hand up as if that would stop him.

“Move. I’m going to Kagome, screw this sleeping apart shit.”

Kouga didn’t move. “Come on, Inuyasha. It’s just one night, Kagome is safe at her mother’s and you’ll see her tomorrow. You’re getting married tomorrow, the next time you see her she will be walking down the aisle to pledge herself to you. You’re a man, not a wild animal, pull yourself together.”

Kouga rested his hands on Inuyasha’s shoulders and turned him around, giving him a nudge back towards the couch. “Now go sit, let Miroku pour you a drink and we can hang out and be bros or whatever.”

Miroku handed Inuyasha one of the bottles of bourbon he had set on the coffee table before sitting on the opposite end of the couch.

“Really?” Inuyasha questioned him, sitting. “You think trying to get me drunk will help with my decision making and that I might feel less like shit about the fact that she’s not here?”

Miroku shrugged. “Nah. Just thought a little might help you relax. Try not to be so aggressive, your mate is fine, you’ll see her tomorrow, and for now you sit and relax and hang out with your friends.”

Inuyasha sighed as he twisted open the bottle and took a swig. “So why are you here? We aren’t friends, acquaintances at best.”

Kouga let out a chuckle. “‘Cause Kagome and I are friends, and she asked me to come over. She wanted someone that would be able to help in case you went all crazy youkai on Miroku trying to leave the apartment.”

“Ok, ok. Fine. I know that this is something that Kagome agreed to, and she obviously wants to stick with it, so I’ll try my best to reign in the urge to bolt out of here. Pick up a bottle Kouga, let’s get drunk.”

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

Kagome sat on the guest bed, back propped up against the headboard, her comfortable Slytherin pajama bottoms on paired with one of Inuyasha’s shirts that was far too large on her small frame. Her damp hair was thrown into a messy bun on top of her head and she had her work laptop in her lap. As she typed furiously away on her computer her mind kept trying to wander. She wondered if Inuyasha was holding up ok, knowing that this separation would be harder on him with his need to bond.

Checking the time, she knew that Miroku and Kouga must be there by now, she hoped they were distracting him. She contemplated texting one of them to make sure they were over there and that things were going alright, but decided against it since she knew that Inuyasha would have a harder time if he knew she was worrying over him. She was briefly curious to know what they were doing to occupy their time but decided against that line of thoughts so she tried to focus back on her work.

When she found her thoughts straying again sometime later, she closed her laptop on a huff. Climbing from the bed, she placed her laptop back into her bag before making her way to the bathroom to finish getting ready for bed. As she was brushing her teeth she thought about Inuyasha, and how he had always placed her needs first. Hell, he had built his life around her, his career was even chosen for her benefit. Wanting to be able to take care of her the best that he could, he had gone into physical therapy, spending years in school and gaining his doctorate.

The surgery she had undergone had worked as well as could have been expected, she could mostly walk correctly, she had a noticeable limp at times but never required her crutch, and when her leg would get sore or start cramping up, she would just wear her leg brace and everything would be fine. Now that she didn’t need constant therapy, she wondered if Inuyasha would think or want to change specialties. She hadn’t had the opportunity to speak with him about it yet, with her healing and rehabilitation after the surgery and with the upcoming wedding, but she made a note to do so soon.

She would be forever grateful that he had chosen a physical therapy career, but it also caused her some guilt every now and then. He had picked his path because of her; if she hadn’t had her stupid injury, would he still have gone down that road? She didn’t think he would have, and she would make sure that he knew how much she loved him for his decision but that he didn’t have to stay in a career that he didn’t enjoy, especially if there was something else he would rather be doing.

She snuggled under the covers, tugging the extra pillow over to cuddle with, wishing once again that she was back home with Inuyasha.

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

“I still can’t believe you tried to kiss her!” Miroku burst into another round of hysterical laughter, almost toppling off his seat. “You’re so lucky,” he sucked in a breath between his laughs, “that Kagome is so soft-hearted. Inuyasha,” more laughter escaped him, “Inuyasha would’ve killed you!”

Kouga tried to resist Miroku’s contagious laughter but couldn’t, finding himself chuckling even as he glared at him. “Well, i-s was worth it; I was a hair's breaths away from being Kagome’s fir-rsst kiss. If I would ‘ave kissed her and died as a result, it would have been worth it.”

Inuyasha growled. “Watch it.”

“What?” Kouga gasped in feigned disbelief. “You should take that as a compl-lment. Your mate is highly dessirable and she wants only you. If the roles were r-reversed here, and gods do I wish they were, I’d be rubbing it in your face. If I got to touch that perfects body, and kiss those lus-...luscious lips and smell her delicious c-”

Inuyasha pounced, tackling Kouga from his spot on the edge of the chair and rolling with him to the ground. They rolled over one another over and over, both trying to get the upper hand, both too drunk and uncoordinated to function well.

“Here’s an idea,” Kouga said between the rolls, “we should hav-a rematch, winner getsss to marryy ‘Gome tomorrow.”

Inuyasha jumped to his feet, swaying, and put his fists in the air. “You got it. Y-your’s so going dow..n” He tilted his head as if confused by his own words. “Kick yooour ass again.”

Kouga slowly rose, using the back of the chair for balance. “Dream on, doggie...dog boooy.”

When Kouga took a wavery step towards Inuyasha, raising his own fists, a loud snore snapped both of their attention to the couch. Miroku lay sprawled out on the couch face down, arm dangling off the side, empty bottle dangling from his fingers.

Inuyasha dropped his arms and straightened. “Better idea. I go lay on ‘Gome’s sside of the bed, and dream ‘bout how ‘morrow she’ll be my wife and my soul bond-ded mate.”

“Nooo.” Kouga whined as Inuyasha stumbled towards the bedroom. “Come back, fight. I wanna marry ‘Gome.”

“Dream on, wolf.”

As Inuyasha dropped face first into the bed, he pulled Kagome’s pillow close, snuggling his face in deep as he held it tight to his chest. He breathed in a deep breath of her scent, missing the chirp from his pocket, as he quickly succumbed to his drunken sleep.

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

Kagome laid there, staring into the darkness, realizing that she couldn’t sleep without the sound of Inuyasha’s soft snoring and his warmth surrounding her. She groaned at herself as she felt the beginnings of tears start to form, swiping at her cheeks when they escaped. Giving in, she rolled over and grabbed her cell phone from the night stand. Rolling back into her spot, she sent a text to Inuyasha, telling him that she couldn’t sleep and that she thought hearing his voice might help.

She lay staring at her phone, waiting for almost an hour before she decided that he must have gone to sleep already. Putting Friends on the television, she laid on her side and hoped that sleep would come soon.

@ruddcatha @superpixie42 @dawnrider @smmahamazing @bluejay785 @lavendertwilight89 @mamabearcat @fawn-eyed-girl @clearwillow @i-dream-of-soup @liz8080 @zelink-inukag @malditamigs

#inukag #inuyasha x kagome #inuyasha fanfiction #inuyasha fanfic #inukagfluffweek2021 #inukagfluffweek day 5 #pining

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the-bau-quinjet · 3 years

Text

Sore

I don’t love what this idea turned into, because it was supposed to be lighthearted, but it really spiraled. I will say, I like the ending.

Summary: Reader breaks down after a tough case. Spencer is there to help.

Warnings: mentions on child abuse, domestic abuse, sexual assault, unhealthy coping mechanisms, therapy

Word Count: 2930

She didn’t mean to overdo it, but sometimes it’s inevitable. It’s her only escape.

The team just finished up a domestic violence cult case in Laramie, Wyoming. It took six days for them to even realize the cult aspect, having been trying to connect the victims to one offender. The case was draining for everyone, but especially for her.

Everyone in the BAU has some kind of past trauma. Nobody randomly decides to do this kind of work for a living without some significant inspiration. Over her time in the BAU, Y/N has come to learn about these traumas and how they’ve shaped the people around her. She has yet to share hers though. Not because she doesn’t trust them, but rather because she only ever talks about it to her therapist. She’s made significant progress in coping with her trauma, but she hasn’t worked through it enough to bring it up herself.

Of course, keeping it bottled up doesn’t work so she found a way to relieve the stress. Exercise. It’s never been a problem before now. She’s never overdone it before. If a case has her thinking about it, or she’s having a particularly bad day, she’ll do a HIIT or fully body workout until she’s tired enough that her brain shuts off.

Her therapist is working with her to limit the bad days. Honestly, since joining the BAU her bad days have been rather infrequent. There’s just too much else to worry about for her to think about her own problems.

But this case hit too close to home. Every new victim and every new piece of evidence reminded Y/N of what it was like growing up with abusive parents. She went into foster care at 15. Three years later, she went to college and did everything in her power to forget it.

But history has a way of repeating itself. Her college boyfriend hurt her. It started small. He grew controlling, accused her of cheating, and then tried to beat the “truth” out of her. She finally left him, only to wind up with another guy who wouldn’t take no as an answer. So she stopped dating. She threw herself into her work, trying to rid the world of men like those of her past. That’s what lead her to the BAU.

The group of profilers on the jet could all tell something was off, but Y/N isn’t one to be pushed into opening up. They know she’ll come to them when she’s ready to talk about it. Whatever “it” is. So, rather than poking and prodding, each member shows they are there for her in their own way.

Derek and Emily each give her a hug before departing, something reserved for after especially difficult cases. Rossi squeezes her shoulder, much how she would imagine a loving parent to. JJ offers a kind smile, the one that always brings you joy, and reassuring eyes before heading out for the day. Hotch gives her less paperwork than everyone else. Penelope sends her extra videos of cute animals to lift her spirits. And Spencer stays by her side for the entire flight. Normally, Spencer would sprawl out on the sofa to catch up on the sleep he always lacks. Instead, he sits beside Y/N and offers her the blanket he typically uses, calming her nerves with the gentle swishing of pages being turned in his book of the hour.

With everything on her mind, she knew she wouldn’t be able to sleep. She should call her therapist, but they aren’t landing until 9:30 pm and she knows Dr. Robbins has a family of her own. So, she treats it like she used to treat a bad day. She finds a workout to do, and puts every last ounce of energy into the different exercises.

Only, it doesn’t work like it used to. After completing the nearly hour long workout, her mind is still whirring with the pictures from the evidence board. Every time she closes her eyes she sees her father’s face, and hears his drunken yelling. Her mother in the background, unbothered because she only had Y/N so he would have a new punching bag.

So, she finds another workout. And then another. And then another. After three more hours, she’s finally exhausted her brain into tuning out the memories long enough for her to sleep.

She sleeps for most of Saturday, waking only long enough to shower and eat dinner. Sunday morning, the memories are back. So, she’s back to working out.

She knows in her head that it isn’t healthy, but the logical part of her brain isn’t exactly functioning at its highest level. All she’s focused on is making the pain go away. If turning the emotional pain into physical pain is what it takes, then so be it. She’d rather have the aching muscles.

All of that, lead her to now. It’s Monday morning and she can barely walk like a normal person. Every step requires more energy than the last. Hell, she can’t even sit down without falling into the chair.

The elevator doors spring open, revealing the glass doors that lead to the BAU bullpen. She walks in as best she can, tossing her bag on her desk with a dull thud. Of course, she’s later than normal and so Spencer and Morgan are sitting at their desks, watching as she throws herself into her chair.

“Hi Y/N…” Spencer trails off when he sees the bags under her eyes and notices her stiff posture. “Um, are you alright?” Spencer’s puppy like concern warms her heart.

“Yeah, I’m fine. I just did a little too much at the gym this weekend is all. I’ll be fine in a few days.” She tries to hide the underlying emotional stress behind why she did too much. Morgan can tell she’s hiding something though, even if he is way off base about what it is.

“Yeah, the gym.” Morgan snorts his response, cutting Spencer off before he could start rambling about how to combat the negative effects of too much exercise and simultaneously drawing the attention of Emily and JJ who were reentering the bullpen after getting coffee.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” JJ questions before Y/N can defend herself.

“Little mama over here is sore from too much time at ‘the gym’.” It’s clear to her, and nearly everyone else in the room, that Morgan thinks she is sore from being absolutely railed. Suddenly all eyes are on her. It’s just too much for her to take. The combination of mental and physical exhaustion crossed with not wanting to talk about it causes her to break.

She’s not sure what thought process her brain is following when she replies. Actually, she’s pretty confident her brain isn’t functioning at all when she starts speaking. Her words are painfully quiet, lacking the typical edge one would expect from someone so mentally and physically exhausted. She sounds broken. “Not that it’s any of your business, but I was in the gym for four hours Friday night and seven more yesterday, so excuse me if I’m a little bit stiff. It’s hard to work in time to stretch afterward when you’ve finally exhausted yourself enough to sleep without having to worry about remembering-.” With tears in her eyes, she cuts herself off, pushes herself from her chair, and starts the walk toward Hotch’s office, stopping to whisper her gratitude to Reid. “Spence, thank you for checking in on me.”

Morgan, JJ, Prentiss, and Reid share confused glances as she opens and closes the door to Hotch’s office without even knocking.

“Hotch, I think I need to go home. I- I need to talk to someone and I can’t do that if I’m here.” She manages to mutter out the words without fully breaking down, but Hotch can still clearly see something is wrong.

“If that’s what you need to do, please go ahead. I just want you to know that we’re here for you too. You’ve been part of this team for a little over two years now. None of us want you to feel like you have to keep it all to yourself. Unfortunately nightmares come with the job, but I want you to know we all-” He stops talking as the tears begin to stream down her face. Rising from his seat, he walks around his desk to offer her support.

Without even sparing it a second thought, Y/N collapses into his arms. She’s too exhausted to hide her emotions anymore. It’s all become too much.

“I just can’t keep it in anymore. I feel like I’m hiding a piece of me from all of you, and I just don’t want to anymore.” It’s not exactly how she pictured letting it all out, but it makes sense. She’s hit a wall and there’s no way forwards but through.

“Shh, it’s okay. What do you need?” Hotch is protective over his entire team, but something about Y/N makes him feel like an older brother. Like it’s his job to protect her from anything and everything he can.

“I just want to go home. I need a break from remembering it all.” Hotch nods in understanding, reaching for his coat.

“I’ll take you now.”

“Actually, can Spencer take me? I want to tell him first. And can you tell Morgan I’m sorry? It wasn’t fair to say that. He didn’t know.” Hotch guides her out of his office, promising that Morgan wouldn’t hold it against her.

“Reid, take L/N home.” Spencer nods in understanding, already reaching for Y/N’s keys since he takes the metro.

It feels like hours have gone by, but it couldn’t have been more than 30 minutes before Spencer was sitting next to her on her couch in her apartment. They didn’t talk at all on the drive. Tears were still falling down her cheeks, but at a much less alarming rate.

“You don’t have to tell me anything if you don’t want to. We can just sit here.” Spencer has never felt less equipped to handle a situation. His years of learning everything there is to know haven’t prepared him for seeing the one person he cares about more than anyone else in the world so broken.

“No. I- I want to tell you. But I need you to do me a favor afterward.” She sniffles, slowly looking into his eyes.

“I’ll do anything you need me to.” His words are so sincere, it almost brings about another round of sobs.

“After I tell you, I need you to tell everyone else. I just know I won’t be able to force myself to relive it more than once, so if I tell you, then you can tell everyone else because-”

“I’ll remember exactly what you say.” He nods to himself, thinking she picked him for his memory rather than because of any potential feelings.

“Well, yeah. But, also I wanted you to hear it from me. I wanted to tell you because I couldn’t bear the thought of you hearing it from anyone else. I wanted to look into your eyes when I say it all for the first time without being with my therapist because I know you will still look at me the same way afterward. You won’t treat me any different because you know what it’s like to feel like the baby of the group and as much as everyone else cares, with you it’s different. I just know you’ll understand what I need in a way nobody else will because you’ve always been able to read me, even when I tried to hide it.” She manages a weak smile in his direction, taking a deep breath to prevent anymore ramblings.

“I don’t… I don’t know what to say. I- thank you for trusting me enough to be here for you.” For the first time since meeting Y/N, Spencer feels like she might feel the same way about him that he feels about her. Of course, now isn’t the time to act on it, but it still fills him with a confidence he would have otherwise been lacking.

Before she starts talking again, Y/N reaches for Spencer’s hand. An action he would quickly come to understand is a big deal for her.

“As far back as I can remember, I never had anyone who cared about me. My dad, he would hit my mom. When she got pregnant, she saw it as a way out. He stopped hitting her because she told him once I was born, he would have his own personal punching bag, but I had to actually be born for that to happen. I don’t really know when he started hitting me. If I was an infant or a toddler or whatever. But it’s all I can remember of them.” Spencer begins rubbing circles into her hand with his thumb when he hears her breathing speed up.

“It was like that until I managed to tell one of my teachers there was something wrong. I was fifteen when I was placed in foster care. I switched between homes until I went to college on scholarship.” Spencer does his best to provide comfort to you, but he can tell there’s more to the story.

“Freshmen year of college a met a guy. We started dating, and I thought I found someone who cared, ya know? But, he started to get angry at the smallest things. He would lash out, break things. One day he started hitting me, forcing me to do things.” She takes a shaky breath before continuing. “I was more prepared this time though. I had a therapist I could call. She helped me work up the courage to leave him. But then right after graduating I met another guy and it all turned out the same.” Silent tears pour down her face as she continues.

“I felt trapped. Like there was no way for me to escape the cycle. No matter what I did differently I kept meeting people who hurt me to deal with their own pain. I gave it all up, figured I’d never find people who would care about me. I focused on work, made it to the BAU. On bad days, I would work out until I was so tired I couldn’t remember my own name let alone the things they had done to me. Then when I met all of you, it felt too good to be true. There was this whole team of people who suddenly cared about me. It was hard at first, to accept that it was real. But you have to know I never thought any of you would hurt me, it was just in my head that I would never have this kind of familial bond with anyone.

This last case, I don’t know what it was about it, but I couldn’t stop seeing the evidence boards. The faces of women who were passed around from man to man as objects to abuse. So, I fell back into my old habit. Only, it didn’t work like it used to so I just kept going and going until I could escape.” The tears slowed as she managed to get everything off her chest. All that could be heard in the room was her ragged breaths.

“Y/N, I… I can’t imagine how difficult that was to share.” Spencer shifted closer to her, but not too close in case she didn’t want the touch.

“I’ve always felt like the team- like you would understand. I’ve been working on it in therapy actually. Figuring out a way to tell you all, but I guess I hit the proverbial wall first...” She’s shaking her head as she looks at the floor.

“Hey, none of that. I know self-deprecation when I see it, and I will not tolerate it from you.” His words carry a gentle conviction. “You are truly one of the most incredible people I’ve ever met. I’ve seen you take down unsubs three times your size with pure physical strength. I’ve also seen you talk an unsub down, saving countless lives without laying a hand on them. Never doubt that you are strong enough for this job, because you are one of the strongest people I know.”

Spencer’s words bring tears to her eyes, but the happy kind this time. She throws her arms around him, snuggling as close as she can. Spencer, at first surprised by the contact, freezes. He quickly melts into her embrace, rubbing circles into her back until she falls asleep.

Spencer manages to fill the team in via text, explaining enough that everyone understands what happened without having to go into too much detail. He helps her move to her bedroom, trying to prevent any more soreness. When she asks him to stay, he lays down by her side.

The next morning she wakes up cuddled next to Spencer with several texts from her BAU family. Rossi invited everyone to his house for dinner, an offer she greatly appreciates.

That night, the team shows her what it feels like to have a family over pasta and wine, a classic combination. In the future, they’ll continue to show her what family really is.

Spencer will show her what it feels like to be in a healthy relationship. He’ll show her how it feels to be loved without living in constant fear. She’ll show him what it means to be loved for who you are.

They’ll show each other what it means to be happy.

tag list:

@mac99martin

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid angst #spencer reid one shot #criminal minds x reader #Criminal Minds #spencer reid #spencer reid x y/n

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supernaturalgirl20 · 3 years

Text

Catching Feelings

Pairings: Marcus Moreno x nanny!reader

Warnings: Smut +18, fluff, angst, mutual pining.

Summary: After your sex filled dream about your new boss, your about to meet his daughter. This isn’t going to be awkward at all, right?!

*As always comments and reblogs appreciated*

Chapter 2:

The evening arrived sooner than anticipated. As the car that Marcus had sent round for you pulled into the drive, you find yourself gaping at the beautiful rustic home. You get out of the car and make your way to the front door, your nervous, which isn't helped by the fact you had illicit thoughts about Marcus last night. Oh god! Those hands and the thought of them slipping between your legs. No! Focus. You ring the door bell. Your lost in thought when a voice startles you

"Oh thank god your here, come in quick. Can you cook?"

"Uh.....yeah I'm not bad at it. I make a mean chicken alfredo"!

"Fuck.....sorry sorry.....Missy I didn't just say that."

“Is everything ok?”I say looking towards the kitchen. Missy grabs me by the hand and pulls along. I’m greeted to the sight of pure chaos. Marcus is hunched over the sink, seemingly in defeat and I can’t help myself I let out a laugh. He turns around with lightening speed, his hand goes to scratch the back of his head. Something he must do when he’s nervous. I catch a tinge of pink on his face.

“He’s a disaster in the kitchen, seriously you should see what he does to eggs.” I turn to Missy

“Ok, here’s the plan. How about me and you clean up this mess and then you can help me cook something up?” Shrugging her shoulders she says “sure.”

“Uh.. I will just..”

I turn to Marcus “ you….will go relax and we will call when foods ready.”

“Are you sure, I feel bad.”

“Dad just go.”

Holding his hands up in defeat “ ok ok, I know where I’m not wanted.” With Marcus gone Missy turns to you “ok let’s get to it.”

***

With the kitchen clean you fish out the ingredients to do your chicken Alfredo, explaining each step to Missy as you go.

“Is it always this chaotic at dinner or was that just for my benefit you say with humour in your voice. Missy let’s out a snort.

“Oh no that’s pretty much how it around here. My mom. Used to do the coming and since she’s gone dad tries his best but… I don’t know. My abuela normally cooks.” You see she is getting sad talking about her mom so you change the subject.

“Ok looks ready, give your dad a shout”

You all sat together around the table. “This is delicious, you are amazing.”

“Oh …thank you”

“Missy is right, this is the best meal I’ve had in a long time, really thank you. Also maybe don’t tell my mom I just said that.” You laugh at the fact that this grown man, and a heroic no less is still afraid of mom. Catching his eyes, his gaze is searing into you, you look away quickly trying to distract yourself . Standing you go to clear the table but are stopped with a hand on your wrist. Looking up you meet those warm brown eyes again. “No, you’ve done more than enough tonight. Leave all the cleaning to me and Missy.You can go sit in my study and I’ll bring you a glass of wine. Oh it’s just down the end of the hall.”

“Um… ok thank you.” Once you arrive into his study you can’t help but notice all the pictures he has. One in particular catches your eye. It’s one of Marcus kissing his wife the day Missy was born.

“I love that picture.” You jump slightly having not expected him to be there. “ I’m sorry I wasn’t snooping I just..”

“It’s ok, if your going to be living here you should know about our family.” You look up at him surprised “does that mean I got the job?”

“You we’re amazing tonight” he says moving closer, so close you can feel the warmth coming off his body. “Plus you have the Missy deal of approval, which really is the most important thing.” It’s as if she knew her name has been mentioned. She came bustling down the stairs all kitted out for bed. She comes up to you and without eating wraps you in a hug.

“I’m so happy your going to be living here with us, and thank you again for the nice food.” With that she ran back up the stairs to bed. Marcus gestures for you to sit.

“You have a beautiful home” you say looking around the room.

“It is…beautiful.” Clearing his throat he takes a seat beside you, leaving a comfortable amount of space between you. Your not sure if your relieved or disappointed. You make conversation by asking him about his wife. He takes a sip of wine before he speaks.

“It’s been four years since she passed. It was a car accident, drunk driver, she died instantly. He suddenly go quiet and stares at the floor like it’s the most fascinating thing. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have mentioned her.” “It’s ok, it’s only fair you know these things. Enough about me, tell me what makes you thick?”

“Me, oh gosh. I suppose family really. It’s why I jumped at this opportunity, I love children. It’s probably why I want a big family of my own one day.” He’s looking at you that way again. There’s something behind his eyes, you think it’s admiration.

“ I feel the exact same way. Everything that I do, it’s for Missy. Nothing else matters.”

“She’s a wonderful kid, you should be really proud.”

“Thank you.” Your suddenly aware that you both have somehow moved closer and your breath catches when you look into those brown eyes. A bolt of confidence course through you and you lean towards him. Marcus mimics your actions. As you inch closer you close your eyes. He whispers your name and you can’t tell if it’s a promise or a warning. Your still dreaming when he spills his wine all over you. “I’m so sorry here let me get something to dry that up” he’s says as he leaves the rooms be arrives back with a towel, and a change of clothes. “ I’m afraid this is all I have.” You look down to the clothes he has and notice there his own, a t shirt.

“No, thank you these are perfect.” With that he leaves you to change while he goes and refills the wine. When he walks back in he almost drops the glasses. His eyes rake over your body and he feels himself getting hard his thick cock straining in his pants. Seeing you there in his clothes is doing things to him. It’s making him almost feral. He wants to posses you. He is brought out of his thought when you move to take the glass from him.

***

You spend hours chatting getting to know each other when you look at his clock. “Oh god, I better go, I didn’t realise the time”. You go to stand.

“You can stay, I mean here, in the spare room, if you want?” Thinking it over for just a moment “that would be great actually.”

“Ok I can show you where to go.” As you enter the room you see a large king size bed, and the images from your dream flood your mind.

“I want you to ride me baby.”

“Y/N?”

“Sorry did you say something?” “ I said you can start moving your stuff in whenever you like.”

“Brilliant.”

Your unconsciously biting your lip and when you meet his gaze you notice his eyes are fixed on your mouth. You run your tongue along the bottom lip,knowing he is watching you. He clears his throat “ok uh…I guess I’ll let you get settled for the night”. He makes to leave when you say

“You could stay here too!” He stops suddenly turning to look at you. You can’t tell what he’s thinking. Afraid you have ruined everything you say “I’m so sorry, forget I said anything, thank you again…” Your rambling is cut short as his presses his lips to your hungrily. His hands trace the curve of your body, slipping under your top to grab your breast. You let out a moan. Suddenly he pulls away and rests his head to yours. “Are you sure you want this, I won’t be able to stop once we start.” “I’ve thought of nothing else since we met yesterday. Please Marcus, I need you to fuck me.”

He wastes no time and pushes you onto the bed removing the sweatpants he lent you earlier along with the t-shirt. Your laying on the bed in nothing but your underwear and he can’t take his eyes off you. “Your gorgeous.” “Marcus you have too many clothes on” you say with a slight pout. Stripping himself so he is completely bare before you,you gulp as you take in his thick cock. Will that even fit! He crawls on top of you and you moan when his obvious desire for your comes in contact with your core. You rock against him. He rolls onto his back pulling you with him so you are now straddling him. His hands run up and down your spine sending sparks of electricity through you. He moves to unclasp your bra “you won’t be needing this anymore.” Your nipples grow hard as they meet the cool air and you let out a gasp as he runs his tongue over its peak. Your growing inpatient now so you quickly remove your thong and line him up at your entrance. Slowly you sink down on him and his head pushes back into the pillow as he groans in pleasure. “Jesus, your so fucking tight.” You pick up your pace as you ride him letting out a loud moan. He puts a hand over your mouth “you gotta be…quiet…don’t….want…Missy..to…hear us” He look down to where your joined watching as his cock moves in and out of you “this pussy was made for me, isn’t that right baby?” Your unable to speak as your body is thrown into ecstasy. Without warning he flips you over and begins pounding into. He can feel his balls tighten as he nears his release. “Where…do ..you want..me?” “Inside, I’m clean and on the pill.” With that he fills you up, you can feel his release dripping out of you. He moves off you and makes his way into the bathroom. Arriving back with a cloth to clean you up. He gets back into bed beside you and wraps his arm around your waist. “That is not how I pictured tonight going at all.” You laugh “me either.” “You should get some sleep” he says and you feel your eyes getting heavy as you give in to the tiredness.

The next morning you wake to sunlight shining on your face. As you turn over you realise your alone. You put your hand on the side Marcus was and it’s cold, meaning he’s gone a while. You flop back onto the bed and put your hand on your forehead. Oh god what have I done.

Previous/next

Tagging:

@lunaserenade , @asta-lily , @maievdenoir , @librariantothejedi , @seasonschange-butpeopledont , @elinedjarin , @day-off-inkyoto @toomanystoriessolittletime

If you want to be added or removed please let me know.

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #marcus moreno x female reader

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stylesberries · 4 years

Text

Fireflies

Summary: Harry has been acting weird for a couple of weeks, but when y/n finally finds out the truth, it’s far from what she assumed.

Genre(s): fluff, a tiniest bit of angst maybe?

Word Count: 2.5k

Warning(s): Harry being a cutie patootie that he is :,)

Harry has been acting weird for a couple of weeks now and you started to get suspicious. He would come home late most of the days and keep you waiting in your bed. The other days he would mysteriously disappear in the morning. “Went out for a run.” He would tell you. What kind of run lasts for five hours?

Of course, you would never suspect him of cheating on you. He has proven his love to you over and over again, and one had to be completely oblivious of what love is, not to notice how head over heels in love he was with you.

However, the way he was acting made you overthink. You were worried for him and his well-being. All of the worst things that could happen took over your mind. Health issues, disagreements with the management, bickering within the family, and many other possible problems that he could have been facing filled your mind to the brim.

Here you were now, sitting at your kitchen table, eating dinner alone. Harry still hasn’t come home and it was already nine o’clock in the evening, when he promised to get home at six.

You trusted Harry. You really did. However, you didn’t want him to use the fact that you trust him with everything you have, to get home late for the second week in a row. You wouldn’t have been against him staying out late if he had just told you he truth.

You sat in your seat and rolled the pasta you made on a fork. All of your appetite has vanished even before you started making the food, but you still forced yourself to eat, to get your mind off of your ever wandering boyfriend.

As you started to get into your food, you heard the keys turn in the front door. No food for you today.

Your name wasn’t called like it usually is, when Harry walks into the front door. The only sound you heard was the shuffling and the clacking of keys being placed on the table in the hall.

You could tell that Harry was trying to be as quiet as possible to avoid you noticing him.

As he tried to pass the kitchen door quietly, you got up from your place and walked up to him. He was wearing his blue sweater, corduroy flares and a face of someone trying to hide something from their girlfriend.

“Harry?” You asked sternly.

He turned his head to you and put on a smile while pushing something behind his back.

“Hello, love. I-I didn’t want t’disturb you, s-so I-um-” He tried to lie to you, although he knew pretty well he was awful at lying and I was too good at catching lies.

You turned your gaze to his hands that were hidden from you behind his back.

“Harry, what’s behind your back?” You asked straightforwardly.

He looked uncomfortable and seemed to have been taken aback by your question.

“It’s um-” He brought his hands forward. They held a black folder visibly full of papers. “It’s m’folder with song ideas.” He seemed unsure of the statement himself, but you put the blame on the fact, that he was left dumbfounded by your actions. What was that about though?

“Why were you hiding it from me then?” You seemed honestly confused because he always shared his songwriting process with you.

“Was just writing a song f’you, but I will show it t’you when it’s completely done.” He blabbered to you.

Seems like a plausible reason to hide the folder from you. It was strange, because he would write his song ideas in his phone now, but you brushed those thoughts off.

“Okay then, love. I thought you were coming home at six.” You turned to the clock on the wall to see that the time is 9:24.

Harry followed your gaze and realized that he had indeed come home a little overtime.

“Got carried away in the studio, baby. ‘M sorry, should’ve informed you.” His shoulders sank, as he realized that you had been waiting for him for over three hours.

“It’s okay, Harry. But please, next time you’re planning to get late, tell me, alright? I thought something happened.”

The sternness in your voice subsided as you walked closer to Harry. You wrapped your arms around him and nuzzled your nose into the crook of his neck. He pulled you closer and placed his cheek on the top of your head. You felt his jaw move on top of your head, but before he got a chance to make a sound, you spoke.

“I’m worried for you, baby. It’s driving me insane. What’s going on? I know it’s not just studio. It has to be something else. You’ve never acted like this before. It scares me.” You whispered the last part almost to yourself, but you knew that the man heard you clearly.

“I didn’t mean t’worry you, precious.” He took time to think his words through. “I know, I’ve been actin’ off these days, baby. I promise you it’s nothing y’should worry about. It’s the album release coming up. I didn’t mean t’cause you anxiety, angel. ‘M so sorry.” He genuinely seemed sorry, and you felt the need to kiss his pouty lips.

That evening you went to sleep spooning Harry and brushing his curls out of his face. He looked so peaceful when he was asleep. All you wanted to do was keep him safe and warm.

When you woke up, Harry wasn’t there anymore, which didn’t surprise you, as it wasn’t the first time you found yourself curled up in the blanket all alone.

You pushed your sleepy body off of the bed and pushed your feet into the slippers at the bed. You brushed your teeth and thought of what you’ll be getting yourself busy with on this Saturday morning. All of the documents you had to go through for work were already sent back to your company, and you found yourself wonder what other errands you had to run.

You opened the calendar on your phone to check your schedule. You were startled to find out that it was your birthday today. You were so anxious about the way your boyfriend has been acting, that your own birthday was clean forgotten.

Your mood was instantly ruined when you understood that Harry left you alone on your birthday, but as you walked down the stairs to make yourself some breakfast, you felt the smell of pancakes lingering in the air.

The corners of your lips flew up and you ran to the kitchen to catch your boyfriend red-handed.

Harry heard the loud steps coming his way, so he turned to the door and placed the scoop back into the bowl of pancake batter.

“Who’s this lil’ cheetah running m’way, huh?” Harry teased you loudly and spread his arms, welcoming you with a hug.

You jumped into his arms, and he caught you to pick you up and hold up by your waist.

“Legs ‘round m’waist, birthday girl.” Harry laughed against your chest as you did as he told. You placed your arms around his neck and let him place a kiss on your jaw.

“I thought you left me on my birthday.” You pouted at him, when he withdrew from your neck.

You could see regret overflow him, before being replaced with endless love.

“How could I ever leave the love of m’life on ‘er birthday? What kind of love is it, if I’m not by your side on your day, angel?” He stared right through you, as if directly at your heart.

His words took you by surprise, and it was written all over your face. Harry noticed you questioning his words.

“The love of your life?” You asked him softly, looking right into his loving eyes.

“The love of m’life.” He nodded with a smile on his face.

After sharing a moment full of love, you sat down to enjoy the slightly burnt pancakes, while discussing your plans for today.

You both changed out of your sleeping clothes and left the house to go to the new bookshop you’ve been wanting to go to for some time, but never got a chance to.

After hoarding several books, both for you and Harry, you asked Harry if you could get some ice-cream.

“Ice-Cream it is then, m’love.” Harry smiled and pulled out of the parking to get on the route to your favorite ice-cream parlor.

After you dropped one of your ice-creams and got another one, Harry told you that he has a surprise for you.

Harry told you that he will take you to a special place after the sun sets, and you couldn’t be more excited. You kept asking him over and over again about where he’s taking you, but he wouldn’t crack.

When you were finally on your way to the place, you kept thinking about how lucky you are, watching the sun set. You realized that all of the anxiety that you felt in these last two weeks was completely unnecessary.

Reaching the place after an hour long ride, Harry helped you out of the car and led you away from the road. As you walked closer to the place he was leading you to, you could see a beautiful field full of a variety of flowers that surrounded a small lake. Harry seemed full of anxiety as he lead you to an old stone platform by the field. You would expect there to be a table with a candlelit dinner, but there wasn’t a single source of light near you, except the stars, that scattered in the dark clear sky and several fireflies, that bee-lined around the trees that surrounded the field.

“Harry, this place is beautiful.” You were speechless and this was the only sentence you trusted yourself with saying.

Harry led you to stand in the middle of the platform, looking upon the night sky. You could tell he was in deep thought, but you couldn’t tell what was bothering him. Harry, as if hearing your thoughts, turned to you and smiled at you softly.

“It is beautiful. Took me a while to find a place worthy of you.” Harry kept looking at me with his eyes full of adoration.

You weren’t completely sure why he formed his sentence like that, but you were sure you were not here to just stargaze.

Your thoughts were interrupted by Harry. He walked back to the car, which wasn’t too far away from the stone platform, and left you standing there full of confusion.

He opened the trunk of the car to get something. On his way back, you could see that he was holding the black folder that you caught him sneaking into the house just yesterday.

“Is he going to sing me a song?” Your thoughts were all over the place at this point, once again interrupted by your nervous boyfriend.

“Y/N.” He called you by your name with such seriousness that made you listen to him even closer than before.

“I lied t’you.” He started. “The folder had nothin’ to do with m’songs.” You were already dumbfounded because Harry never lied to you, so it had to be something very important for him to do so.

He pulled the elastic band off of the cover of the folder and opened it. He passed you the folder and spoke again.

“You were right when y’said that the past couple of weeks I’ve been actin’ weird. The fact that y’know me s’well scares me sometimes, t’be honest.” He tried to make a joke to ease his nerves.

As he spoke, you let your eyes skim the first page. It was a model of beautiful stone house with French windows and dark green tiling on the roof.

“We’ve been together fo’ almost three years, love, and I’ve never been happier. I hope y’feel the same.” He shyly questioned.

You couldn’t get yourself to answer him using words, so you nodded with a soft smile. You looked into his eyes and saw how little sleep he’s been getting written all over his face. Now you felt like everything made sense. All of his late nights in the studio and his constant excuses to get out of the house.

“I want t’spend m’whole life with you, Y/N. All of it. I want t’marry you and start a family with you. I know that you’re not ready t’get married yet, and I’m not pushing you. This place doesn’t mean that we have t’get married right away or have children right away, I just want t’start building our new home here.” He took my hands into his shaking ones and brought them to his chest.

“Right where you’re standing.”

His words made my eyes well up with tears, as I looked at my feet. “Right where you’re standing.” His words echoed in my head, as I felt his heart beating hysterically.

“I thought this would be a perfect place. The air here is great.” He started slowly. “I know you wouldn’t want our babies t’grow up breathin’ the car exhausts.” He added coyly.

At this point his heart was racing, and he could only look down at his feet. Noticing you pull your hands out of his hold, Harry was afraid to look up at you to see that you are turning to leave him alone in the field, he stupidly thought you’d want to live in.

“Do you actually think that I could ever say no to this, Harry?” You gently smiled at him and brought your hands to his cheeks to caress his face with your thumbs. Your fingers felt wet on his skin and as you realized the reason, your face softened even more.

“My boy, my precious baby. Of course I want to spend my whole life with you. I could never want to share this life with anyone else. And children? Your children are the only children I’ll ever want to bear, in every meaning of that word, and you know it.”

As your heart spoke for you, you could feel Harry relax and let himself look at you. The wet traces on his cheeks were only getting more defined just like the smile on his face.

“I dunno what I’d do if y’said no.” Harry stands still, as you bring your lips to his and let yourself collect the tears on them.

“Why would you even think about it, if I’ve already said yes?”

Your lips connect as a firefly passes next to you, standing right in the place of your nearing future.

#harry styles #harry styles fluff #harry styles imagine #harry styles imagines #harry styles one shot #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles x reader #harry styles masterlist #watermelon sugar #fine line

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joon-xbts · 3 years

Text

Mr. Zhang (Zhang Yixing)

Artist: Zhang Yixing (Lay) Genre: Smut

Dance….there was something about it that always fascinated me. The way it came in many different forms and from different origins. It was my way of escape, a way to show my emotions and just let all my stress and worries free. It was my therapy. I never wanted to stop dancing which is why I decided to go to college and strive for a major in dance. Nothing else seemed more important to me than that….until he arrived. He was supposed to be a fill-in while my teacher was on maternity leave but when she quit he got the job full-time. What started out as harmless flirting turned into a drunken hookup.

Yugyeom: Y/N you’re staring again

You: I can’t help it

Yugyeom: He was that good?

You: I didn’t say that

Jimin: You didn’t have to

Yugyeom: I can see it in your eyes, just the lustful look you give him.

You: Well that’s just great, not only did I slip up and sleep with my teacher but now I can’t even look at him with a regular look

Yugyeom: It happens

I groan and lower my head, instantly receiving flashbacks of that night. Remembering the way his lips felt against mine and how well our bodies moved with each other. All the pleasure he gave me was enough to drive me crazy all over again. I remembered everything and it really did drive me crazy, just enough to where I found myself screaming and drew in the classrooms’ attention. Everyone’s eyes were on me.

Yixing: Y/N are you ok?

You: I’m going to have to step out for a bit

I left him no time to reply, I instantly pulled myself off the wall I was leaning on and quickly made my way to the exit. I really needed a breather to pull myself together. As time passed I seemed to get better, my breathing was back to normal and my head had cleared of all thoughts. The bell dismissing class is what pulled me back to reality and I watched as everyone exited the classroom before being met with my best friends.

Jimin: Y/N are you ok?

Yugyeom: Yeah you were gone the whole hour

You: I just needed to breathe

Yugyeom: Well how about we go out for drinks tonight and we can talk about it then

Jimin: I’m in, Y/N?

You: Yeah I’m in, I just have to grab my things so I’ll just meet you guys later

Yugyeom: Ok

I playfully push them as they made their way past me before I took a deep breath and made my way back into the classroom. It was empty. I was the only person in there, or so I thought. It wasn’t until I heard shuffling and the door to the boys’ locker room opened to reveal a half naked Yixing. It seemed as if he had quickly showered off and planned on practicing. He didn’t notice me at first which pushed me to quickly grab my things and try to leave.

Yixing: Not so fast Y/N

I stopped dead in my tracks, my back facing him as I internally cursed myself for not being faster.

You: Yes Mr.Zhang?

Yixing: You know you don’t have to be so formal with me. You weren’t last weekend

You: That was a mistake

He chuckled and it sounded close.

Yixing: Now you know that’s a lie, yes we may have been a little drunk and things were taken to a new level. But you know you enjoyed every bit of it

I stayed quiet and listened as he moved closer until he was right behind me, his breath was now felt on my ear.

Yixing: I know you’ve been thinking about that night, thinking about how good I made you feel and can make you feel again

His arm was then felt slowly moving down my arm, leaving goosebumps as he moved. I inhaled sharply the minute his lips made contact with the skin on my neck, instantly spreading warm tingles throughout my body as I tried hard not to give in.

Yixing: Come on Y/N, I know you want me. You don’t think that I see the way you look at me in class? The way you look over every piece of me as if you might never see it again. I saw the lustful look in your eyes earlier and it majorly turned me on

I couldn’t take it anymore, I needed him. Badly. I turn around and quickly capture his lips in mine, feeling as his lips instantly replied and moved along with mine. My bags were dropped and I was lifted off the floor, my legs immediately wrapping around his waist as he moved us away from the door and further into the classroom. Our lips parted as he began to strip me from my top, pulling it over my head before attaching his lips back to mine and moving me backwards until my bare back touched the cold glass. I was lifted off of him and placed back onto my feet as he motioned for me to remove my shorts, him following me as we both stripped of our shorts.

Yixing: You don’t know how long I’ve waited for this

I smirk.

You: Since last weekend?

I only earn a chuckle as he pulls me back in for another kiss, feeling as his bulge poked through his boxers and at my clothed womanhood. It was at this that I gasped and allowed for him to slip his tongue in, feeling as he explored every inch of my mouth. We pull away to catch our breaths and to strip of the final pieces of clothing concealing us from each other. As soon as the fabric slipped to the floor I was being lifted up again and he was sliding himself into my soaked hood. It didn’t take long before I adjusted and he was moving at a fast pace, pleasure instantly spreading throughout my body. It only increased as soon as he found my spot, my nails immediately digging into his shoulders and earning a groan from him.

Yixing: Oh god babe, if you keep digging your nails in me I might not be able to last

By this point my back was no longer stuck to the mirror, my sweat had loosened its hold and I was sliding up and down the mirror with every thrust. I clenched as I felt my end coming near, his too as his thrusts got sloppier. I was getting sensitive, every movement that was felt sent a jolt of pleasure through my body and brought me closer and closer to my end.

You: I’m c-lo-se

Yixing: Me t-too

His pace quickened and in no time we were unraveling together, our juices mixing as we reveled in the pleasure. We were left panting messes, the mirror had fogged up due to the contrasting temperatures of the glass and my body. I was gently carried to the locker room so we could shower and clean ourselves off.

Yugyeom: So you guys did it again?

You: I didn’t say anything about that

Jimin: But your face said it all

Yugyeom: Plus you seem happy and energetic which happens after that kind of stuff

Jimin: He would know, how many guys have you slept with now?

Yugyeom: What is this an interrogation? It’s not about me, it’s about Y/N sleeping with Mr. Zhang

You: How do you even know that it was him? It could have been someone else

Jimin: We weren’t born yesterday, he was the last person you were with. You went back into his classroom to get your things and now here you are all happy and energetic

Yugyeom: Facts

I wanted to debate with them and try to convince them that they were wrong but I saw him making his way over and I knew it was no use.

You: Ok fine, now if you’ll excuse me my ride is here

Jimin: Wha-

I quickly give them both pecks on their cheeks and make my way over to him.

You: So what can I do for you now sir?

Yixing: Round 2?

#exo smut #zhang yixing #exo lay smut #exo lay #kpop smut #kpop #kim yugyeom #park jimin

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missymurphy1985 · 3 years

Text

The Umbrella Girl (part 6)

The Aftermath of your night with Cillian...

Taglist @queenshelby @margoo0 @being-worthy @peakyscillian @ntmynouis @janelongxox @elenavampire21 @noctvrnalmoth @ysmmsy

Warnings - language, mentions of baby loss, smut (this got long... Sorry!!)

The morning after your night with Cillian had gone incredibly well, considering. Your mum was surprised to see him the following morning, but she was one of the most liberal people you knew - and she adored Cillian too, especially after the cooked breakfast he'd knocked up. Emily had arrived home with Steph later that day and Steph pulled you to one side to talk to you alone.

"Lisa's gone crazy y/n.. she's already contacted the Sun, the story's going live tomorrow morning... It's all over social media.." You took a deep breath and Steph hugged you tight. The sound of Cillian's phone in the background interrupted you, you had a feeling you knew who it was. He came into the living room to join the two of you so Emily and your mum didn't overhear anything in the kitchen. Steph left the two of you alone.

"All you have is one side of the story Mr Grayson.... No I'm not prepared to give a statement yet..... Yes I'm aware of the implications... Again, I'm not interested in giving a statement... Call me again and I'll have your job Grayson, delete my number!" You could see the anger rising in his eyes and you swiftly took the phone from him before he said something he'd regret and ended the call, turning his phone off. He wrapped his arms round you and held you tight, you could feel the emotion rising in him.

"It's okay. It'll be okay... I promise..." Suddenly two little arms wrapped round you both, Emily looked up at the two of you sadly.

"Cillian crying?" She whispered, and he lifted her up into his arms to give her a big hug. Your heart lurched watching your child wrap her arms round his neck tight.

"I'm better now I've had that hug Emily... Thank you." He kissed her cheek affectionately and smiled at you, nodding. He was okay. For now.

"I'm gonna head home y/n... I have a feeling my publicist will want a word or two. I'll call you later, okay?" He kissed you, still holding Emily who giggled at him as he tickled under her ribs. "You gonna take care of your mama?" She nodded and he placed her back on the floor letting her run back into the kitchen. Saying a quick goodbye to your mum and Steph, he kissed you again before opening the front door. He quickly came back inside and closed it again.

"Fucking press are out there y/n... There's dozens of them... The fuck do I do?"

"Shit... Did they see you?"

"I think so.." he ran his fingers through his hair and leaned against the wall.

"Stay here. Call your publicist from my room upstairs, tell him EVERYTHING. He needs to know before it comes out tomorrow.. he'll know what to do?" Cillian nodded, and headed upstairs, turning his phone back on.

CILLIAN MURPHY IN BABY SCANDAL!!

Former Peaky Blinders Personal Assistant Lisa Tyler reveals she lost her and Cillian's baby as a result of the stress caused when he refused to have anything to do with their baby... even going as far as to claim she wasn't even pregnant. Their affair began six months before Murphy's wife, Cassie, left him, speculating she found out about the affair which led to their divorce last year. Murphy is yet to make a formal statement, however he did threaten to have our entertainment reporter, Len Grayson, fired yesterday when we contacted him. His temper clearly something he needs to keep in check.

Cillian's head sank into his hands, he couldn't read the rest. The front page even had a blurred out screenshot of the sex tape Lisa had made, next to a photo of Lisa holding a baby scan photo - not her scan, clearly, she was only 2 weeks pregnant when the miscarriage happened, but for the purposes of the story the image just added to the drama.

There were reports the tape was now all over the internet - the date mark clearly photoshopped to make it look like it had been filmed months before it actually was, but the untrained eye wouldn't spot that. She'd given the Sun all of the details - nothing left out. His publicist had gone ballistic the day before when Cillian told him. Even his ex wife had called him to berate him. His family didn't believe a word of it - they of course knew the truth and were standing by him unconditionally.

You sat next to him on your bed and held his hand. He hadn't left your house since Friday night, too worried about facing the paparazzi outside, but he needed a change of clothes - he had to face them today whether he liked it or not.

"Want me to come with you?" You asked him, resting your head on his shoulder.

"No.. I can't drag you into this any more than I already have y/n.. this isn't fair.. you don't deserve this. Emily doesn't deserve this..."

"Don't you dare Cillian... Don't you dare push me away now!" He looked into your eyes and put his hands either side of your face.

"I couldn't push you away now if I tried.. please don't leave me y/n?"

"I told you, I'm not going anywhere! Come on. We need to do this sooner or later... Hand in hand, remember?" You stood up, taking his hand and led him down the stairs. Your mum with Emily in the living room. You both walked in hand in hand, and Emily rushed to Cillian. The two of them had spent the weekend playing tea parties and dolls, they'd become thick as thieves. He'd charmed your mum all weekend, cooking meals and helping with the cleaning - you were worried your mum loved him more than you did, because that's exactly how you felt. You wanted him completely, and had fallen for him hard.

He put Emily down and looked to you.

"You sure you want to do this?"

"Shut up, Murphy." He laughed, and kissed your hand, leaning in to kiss your cheek. Leaving your mum and daughter in the living room you both made your way outside to the waiting reporters, statement ready. You wouldn't speak, simply hold his hand for support and let him do it.

Approaching the cameras, Cillian took a breath and told his side. Essentially repeating everything he'd told you that day in Sophie's trailer, but with less emotion. His publicist had warned him not to get emotional - the papers would simply rip him apart even more. You stood to the side, hand in his, squeezing it now and then, as he came to the end of his speech.

"This lady has completely bowled me over. Without her, I couldn't have faced you today," he looked back at you and cleared his throat. "I'd ask, politely, that you give us space. Respect the privacy I've always requested in good faith. Allow us to deal with this privately and together. What's been said about me isn't all true. I was never unfaithful to my wife of 21 years.

I have made mistakes. Show me a man who hasn't? I have hurt people. I have disappointed people. I have let people down. What happened with Lisa and the baby was tragic... It was a tragic accident. Yes, I was angry. Yes, I doubted the baby was mine, and no, I'm not proud of my actions. I've nothing else to say on the matter, and I repeat, respectfully, that I'd appreciate privacy for myself and my family now. Thank you." You both made your way to his car, ignoring the barrage of questions from the paparazzi, and Cillian kissed your cheek before getting in and driving away. You walked back into the house, closed the door and fell into your mum's waiting arms, finally letting out the tears you'd been holding all weekend.

That week's filming was, fortunately, smooth sailing. Not a single person on Peaky believed the venom Lisa had been spouting in the media, and even Cillian's ex wife had been convinced of his innocence over a course of phone calls and texts. Anto had instructed that you cancel any media interviews Cillian had planned in order for him to keep as low a profile as possible. For the most part, it was business as usual. You were all meant to have a week's break, but with the situation as it was, it was agreed across the cast and crew that the sooner you all finished filming the better so the week off was cancelled. As disappointed as Cillian was not to be going home to Dublin for a week, it meant an extra week with you, so he wasn't complaining too much.

You were sat in Cillian's trailer, a cold, miserable Friday morning. The story had been out for nearly a week and the media circus was showing no signs of calming down. There were even random women sharing 'kiss and tell' stories now that were completely false, Cillian had never even met these women, never mind had sex with them. His head was laid back on the sofa cushions his hands over his eyes rubbing them tightly. He hadn't slept properly since Sunday. You made your way over to sit across his knees and pulled his upper body into your own, holding him tight to your chest as you stroked his hair gently.

"You need sleep Cill, you're not doing yourself any favours. Plus, Steph is sick of wasting her expensive eye cream on you covering those suitcases under your eyes," you chuckled, making him laugh a little under you. He ran his hands softly up your back making you shudder. You hadn't slept together since Sunday either - his mind too preoccupied.

His hands soon snaked underneath your t-shirt, making you arch you hips slightly closer to his. He lifted you off him, and sat you on the sofa next to him. You were about to ask what he was doing, before his body was hovering over yours, his lips attacking your neck. Your fingers began unbuckling his belt and jeans, pulling them down to his ankles allowing his hard cock to spring in front of you. Without missing a beat, you took him into your mouth, his hands gripping the back of the sofa behind you as you licked slowly up his shaft. Pumping the base of his cock with one hand and taking the tip into your mouth, bobbing your head over him quickly. This was not going to be your usual slow, sensual session, but neither of you wanted that right now.

"I'm not coming in your mouth y/n... Turn around..." he pulled you up and bent you over the sofa, your skirt now hitched up over your waist and your underwear pulled down to your ankles. He ran his tongue slowly against your slit, his hands squeezing your thighs. You were already wet for him after days of no physical contact.

"I need you inside me Cillian, please...." You raised your hips up, he groaned as pushed himself inside you until you felt him flush against your thighs. His thrusts quickly becoming hard and fast, pounding into you as you gripped onto the sofa, panting his name.

"Stop... Wanna ride you... Sit down..." He spun the two of you round, never leaving your warm core as he sat on the sofa, you were now on top of him with your back pushed forwards. You held onto the table in front of you for leverage and moved your hips in circles over his thick length, buried deep inside you. He pulled you back into his chest, his hand now between your legs rubbing your clit as he thrust up into you sharp, hard, and fast. The new angle hitting your sweet spot inside with a new level of intensity.

"Fuck... I'm gonna come Cillian... Don't stop..." Your walls clenched around him as you came harder than ever, your juices flowing from you onto the sofa underneath, his release following quickly with a deep, gutteral groan. He rested his head on your shoulder, and you felt his breathing becoming shallow, before his eyes closed softly into a deep sleep. You eased yourself off him slowly and cleaned yourself up, before laying him down on the sofa with a cushion under his head and a blanket over his half naked body. He barely made a sound as he slept. Kissing him gently on the head, you straighted out your clothes before heading out of the trailer. Luckily he wasn't due on any scenes for a couple of hours at least.

Your phone pinged with a group message to you and Cillian from his sister, Orla, you could see 4 missed calls from her too. Opening the message, you nearly dropped your phone in shock.. a video of Cillian's house in Dublin... Surrounded by fire engines and police cars, smoke bellowing from a window downstairs...

The scream from the trailer behind you could've woken the dead...

#cillian smut #cillian x fem!reader #cillian murphy x reader #cillian murphy

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writtenonreceipts · 3 years

Text

ACOTAR, Feysand ~1.7 words, just a little thing for the holidays.

Home for the Holiday

A fire cackled happily in the hearth as Feyre moved around the living room of the house. She strung garland from the fireplace, keeping the ends from the sparks that fluttered out on occasion. Lining the mantle were stocking hooks and ceramic snowmen.

Leaning over one of the half empty plastic bins, Feyre pulled out a few cheap decorative pillows declaring Let it Snow! and Ho! Ho! Ho!

They were the same pillows from years past. Ones that should most certainly be tossed out and exchanged for new ones, but these were the first decorations her sisters and her had purchased after their parents died. And Feyre couldn’t bring herself to toss them out just yet. Besides, Nesta might kill her if she tried.

“Okay, the hot cocoa is ready!” Elain called out from the kitchen.

Feyre glanced over to see Elain poke her head around the corner. She wore a terrible disarray of mismatched pajamas combined with an apron that had reindeer prancing around on it.

“Thanks, Elain,” Feyre said, she smiled and turned back to the oil painting she had made last year of an angel.

“You want your usual peppermint?” Elain asked, her painfully kind smile alluding to something akin to pity.

“Sure,” Feyre said, if only to get Elain to stop making that face at her.

Elain disappeared and Feyre sighed heavily.

No matter what Feyre had tried the past few weeks, nothing seemed to put her in the mood for the holidays. No amount of baking, shopping, decorating, family time had made a difference.

All because her boyfriend couldn’t be there for the holiday. He’d recently accepted a job promotion, which was wonderful, but it required him to move out of Veleris and to Hybern. Once, Rhysand had sworn he would never leave Veleris, the city he loved so much, but Amarantha had made a far too appealing offer apparently.

Feyre took a deep breath. At least they’d managed to skype yesterday. It wasn’t the same of course. Christmas Eve without him was turning to be unbearable and Elain’s doe-eyed stare was not helping.

Maybe she should just go to bed.

“Merry Christmas!” Nesta called out. She entered the house with a loud bang, followed by a curse. “Hell. I might have broken Lucien’s present. Oh well.”

“Be nice!” Elain yelled. She rounded the corner with a giant mug that she handed to Feyre before going to help relieve Nesta of some of her many bags. “Geez, Nes. How much crap do you have.”

“Some of it’s Cassian and Azriel’s,” Nesta grumbled. She flipped her braid over one shoulder as she hurried the rest of the way into the house and dumped the bags on the couch. “They had something to take care of. Probably a prank. I wouldn’t be surprised if Cassian tried to stuff himself down the chimney.”

“Maybe he should,” Elain mused, “it might actually cheer Feyre up.”

“I’m fine,” Feyre insisted. She punctuated her words by taking a long sip of cocoa, whipping cream staining her upper lip. “We’ll skype all day tomorrow...when he’s not in a meeting.”

“Who does that woman think she is, not letting her employees have time off?” Nesta said. She pulled presents from the bags and began arranging them beneath the tree. “I mean I know we don’t really celebrate Christmas, but it’s a holiday. It’s family time.”

“He’s the project leader for this really important account,” Feyre sighed. “He loves his job.”

“He loves you more,” Nesta said.

The words were so sudden and unexpected that it took Feyre a moment to register them.

“What do you mean?” she asked her older sister.

Neta shrugged as she finished placing presents under the tree.

There was nothing else to say on the topic as Elain demanded a sister picture, followed by a heated discussion of which Christmas movies they watch first. It was barely eight o’clock, but they all seemed ready to delve into whatever tradition they could get their hands on. Or maybe it was just Elain and Nesta trying to distract Feyre from Rhysands absence.

While they were in the middle of one movie, Lucien arrived. He’d finished up his shift as a nurse in the ER earlier than expected.

“We’re just getting to the good part!” Elain told him as he came over to sit on the floor just in front of her. Despite there being plenty of space on the couch, he still was in the habit of avoiding being closer to Nesta then necessary.

“Where are the others?” Lucien asked. “There’s a storm coming in. It started snowing while I was on my way into the city.”

“What?” Nesta demanded sitting up straighter. She paused the movie and looked at Lucien. “It’s snowing?”

Feyre looked to the front window, where indeed, snow could be seen in the distant street lights. A white Christmas for certain.

“I’m sure they’ll be fine,” Lucien was saying.

Nesta was having no part of that, however. She had her phone out in an instant and was calling Cassian.

“He knows how to drive in the snow, Nes,” Feyre said. Her sister held up a hand to silence her.

Rolling her eyes, Feyre stood and gathered empty mugs of hot chocolate to take to the kitchen. Apart from the tree and the small tea lights dangling over the kitchen counter, the house was dark. But not in the miserable sort of way. This was the kind of dark that exuded warmth and hope.

The fire had died down hours ago and was not smoldering, keeping the house toasty.

As she set the empty mugs in the sink, Feyre looked out the window just above and watched the snow falling in thick folds through the night. It made her all the more grateful for being inside right now, but she just couldn’t get over the seed of loneliness in her heart.

She couldn’t cry about it now or else Elain and Nesta would try and cheer her up and it would ruin their Christmas Eve. Rubbing a hand over her face, Feyre filled the empty mugs with water so they would be easier to clean.

Just then the front door burst open and Cassian’s booming laugh broke the silence.

“Merry Christmas!” He shouted.

In the living room, Feyre could hear feet pounding and knew Nesta was jumping up to engulf her boyfriend in a hug. She listened as boots were kicked off and Cassian made a loud noise of pain, likely in response to a punch from Nesta.

“Where have you guys been?” Elain asked.

Cassian didn’t respond. She heard when Azriel entered and took his sweet time to close the door behind him. She would need to put on a thicker pair of socks.

Making sure her eyes were clear, Feyre rounded the corner from the kitchen.

“Do you guys want some hot chocolate?” She asked and then stopped in her tracks.

Because not only were Cassian and Azriel there grinning like five-year-olds but a third person was there too.

Feyre slapped a hand over her mouth to keep from screaming, because there disheveled and jetlagged and still breathtakingly handsome was Rhysand.

“Merry Christmas,” he said.

Unable to hold herself back, Feyre ran to him, flinging herself in his arms. He caught her easily and held her tightly against him. Tears leaked from Feyre’s eyes as she buried her nose in his neck. Despite the long three months apart--his touch, his scent, everything was so, so familiar.

“What are you doing here?” She whispered, tears unabashedly slipping down her cheeks. “I thought you said you’d get fired if you came back.”

Rhysand cupped her face in his hands beaming down at her with his brilliant violet eyes.

“It’s hard to fire someone when they’ve already quit,” Rhysand said. He gave her a lopsided grin and shrugged.

“You what?” Feyre gaped at him. “This is your dream job, Rhys.”

“Nah,” he said with a shake of his head. “Not really.”

Around them, their friends and family got distracted by other things to allow the couple time alone. Someone started the movie back up and a Christmas song was playing in the background.

Feyre fisted her hands in Rhysands jacket, unwilling to release him yet. She still couldn’t believe that he was here before her. Nor could she fully grasp what he was telling her.

“I couldn’t keep working there,” Rhysand said. “Not for her. Not in that place. Not so far from you.”

Feyre bit her bottom lip, shaking her head. “You love your job.”

Rhys’ response was automatic. “I love you more.”

No matter how often she heard them, the words still sent a thrill through her. She laughed lightly and looked away from him to where Azriel was stoking the fire and Cassian drew Nesta in his arms as they sat on the couch. Elain leaned her head on Lucien’s shoulder as she mouthed the words along to the movie that played in the background.

The house was full of love and family for the first time in a long time. Feyre had spent so long searching for these feelings of peace and comfort and now she had them. She didn’t want to do anything to alter them--to diminish them.

But she also couldn’t let Rhys walk away from his work.

“Rhys,” she began.

His warm hand slid to cup her chin, gently tugging it up. It took her a moment to meet his gaze. Mostly because she was, again, tearing up.

“Everything about that job was tearing us apart,” he said as he leaned his forehead against hers, “and I refuse to let that happen any more.”

Feyre surged forward and kissed him. There was so much they needed to figure out now. So much to talk about and plan. But for now, she was content to kiss him. Content to be with him, with her family.

“I love you,” she murmured against his lips.

“Merry Christmas, Feyre darling,” he said.

And it was. It was a glorious night together with snow falling down outside, the fire roaring in the hearth, and they were all together.

.end.

thanks for reading!

tags: using my general tags

@tottenhamboys20 @more-espresso-less-depresso-xx @bamchickawowow @ladywitchling @ireallyshouldsleeprn @courtofjurdan @sassys-world @sleeping-and-books @superspiritfestival

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#feysand #acotar #acowar #acofas #acomaf #the fanfic no one asked for continues #the fanfic no one asked for #acotar fanfiction #feysand fanfiction #feyre archeron #rhysand #feyre x rhysand

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redstainedsocks · 3 years

Text

Human Again

For @amonthofwhump’s March Madness for the whump trope: choking

Here’s my whumpee Zach having a very bad wake up call. I know the previous four Zach pieces have been post-escape but, and hear me out here, he was just in need of some whumping. So have some out of context, out of order, pain. (Read more high up the piece for vaguely referenced thoughts of noncon)

Warnings: Forced nudity, implied torture, implied past noncon, choking, noncon kissing, shotgunning cigarette smoke, smoking, cigarette burns, manhandling, antagonistic language, blindfolds, captive whumpee, nausea mention, food mention, prisoner denied food

Zach woke up naked. He woke up stiff and sore, and though he knew he was on the thin mattress that was granted as his bed—he could smell the musty stink of it—he had no idea how or when he got there.

The two things combined were enough to turn his stomach, and bile crawled up his throat. There were fuzzy memories, blurred indistinct ones of beatings and being bent over a table… but was that the last thing that had happened? Or was there more? Was that even yesterday, or two days ago? It all mixed up together, and he couldn’t work out what had happened when, or which thing it was that had made him lose consciousness. Was it drugs again? An electric shock? Or just the accumulation of pain and fatigue and he’d passed out naturally?

He only knew he must have been out a while to have been brought back to his cell. Not knowing if anything more had happened while he was unawares he shivered and curled up, wishing for a blanket to cover himself with. As he moved he felt the protest in his bruised ribs and moaned as he clutched his side.

“Ah, he lives,” came a smarmy, grunt of a voice.

Great, Mack, of all people, was here.

Zach opened his eyes to better defend himself against whatever Mack had in mind and found something still blocked his sight. He groped for his face, arm numb from his own dead weight crushing it.

“Leave that,” Mack said. “Don’t you fucking dare touch it, that’s your first rule of the day.”

Zach swallowed, groaned again and pushed himself to sit up, hyper aware of every inch of skin on display. He smelled Mack’s cigarettes before he heard the man move, felt the stale smoke waft over his face and another roil of nausea that it brought with it. He lifted a hand to rub his nose and coughed onto the back of his hand to try and rid the smell and the almost-taste of it from his body.

Mack’s hand—probably, unless someone else was here too—caught his wrist and squeezed painfully. “You deaf today or some shit, I said don’t touch your fucking face.” Mack twisted his hand until the skin pinched beneath his grip, and the joint protested. Zach hissed in pain and lurched into action to try and grapple his hand free, digging nails into the back of Mack’s hand.

Mack held on for a few more long moments before he shoved Zach, freeing his wrist, and he scooted further away from where he thought Mack was crouching.

“Actually you said not to touch the blindfold,” he replied tersely. “Try thinking before you speak it might help you get your point across.”

Mack grabbed the back of his neck, fingers curling into the ends of his hair and yanked his head back. Zach hadn’t known to brace for it and the jerk sent a wave of pain that ricocheted down his neck and jarred something in his aching hip. “Far too mouthy you little shit. If it were up to me I’d sew that mouth of yours shut.”

“But then how would we have these little chats I know you love so much?”

Another puff of smoke rolled over his face and he wrinkled his nose, stomach churning. He needed food, water... he needed proper rest, not just to pass out after some torment or other and wake up bruised and sore. Resigned to not getting enough of any of those things he focused on the slight sense of satisfaction of irritating Mack instead.

He heard the hiss of the cigarette being dragged on and hoped it was nearly gone. It was fruitless hoping when fingers gripped his jaw until his lips puckered, the heat of the cigarette sizzling far too close to his skin, held in the fingers that gripped him. Then Mack’s lips were on his and he sucked in a breath of surprise only to inhale a mouthful of smoke.

He sucked it down, drawing it into his lungs in surprise, hoping and hoping for clean air to come on the back of it. Mack’s lips were a seal over his own that breathed the filthy, cloying stuff from his own mouth—expelled it forcefully right to the back of Zach’s throat.

Zach’s lungs grew tight and full and he needed to exhale but Mack’s mouth was still smacked over his own and his tongue was in Zach’s mouth too, invading and claiming and bitterly acrid. Zach grew dizzy, swayed forward as his lungs tried to force the shotgunned smoke back out, he coughed and wheezed and batted at Mack weakly. Over the sound of his own hacking coughs he heard Mack’s laughter. Why was it always funny to these pricks? Why did they have to delight in making him suffer or making him ill?

The weight of it all was enough to drive him flat back onto the mattress, gasping for breath, aware he wasn’t going to catch a break here. Not even given a moment to try and process and remember the previous day’s horrors before the current day’s began.

“Your mouth has other uses too, I guess. Wouldn’t want to miss out on those,” Mack’s shoe nudged him.

He was about to respond when Mack’s heavy weight descended on top of him, driving more air from his lungs. The hand was back and it caressed his jaw as he grew tight as a bow string, muscles locked like he could fight this, change whatever was about to happen by being ready. Mack’s calloused hand slipped lower and closed around his throat... and squeezed.

It trapped the air in his lungs, stopped the coughing in its tracks and he arched up, kicking his legs looking for the pressure to lessen. Mack held him on the knife edge of breathlessness until he went limp, allowed him a precious few wheezing breaths and then closed his hand again while he blew another round of smoke into Zach’s gasping mouth.

Zach squirmed as his chest failed to expand and his lungs didn’t fill, the black behind the blindfold going haywire with flashes of light and colour and then fading to grey. There wasn’t room for breathing or thinking, he was only animal—desperate, hungry and directionless with the fear that came hot on the heels of being pinned down and choked out.

He clawed and kicked, begged with soundless words as he tried to make the shapes and couldn’t find enough air to give them voice.

Mack pressed tighter one more time and then released. Just as Zach thought it was over a burning, blinding pain sparked to life on his shoulder. He writhed, still sputtering inhaled smoke while a scream—half surprise as well as pain—was forced out of his throat. He smelled his singed flesh as well as the ashes of a cigarette on his shoulder. With a heavy hand he blindly flicked the hot ash from his skin, feeling it smear on his fingers with intense heat. He knew the scent would linger on his hands for a while, like some sick sort of reminder of the mornings activities.

“I’d miss that scream too, oooh man, you’re like a little girl sometimes. Can’t handle a little ciggy?”

Zach grit his teeth while tears swelled hotly behind his eyes and he only hoped to keep them at bay. He felt sluggish, no idea if it was from whatever knocked him out, or the lack of breath in his body, or just the general exhaustion and constant suffering. He almost began to laugh, and caught it before it turned into a pitiful whine. Drawing more attention to himself for being strange wouldn’t help him now.

“Think fast,” Mack said and a thud of something heavy landed on his chest with a slosh and a thud. “Drink up. Boss wants you in the training rooms today.”

Grateful for the fresh bottle of water, and hating that he was, Zach fumbled to screw the cap loose. The water soothed his abused throat, settled his stomach a little. Made him feel, briefly, more human.

Mack pulled him off the mattress and to his feet and shoved a pair of loose trousers into his hands, holding him steady with a thumb pressed firmly on the spot Zach had just been burned. Zach steeled himself and ignored the sharp pain. He stepped one foot and then the other into the trouser legs, leaning on Mack for balance while he couldn’t see.

“Now you’ve got your modesty let’s fuckin’ get on with it, step to it Griffin, time to go see what else you’re good for today.”

With tired, heavy feet Zach followed where Mack steered him. Whatever dregs of human decency he was given were always taken away sooner or later. He wondered if today would be a day he remembered, or if it would fade and be lost to some indescribable pain like the day before. He shuddered, unsettled by the idea that maybe it was kinder if he forgot; if the memory was choked out of him into oblivion so he could sleep deeply and soundlessly. If all the days bled into one, would he really be living them? Or could he float through them like the moments he drifted, lacking in oxygen, somewhere between consciousness and sleep.

He hated that that seemed appealing and wrapped a tentative hand around the bruises forming on his throat and pressed down, just because he could, just to feel the pain because he chose to for once; just to remind himself he was still very much alive, awake, and human, and that was worth fighting for.

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