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incognit0slut · 7 months

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Right Kind of Wrong (14)

She ever thought she would be involved in a murder investigation and encounter her one-night-stand again, the awkward guy who isn’t exactly that good in bed—Or is he? Offended by the sentiment, Spencer is determined to prove her wrong… But as he gets tangled with the beautiful stranger, he realizes there is more to her than what meets the eye.

Part Summary: Spencer and the team face a setback in the investigation. wc: 4.6k

Series Warnings: 18+ explicit content, graphic details of murders, mentions of suicide, mentions of SA

a/n: This one is a beast. I don't usually write multiple scenes in one part but it seems fitting here.

Other parts: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14

SPENCER HATED DRIVING. The feeling of confinement, the cacophony of honking horns, and the ceaseless traffic had always grated on his nerves. Yet his line of work often required him to be the one behind the wheel, and usually, he didn't mind, but now the car's interior seemed to close in on him as if mocking his discomfort.

He wondered whether his detest for driving paled in comparison to the regret consuming him. Or was this anger? Was this anger coursing through his body that had him feeling more uncomfortable than he usually was?

He could feel his knuckles turn white as he clenched the wheel. The anger burned hot within him, directed both outwardly at the situation he had thrust into and inwardly at himself for allowing it to happen. He couldn't understand how he allowed his urge to consume him, leading to actions that inflicted pain upon her.

It was consensual on my part.

If that was true, then why was there regret gnawing him? Why was he still angry at himself? Spencer always prided on self-control, that he could resist any urges and avoid causing any harm. But tonight he had shattered that belief. He had let his defenses crumble and now he had to deal with being the one who painted those bruises on her skin.

The shrill ring of his phone sliced through the heavy silence inside the car, momentarily diverting his thoughts. He glanced at the caller ID on the dashboard's console, seeing a familiar name flash on the screen. With a hesitant sigh, he pressed the answer button.

"Where the hell have you been?" Garcia's voice filled the space, her frustration was palpable even through the speaker.

He gripped the steering wheel a little tighter and cleared his throat before responding, "I got caught up in something."

She let out a sound of frustration. "You can't just disappear like that, Reid, we've been trying to get hold of you."

"I know, I know. I'm sorry," he said, his voice filled with genuine regret. "What's the update?"

"Oliver Walsh is nowhere to be found," a third voice cut in, who Spencer caught on as Hotch's. It seemed they were in the same room. "Morgan and Prentiss are checking his house."

"They found anything yet?"

"There were countless photographs of our witness—candid shots, close-ups, and even pictures taken from a distance."

His chest tightened, his jaw clenched, and his teeth ground together as the anger surged through him. He felt a hot flush rise in his cheeks, his face contorting with the intensity of his emotions. It was as if a fire had ignited within him, each flickering flame fueled by his frustration.

But beneath all that, he could hear the uncertainty in Hotch's voice, the contrast between his usual commanding presence and the hesitant tone in his words.

"What is it?" Spencer asked cautiously.

"The pictures were taken professionally." There was a pause. "There isn't a dark room in his house or any sign that he possesses camera equipment."

There was a momentary silence on the line, broken only by the sound of the road beneath his tires and the occasional distant siren. Spencer took a deep breath. "Do you think he hired someone?"

"Based on his victims, he seems to prefer working alone."

"He could have a hideout," he suggested, his grip on the steering wheel tightened as he navigated through the quiet streets. "Criminals often use secret spaces. It gives them a sense of control over their environment where they feel safe from prying eyes."

Hotch hummed a sound of approval. "Hideout location often has a sentimental value. Garcia, find any places that might be mentioned in his files."

Spencer's ears picked up the distinct clatter of keyboards in the background.

"There's a church where his family used to go to... but it's still open to the public so no... oh, the house he grew up in? No, it was sold a few years ago—wait, I found something." Garcia paused, allowing a brief silence to settle in as the sound of keys clicking continued. "There's an old article mentioning an abandoned warehouse that he and his group of friends used to frequent during their youth, a secluded spot for underage alcohol consumption."

"Where's the location?"

"Give me a minute." Garcia typed away, her fingers dancing across the keyboard, summoning information that surprisingly only took her twenty seconds to retrieve the location. Spencer counted the exact time. "It's not far from here."

Then suddenly, she let out a sudden shriek. "Hotch!" There were footsteps in the background followed by fingers frantically flying across the keyboard. A sound of frustration left her lips not long afterward. "Damn it!"

"What happened?" Spencer asked in an alert. "Did you find something?"

"I-I've been trying to tap his phone, you know, trying to locate him in case he decided to turn it on, and I got a signal before it disappeared again."

Spencer asked, "Can you retrieve the last coordination it located?" At the same time, Hotch cut in with, "Can you trace it back?"

"Hold your horses, boys." With a series of rapid keystrokes, Garcia initiated a deep scan on her laptop. The seconds seemed to stretch as the scanning progress bar advanced before a notification popped up on the screen. The location data had been recovered.

"Oh my god." Her eyes zeroed in on the coordinates, and she quickly cross-referenced them with a map application to get a visual of the area. "It's six miles away from the warehouse."

Hotch wasted no time after receiving the information. "Reid, check the location. I'll coordinate with the tactical unit and dispatch a team of officers to assess the area. JJ and I will meet you there."

"I'm on it."

"I sent you the coordinate," Garcia mentioned, the same time his phone pinged with an alert.

"Don't do anything until we get there," Hotch reminded him. "And Reid?"

He hummed a reply, notifying that he was listening.

"I need you to stay focused."

His eyes flickered over the console. As much as he didn't want to admit it, Hotch's reminder struck a nerve. His words, though well-intentioned, were a stark reminder of the fine line he was walking between his personal struggles and his professional responsibilities. He sat there, and the call quickly cut off before he could even reply.

The noise of the bustling street faded into the background as his thoughts began to spiral, repeating his mentor's words, his expectations of him weighing heavily on his shoulders. Spencer shook his head, trying to ground himself. The case was important, and he couldn't afford to let his personal struggles jeopardize his work.

He slowly took a steadying breath, forcing himself to compartmentalize, a skill he had honed over years of dealing with high-stress situations, and silently drove toward the coordinate Garcia had sent over.

Y/n hated crying. She despised the way her throat tightened, constricting her voice as if it were trying to strangle the tears before they could escape. The way her chest heaved with each silent sob. Her hatred for the involuntary quiver of her lip and the trembling of her hands was as potent as it was irrational.

The irony wasn't lost on her, when her boss was found lifeless on the floor that day, she had stood strong, her eyes dry, absorbing the shock without a single tear. Yet, here she was, broken by the rejection of a man who had once held a fragment of her heart. It was baffling, the way he had become the chink in her armor, the one who could shatter her composure.

But could she even call that rejection? To be rejected there surely had to be some form of confession and she was one hundred percent sure she hadn't conveyed anything that indicated her affection for him... right?

Use me in any way you like.

She groaned into her pillow. To be fair, that wasn't a confession. And to be fair, he did exactly what she asked for—It just happened that it ended the exact opposite of what she expected.

With swollen eyes and a heavy heart, she finally pushed herself out of bed. The room was shrouded in darkness, with only the faint glow of streetlights seeping through her curtains. As she rose from her tangled sheets, she felt the weight of her emotions as her thoughts went haywire.

She couldn't stand being alone at the moment. Her own thoughts seemed too loud, too suffocating. It felt like the walls were closing in, and every moment alone was just another reminder of how lonely she felt now.

That was why she reached for her phone and dialed Sandy's number, that was why she properly got dressed as she waited for her to arrive, and that was why she quickly rushed over to her front door when she heard the constant knocking. But as the door swung open, an unexpected sight froze her in her tracks.

Standing there with Sandy was Eric wearing a bemused expression. Her mind whirled with a mix of emotions–surprise, confusion, and a hint of embarrassment. She hadn't expected her to bring someone else, and now they were all standing at her doorstep, an unusual trio in the midst of an unanticipated gathering.

Sandy, sensing the tension in the air, was quick to speak up. "Oh, um... I brought company?"

"You brought Eric," she replied, her voice wavering slightly as she tried to mask her surprise.

Eric, ever the easygoing coworker, greeted her with a friendly nod and lifted the plastic bag in his hand. "And I brought Chinese. Hope you don't mind me tagging along."

For a moment, she hesitated, struggling to find her footing. It wasn't that she didn't like him, he was one of her good friends at work, which meant something because most of the men she worked with were chauvinistic, sexist pigs. But she did plan on having an emergency Margarita Night with her friend when she made the call. Although she couldn't find herself to send him away—not when he was looking at her expectantly—so she managed a hesitant smile and stepped aside.

"Come on in then." She tugged the door open. "The more the merrier, I guess."

Eric's eyes studied her distraught face as he walked in. "You okay? You look..."

"Bad?"

"I wouldn't say bad."

"I bet you wouldn't say good either."

He frowned as if trying to choose the right words. "You look stressed," he decided to say. "Everything alright?"

She paused, torn between opening up about her feelings and maintaining a sense of privacy. But in the end, she chose honesty, if only to ease the awkwardness of the situation. "Not really. I don't want to talk about it though." She motioned them into her living room. "What were you guys doing together anyway?"

"Eric has been stopping by at everyone's place in search of Oliver," Sandy responded, already making herself comfortable on the couch. "My place was his recent quest."

Y/n turned to Eric. "You still haven't heard from him?"

He shook his head, a mix of concern and frustration etched on his face. "No, not a word. That's why I decided to put in a missing person's report."

"What?" Sandy chimed in. "When?"

"This afternoon." He settled onto a nearby chair and turned his attention towards Y/n. "I met with Dr. Reid. You remember him, right?"

Remember him? They were here because of him in the first place. "Yeah, I remember him." She then shook her head, dismissing her personal feelings for the time being, and refocusing on the conversation. "You think Oliver's gone missing?"

Eric's concern was palpable as he replied, "His phone is off, his family is unreachable, and his house is empty. I'm starting to get worried."

Sandy's brows furrowed with concern as she leaned forward. "That doesn't sound like Oliver. He wouldn't just disappear without a word."

"That's what I've been trying to say."

She glanced between the two and listened as they continued to discuss the possibilities of his whereabouts. But as they did, Y/n couldn't help but feel that something was off, that there was an air of strangeness and suspicion surrounding his sudden vanishing act.

Her thoughts wandered to the peculiar way Oliver had always been interested in her, and her mind couldn't help but draw a parallel to her own situation, where a serial killer seemed to have an odd fascination with her. The pieces of the puzzle seemed to align themselves in her mind, forming a picture that was both unnerving and hard to accept. It sounded almost silly, like a twisted plot from a suspenseful thriller. It was all too surreal to be true.

She quickly shook her head, trying to dispel the disturbing thoughts, clinging to the hope that her mind was simply playing tricks on her. Because Oliver, her good friend Oliver, wouldn't do something as sinister as murder... right?

Spencer arrived an hour later. A single, isolated warehouse stood in stark contrast to the surrounding desolation, tucked away in a remote corner of the district. He parked his car discreetly before stepping out of the vehicle, his footsteps making a soft crunch on the gravel beneath his feet.

His breath hung in the crisp night air as he scanned the area meticulously, the slightest detail not escaping his analytical gaze. The warehouse stood against the backdrop of a vast, starlit sky, its silhouette imposing and enigmatic. Dim light spilled out from the high windows, casting long shadows that danced eerily on the surrounding ground.

Suddenly, the distant rumble of an approaching engine reached his ears. He turned sharply and was greeted by a convoy of vehicles making their way toward the warehouse. As they drew closer, he recognized the familiar silhouette of his unit chief behind the wheel and JJ seated right beside him.

The vehicles came to a stop, and the officers quickly disembarked, their footsteps echoing in the cavernous space. Hotch approached him, his expression grave but determined. "We need to split into teams. Reid, you take point with me. JJ, coordinate with the other officers and enter from the side."

With a nod from him, the officers sprang into action, fanning out to explore the warehouse thoroughly. Spencer and Hotch approached the building cautiously with a flashlight in one of their hands and their weapons in the other.

The front entrance was partially obscured by a tangle of overgrown weeds and graffiti-covered walls. Spencer stepped closer toward it, his footsteps echoing louder in the silence. He hesitated for a moment, taking a deep breath to steady himself. He had faced countless crime scenes and dangerous situations, but there was something about this abandoned warehouse that seemed eerie.

His mind immediately kicked into gear as he followed Hotch into the building. They stealthily moved from one corner to another, examining the objects that had been left behind in this desolate place. Piles of old crates were stacked haphazardly, their contents long removed or forgotten.

They came across a set of stairs that led to an upper level, and without a word, they ascended, their footsteps echoing on the metal steps. Upstairs, the darkness seemed even more suffocating, and the sense of isolation heightened. His flashlight landed on a stack of old files on the floor, their pages yellowed with age. He picked one up and flipped through it, but it appeared to be nothing more than old inventory records.

"There's nothing in here," he whispered. "We should check the other side—"

"Hotch! Reid! Over here!"

JJ's urgent voice alerted them and they both descended the stairs, her voice reverberated through the cavernous space. Spencer stepped into the room down the hall, his flashlight illuminating the scene before him. His steps then faltered, the sight that greeted him sent a shockwave of alarm through his already heightened senses. They had found him. Their suspected Unsub was right where they had predicted.

But he was lying in a pool of blood.

Oliver's unconscious form was a stark contrast against the cold, concrete floor. JJ was already at his side, checking his pulse and issuing urgent commands into her intercom for paramedic assistance. "Stab wounds," she announced to the room. "He's still breathing."

His mind raced as he took in the situation. How had Walsh ended up in this state? Who had inflicted the stab wound? And what had brought him to this remote area?

But his attention was soon drawn to the second startling discovery—the writing on the wall. His flashlight revealed a message scrawled in front of them, seemingly written with blood. He took a step closer, examining the writing carefully. The texture and consistency of the blood suggested it had been written recently.

Proverbs 14:8

Hotch, who entered the room with the rest of the team, observed the scene with a steely resolve. He instructed the officers to secure the area and preserve any potential evidence as paramedics rushed inside. His eyes scanned around him and he noticed Spencer's intense scrutiny of the message on the wall.

Spencer recited the verse as he heard footsteps approaching him from behind. "The wisdom of the prudent is to give thought to their ways, but the folly of fools is deception."

"Any idea what it means?" Hotch asked, his tone reflecting the gravity of the situation.

Spencer furrowed his brow, his mind racing through possible scenarios. "It's a message to us. The verse underscores the idea that wisdom involves careful consideration of one's actions and beliefs..." And then his voice slowly trailed off. "...while deception can lead to foolishness."

The words hung in the air, its implications weighing heavily on his mind. It was a declaration, a challenge, and a warning all at once. His mind raced to make sense of the situation. Who had written this message? Was this a desperate act from Walsh himself, or was there another player in this dangerous game they had been entangled in?

His stomach dropped.

That was it.

"It's a trap."

His mind then processed the surreal scene before him—the injured suspect, the message scrawled in blood—it was increasingly clear that this wasn't a straightforward apprehension; it was a carefully orchestrated plan, and they were mere pawns in a dangerous game. And as the realization began to grip him, his anxiety surged. There was only one thought in his mind.

With trembling fingers, Spencer pulled out his phone and dialed the number he had kept in his phone but never seemed to use. The seconds felt like an eternity as he anxiously waited for her to pick up. His mind raced with a thousand scenarios, each one more alarming than the last. Hotch stepped closer as he noticed the dread in his eyes.

"Reid."

There was only silence on the other end of the line. She wasn't answering. The fear that had gripped him intensified, and a knot of dread formed in his stomach. He tried again. There was still no answer. His hands began to tremble uncontrollably as he clutched his phone, the device suddenly feeling like an anchor pulling him deeper into a sea of fear.

"Reid."

As panic began to surge, he dialed Officer Anderson's number next. His trembling fingers pressed the buttons, and he held the phone to his ear, there was no response—no ringing, no voicemail, just a disheartening silence. His panic intensified. His chest tightened, and each gasping breath felt insufficient, leaving him feeling suffocated and—

"Reid!"

He exchanged a glance with Hotch. "I-I can't reach her," he said, sounding defeated. His palms grew clammy as he tried to regain control while he leaned against a nearby wall, attempting to steady himself.

JJ stood up and approached him. "Reid, take deep breaths," she urged, her voice calm and reassuring.

Spencer tried to steady his breathing, but his lungs felt constricted, and the air refused to fill them properly. He felt lightheaded, disconnected from reality, as waves of panic washed over him. JJ placed a steadying hand on his shoulder.

"Focus on your breathing," she said, her voice calm and reassuring. "In and out."

But the words struggled to penetrate the fog of panic that had enveloped his mind. His thoughts spiraled into a chaotic mess of fear and helplessness. The walls of the warehouse seemed to close in on him, and he gasped for air.

JJ guided him to a nearby crate. He complied, allowing himself to sit down as his trembling hands found the edge of the crate, fingers gripping tightly as he tried to steady himself. She crouched in front of him, her eyes meeting his.

"Spence, look at me. We're going to find her, but I need you to breathe, okay?" His gaze met hers, and he nodded, albeit shakily. He knew that he couldn't let his panic consume him, not when there was a chance of her being in danger, not when there was a possibility of her being taken away—he quickly shook his head.

The warehouse's oppressive atmosphere seemed to recede as he concentrated on his breath. Spencer became acutely aware of the controlled chaos unfolding around him. Hotch's firm and authoritative voice as he started to make calls, the flashlights dancing over the walls, and the low murmur of voices filling the space. He closed his eyes briefly, attempting to center himself.

But as he waited to regain his composure, the minutes felt like hours, and the fear of losing her weighed heavily on his mind.

Please, let her be safe.

"Y/n!" Sandy's voice called from the other room, prompting her to emerge from the bathroom. "Your phone keeps ringing."

"Can you check who it's from?"

Sandy checked the caller ID and responded, "Unknown caller."

She let out a dismissive sigh and started to head back into the room. "It's probably just spam."

But then, Sandy's voice broke the silence again, this time with a question that hung in the air like a heavy cloud. "This might sound crazy, but do you think Oliver has anything to do with Jamison's death?" Her breath hitched at the unexpected question. She turned to face her friend as she continued, "Just think about it, Oliver went missing right after the murder. Don't you think that's a little suspicious?"

Eric's frown deepened, and he interjected, "Don't say that. He could be in danger for all we know."

"I forgot you're protective over him." Sandy turned toward Y/n, who stood in the middle of the room, caught between their exchange. "Did you know Eric and Oliver grew up together?"

Her frown deepened as she processed her words. "You did?" She asked Eric, her tone marked by surprise.

He shrugged, his casual demeanor unchanged. "We weren't exactly friends. We just grew up in the same community."

She continued to express her curiosity. "Why haven't I heard of this?"

"Because it's not important? Like I said, we weren't even friends."

Y/n couldn't help but feel a sense of surprise mixed with a tinge of confusion. "I've known you both for what, two—almost three years now, and neither of you mentioned this?"

Eric dismissed her concern with a simple explanation. "It's not really a secret, though. We just don't talk about it." He then glanced over at Sandy. "I mean, she knows."

"It's really not an interesting topic," her friend agreed. "Why does it matter?"

She found herself grappling with that very question. Why did it matter? Why was this information tugging at her concern more than it probably should? She couldn't quite put her finger on it, but something about this felt unsettling, like a piece of the puzzle that didn't quite fit, and it left her with an unsettling sense of curiosity.

In the end, she decided to let it go, at least for now. She shook her head, dismissing her lingering thoughts. "I... never mind."

She dismissed the topic and left the two to talk as she entered the kitchen, her steps echoing in the quiet space. The room was bathed in the soft glow of the dim overhead light, casting elongated shadows across the countertops.

With a sigh, she made her way to the refrigerator, its white exterior gleaming faintly in the light. As she pulled the door open, a cold gust of air rushed out, ruffling her hair. She bent down and stared into its content. While her unanswered phone calls continued to chime softly in the background, her eyes scanned along the stacks of drink lined across the shelf.

"Do you guys want a refill?" She called out, her voice breaking the silence that had settled in the room.

She waited for a response, only to be met by silence.

"Eric! Sandy! Do you want a refill?"

There was still no answer.

"...Guys?"

It was then she realized the gentle sound of conversation from the other room had stopped, replaced by an eerie quiet that seemed to envelop the entire house. The only sound that persisted was the soft, persistent ringing of her phone in the background. Slowly, she began to stand, her movements deliberate and cautious.

She froze in place, her heart pounding loudly in her chest as she heard a sudden sound of something heavy hitting the floor. It echoed through the room, breaking the eerie silence that had enveloped the house.

But it wasn't the thud itself that startled her, it was the deafening silence that followed, as if the very world had gone mute. The absence of any other sound, the stillness that hung in the air, was unnerving. It felt like the calm before a storm, the hush that precedes a revelation, and every instinct in her body screamed at her to be cautious.

Her breathing became shallow, and she strained her ears, hoping to catch any sound that might offer an explanation. "Sandy?" She took a step forward. "Eric?"

She slowly merged from the kitchen, her cautious steps carried her down the narrow hallway that led to the living room. The silence pressed down on her felt like a heavy weight, broken only by the occasional creak of the floorboards beneath her.

A sense of unease settled over her as she stepped into the living room. At first glance, everything seemed eerily normal. The furniture was in its usual place, the soft glow of the lamps still casted a warm hue across the room. Yet, amidst this apparent calm, her eyes landed on a sight that sent a shock of fear coursing through her veins.

A gasp caught in her throat, because there, on the floor, lay Sandy's unconscious form, her body sprawled in an unnatural position. The room seemed to close in around her as she rushed forward, but before she could even move, she felt a sudden, oppressive presence behind her.

A heavy arm closed around her waist in a tight grip, and another hand pressed firmly against her mouth, muffling any cries of surprise or fear. She struggled, her heart pounding in her chest, as she was pulled backward, away from Sandy's prone figure.

"Hey, hey, don't move." A hushed and urgent voice whispered in her ear. She froze, her heart still pounding, her eyes wide with fear. "Shhh, it's okay. I'm not going to hurt you."

It was in that terrifying moment that she realized a cloth was held over her mouth, and with a gasp, she inadvertently inhaled something that left her world spinning. The room seemed to blur and distort, shadows swirling into a chaotic dance as her body went limp.

The last thing she recalled was the persistent sound of her phone ringing before everything went black.

>> NEXT PART

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manicpixiefelix · 3 months

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he wanted to be in love (but you got in the way)

{ One-Shot for head, heart, hand. }

Summary: When Oliver's lies are revealed to you and Felix, you have a much better time understanding his reasoning for it all, and Oliver convinces you to help talk Felix around into hopefully forgiving him. Felix, however, just grows more frustrated as it appears that you've very quickly moved on from the betray, and are urging him to do so too. Meanwhile, Oliver has come to realise that no matter the outcome, Felix will never really want anyone else if he has you by his side.

Need to Know: They/Them. Explicitly NB Reader. FWB!Reader/Felix. Reader is from a well off family but has pretty much been adopted by the Cattons.

Warnings: death (YOU DIE IN THIS ONE), murder via overdose, oliver's birthday party situation, oliver being incredibly manipulative, reader and felix arguing a lot, felix being a bit of a dick, angst with an unhappy ending, toxic felix/oliver endgame, heavy drinking and drug use

{ now with an epilogue }

A/N: 6267 words. ooft ouch ooft my heart. i dont like reader & fi fighting and this whole thing fucked me up bigtime. like bigtime bigtime. big angst, please heed the warnings. what do you think about this one? i like it even if it made me cryyyy

TAGLIST IN COMMENTS!! // TAGLIST ALWAYS OPEN ! (just message or comment to be added)

----

"Please," Oliver's lip trembles when he grabs your sleeve. He doesn't try and chase Felix after you all get back from the disastrous trip to his parents' house, perhaps part of him knew he wouldn't get through to him in this state, so he latches on to you instead, "you- you know," and even just the helpless sense of desire in his voice is familiar to you, "I just wanted to be his friend, be your friend; be close to you both -" Oliver's fidgeting with your sleeve and your heart's breaking for him, despite the betrayal of his lies.

"Ollie-" you sighed, but he took both your hands in his, tears gathering in the beautiful blue eyes you've come to care so deeply about in the past year.

"I never meant any harm," he insists. His hands are shaking.

"I know, Ollie," you finally concede, giving his hands a gentle squeeze.

"He won't listen to me- won't believe me; please, please, I need you to believe me, I need Felix -" and though he can't seem to finish the request, it's enough. The lies he's told, what they mean for the friendship you've all forged, it makes you feel more than a little queasy, but you think you understand him. At least better than Felix would in this moment.

"I'll try," though your tone doesn't inspire confidence, "just give him space, give him time -"

"I don't have time," Oliver croaks out weakly, gave dropping to the floor, "he'll throw me out tomorrow and never look at me again," this time, when his grip on your hands tightens, it becomes almost painful, face scrunching up as if dreading the tears he was about to shed, the things he was about to say; "and even if you don't hate me the way he does, I'll be losing you too."

Your silence speaks volumes. You hate that he's right.

"You know you're the only hope I've got left." Oliver's nails dig into your skin, but your hands don't shake.

"I will try, that's all I can do."

By the time you get to your room, Felix is already cutting up lines of coke with a delicate little razor from one of the various stashes you and the other wards of the Saltburn Estate had hidden throughout the building over the years. He doesn't look up when you enter, quietly, and furiously focused on the task at hand, cross-legged in the middle of your bed.

Sitting behind him, you lean in to press your forehead between his shoulders, sighing deeply.

"Yeah," Felix mumbles, "it's a bit like that, isn't it?"

Squeezing your eyes closed, all you can see is the love and desperation in OIiver's eyes as he'd held you back, begged for your understanding, forgiveness, friendship -

"You never loved someone so much you'd do anything to keep them around?" You asked softly, and feel Felix go still, "you never lied about your family because you were worried about how people would react if they knew the truth?" The more you consider, the less anger you feel towards what Oliver had done.

"You're different," Felix's voice is carefully neutral. There's a pause, a snort, a line of white powder going up his nose, "you didn't pretend that your dad died just to get sympathy out of me," he points out, already picking at the threads of similarity that you'd laid before him in hopes of softening the betrayal he felt so strongly.

Then he's moving again, doing things you're still not sure of, forehead still pressed to the fabric of his shirt between his shoulders. Sighing, louder this time, you go to say something more, to try and argue your case further, but Felix cuts you off. It's the sharpest he's ever been with you, you think, practically orders you not to talk about this anymore.

Then, he shifts, he reaches for you behind himself, and you move with him, without prompting. Felix leans back, and you move to his side, allow yourself to settle your head on his chest, looking up at him. One hand loosely draped over you, Felix tucks his other behind his head, eyes closed; even if they were open, he wouldn't be looking at you.

"Just shut up about Ollie, just shut up -" his tone is much softer now, but his words still bite more than you're used to, "I don't want to hear anything about fucking Oliver Quick right now." There's a nausea twisting in your gut that you're unfamiliar with, heavy and upsetting, that you somehow know has everything to do with Felix's tone. Part of you feels so embarrassed for even feeling like this, for being so wrapped up in pleasing him that even the slightest hint of disapproval for the first time in years has you so viscerally uncomfortable.

The other part of you ducks your gaze, and curls up against his side, obedient.

"Sure, Fi."

A long silence, softened only by Felix's deep breathing for several long moments before you finally feel him relax.

"I love you," it sounds almost like an apology. You wonder if he knows how to do that. Still, the nausea in your gut immediately begins to clear. This time, when you close your eyes, you try to just be present in the moment for what it is, Felix's arm around you, his steady heartbeat warm beneath your ear; you can find contentment here if you tried.

Much to your chagrin, Felix's mood and feelings of betrayal also meant he was no longer interested in the full costume you'd put together for him for Oliver's birthday party. He's well aware his mother would be appalled if he just showed up in jeans and a shirt, so he reluctantly pulls on the wings you'd spray painted up on the roof a few days before.

"I put time into this, Fi," you pleaded softly, looking at the rest of the costume you'd put together hanging sadly, untouched in his wardrobe.

"Maybe I just want to save it for a happy occasion," Felix refused to even sit down at the dresser, despite where you'd neatly set out both of your accessories for the night. He doesn't even spare the various, gold accoutrements that you'd curated for his costume a second glance, simply fusses with his hair in a way that won't even last.

"You're being ridiculous about this," you finally voice, unable to stop yourself, "he's still Our Oliver, his family doesn't change that -"

Felix goes still in the mirror, expression displeased when he meets your eyes in the reflection. Nausea again. You never want him to look at you like this ever again; you half want to apologise already.

"I don't care about his family, I care about how I don't know if I can believe anything he says! He lied to you, to me, he was clearly lying to his family, considering they have no idea he'd be nothing but a fucking joke at uni if it wasn't for me!" The outburst blindsides you, it seems to even blindside Felix, who has to take a few moments to compose himself before he can look you in the eyes again. Softly, that look of betrayal is turned upon you, "how can you be okay with that?"

A million answers blow through your mind - love, compartmentalisation, hypocrisy - but none feel right. There's no way for you to justify this to Felix, at least, not one that would make him happy, make him understand.

"Our Oliver-" but as he's standing, he cuts himself off, shaking his head, "Your Oliver -" but the words get stuck in his throat. After a beat, he scrubs his face over his hands, "I just don't understand," far calmer, he lets out a deep breath and continues, "how you got over this so fast," but before you can answer, his eyes open, and there's no fire, nor fury, just hurt; "and I need you right now, but not if you're going to be like this."

Oh, you're going to be sick.

It's apologies that spew out of you, nervous, still only half ready, and regretting every word that made Felix look at you like that. He tries awkwardly to tell you that it's not that bad, that he just wishes it felt like you were on his team. Insisting that you are gets you a weak smile from your best friend, but he still leaves seeming unconvinced.

There are voices outside, on the grounds. The party has begun, the sun will be set soon.

Half of your costume hangs up beside Felix's, your elegant, green gossamer robe shining next to the matching, gold gossamer pirate shirt that you had made for Felix. Neither leave the wardrobe, and perhaps you are underdressed in what was basically a set of incredibly ornate, bejewelled, and bedazzled lingerie, and boots, but you couldn't even bring yourself to care.

Perhaps, you consider, if Felix had blown up before you'd gotten this much on, you'd be as dressed down as he was for the event.

Before you leave, however, you go to double check yourself in the mirror, and don't think to knock. Oliver catches sight of you in the mirror before you properly realise he's there. Both freeze, both deer trapped in each other's proverbial headlights. Both with red-rimmed eyes. You wonder if he knows, if he waited with baited breath and an ear pressed to the bedroom door as Felix tore him down and you immediately gave him up to keep your best friend happy.

"You look like a dream," Oliver's voice is hoarse, and he turns to properly face you, to give your costume a generous look over, "merry wanderer of the night," he offers, meeting your gaze again. The line, pulled straight from the play upon which the whole night was based, was one you'd gleefully recounted to him when you told him you would be going as Puck.

There's a slight, sad smile on his lips, a shyness to the way he leans against the counter, but none of the awkwardness he carries around others. There, in his boxers alone, you realise how vulnerable he truly is in this moment, the moment you've so callously interrupted. But Oliver doesn't call you out, nor does he shy away from your gaze.

All words have escaped you in this moment, however. Even the idea of Felix's reaction to his moment makes you feel ill, but part of your heart still breaks for Oliver, for this boy so overwhelmed with love that he would do anything for it.

"I can go," Oliver says softly, apologetically, when you seem frozen even still. It breaks you out, however, and you shake your head vigorously.

"No, its okay Ollie."

"Your," he says slowly, pointedly, "Ollie." He'd heard. Fuck; how much? "I heard all of it," he admits slowly, approaching you. This time, you are the wild animal, cornered in the bathroom. Oliver doesn't look at you like prey, he doesn't approach you like a predator; he doesn't want to spook you, "I didn't mean to get between you and Felix," his voice is soft, and he sniffles a little, but tries to smile through it, "ever; back at Oxford, over Summer, ever."

But you can't bring yourself to look at him. Gently, you loop a finger through the fine, silver chain around his throat, keeping your gaze focused on it without ever tugging it too hard.

"I'm trying," you whisper, voice watery despite your best effort, tears gathering in your eyes, "but I -"

Oliver pulls you into a hug as the damn finally bursts, and the tension, the pressure of the day that had already been pressing down upon you finally breaks. Oliver lets you cry on his shoulder, petting your hair gently.

"But you're a good dog," he murmured as he pressed a kiss to your temple, and you're too distraught to catch the echoes of resentment in his tone.

"It's all I know how to be!"

"I know, pet, I know."

Once you've calmed down, you apologise for your outburst, for having him comfort you at a time like this. There's something different about him, about his smile, the look in his eyes, as he just assures you that it's fine, that he's going to still try and enjoy his night.

After cleaning yourself up and fixing your makeup, finally you make it downstairs. There's more people on the first floor than you'd been expecting, so you have to worm your way through the crowd to search for Felix.

"My gentle puck, come hither!" Felix voice rises through the crowd; if your ears could prick up, they probably would. Just the brightness in his voice lifts you from your melancholy, and when you finally reach him you're beaming.

And he's already drunk.

Which you would like to be too. As if anticipating your requests, he puts two fruity looking drinks in your hands, and picks up another two with a wide smile. You trot along behind him as he cuts a path through the crowd towards the sofas where your friends from Oxford had found themselves. A cheer rises when they see you, all glad for your company, all desperate to hear how your Summer had been so far.

At first, you're simply sitting on the arm of the sofa, beside Felix, bright and animatedly engaging in conversation with the others. Felix finishes his first drink and his arm goes around India, tucked up against his other side, but as soon as his second drink is finished, and you've leaned across him to put your own empty cup on the coffee table between you all, he uses it as an excuse to pull you into his lap.

"Felix," India says when she means what the fuck are you playing at right now? Felix gives a surprisingly cold smile, his hand slipping from her shoulder, moving lower to grip her side rather possessively. You simply wait, ready to move at a moment's notice.

"What?" There's something biting in Felix's voice, something that sounds so uncharacteristically mean as he raises his voice enough for the group to hear, "aren't you all still deluding yourselves about me and Y/N? Don't you still think we're related - or whatever it was Farleigh told you all?" Immediately the tension in your little circle of friends spikes. Felix's hand is practically between your thighs, gripping your thigh like he owns you. In any other circumstance you'd probably enjoy this, but every single one of your friends is suddenly looking at you like they'd never seen you before.

"You hot people disgust me," India finally breaks the tension flippantly, and everyone else cackles with laughter. Felix does actually grin at her, leaning in to kiss her cheek.

"No we don't," he teases gently, and India tries to continue playing at being annoyed, by insisting that she needs something stronger than the bar could offer. As she stands, she looks back, holding out her hands to you and Felix.

"Come on, disgusting hot people; I know you're both already high and probably want some more."

"Knew there was a reason I liked you, India," you grinned, glad to have escaped that encounter without much of a mental or physical scratch, though Felix does make a point of grabbing your ass as you stand, even with India holding his other hand.

However you're another line deep in the bathroom, with India, Felix, and two of the others who'd followed along, when that good mood evaporates. Oliver stands in the door, waiting, watching; you're the first to notice him, to catch his gaze properly, but all he does is clear his throat. Felix looks to him when Oliver finally calls his name, but pointedly acts like he doesn't in the next moment.

"Can I, er, talk to you for one second?" Oliver asks faintly, but is met with no response. Instead of looking at Oliver, Felix momentarily flicks a frustrated gaze at you, like he feels your sudden discomfort and fidgeting is a personal betrayal, "you can't ignore me forever," Oliver tries, but Felix gives him a cold smile.

"I can try."

"Fi," you hissed, but all you get is another glare.

"Felix, we need to talk," Oliver was begging now, but he turned his attention to you, pleading, "can you get him to please listen to me, just for a moment -" but his words have your heart freezing in your chest. You can't even stutter Felix's name out before he's dismissing you both.

"I tried being nice about this," Felix huffed, "but if you're still insisting on playing Devil's Advocate for him, the both of you can fuck off and go bother the rest of the party." He relights his cigarette, but he doesn't even look at you once. One more time you try, reaching out, apology on your tongue, but he shrugs you off and finally gives a cutting look, "no I told you, okay? You're over it; fucking great for you. I'm not, and I don't have to be, so piss off and be over it away from me."

You stand, momentarily unsteady on your feet before you regain your balance and head to the door. Everything in your mind is a mess of emotions. The drugs and alcohol are sending you into overdrive, though neither is the reason you're feeling so sick. Still, while you know where Felix is coming from, one look at Oliver as you reach the door and you can't help but stop. Turning back, you hope Felix can read how damn hurt you are by all this;

"I'm not a monster for having a heart, Felix."

And you take some small victory from the surprise in his eyes. Before he can respond, however, you grab Oliver's hand and lead him away.

With another two fruity drinks, you and Oliver sit on the edge of the fountain outside, watching the revelry, mirroring each other's weary slump.

"How are you finding your birthday party?" You asked lamely after a few minutes. Oliver took a few moments to deliberate, while you sipped down your drink quite quickly.

"Don't know anyone," he says mildly, "and the people I do know think I'm a joke -" right, he'd heard Felix's earlier comments about the group from Oxford's feelings, "and I was aware kind of from the start of knowing youse," he casts his gaze to you now, turning to you, eyes meeting yours, "that my two best friends were bonded like those cats at the shelter, the kind you can't separate from each other or they'll cry all day and refuse to eat until you put them back together," the smile he gives you is humourless, and doesn't even reach his eyes, "but one hates me and the other has no spine," he shrugged like he hadn't just insulted you, going back to people-watching, "so I don't think it'll go down as my best birthday ever."

"I have a spine," you scowled, as if straightening your posture proved his point at all.

"Why? You don't need it," still as mild as before, Oliver takes a long, loud sip of his drink, "you've got Felix."

"I'm trying to help you, Oliver, I swear -"

"You don't know how to stand up for yourself, Y/N," this time, the look that he gives you is simply pitying, "I'm sorry I asked you to try and stand up for me." The words ache like a punch to the gut, "you're not even trying to help me for me, or for how much you supposedly love me; you love that I love Felix."

"Oliver, I love you!" You insisted through angry tears and gritted teeth, "how your mind works, how you figure things out, the books you like, the way you're constantly watching and cataloguing and remembering, it shows you care about the world around you and the people in it. I love that you're obsessive and ambitious and that you can be ruthless -" it comes out messy and unrehearsed, but you slowly see the shock and genuine awe on Oliver's face as he comes to terms with the fact that you're being genuine. For the first time all evening, you think you see guilt in his eyes. It's gone too fast, Oliver turning away.

"I love you too," he says gently, following it carefully with, "but we both know who you crawl into bed with at the end of every night." Then, under his breath, sounding so forlorn, "do not separate."

"Oliver-" but he stands, stretches, and finishes off his beer.

"He's probably already missing you, waiting to forgive you," he puts his empty beer bottle down on the edge of the fountain, and for just a moment, he reaches out and gently holds your face. Nothing is said, but there's endless, unreadable emotions in his eyes as he gazes into yours.

Then he's gone.

Making your way back to the estate itself, you forgo looking for Felix, half ashamed of the idea that Oliver was right, and instead slip beneath the velvet rope that cordoned off the upper floors of the house. Back in your bedroom, the stash of coke Felix had raided before the party was still reasonably well stocked, and the bottle of bourbon that you'd stashed in the broken piano last Christmas was thankfully untouched. There was something seriously sad, you think to yourself, about drinking and snorting alone in your room, upstairs from a party where you know your friends are all doing it too. But you don't want to see them. Don't want to see anyone.

The remainder of yours and Felix's matching outfits taunt you silently from the closet door on which they hang. They're beautiful and vapid and cold; you hate them.

"Oh, sorry, didn't realise you were -" it's Felix at the door - of course it is, who else would it be? - who startles you out of your thoughts. There's no frustration in his eyes anymore, no anger, just surprise. His gaze roams over you, from the drugs balanced on your knee to the half-full bottle cradled in your lap, "you okay?" Oliver's right, of course. Oliver's right about a lot of things.

"Yeah," you sniffle, taking another swig of the drink, "what did you need?"

"Think they're gonna sing happy birthday to Ollie soon," Felix leans against the doorframe. You share in an awkward silence for a long moment.

"That why you're here?"

"I came up to see if there was any of that coke left from before," he says, looking at the mirror on your knee and the still mostly full baggie on the bed next to you. Then, he gives a sheepish little grin, "yeah," he admits.

"We should be down there," you say without thinking. Felix's expression falls, and he kicks at the doorframe for a moment, "you do care about his family," spills from you; you're not even sure from where. Felix's expression grows darker.

"Why are you so insistent about doing this?"

"Because you love him, Felix," you remind him firmly, before putting down the bottle and rolling up the already significantly curved bill beside you, "and he loves you, and you know that," picking up the mirror, you make short work of the last line to avoid looking at Felix. Dragging your finger across the glass, you pick up the last of the residue, wiping it on your gums. Your hands remain busy as you pack the remainder of it all into the little, wooden box it was kept in, as you spoke, "you hate the parts of you he figured out, the buttons he learned how to push; Oliver," you snapped the box shut, looking up at him, "was too good to be true, and that's why you're hurt; you're scared it's like Eddie all over again, too good to be true -"

"You shut up about Eddie -" Felix warned, but you stood, box in hand, approaching him with a fierce, intoxicated determination.

"Eddie was never too good, you were just in love! Eddie wasn't even loyal!" You cried, shoving him with the box, letting out a desperate sentiment that you'd let fester in the darkest part of your heart for over a year, "he was never going to be loyal! He never loved you as much as you loved him! Never! And you were so blinded by how happy he seemed to be with this 'better life' you were offering him, you could never bloody see it -"

"You are drunk and high," Felix spits at you, clearly holding himself back from tears.

"But all I ever want is you to be happy," hanging your head, you push the box into his grip and stumble back to the bed, searching for the bottle, "why can't you trust me about this?"

"Oliver fucking lie to me, betrayed me -"

"Us!" You shouted, unscrewing the lid with vigour, "to keep you in his life. You just don't like what the lies he used to keep you around say about you." And with that you furiously started chugging more of the drink.

"I'm done with you," Felix's voice is weak, hands coming up to cover his face. Lowering the bottle, all you can do is stare at him. It's like you've been splashed with ice water.

"Fi -"

"I need space; I need you out of my room for the rest of Summer."

"Fi, please -"

"I thought you were fucking better than this!" He snapped, finally stalking away, while you were too disorientated to even go after him.

The first thing you manage to do is stumble to the bathroom and throw your guts up into the sink. Physically you feel a bit better, but the nausea you can now tell is psychological. Downstairs, though you don't know how much time has passed, the house has transformed itself into a rave. Too bright. Too hot. Too sticky. You think you catch sight of Ollie, but your gaze quickly moves to Felix, silhouetted by neon and haze, looking like an angel. Beside him, India sparkles and giggles and her hands are all over him. You want him to be happy, you don't want to interrupt but you have to -

Someone catches you before you faceplant in the middle of the dancefloor, and it turns out it is Oliver.

"You look like a bit of a mess," he says, aiming for a light, joking tone, but it almost sets you off. Seeing you about to start crying, Oliver starts to panic, and suggests the two of you get some air. Though you want to protest, you see Felix and India, hand in hand, making their way to the side doors. Oliver, champagne in one hand, has his other arm under yours, supporting you as the two of you made your way out too.

The night air is cool, a sharp contrast from inside, so sharp it almost stings.

"I should'a kept my mouth shut," you whimpered, "I didn't need a spine, why did I listen to you?" Oliver is simply quiet, listening to you ramble, getting the gist of what had happened between you and Felix as you slowly made your way to the maze.

"I don't wanna go in," you whispered at the entrance, looking down it's tall, green corridor. Oliver looked at you strangely.

"Worried you'll get lost?"

"I could never get lost, Felix made sure of that plenty of times." Carefully, you extract yourself from Oliver, sitting cross-legged by the entrance of the maze, looking out over the rest of Saltburn with your back to the hedges; Oliver watches you curiously, "I can wait for Fi here."

"I can't wait," Oliver finally says, "I don't have the time. I have to try."

You, surprisingly serene and content with your decision, more at peace than you'd been during the entire walk over, make no attempt to stop him. You just tell him you'll be here when he gets back. This time you genuinely smile, insisting he go in without you.

"I'll be here, I promise; I'll wait."

So he goes, and you listen to his footsteps retreating. After a few minutes, however, he returns.

"I think you need this more than I do," and he hands you the bottle of champagne he'd been carrying. Turns out there's only really a quarter of the bottle left, but at least you think it won't be enough to make you sick again.

As frustrated as Felix could get, he's never not forgiven you. That's all you can think about as you finish off the bottle.

You would apologise. You would make it up to him. You could make this better again.

Except...

Hang on, wait, who was that who just ran out of the maze? Someone ran out of the maze? You were pretty sure someone did anyways... maybe India, if Oliver had confronted -

Oliver is the second to escape the maze. Instead of heading directly back, he waits, unseen for Felix to leave, observing the way he'd stumble out, not even glancing around enough to see you on the ground in the shadow of the maze itself. Once he was sure he was alone, Oliver crept over to your catatonic body, mouth agape, bottle still clutched but empty in one hand. Still breathing, though it was shallow, he checked your pulse only to feel a heartrate like a humming bird. If he called out now, Felix could hear him, could get help, could save your life.

But Felix would want for nothing as long as he had you by his side.

When you start convulsing, Oliver leaps away, startled. But he watches, and remains quiet. He takes the bottle, and just for a moment presses his forehead to yours.

"I'm sorry," it almost gets caught in his throat, "I loved you, I promise I did."

And he leaves.

Oliver wakes to a knock on the door. While Felix doesn't exactly seem happy to see him, it appears he has bigger things to worry about.

"Is Y/N in here?" He cuts right to the chase; there's dark circles under his eyes.

"Have you gotten any sleep?" Oliver yawns. Felix shifts his weight from one foot to the other.

"I've checked literally every other room in this house," ignoring him, Felix explains himself, "I told them last night I wanted them to stay somewhere else, but I didn't mean it," he frowns, peering around Oliver as best he could, trying to see for himself. Oliver, who already knew this, but still played dumb, went wide-eyed.

"You didn't talk to them last night?"

"I was talking to them a lot last night -"

"They were waiting outside the maze for you; they were there when I left."

Oliver's never seen Felix run so fast.

It takes Duncan informing the rest of the family over breakfast that a gardener has spotted Felix sat by the edge of the maze for the past hour, to clear up his whereabouts.

"And have you heard from Y/N?" Elspeth adds, though Venetia buts in.

"Probably at the maze with Felix," she rolls her eyes; Oliver looks at his eggs, his runny, sickening eggs, and keeps his mouth shut. Elspeth sighs and requests someone go and collect them, tell them that lunch is ready, and promptly directs a smile at Oliver, asking how he'd enjoyed his birthday.

Oliver's halfway through an awkward thanks, assuring her it was grand, before Duncan re-enters. For the first time since Oliver first laid eyes on him, he looks genuinely shaken.

"I, uh, I do apologise," his words keep getting caught, and he can't seem to focus his gaze for too long, "I have some tragic news; Captain Y/N has passed away."

The world stops.

Felix Catton sits in the shadow of the hedge maze with you, his best friend, the love of his life, dead in his arms.

"I thought you were fucking better than this!"

His last words to you echo endlessly in his head as he cradles you to him. He'd found you slumped over at a painful angle, clearly having been sitting cross-legged on the grass, waiting, just as Oliver had said, still wearing part of the outfit you'd prepared. You looked so cold, so he'd wrapped you up in the robe he'd been wearing, maroon; you'd always said it was your favourite of his, but you'd never wear it, said it looked better on him.

"Can't believe I made you wait," it wasn't the first time he'd muttered it since finding you, "I'm so sorry, I won't do it again," he assured, and leaned in, pressing his forehead to your cold shoulder and collarbone, "and I didn't mean it about needing space from you; I couldn't even do it for one night, I got so lonely I spent the entire night searching all hundred and bloody something rooms we have, for you."

"Felix?" Venetia's voice is the first one he's heard since Oliver's, and it shakes, "Feef?" And maybe it's the way he can tell she's started crying, or the nickname he hasn't heard since he was six, but it all hits him at once. Finally he starts to cry, the shock giving way to anguish as Venetia drapes herself over him at the sight of you. Farleigh goes into shock, silent, falling to his knees before he brings his head down too, completely shutting down.

Oliver doesn't know how to react, doesn't know if he can. He stands back from the others, back from even James and Elspeth, silent. He did what he had to do. It takes him a long time to realise he's even started crying too.

Elspeth and Sir James try to keep up a sense of normalcy around the house, but barely anyone is able to keep up. Farleigh and Venetia show up and barely speak, Oliver can't bring himself to even look at anyone at the dining table, and Felix hasn't shown up for three days straight. He's been locked in his room, and none of them blame him.

None of the others know that he comes out at night. Well, he opens the door during the day since the staff have started leaving plates of food for him at his mother's request. But during the night, Felix leaves his room to crawl into Oliver's bed. Oliver never makes comments, but he always makes room, and Felix still hasn't kicked him out of the house. Small steps to victory.

"All those lies, all that shit you told us, you did it because you'd do anything to keep us around," on the third night, Felix speaks into the darkness, back to Oliver under the expensive sheets.

"To keep you around," Oliver corrected quietly, "I knew as long as I had you around, I would have them too." After a few moments, he could hear Felix start to sniffle. Carefully, testing his luck, Oliver shuffled around to face Felix. Wriggling closer, he draped an arm over Felix's chest and pulled him close, pressing himself against Felix's back. In the moment, Felix takes Oliver's hand and laces their fingers together.

"They always loved you, Felix; I never saw anything like it."

Small steps to victory.

At your funeral, Felix finally sees your parents. He wonders if looking at them is anything like looking at the idea of who you would have grown into. He doesn't think so; their expressions are so cold beneath their performance of grief.

They do, however, seek him out, ask his name, and hand him a framed photo. They say they won't be needed it anymore. It's you and Felix beneath the Eiffel Tower, arms around each other, each of you using your free hand to together form a heart between you, laughing at something just off camera. Oliver makes a disdainful remark about your parents, but slips his hand in Felix's, and gives it a reassuring squeeze.

Elspeth asks if Felix wants to keep the photo in his room, and when he remarks that he doesn't know, she suggests it gets placed with the other family photos over the fireplace in the television room. It fits in perfectly.

"I love you," Felix mumbles in the dead of night, pressed up along Oliver's back, lips in his hair, arm around him, "like proper love you." Oliver is quiet, "the kind of love I've been wanting to tell you for a while, but now I'm terrified that the reasons I love you aren't even real."

It's been a few weeks, he's intergraded back into life at home, but has taken a leave of absence from Oxford. As has Oliver. He still hasn't left Saltburn, he wonders if he ever will, if he ever has to.

"What parts?" Oliver said, voice barely more than a whisper, "I'll never lie to you again; I want you to know the truth of me." There's a rush of electricity, his fingers and toes feel all tingly; he doesn't want to sound too enthusiastic, but can't help but feel a giddy rush.

"I like how you can figure heaps of stuff out, but," Felix hesitates and hums, "I don't think I like what you figured out about me," he admits.

"I'll never bring that up again," Oliver reassures him, but Felix just hums once more, "and I figured out more stuff about you, good stuff; I figured out what made me love you too."

Felix presses a kiss to the back of his head. He doesn't smile, but that's to be expected nowadays. Felix doesn't really smile a lot anymore.

But Oliver takes it for what it is; his victory.

{ epilogue }

#felix catton x reader x oliver quick #saltburn x reader #felix catton x reader #saltburn imagine #felix catton imagine #felix catton x you #oliver quick x reader #felix catton x y/n #oliver quick imagine #oliver quick x you #oliver quick x y/n #head heart hand fic #manic writer

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daddyisastateofmind · 9 months

Text

The Duke and Duchess attend the Monarchal summit

*tug tug*

"Darlin'"

*tug tug*

"Darlin'"

*tug tug*

Sam reached over and placed his hand on Darlin's hand where it was currently fiddling with their sleeve. "Darlin', look at me."

With a huff, Darlin's eyes looked up to Sam.

He struggled to withhold the smile tugging at his lips. His Darlin' was so cute when they were pouting, but Sam knew voicing that wouldn't help at this moment.

"You look wonderful Darlin'. You don't need to try and improve on perfection."

"I feel like I'm playing dress up."

"Well, you are. But so will everyone else. And they'll look way more ridiculous than you will ever feel."

Darlin' purposefully put their hands on their knees and hooked their nails into their skin to stop fidgeting. "Shoulda just sent Milo in my place. Or his mate. They both took way too much glee in treating me like a living, breathing barbie doll."

Sam smiled "Well, you don't look like a barbie right now."

"No, but that's only because I had to get out a colour wheel and show them exactly which colours they were limited to."

Sam chuckled and took one of their hands into his own. "I'm guessing that was a small amount of colours to choose from."

"Yeah, apparently too small according to them. But we ended up in a compromise - colours found in abundance in nature" They lifted their other hand and waved it over their outfit. "That's how they ended up on this. They said the category was 'Peacock Eleganza Extravaganza'"

He cocked his head to the side and ran his eyes over the outfit "Huh, you do look a little bird-ish."

Darlin' had only begun to rant "I would have looked much worse if Milo had his way - he wanted to attach actual peacock feathers to me."

Sam tried not to giggle at the thought of his Darlin' covered in feathers. "Thank god you talked him outta that."

"I didn't though!" they exploded "He insisted that the feathers were part of his vision! He only relented when his mate said that he was being too costume-y."

Sam couldn't help but giggle now.

"But then," they continued "their suggestion was to get a live peacock and walk it around on a leash all night instead! Thank god they couldn't find one to rent at the last minute. I walked out of the room as they were trying to figure out what exactly the legal repercussions would be if they were caught breaking into the zoo and stealing one."

Sam groaned around a grin "Menaces. You're a pack full of menaces."

Darlin' admired Sam's face for a second - he looked gorgeous when he lit up like that. But soon after the anxiety started to bite again.

"You know I don't belong here Sam" they said softly, scared to say it out loud.

Sam's eyes softened "In the limo?"

"Going to the summit." they tried to pull their hand out from Sam's, but he just squeezed his grip on them tighter. "This isn't me - the fanciest I get is putting on slacks and having dinner at Olive Garden." Their tone went quiet again "I'm not gonna fit in there...with them."

If there was one thing in the world Sam hated, it was the look on Darlin's face when they were insecure. They were such a strong presence - give them a task to complete and their gaze would harden and their lips pulled into a stoic grimace. Even when facing someone twice their size, they stood tall and straight, confident that they could take them on.

But insecure Darlin'? With their eyes big and soft, looking up to Sam like a little lost child? It damn near broke his heart.

"That'll make us the 2 outsiders tonight. I'm a hick from no-one-cares-ville. I've never had to - never needed - to blend in with that kinda crowd. And I aint gonna lie to you love - there are those who don't think I deserve to breathe the same air as them. But I never took that as a reason to change myself for them." He let go of their hand and put his arm around their shoulders.

"All you got to do is be yourself Darl'. That's all I ever want you to be." He placed a light kiss right in the middle of their forehead, and then tucked their head onto his shoulder.

Sam put on a smooth charming drawl "If you want, I could always tell William that we're not going to-"

Darlin' pulled away from him "No, Sam."

"But-"

"I said no. William invited me-"

Sam rolled his eyes "It's possible to decline a invitation Darlin'"

"Not when it was a literal gold engraved invitation, it isn't," Sam had to remind himself that it wasn't appropriate at his age to stomp his feet like a child.

"Besides, he was nice enough to invite me as part of the clan, even though I have no claim to it. I have to go."

Sam glanced at them and saw them school their expression into one of determination. "I'm going." Their voice sounded confident, but he could still see a glimpse of that lost little child in their eyes.

The limo turned a driveway and joined the queue of fancy sport cars and other limos dropping off their passengers.

"Well, if we're going, then I suppose I have to tell you something."

Darlin' responded but they were looking out the windscreen to the huge mansion they were getting closer to. "What's that?"

"But you have to promise me this never reaches the pack." That had them direct their focus straight at Sam.

"What is it?"

He grimaced and rubbed his chin. "You know how William's the king of the clan?"

"Yeah."

"And Alexis and Vincent are his progenies?"

'Yes Sam, I pay attention."

"Well, that means they get to be called the princess and prince of the clan."

"O...k... Wait, are you a pr-"

"No, nope, I'm not a prince." Sam shook his head vehemently.

The limo was inching closer to the door now - only 1 car ahead of them.

"So what are you trying to tell me?"

Was Sam sweating? He felt like he was sweating, but when he wiped his hand against his forehead, it came up dry. Gods, this was so hard. "Since I am the progeny of a king's progeny, that makes me..."

"Makes you?"

A valet opened up the door next to Sam, who took this opportunity to rush out the next words. "Well Darlin', that makes me a duke."

He quickly stepped out of the limo. Standing there, adjusting his jacket, he waited for his mate to emerge. And he waited. And he waited.

He was about to duck back inside, when Darlin finally exited the vehicle. With the biggest shit eating grin he's ever seen.

With a high put upon voice his meemaw would have described as 'hoity-toity', they slipped their arm through his and announced loudly "Come Samuel, I am absolutely famished, and I long to tell Jemima about our summer in the Hamptons."

Sam mouthed "Jemima?" as he was dragged into the mansion on Darlin's arm.

He had a feeling, even if Darlin' hid this little fact from the rest of their pack, he was going to be the butt of many jokes for years to come. But it was worth it - the delight they had his expense meant they spent the whole evening with a huge smile on their face.

Sometimes Sam was sad about his turning - how his previous life was snatched away, and then was bestowed a life he never wanted. But he saw the silver lining sometimes. If he hadn't been turned, he might have not met his Darlin'. And might not have their sparkling eyes as they introduced themselves as the mate of the Duke of the Solaire clan to as many as people as possible - taking much pleasure in pointing to Sam "That one. That one there. He's the Duke of the Solaire clan."

Sam congratulated himself for not wearing his crown tonight. He wouldn't want Darlin' to pull a muscle laughing at him.

#redacted asmr #redacted audio #redacted darlin #redacted sam #redacted tank #fanfic #lol duke collins

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julietvstheworld · 2 years

Text

( romantic lover ) ticci toby

nsfw - afab reader x ticci toby

╰┈➤ sub & virgin toby, dom reader, exhibitionism, voyeurism, praise kink/slight degradation???, mostly praise, begging

"she’s a killer, one look is all it takes

she’s a killer, and she took my breath away" eyedress

“You’re so pretty, Toby.” You complimented in a hushed tone. You were leaning on the bookshelf across from him. You watched as he nervously looked to his sides, worried that someone would see him in this pathetic state.

His thin frame was shaking hard, but he didn’t stop his tight grip from jerking himself off vigorously. Toby’s lips were parted slightly, letting out breathy gasps and moans. His light brown hair kept falling into his eyes, he pushed it back with his free hand to give you a better view of his expression. “Do you like getting off on me even if I’m fully clothed?” You bit your bottom lip as you continued to admire him lovingly. “D… Don’t word it like that.” He said bashfully. “You’re such a pervert, Toby. But then again, so am I.”

His olive-green eyes were glossed over, finally deciding to fix their gaze on you. His cheeks and nose were dusted with light freckles and a dark red blush. You watched as a bead of sweat rolled from his forehead to his cheekbone and finally down his neck. His adam’s apple bobbed as he gulped hard. “Pl… Please.” He begged. You gave him a smile, your eyes crinkling. “Use your words, Toby.” You cooed, “Just saying ‘please’ doesn’t tell me what you want.”. “Please touch me, I need you.” He begged. Your smirk grew bigger, beaming at the boy who was stroking your ego oh so much. You held out your arms for him to come to you, and he complied.

With his arms draped around your neck, you let yours wrap loosely around his waist. He couldn't keep his eyes off of yours, absolutely enamored by the idea that someone could look at him as lovingly as he does for them. His scent filled your lungs, a blend of cinnamon, firewood, and something metallic you couldn't quite put your finger on. Your hands moved under his hoodie to feel the warmth of his back. His skin was hot and slightly sweaty against your cold fingers, he flinched slightly at the sensation. Your hands rubbed him soothingly to help relax him. You pulled him by the waist ever so slightly to bring your faces closer together for a kiss.

His lips were hungry for yours, instinctively biting your lower lip for entrance. You permitted, parting your mouth as his tongue dove inside to find yours. You let one of your hands move down his back, taking your sweet time. Once you hit the top of his jeans, you began to start tracing the edge of his jeans until your index. Your finger reached just above his exposed cock, wrapping your palm on the head. You moved your thumb up and down his slit, smearing the pre-cum on it.

He pulled away from the kiss, a string of saliva connecting you two as he breathed heavily. “I… Are you… teasing me?” He asked between huffs. Instead of answering, you gave a smile before giving his shaft a long, slow, and tight stroke. He took a sharp inhale as you started building up your pace, finally deciding on a steady, but a firm one. His lips remained agape, letting out soft moans whenever your hand grazed his tip. “You… Your grip is so much tighter than mine.” He sputtered out.

Something was just so tempting about this boy. It seemed like he was made for you. Sweet, obedient, and just so adorable. His eyes pricked tears at the ends, but you kissed them away with a smile. He never stopped staring at you, as if you were the only person in the world. Sure, it was kind of mean of you to ask him to masturbate in front of you in a public place, but he seemed to be enjoying himself. No one has caught you guys yet and you just couldn’t get enough of this boy’s facial expressions.

You picked up the speed as you tightened your hold. Toby’s whimpers became louder, in response, you covered his mouth with your free hand. “We’re in a library, Toby. Be more courteous.” You whispered in his ear. Your hand left his mouth, moving so it would be facing the head of his dick. He buried his face into your shoulder, letting out a cry as he came on your fingers. The hand that was once wrapped around his cock, grabbed his chin to force him to look back at you. You shoved the fingers of your other hand into his mouth, relishing in the feeling of his tongue sucking his own cum off of them.

After he was finished, you reached into the pocket of your hoodie to retrieve a small, square wrapper. “Can you give me another one, please?” You asked. He gulped but nodded excitedly. Snatching the condom out of your hand, he hurriedly ripped the plastic. Unraveling the condom onto himself, you lifted your skirt with both hands to give him a peek. "Y…You're not wearing any…!" Toby stuttered out embarrassingly. You wrapped your arms around Toby's neck, just like how he did to you just minutes ago. He grabbed one of your legs to hold in flamingo for easier access.

Grabbing the base of his cock, you guided it to your entrance before returning your arm to be draped around him. His eyes squeezed shut before slowly unsheathing himself into you. You let out a sharp exhale as he entered you. For a second, he stayed still, his eyes still closed tightly. You placed your palm on his cheek, using your thumb to rub his skin adoringly. "If you're not ready, we can always stop. I care so deeply about you, and I want you to be comfortable, okay?" You comforted. His eyes opened to meet yours, before giving you a quick peck on the cheek. "It's not th… that. I want to do this. I'm just… This is my f… first time." He admitted.

Your eyes widened, but you quickly kissed all over his face. One on his forehead, one on his nose, one on his cheek, and one on his jawline. "It's okay, Toby, please take your time." You beamed at him. You guys have been together for a while and have done tons of sexual things, but you never realized that the two of you still haven't had sex. He leaned down, pulling you back in for another heated kiss. You felt his dick slowly thrust out of your cunt, letting it drag along your velvety walls. Once only his tip remained inside of you, he thrusted his cock back in fast and hard, the sound creating a loud clap only barely muffled by your bodies. He picked up his speed but still maintained the same amount of force in every thrust.

"Toby, fuck…! You're hitting me so deeply… Keep going." You muttered out between kisses. You caught his bottom lip between his teeth, causing him to gasp, letting you slip your tongue into his mouth. You become desperate to become closer to him, fingers becoming entangled in his chestnut locks. Feeling him rut into you so desperately, the vibrations between the kiss created by the combinations of both of your moans, everything was just so lewd. His grip on your leg became tighter, you felt his nails create small crescents as they dug themselves into your thigh.

You felt Toby's pace become faster, more sloppy, but not lacking in how deep he was reaching inside of you. His whines and whimpers were more frequent, he was getting close and so were you. His hand that wasn't holding onto you found it's way to make little circles on your clit, desperate to please you as much as you please him. Barely keeping yourself from moaning as loudly as possible, you forced your lips to clash with his as much as possible. Your grip tightened on Toby's hair as you felt your orgasm vibrate through your core as a flash of blinding white flooded your vision. Not soon after, his knuckles became white as he held onto you for dear life as he reached his second orgasm. Hot cum filled up the condom as he gave you a couple more shallow thrusts.

His cock stayed inside of you for a couple of seconds as you guys broke the kiss, staring at each other as you both gave labored breaths. You smiled as he gave you a peck on your nose, pulling out as you let go of each other. He carefully took off the condom, tying the end in a knot as he put it in his pocket. He pulled up his boxers and jeans, double-checking that he zipped up his fly. He took his gaze off of his pants after he made sure that he was presentable to look back at you. His eyes were met with you, beaming with a smile ear to ear as you stared at him.

"What? Wh… What's wrong?" Toby asked nervously. You giggled as he shyly twiddled with his thumbs. "You're just so pretty, Tobes. You took my breath away."

#ticci toby x reader #ticci toby #ticci toby smut #smut #creepypasta #creepypasta smut

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legendary-pink-dot · 9 months

Text

No Better, No Worse

Pairing: Francisco "Catfish" Morales x Santiago "Pope" Garcia x female reader

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: Blindfolds, restraints, someone asking you to choose between 2 hot men and how dare you

Word Count: 866

Summary: "You're seeing TWO guys? Which one is, you know, better?" It's a simple question, but there's no right answer.

Notes: No use of "Y/N". No mention of Frankie's child.

"You're seeing TWO guys?" whispered your new friend, her tone equal parts shocked and weirded out. "Which one is, you know, better? Not just in bed..."

It's a simple question, but there's no right answer.

Reducing it to "Well, one of them holds me down while he fucks me hard" and "But the other one goes down on me until I have to beg him to stop, that's just as good" would feel like cheating, somehow.

Thinking about them makes you smile as you grapple with the question: Frankie and Santi. Catfish and Pope. Santiago and Francisco. A pair of best friends and comrades, loyal and devoted. They're electricity and chemistry, and you need both to feel alive.

What a revelation that had been, dating one while becoming friends with the other, and suddenly one evening having that dynamic completely implode and form something new around you.

How Frankie had been a bit hesitant, letting you lead and tell him what you wanted, ever the detail-oriented soldier who prefers to follow, the calm pilot who immerses himself in whatever task is right in front of him. By contrast, Santi had dived straight in and arranged you into what he knew you wanted, as a planner who anticipates every need with a focused intensity that would have frightened you if he'd been anyone else. The sense of safety you felt around both of them had never been in question, despite the things they've done and what you knew they were capable of.

Santi's intensity unfortunately bled into his temper, running hot (but never dangerously around you) at the most trivial things, Frankie's quiet tones the only thing that could settle him. And you were the one who would always bring Frankie back to earth from the throes of his nightmares, more vivid and regular in the weeks after returning from a mission; you could always help him see what was real. In return they both took care of you, validating that your problems were important and mattered, even if they weren't life and death like theirs were. It became a closed circuit of care, flow and movement that would halt if one of you were to break away.

"Come on!" your friend prods. "You must have a preference, right?"

Both men have beautiful curls in their hair, perfect for wrapping around your fingers, at different times and for different purposes, and they both love it when you do.

Two pairs of callused hands, their roughness patterned differently: Frankie had small indents on the sides of his fingers from years of gripping mechanic's tools, Santi with raised white scars slashing his olive skin from regular training with knives, his favourite combat skill and way to de-stress. Both felt incredible on every inch of your skin, at any pressure, in any configuration.

One night when they restrained you to the bed and put a blackout mask over your eyes, binding two of your senses, you were confident you'd be able to tell which one of them had those differently rough fingers and their tongue inside you. Just when you thought you knew, a wrong but familiar voice would whisper praise directly in your ear, sending you reeling and thrilling you extra at the same time, keeping you feeling alive and on the edge.

You also thought you would be able to tell which man was inside you, but in the end you didn't really want to. They kept the blackout mask over your eyes as they took turns sliding through your wetness and deep into you, switching frequently (or so you thought), both of their mouths spilling nonstop strings of filth to intentionally alter your focus, telling you what a good girl you were to take their cocks like this and how sweet your cunt was just for them. For both of them. The different sensations had fused into a singular, heat building in your core and the resulting climax setting off theirs, and your shared comedown created an abstract form in which concepts like separation and differentation no longer existed, the three of you sweaty and spent and a mess of tangled limbs.

"Seriously, if you were on the Titanic together and only one of them could share the floating door with you, which one would you choose?" Your friend can't believe that you still haven't taken a stand on this.

She doesn't understand, can't possibly know, that it's not just you and Frankie and then also you and Santi. It's you and Frankie and Santi. A higher value to all of you as a three of a kind rather than as a pair, and unable to remove one piece without breaking up the whole. But this isn't information your new friend needs to know; she was shocked and judgemental enough when you mentioned you were dating two men at the same time. The mere idea that you three subsisted together, needed each other in ways you were still coming to understand, would probably blow her mind. Best to keep that to yourself.

You finally settle on an answer that satisfies you. "I can't choose, and don't want to. There's no better and no worse. They're just... different."

#francisco catfish morales #frankie morales x reader #triple frontier fanfic #santiago garcia #santiago garcia x reader #pedro pascal #santiago pope garcia #triple frontier triad #where's my sandwich

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listerbirdloml · 9 months

Text

Double Vison in Rose Blush

Summary: Jimmy is confused. His opinions on mullets have changed, and he has a new favourite Brooklyn Nine Nine episode.

Characters: Jimmy Kaga-Ricci, Alister 'Lister' Bird, Rowan Omondi, Angel Rahimi (very briefly), A random man I made up

Warnings: strong language (surprise surprise), slight self deprecation, VERY brief mentions to past alcoholism, someone who knows NOTHING about dance trying to write about dance

Ship: Bicci

Word Count: 3.3k

just me being silly and goofy once again

Since turning fourteen, and then fifteen, then sixteen and seventeen, eighteen, and now nineteen, Jimmy Kaga-Ricci has learned a few things.

Number one. One day, Granddad was going to die. And he had to accept that.

Number two. Being famous is not as fun as he thought it would be.

Number three. Skinny jeans maybe are a bit millennial now.

And number four. Lister Bird was hot.

Lister Bird, who fell into the filthy Rochester river when they were fifteen. Lister Bird, who once licked a lamppost on Oxford Street because Rowan dared him. Lister Bird who watched the note book at sixteen and wept for hours. Lister Bird, who refuses to wear trousers unless absolutely crucial, and Lister Bird, who sometimes bites his toenails (The worst crime out of all of these, Jimmy thought.)

He was hot. worldly renowned for it, in fact.

It was entirely unfair. No one could be that effortlessly attractive. If given a YouTube video and twenty minutes, Lister could learn any skill known to man. Be it guitar, dance, or even knitting for a week (Jimmy still had the scarf he’d been gifted), Lister was brilliant. But he was also real. He wasn’t perfect all the time, and he didn’t even try to pretend that he was. He was a recovering alcoholic with repressed mummy issues. He just so happened to have the face of Adonis and the body to match it.

It just didn’t seem to make sense to Jimmy, but after coming across his Calvin Kelvin photoshoot the other week, and this week watching the video Lister was featured in from Centurion Dance Complex (the studio in London he often attended. The fans took months to recover from those videos, and now, it would seem, Jimmy did too), it did. It made perfect sense to him.

In the video, Lister was wearing a crop top with a stupid slogan about riding cowboys that he had kept repeating as of recent, and some joggers. Nothing that significant. His hair wasn’t particularly note-worthy; it was just slightly messier than normal due to the exertion. There was a group of people involved in this dance, but Lister and another guy around their age seemed to be the main pair. The song sounded like a Eurovision judges wet dream, and Lister and the other dancer performed it just as well as Jimmy expected from the multi-talented drummer and the professional.

There was only one thing that bothered Jimmy.

It was hot. Really hot.

The song itself was suggestive, and the lyrics were definitely not ones Jimmy would show to his Grandad. But the dance was worse in a way. The other guy (Finn? Flynn? Jimmy couldn’t quite remember), was shorter than Lister, reaching his shoulder in a way similar to Jimmy. His hair was a dark brown, and his skin tone a light olive. The way that he and Lister managed to move together made Jimmy wonder if perhaps they’d been together at some point.

But then, memories of his conversation with Lister from Week-From-Hell-We-Can-No-Longer-In-Good-Conscience-Discuss put a stop to that thought process. It was true; Rowan and Jimmy had truly misjudged their best friend. That wasn’t even to mention the heavy undertones of biphobia in their assumptions. They knew Lister Bird was bisexual, and they knew he enjoyed partying. And therefore, they had begun to assume that was all he was. Some slutty bisexual who slept with anyone who caught their eye. Jimmy had truly been a terrible friend.

Something in his gut felt fuzzy as he watched Lister so gracefully follow the rhythm of the song and coordinate with those around him. Finn (or Flynn) maintained eye contact with the drummer as they both backed up, some of the backup dancers performing their own choreography. Once they were done, Lister was front and centre once again. While Jimmy couldn’t exactly comprehend what the blonde was doing as he danced, he knew he liked it. A lot. If there were accidents or missteps, Jimmy wasn’t informed enough about the art of dance to register them.

At one point, with a hand on Flynn's (Finns?) chest, Lister stood behind him, guiding their hips to sway to the music as their chests rose and fell. Flynn/Finn wraps an arm around Listers neck, and the blonde uses it to twirl them into the next part of the dance, a hand on the small of his back that splays the entire width. Staring at them like that though, standing still for the microsecond they were, Jimmy couldn’t help but imagine it was him there. Dancing in a downright dirty way with Lister, hands never leaving one another for longer than a few moments. The other dancer did look a little bit like him, stature-wise. But Jimmy had to admit that he was definitely more attractive than himself. He was all bright skin and happy eyes, while Jimmy was eye bags and moody frowns.

In the final part of the song, Lister has the other dancer lifted in the air with arms around his thighs, the camera operator coming in closer and managing to capture the slight bulge of Lister's arms from the exertion, the slight sweat clinging to his skin, and the way his chest moved up and down in his heavy breaths. His face was serious, but as the music cuts out and the audio of the music fades into the raw studio audio, he breaks into a grin as claps erupt around him. The video ends with Lister setting the guy down carefully and accepting a bottle of water.

Oh god. If the photo shoot was bad, this was terrible. Downright evil behaviour from the drummer.

"Jim?"

With a startled shout, Jimmy slammed down his laptop, pulling his headphones down and looking up.

"I was watching porn!"

Oh. god.

There was silence from Lister, who had unknowingly interrupted an awakening caused by himself. He seemed unable to piece the right words together, licking his lips a few times. Okay, well, uh, the foods here." With that, Lister headed out of the living room and back to the hallway, likely going to his room.

"That was..." It was Rowan this time, who stood in the adjoining kitchen, face mere moments away from cracking. "Well, you definitely seem innocent now." Bastard. He was enjoying this.

Jimmy groaned, sliding further into the couch and covering his face. Rowan laughed at this, his phone in his hand as he texted someone. Likely bliss to tell her of his mortifying attempt at being caught watching Lister dance.

Lister was back now, phone in hand and a quarter zip covering his upper body. He happily dug around in the bag of food until he found his order of chicken chow mien and joined Jimmy on the couch, holding another container.

"Sweet and sour, for a sour guy." Lister grinned, setting down the takeaway container on the table in front of Jimmy and turning on Netflix. Brooklyn Nine Nine, obviously. Jimmy's face was still crimson as he picked up the food, and the cutlery Lister offered him. Sitting this close to Lister before wouldn’t have bothered him before. Maybe if he was biting his toe nails. But now, sitting next to the drummer made Jimmy want to throw up. Their legs were so close; Listers pale but thick thigh was only centimetres away from Jimmys tanned and slimmer ones, and every time the blonde laughed at the TV or Rowans commentary, Jimmy felt the heat grow closer and closer.

Okay. He was definitely fucked.

"For the love of God, cut it."

"No, it’s in style."

"Is it really, Alister? Really?"

"Don’t patronise me, Rowathon." No matter how fit Jimmy had come to understand Lister was, he was still annoying.

"Im not. Im just saying, Mullets haven’t been in style since, like, my dad had one."

"You don’t get it. Im bisexual."

"What the fuck? What the fuck does that even mean?"

"JimJam, for the love of God, help me out here."

Sighing as he was forcefully pulled into this argument between his two band members, he put his phone in his pocket. "It's like his uniform, Rowan."

"Thank you!" Lister sighed appreciatively, looking at Jimmy in the mirror. They were all in the main bathroom of the flat, Jimmy sitting on a small stool they kept in there for ‘boy time’ which Lister had dubbed Jimmy's T injections. Meanwhile, Lister stood over Rowan, applying bleach to his hair. How they got cecily to agree to that Jimmy had no idea. They were planning on dying it pink, as Rowan wanted to match his older sister's new braids. But somehow they had began to argue about the mullet Lister had begun to grow. Rowan hated it, repeatedly calling it the lowest point white boys have ever reached. Lister loved it. He constantly cited drummers like Roger Taylor from Queen because he was, quote, "trying to harness their energy through hair."

"What the fuck does that mean?" Rowan sounded about at his limit.

"It means that he has a mullet, he has patchwork tattoos, he likes flares, and he dresses like a cowboy. It’s a thing."

"At least one of you hoes get me." Lister winked at Jimmy, and the nineteen-year-old couldn’t help the feelings of butterflies not only fluttering in his stomach but also attempting to break free. If this was how their fans felt about them, then honestly, Jimmy felt like he understood their mania. Well, a little, at least.

"God, I hate gay people." Jimmy and Lister laughed at that, with Lister poking his tongue out at Rowan through the mirror.

“Okay, fine, do your own hair." Lister put down the applicator and held his hands up.

"Oh, fuck off. Finish it."

"That doesn’t sound like a please or thank you, Ro-Ro." The glare that Rowan levelled Lister with through the mirror was enough for him to pick the brush back up.

As he worked away again, Jimmy disconnected from their conversation. He opened his phone again and opened his messages with Angel. He hadn’t told the others that he still spoke to her, in fear of how Rowan would react. He wasn’t exactly her biggest fan.

JimJam

Okay so here’s a hypothetical question

Angel

oh goodie

my favourite

JimJam

Ikr

So if a white boy is growing a mullet and it doesn’t immediately repulse you

What does that mean??

Angel

it means your heart has been colonised

JimJam

Hilarious for that one

No but like is that the true sign of love??

I’m looking at this like dammm and not boo tomato tomato

Angel

tomato tomato?? stop hanging around lister istg

also yeah youre like in love with lister we get it old news

did it seriously take a mullet for you to realise this??

JimJam

Blocked.

"Who you texting, Jimothy?" It was lister, and he was once again looking at him in the mirror.

"Your mum." Jimmy replied, watching as Listers face fell into mock hurt.

"Rude."

"I bet he has a boyfriend." Rowan teased, holding the towel around his shoulders tighter.

Lister looked up at that, and Jimmy was sure he could see Lister swallow, mouth no longer a relaxed smile, and now a more tense straight line. Before, Jimmy would ignore things like this. After the bathroom incident, he would’ve seen it for the obvious signs Lister at some point liked him. Now, he thought it was hot. Really fucking hot.

"Just Grandad. He was telling me we were the answer to his crossword earlier." Jimmy lied smoothly, now scrolling through his secret Twitter. It had zero links to him or the band, and he’d even blocked all mentions of himself or Rowan on it. Lister, however, well he followed several different accounts about Lister.

@/lister-bird-as-cats

@/listerbirdhourly

@/listerbirdupdates

@/birdedits

Was it weird? Absolutely. Was it the very thing he critiqued their own fans for? Yes. Was he ashamed, guilty, even? of course. Did he want to stop?

No.

The lights in the living room were set to the lowest setting, the large-screened TV creating more lights than anything else. Lister was sitting on the couch, mindlessly nibbling the tip of his thumb as he watched the Brooklyn 99 episode play in front of him. Every so often, he would pick up his phone next to him and answer a text, like a tweet, taking a picture of the screen and posting it to his story. Just mindlessly enjoying his spare time.

Jimmy only knew this because he’d been standing in the doorway for the last twenty minutes, hemming and hawing at the idea of making his presence known. In one option, he could announce himself. Join Lister on the couch. Perhaps they could share the blanket Lister had wrapped around his shoulders. Jimmy could squeeze in close to the drummer, lie his head on his chest, and listen to the heart he loved the most in the world create beautiful patterns that sounded like hymns. They could hold each other close, skin melting together in a way that wasn’t proper for two people who only called one another friends.

But in some way, he felt he didn’t deserve it. It might not have been his fault that he wasn’t aware of his feelings for Lister until recently, but he didn’t feel any less guilty over it. The blonde had spent so many years harbouring this secret from the rest of the world, only to have it drunkenly spilled in a bathroom with a kiss to an unreciprocated friend. He didn’t want to even imagine the shame Lister must have felt after that. The need to open another bottle and attempt to erase it from memory to be able to sanely move on with day-to-day life. Jimmy felt it was insensitive to then go, 'haha, oops! Turns out I actually do like you!’

"JimJam."

It would seem Lister had made the decision for him. The drummer had turned his body around, his arm leaning on the back of the couch, so that he could get a better view of the singer wordlessly occupying the doorway. His hair was a mess, and if Jimmy focused on it, he could see the darkness of a five o’clock shadow ghosting the drummer's cheeks and chin. Jimmy couldn’t help but think this was Lister at his most beautiful. Unguarded and at rest.

"You sitting down or what?"

Nowadays, saying no to Lister is incredibly difficult for Jimmy.

Shuffling farther into the room, hands wringing one another, Jimmy sat down on the far end of the couch, lister staring at him with what seemed to be fond confusion over the wide gap. Jimmy tried not to turn his head to lister fully in fear of the foolish things his impulse control might let slip. If he looked at golden hair and sapphire eyes while feeling as weak as he did in that very moment, he very well may have pounced on the unsuspecting drummer.

They sat in silence for an episode, watching as another loaded on the screen.

HalloVeen. Listers favourite.

The drummer sat up in his chair slightly, resting his elbow on the armrest and his head on his fists. He sighs through his nose, and Jimmy can’t help but stare at his lips. They’re slightly cracked, the drummer not drinking enough water. The episode plays on, with Lister huffing laughs from his nose at his favourite parts.

"I need a Jake and Amy kind of love." The drummer says mindlessly. He pulls a face for a moment before turning to Jimmy. "Uhh, I mean, you know… someday... with someone... who definitely isn’t you." It was obvious the drummer was scared about the possibility of Jimmy thinking he was coming onto him. Worried that there would be more rejection and more uncomfortableness. Nethertheless it still hurt.

Jimmy glances at him, at the worry of his thumb scratching his hands and the way he pulls the blanket tighter around himself.

No one speaks for a moment or so. And then,

"Lister, I-"

"Look Jim-"

Jake's hand is handcuffed to a filing cabinet. There’s quiet for another moment, and when Jimmy finds himself breaking it, he is most surprised.

“you go."

Lister laughed a little bit, glancing around nervously and coughing into his elbow in a manner more likely attributed to nerves than anything in his throat. He turns to face Jimmy properly.

"I uh, I promise I don’t like you anymore."

Huh?

Jimmy shook his head, trying to conjure up the right words. Words that aren’t screaming. Screams of his missed chance. Of the admiration he took for granted and used as a personal ego boost. He took too long to come to terms with his feelings. his undecided heart taking longer than he had been given time for, and now he was too late. He’d missed his opening and his chance of happiness at Listers side. Lister was speaking again.

"Yeah, yeah I promise. It doesn’t have to be uncomfortable between us anymore. We can just go back to being friends."

"Lister."

"I mean, I can’t promise that feelings are, like, absolutely gone. I'm only human, and i’ve liked- I liked you since we were like thirteen, and that's a long time for feelings to-"

Jimmy didn’t even really register the fact that his body was moving. But now that he could feel the hair in his hands and lips on his own, he realised that his muscles likely had something to do with that. His eyes are tightly shut, terrified that this would become a dream should he open them.

There’s a handmaid circling the precinct on TV. Jimmy is kissing Lister, and Lister is kissing back.

The drummer is the first to pull back, looking at Jimmy in a way that makes the singer's breath stutter in time with his heart. His eyes are wide, and his pupils are slightly blown. Blue eyes are jumping between dark brown eyes and light brown lips, seemingly unsure of which he wanted to pay attention to at the moment.

"I don’t want you to be over me." Jimmy finally manages to say, closing his eyes again and resting his forehead against Listers. The drummer's large hands are still resting on Jimmy's bicep, where they have landed in his shock at being kissed. Jimmy's own were still settled amongst long, mousey waves.

Lister doesn’t seem to be able to form words, but he leans back in and kisses the singer for another time. Everything is different from their first time, and yet it’s entirely the same. They’re at home instead of a bathroom for a concert they don’t want to play. They’re in their comfortable pyjamas rather than performative stage clothes. Jimmy isn’t worried about makeup smudging on his or Listers chin. Jimmy isn’t hanging on by a thread, and Lister isn’t drunk.

This time, when the two separate, Jimmy moves his hand to instead cradle the soft skin of Lister's cheek.

 Lister won’t speak just yet; maybe shock. Maybe distress. Maybe disgust. Or perhaps anger. justified anger towards Jimmy for unknowingly leading him on for five years, then brushing off the confession of love he received, and then changing his mind and deciding he too had feelings.

Jake and Amy are standing in an evidence room, and Lister and Jimmy are sitting on a couch.

"I know it’s selfish. I’m sorry. I really am, Lis. I know it took me some time, but I’m here now." Lister still looks like he can’t believe his luck, and they both extend him the curtosey of pretending not to see tears wetting his lash line. "I like you, Lister."

Lister lets out a chuckle that sounds like it was stuck in his throat. “Well, that's good. I was absolutely lying about being over you."

Jake is down on one knee, and Lister is kissing Jimmy.

#i was born for this #iwbft #lister bird #jimmy kaga ricci #rowan omondi #the ark #bicci #jake and amy kind of love FR #i haven’t seen b99 in so long writing this was nostalgic #lister bird ur so pretty king #osemanverse #title from Gold Rush by Taylor Swift

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beautifulbuckys · 2 years

Text

Can’t Stay Away (Part 5)

PART 4

George Weasley x Reader

Summary: The holiday season brings out the best and worst in everyone. It also causes feelings to surface, much to the Potter siblings surprise.

Warnings: A tiny bit of swearing, heated arguing, real talk between harry and reader.

Christmas time was chaotic.

The weeks before Winter Holiday was a mess. Many final exams were floating around, stressing many older students out. One day, when Fred and I were walking to the Quidditch Pitch, we saw Oliver Wood crying and ripping up his potions marks.

Yet, the holiday cheer seemed to cancel out the school-wide panic attack. The leaf garlands were now replaced with shiny tinsel. The bright colors hilariously contrasted the stone and brick in the Hogwarts castle was constructed with. The holographic green and red popped against the bland backgrounds. Many of the pumpkins used to decorate were turned into pies and other meals for us to enjoy. Now enchanted snowmen took their place. These snowmen were like the castle ghosts, they managed to conjure up their own looks and personalities. A few weeks ago, one tried to flirt with Ginny.

“Aye, firehead,” A voice boomed behind us. It had this thick New York accent, one I’ve heard in American muggle movies Harry and I had watched.

Both Ginny and I turn around, looking into the area. It’s abnormal to hear a New York accent in Scotland, sure, but it’s even more abnormal to see nothing around us. There wasn’t anyone in our eye line so we shrugged our shoulders, guessing it was someone messing with us.

“I’m down here,” The voice boomed again. It was one of the snowmen. He was around Ginny’s hip. He wore a tan vest, the buttons almost popping because of the nature of his body. He sported an undershirt too, his thin twig arms showing through the sleeves. The snowman also had a checkered golfers cap on. It sat on his frozen head like it was glued on. Professor McGonagall really outdid herself. “I’m lookin’ to ask you on a date, gorgeous.”

As politely as she could, Ginny denied the request. We continued walking to class, where she giggled as she wrote a letter to Molly updating her on the eventful life she lived.

My favorite part about the holiday decorations though? The house wreaths. Every year, each house’s student committee put together wreaths representing the respective houses. Professor Flitwick judged this competition previously. Although it’s a newer competition, it gets seriously heated. Last year, the head of the Slytherin house committee and the head of the Ravenclaw committee got into a fist fight during their Alchemy class. It was discussed to disqualify them. However, Flitwick argued for them and said they were just so excited for Christmas that they couldn’t contain themselves. Hufflepuff ended up winning.

Due to the big blowout last year, the stakes are high. Hufflepuff was hoping to begin a winning streak. Ravenclaw had won about 3 times in a row before Hufflepuff took the crown. So now those houses have an unspoken rivalry.

“Bloody hell George, did you see those two 7th years in front of us? I thought the Ravenclaw girl was going to slam her plate on the Hufflepuff’s head,” Ron shouted over the loud volume of the dining hall. It was busy here this morning, many students got breakfast as their only meal of the day before studying until the sun was down.

George nodded, “Christ, it was terrifying. I think she was gripping her plate so hard her knuckles were turning white. All over some stupid wreaths!” He exclaimed as he sat down next to Ginny, across from me.

I frown, “Hey! I like those wreaths,”

“Of course you do,” George rolled his eyes. Something about the tone of his voice got under my skin. Why on Earth did this boy have such an attitude at 7:30 in the morning? I could talk to Snape and he’d be in a better mood.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

George shrugged. “What it’s supposed to mean is of course someone like you likes some stupid Christmas wreath competition. It’s not that serious. I just find it tomfoolery, and that’s coming from me.”

I can’t help but scoff. Is he serious?

“Someone like me? God, Weasley. You’re such a pretentious ass it’s not even funny,” I slammed the crimson napkin that was positioned on my lap on the table. Shoving myself up from the bench, I stormed out of the Great Hall. I pray no other students heard the argument. Although it was too loud in there, I doubt anyone far away from where we were sitting heard. Unbeknownst to me, Harry got up and followed me into the corridor.

“Hey,” Harry grabbed my shoulder once we were out of sight. He turned me around to face him. His green eyes looked directly into mine, his jaw was clenched. “What’s going on with you and George? Be honest. One second he’s grabbing you hard enough to give bruises? But then the next you’re both walking together and whispering.”

“Nothing is going on, Harry,”

“Bullshit! I know when something is up. I’m the Prince of something being up. I’m not an idiot. Do you like him?” Harry was speaking lowly, yet urgently. It was just above a whisper, yet his tone was tense and cutthroat.

“No,” I whisper, staring at the ground. It’s a lovely ground, truly. The wear and tear of the stone shone through, cracks littering the ancient rock.

Harry’s hand returned to his side. “I said be honest,”

Harry reciprocates my sigh, but heavier. “Listen, I don’t care what happens between you two. I do, but I know I can trust you to advocate for yourself with this stuff. I was you to be happy. You’ve stuck by my side our entire childhood. You’ve advocated for me during tough times even if I didn’t know about it. You’ve defended me when times get difficult. I want this for you. You deserve someone else in your corner. If it’s George, I say go for it. I see the way you both look at each other. I know he’s done some messed up stuff but if you hold onto that resentment it’ll only rot the good personality you have.”

“What if I did?” I asked, my eyes finally returning to his. “What if I did, Harry? I don’t know what’s up. That’s honesty, not me dodging the question. One second he’s unbearable to be around and a big wise guy. But when we’re alone, he’s actually not terrible.”

“Alone?”

“Not,” I sigh, “Not like that. Whenever we’re with the group he just like gravitates towards me.”

I have no words. I just grab Harry and hold him tight.

No matter the time or the place, we’re at each other's defense. Since we were younger, I’ve been on the clock protecting Harry from all I could. Sure, I’ve failed. A lot. Shit still happens and there is still evil in the world. Yet the sun still rises and classes resume at the pace they always do. We’re all each other has.

“You’re my favorite brother,” I mutter into Harry’s shoulder. The tears that sat in my eyes began to fall, wetting the charcoal robes he was wearing.

Harry chuckles, “I’m your only brother.”

As the holiday break inched closer, so did everyone to losing their minds. Many, many students began pulling all-nighters in the library. So much so, in fact, that Dumbledore banned sleeping in the library. In response to the ban, people began just checking out the books and doing it in their common rooms. Even Ron, one of the more laid-back Weasleys, was waking up late due to the fact he studied until the sun rose. Many of the students in my History of Magic class, including George, had bloodshot eyes.

George was actually slumped over his desk, drooling onto his textbooks when I walked into the Gryffindor common room. Harry had requested a small snack, as he was cooped up in his dormitory studying as well. I had to pull a few stings with a Haywood girl, a family familiar with the Hufflepuff house. Much as the Weasleys were with Gryffindor. All I managed to get him was a banana and some regular crackers, which I suppose was better than nothing.

Silently, I tip-toed up the steps into the boys' dorms. Technically, I’m not allowed to walk up the steps due to the fact I’m not a boy, Fred and George had actually taught me a way to step without the staircase detecting me.

I quietly knocked on the door, to which there was no reply. I shrug, deciding to open up anyways. If I see anything I shouldn’t, that’s on me.

As I open up the door, I see the most adorable sight. Ron and Harry were sprawled out on a bed, books scattered everywhere. Ron had a Potions textbook opened up on his chest, however, he was out cold. Harry laid flat on his stomach. In his hand, he helped a Herbology book above if where his head lay. There were a few scrolls laid out on the floor. Some had writing, others didn’t. I stepped over the academic mess and placed Harry’s snack on his bedside table.

“Night boys,” I laughed.

The day exams were over, it was like a breath of fresh air. Many bloodshot eyes and sluggish walks transformed into bright smiles and happy laughs. It hinted that Christmas was near. Christmas used to be my least favorite holiday. Along with Harry. We never got presents. We sat and watched Dudley open all his. When we finally went to the Weasley’s full time, it became one of my favorites. Although the Weasley’s weren’t exactly rich, they tried. Everyone got presents. Nobody was ever left behind. Even if it was just one present. It never went unappreciated by the Weasley’s. Ginny loved making handmade gifts. When she found out about the necklace incident with George, she made me a gorgeous butterfly necklace. Fred and George love gifting their pranks. Ron usually just gifts snacks. Yet, I loved it. Harry loved it. It wasn’t just about the gifts to us.

It was the family.

Christmas Eve was charming. Despite the Weasley home always having a charm, tonight was something special.

The entire family sat around the fireplace after dinner. Everyone’s stomachs were full of Christmas ham and mashed potatoes. Ginny tested out a recipe from a Muggle cookbook with the carrots from our garden. The general vibe of the house was high. It was Weasley tradition to pick out 1 gift you made or purchased and gift it to whoever it belongs to.

“A magician never shares his secret, Gin,”

Ginny received a silk headband from George. A bright smile struck her face like lightning. She ran over to George and enveloped him in the tightest hug I’d ever seen.

“Thank you thank you thank you! How-how did you afford this? Where is it from? I love it!” Ginny tightened her grip on her brother. A large smile also found its way onto George’s face. Both laughed, Molly aweing at the display of affection in front of her.

Ron gifted Percy a large bag of only chocolate frogs. Despite Percy’s stuck-up attitude, he loved candy. He accepted the gift with a soft thank you. Although he thought nobody noticed, I watched him quietly dig into the bag and shove the chocolate into his mouth. Arthur got Fred a small, muggle child, chemistry set. It was a gag gift, sure. It didn’t go unappreciated by Fred though.

“Woah! Dad, this is so cool. I’m totally using this in potions to make fun of Snape,” Fred giggled.

Molly smacked Arthur with some tissue paper she had in her hand from the gift she had opened. “Don’t encourage the boys Arthur!”

Fred chuckled, leaning into my ear. “I see some howlers in our future,”

Slowly, the family dwindled down. Ron and Harry ran upstairs to go play with the model Hogwarts Express that Molly had gifted Ron. They didn’t even say good night. Percy hobbled up the stairs not too soon after, mumbling something about a stomach ache. Arthur and Molly decided to use the time to stuff some last-minute gifts underneath the tree before heading off to bed.

Ginny was laying down on the couch, with her head in my lap. I found my hands playing with her hair. It was soft, and the deepest red out of the family. It was long and incredibly fun to braid. Fred was seated next to me, having a soft conversation with George who was seated in the floor. His back was leaning on the base of the arm of the couch. His red hair was messy, and the dancing flames of the fire pit lit his face gorgeously.

Ginny looked up at me, “I can’t believe this is your like 5th Christmas with us. You’re so old,” She whined. I pulled a small strand of her hair playfully with a smug smile on my face.

“I know, I’m basically old enough to be your Grandmother. Your brothers aged me tremendously,” I giggled. The twins heard the comment and voiced their disagreement with a fake offended whine. Ginny laughed, closing her eyes.

Ginny yawned, turning so she was now facing the fireplace, her ear now on my thigh. “Tell me about it!”

As Fred and George spoke, Ginny dozed off into a slumber. The heat of the fire was comforting and warm. Perfect conditions to nap, I can’t blame her. There were a few moments where the girl let out a soft snore. It filled the gaps where Fred and George’s conversation didn’t take up all the silence.

“G’nite, Potter girl,” Fred whispered, softly nudging my shoulder. “I’m off to bed, want me to carry Ginny up?”

I shook my head, bidding Fred a good night. It left me, a sleeping Ginny, and George remaining. Normally, I’d be uncomfortable. Past me would be. I’d be filled with an angry feeling, always ready to let out a wise quip. However, the uncomfortable feeling I was left with now was one of…butterflies? After Harry and I’s talk, I got to thinking. I realized he was right. I’ve devoted so much of my time to ensuring Harry’s happiness that I was too wrapped up in being miserable. I let one mistake sour what could be a flourishing friendship. Or a possible relationship.

“Happy Christmas, George,” I blurted. The soft crackling of the wood in the fire was enough noise for me. I don’t know why I needed to add more noise.

He looked up from where he was positioned. He cracked a smile, looking me up and down. “Happy Christmas to you too. Is she awake?” I noticed I was still playing with Ginny’s hair, twisting it in between my fingers.

“No,”

George got up from where he was seated on the floor. As he turned to face me, the kitchen light highlighted the dusted red on his cheeks. The couch was close to the fire. The heat caused some redness, funny. The baby blue pajamas he wore looked too comfy. Like if I wore them I’d die from comfiness or something.

“Can I be honest?” I ask.

George chuckles nervously, “I’d hope so.”

I nod, “I had this talk with Harry. About resentment and being happy, and…us. I used to hate you. I used to carry this anger whenever I saw you but, now? It’s just, melted away. I want to be happy.”

“I’m sick of pretending to hate you,”

“Pretending?” George asks, furrowing his brows. He takes Fred’s seat next to me, while Ginny continues to sleep.

“Yeah?”

“I want you.”

George stares at me for a second. He must think I’m playing some cruel joke on him. Pranking him like he has to me so many times before. Before I can even think. Before I can convince myself to do otherwise. I grab George’s jaw and pull it towards me, locking our lips. His lips were cracked, but somehow felt so right against mine. Time could’ve stopped and it wound’t have mattered. Whatever was going on, and wherever this goes; I don’t care. This is the only feeling I want for the rest of time.

It wasn’t a long kiss. But it communicated just how I felt to George.

“I want this too,”

If I had paid any attention to the stairs to my right, I would’ve seen two shadows casting down the stairway.

“Tis the season?” Harry held out his fist.

Fred smiled. “Tis the season,” He bumped Harry’s fist, and the pair quickly returned their room so they weren’t caught. Not that they had anything to worry about.

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taglist:

@v0id-sp1rit

#george weasley #george wealsey x reader #george weasley fanfic #george weasley oneshot #george weasley x reader #george weasley x reader series #potter!reader #harry potter #harry potter imagine #harry potter fanfic #harry potter fanfiction #weasley #fred weasley #fred weasly x reader #fred weasley x reader #fred weasley oneshot #fred weasley fanfic #weasley twins #ron weasley

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toastykaykes · 1 year

Text

Ghost Whisperer: Chapter 1

Pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley X Reader

18+ Content

Warnings: Violence, Death, Drugs, Weapons, Guns, Gore, Smut,Sex, Harassment, and Assault, Abuse, etc.

AN: Hey guys, Heres Chapter 1 for y'all. Sorry, it took a while. I'm hoping to update this weekly, if not sooner.

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Your arms scrape against the rugged terrain of rocks and gravel, trying not to make too much noise. Luckily, the grass is pretty high which gives you cover. Your whole body ached from the 50 lb bag on your back, and your skin felt filthy. Holy fuck did you just want to relax at home and eat a cheeseburger and drink, but noooo. Fucking Lt. Oliver just HAD to have me come on a three musketeers adventure. Fucking asshole, I’m going to make his life-

“...I-...Inj-...”

You heard the discomforting tone of the radio static, interfering with whatever message was trying to be relayed.

“Say again, over.” You press into your mic and keep your attention to the city edge ahead.

“Capt. Patches, we have a critical down here! Jones was shot!”

No, not Jones. You press on your mic, “Roger that. Will begin the descent. What building are you located, over.”

You immediately pull yourself up and rise to a crouching position. You pull your hand over your head, securing a hood to cover your head. Rising your rifle and pushing the butt of it into your shoulder, you take a deep breath..Your legs begin to shake as you push forward down the hill, missing the jagged rocks and gravel. Despite kicking up dust, you can see homes and buildings 25 meters out, adjusting your scope to scout the perimeter. No enemy personnel could be seen doing patrols around the city. No terrorists?

You make it to the city unharmed, suspicion on high alert. Why was someone shot with no enemies in sight?

“Oliver, what is your location?” You repeat again, dodging behind a building and clearing the alley. All the buildings here were falling apart from previous battles. Holes in all the walls, Dirty, ratted clothes covering the floors of the alleys and sidewalks. It looked like a dead zone, not even civilians were around….

“This is Patches. Say again your location, over.” You spout before entering one of the homes. Broken glass scattered across the front entryway. Using your foot, you silently push aside the broken door. Your boots make crackling sounds while walking over the debris. Blood scattered along the walls of the hallway. You bring your head to lock over the scope and begin to clear the house.

Photos line the wall, giving the facade of a once-happy family. A married couple with two young kids was in every single frame. Blood scattered across the glass covering their happy faces, and making you feel goosebumps. You bust through a door, quickly rotating in case someone was hiding behind the door. Nothing. You make haste to leave and travel down to the second bedroom. As you were about to open the door, hand on the knob..you hear a gasp.

Someone’s in here…You rearrange your gun to prepare for an enemy within the room. Your (e/c) blinked a few times, before settling into a stare through the scope as your hand turns the handle to the door. In a swift movement, the door flies open as you point your gun at a slumped person in the corner of the room. Oh my God, Jones!

Sgt Jones was slumped in the corner of the room. His hood covers the top half of his face. Blood poured from his chest, and his hands were caked in blood from trying to put pressure on them. You run over to him, putting your rifle on safety and slinging it behind your back. You pull back the hood to see his eyes.

“Goddammit Jones, can you hear me?!” You breathlessly say while grasping his head with both his hands. His eyes started to roll back into his skull, “Fuck.. No, no. Not today brother. Not on my watch!”

You let go of his head, making it slump forward toward his chest. You promptly take off your pack and start rummaging through the pockets to find materials to help patch him up. As you grab the gauze and start to undo it, you call it in the radio.

“Bravo 1, this is Capt. Patches. We have a soldier down, I repeat-” The sound of a gun cocking behind you immediately made you stop.

“I think, Captain, it would be best for you to not repeat that.”

You feel the hairs stand up on the back of your neck as he says that. Your eyes go wide with the realization of what just happened.

“You killed your own brother.” You breathed out, head turning to see his face harboring a sick stomach-dropping smirk while he has his handgun pointed at you. You felt nothing but fear and betrayal washing over you.

“And I’m about to kill my sister.” With the way he was locking his gun at you, you knew you he was going to do it. All you could do was push down the mic to bravo as he took his shot.

Hot white fire washed over you.

“Ma’am, are you okay?”

Ma’am? Oh shit-

“Yes, yes. I’m okay,” You choke out, sitting up straighter and turning your gaze away from the tall brush outside your window, “I guess you could say it’s been a while since I last was in an environment like this.” You smiled a sad smile at the Private who just nodded before turning back around to look forward. His eyes took one last glance before engaging with the driver about being late or something.

You look down at your hands, rubbing your thumb over your hand as a silent promise. That this time will not end up like the last. You will not fall subjective to betrayal ever again. Your eyes try to flutter shut, welcoming sleep with open arms. Instead, every time they close, all you can see is Oliver standing over you with a gun while Jones sits dead in the corner. You scrunch your eyes harder after seeing that. Turn it off. He is not in control of me. He can’t hurt me anymore.

Tearing your eyelids apart, you realize sleep won't welcome you like you wish it would. Instead of sleep being a warm, beautiful, comforting blanket- it’s rather cold, dark, and suffocating. Just relax (y/n), you’ll get rest soon enough.

Pulling out what looks like a tube of lip gloss, you take a long drag and exhale. Feeling warmth spread across your whole chest, you take a deep breath. “How much longer till we get to the base?”

The private who talked to you before turns, “Estimated arrival is 1200, so approximately half an hour left Ma’am.” Pointing to his screen before resuming his previous position.

Half an hour… that's enough time to read some information. I’m not going to be left in the dark this time. Pulling your bag onto the bench, you start rifling through. When your hands come out, they're holding files.

Show me what you got TF-141

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“Get in here boys it’ll be any minute now.” Price yelled while moving his packs to sit alongside the door.

A chorus of yes sir followed immediately with the sound of their boots stomping down the hallway. Small laughter can be heard as Soap slaps Gaz on the back, Ghost chuckling while following behind. They drop their bags in order after Price’s.

“Any minute for your dick to get cut off, that’s what.” Soap smirks while watching Price hold back a reaction. You could tell by the fact of how he had to hold his breath for a minute, before replying.

“This isn’t the time for stand-up. Which by the way, you suck at. Any minute we’ll have our new member and then it’s wheels up for Iran.” Slapping his gloved hand on the door twice, making it slide open. People can be seen outside, hustling to do whatever they were assigned.

“Speaking of the new member, I hope the guy is half-decent at his fucking job.” Gaz gives Price a half smile that didn’t reach his eyes. It’s a rare and risky circumstance for a team like theirs to add new personnel to the mix right before a mission. No time to get comfortable together, to practice as a real team. It’s no shocker some are a little hesitant about the whole..predicament.

“What if it’s a woman?” Soap pushes Gaz’s head to the side, moving to sit down on his pack. His eyes glance around to see everyone silent.

Ghost simply stands, adjusting his gun and slinging it over his broad shoulders. “Doesn’t matter who they are. If they are good enough to be added to our team, we should be fine.” His deep, accented voice made all the men look up at the Lt, hearing his words and understanding. Ghost may be a silent killer, but when he’s with his brothers, he knows when to keep them in check.

“I appreciate your words, sir. I certainly hope I don’t let you or the team down.” You say dropping your packs beside your feet. Pulling your hood up to expose your face, you smile at all of them. I’m not even ten seconds here yet and there’s already conflict regarding a new member. Yay.

They all took a moment to take in your features. You stood there proud, showing your (e/c) eyes, hair pulled into a slick bun granting view to your undercut near the nape of your neck. Delicate yet muscular physic, your black trousers hugging your curves. Matched with a grey thermal top, adorned with a bulletproof vest. You looked almost too pretty to be in this field of work.

Capt. Price clears his throat. “Ah, it’s a pleasure to meet you, soldier. I’m Captain Price and these here are my men.” He sweeps his hand across the remaining individuals.

“Why hello there lass. I’m Sergeant John Mactavish, but I go by Soap.” Charming.

“I’m Sergeant Kyle Garrick, Gaz on the field.” Fun

You turn mister dark and brooding...

“And you, sir.” You say while looking over at Ghost. Holy fuck- If you weren’t on the same task force you would’ve been intimidated by him to say the least. He stands tall above you, his build while hidden by his attire, still impressive. His broad shoulders, muscular arms, built legs. His face adorns a skill mask, hiding his facial features except his soul-crushing eyes. His presence alone makes you feel safe yet in danger at the same time.

“Ghost.” His almost black eyes pierce yours. You can see almost, consuming by them. Filled with more demons and stories than you could imagine. You continue to stare into his eyes longer than you should’ve. Holy shit- he has an accent. And he’s hot. You haven’t even his face yet- girl you need to chill ur ass down. You gotta be a boss bitch right now. Shaking your head, you take a step back.

“Well I am Captain Patches. I am a field medic and specialize in yes, you guessed it, patching fuckers like you up.” Smirking, you turn to face Captain Price. Hearing Soap cackle and Gaz scoffing, you extend a hand to him. “Excited to be serving along you sir.”

Price cracks a half smile while shaking your hand. “Glad to have you onboard ma’am. Now that you’re here and introduced to everyone, let’s get this shit on the road. Packs up, we have to depart in T-2 minutes.”

Well at least he’s nice.

Grabbing your packs, you follow the rest lead the way outside the building and to the tarmac. Seeing the C-17 in the distance making your heart soar. I can’t believe were seeing eachother, old friend. Time to fuck some shit up. You go to pull your hood up, covering your face, but are met by another hand pulling the hood back down.

“Wha-” you turn around to see Ghost walking behind you, eyes facing forward. His hand returning to his side.

“Don’t put your hood up yet. You’ll get radios and mics during the briefing,” his dark eyes briefly glance down into yours, “Ma’am.”

Quickly turning your head back straight, you puff your cheeks. What the fuck is literally happening right now. Lord have mercy.

#simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley #ghost x you #simon riley smut #simon riley fanfic #cod mw22 #imagine #series

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cowgurrrl · 11 months

Text

I’m Still Standing

Pairing: rockstar!joel x actress!reader (except he’s at home with the kiddos in this one)

Author’s note: yes I was influenced by Pedro’s Actors on Actors interview

Summary: Actors on Actors: You and Carolina Garcia-Long [2.0k]

Warnings: talk of pregnancy/family life, the age gap is finally ✨revealed✨, relationship stuff, Carolina being the best, discussions of sex scenes, I think that’s it!!

Carolina sits across from you in a beautiful white dress that perfectly compliments her olive skin tone, smiling big and bright. You've already been talking as the crew sets up around you, and you're struggling not to have too much conversation without the cameras rolling. It's been a long time coming, but after more than a decade of working together, you two are finally sitting down with Vanity Fair to discuss your jobs. Somebody calls to action, and a set of questions pops up over Carolina's shoulder, but you don't look at them immediately; you look at her.

"I'm so happy we're doing this," you say, and she smiles.

"Me too! I feel like I haven't gotten to pick your brain about this stuff in forever." She says, settling into her big plush chair, and you nod.

"Well, it's like every other year one of us is pregnant."

"That's true because you had Sam like three or four years after I had Victoria, and then the girls were born last July, right?"

"Yeah, they're gonna be one soon." You say bittersweetly, and Carolina pouts her lips sympathetically.

"Do you think becoming a parent has changed the way you work?" She asks, and you nod.

"Oh, absolutely," you say. "Even before we had Sam, Joel and I's older daughters totally changed my life and what roles I took and how much I worked. It's kinda crazy to think about how fast it all happened. Like one day, I was able to binge-watch Law & Order: SVU with no problem, and then all of a sudden, these girls came into my life, and I couldn't even think about it because it would make me sick to my stomach."

"That's how I felt after I had Elizabeth! They just change your whole world, man."

"And can I gush about you really fast while we're talking about our kids?" You ask, and she laughs.

"Uh oh."

"No, it's all good. After I had Sam, I was so worried about how having a baby would affect my career, and my body looked different and whatever else, but you made me feel so safe and secure and loved. You reminded me I was able to have a career before I was a wife and a mother, and I could continue that career after. I don't know if I can ever describe... what you gave me because it was so integral to the actor I evolved into, and I've always had so much respect for you, not only as a friend and an actor but as a mother. And seeing how hard you worked made me want to work just as hard. Not just for me but for my children. So, thank you." You say, and Carolina reaches across the couch to grab your hand, and you smile.

"Thank you for saying that. You know how much Ryan and I love you, so I'm glad to know that we were able to give you some actually good advice," she laughs, squeezing your hand. "We've been friends for a really long time now."

"Fifteen years."

"God, are we old?"

"I don't know. Our first project together is about to turn thirteen." You say, both of you groaning as the fact settles between the two of you.

"Oh, my God, you're right!" She exclaims, dropping your hand to cover her face. "When we did Sweet Water, you had just moved to LA, right?"

"Yeah, it was my first series ever. Ryan told me you had just been cast, but they were still looking for someone to fill the role of Alex, so I went in for the audition, and I wasn't expecting anything, and they cast me right then and there."

"Which never happens."

"No, never." You agree, still not fully understanding what it is those directors saw in your all those years ago to cast you on the spot. Carolina points to her nose like she's remembering something, and you smile at the habit. She always does that when she has something to say.

"I will still get people who come up to me and tell me how much they loved that scene of us in the hospital because it was so raw."

"Well, yeah, neither of us had slept the night before because we were filming, and we just let whatever was going to happen happen, and it ended up being one of those scenes that is just… once in a lifetime, y'know?" You say, and she nods. "You were and still are such a generous scene partner in everything you do, like in how you listen and react and really find your characters. It was an amazing thing to work on with you, and I still brag about you whenever I get the chance."

"I remember filming the scene where you came into the hospital all bloody and bruised and going home to tell Ryan, 'I think this kid has some serious potential.' I mean, you were just phenomenal, so I was not surprised when you started getting picked up by all these major studios," she says. "Speaking of which, tell me about The Beginning of the End."

"What do you wanna know?" You sigh as memories of those fifteen months flood your brain.

"Everything. What was it like filming it? What did you think when you read the script? What was it like shaving your head on camera?" She asks.

"Well, shaving your head on camera isn't much different than actually shaving your head because you pretty much get one shot to make sure it's good, and that's it. But, yeah, that was a hard movie to make. I was in a really weird place mentally, and Ruth was such a complex, nuanced, broken character, so it was interesting getting to know her and hard to let her go when we wrapped up. For better or worse, I still find pieces of her in my daily life."

"I remembered you calling us from Ireland and being like, 'I don't know if I can do this. It's so hard.' And I remember telling you there was no one else out there who could bring Ruth to life the way you did, and I still believe that to my core. There is nobody who could've played Ruth the way you did."

"You and Ryan were such an anchor when I was over there because I was alone and I was working all the time, and then it was always fucking raining, which is just not good for anyone's mental health and-"

"And you and Joel weren't together at this time, right?" She asks, and your jaw drops a little as you look at the cameras.

"Caro," you say, laughing. "I don't think I've ever talked about that publicly before."

"Oh, I'm sorry!" Her hands fly over her mouth, and you reach out to grab her hand.

"No, it's okay. It's fine. All our loved ones already know the story, so it's okay," you say, squeezing her as a comfort. "But yeah, Joel and I were separated at that point which is another reason why it was so weird to be there alone."

"I remember you telling me you guys broke up, but it's been so long, and you are always together, so it's easy for me to forget about that. How long were you guys separated?"

"Pretty much the entire time I was there."

"Wow," she breathes. "Do you think that separation made your relationship stronger, or have you just not thought anything about it until I brought it up in front of cameras?" She asks, and you laugh.

"No, I definitely think it made us stronger. We were both going through a lot, and I won't speak to Joel's experiences, but for me, separation was the best thing I had to offer at that specific point in our lives. And we really didn't speak at all while I was over there because it just hurt too much, and we were both working, and he was being a dad, and there were just too many moving parts. But when I got back to LA, we had coffee, and it was like no time had passed at all."

"Things were back to normal. Just like that?" She asks, snapping her fingers, and you nod.

"It was kinda crazy because we had both grown so much in that year or so, and I was worried that he wasn't gonna like the person I was coming back as or we wouldn't feel the same, but, oh my God, I'm gonna start crying," you say as you dab at the corner of your eye. "I still had so much love for him, and being with him and the girls… it just felt right like there was nothing I wanted more in the world than to be with them. And I knew if we could survive that, we could survive anything."

"And now look at you."

"I know. Five kids and ten years later."

"How old were you when you met Joel?" She asks, and you have to look at the ceiling as you do mental math.

"I was… Gosh, I think I was twenty-eight or twenty-nine. Somewhere around there. We met when Ryan and I were filming Hyde." You say, and she furrows her brows as she thinks.

"And how old was Joel?"

"Joel was either thirty-nine or forty when we met. Or..." you trail off. "Maybe he was forty because we met in the fall, and his birthday is in September."

"Can I tell you something I've never told you before?" She asks with a mischievous glint in her eye.

"Please."

"When Ryan told me you were dating Joel, the first thing I did was google how old he was because I knew he had two kids, so I was a little worried," she says, and you laugh. "But then we met him, and he was so goddamn charming. It's really hard not to like him."

"Isn't it the worst? He's got that accent and those stupid guitarist arms and those big, brown eyes," you gush, rolling your eyes. "And he doesn't even know how pretty he is, which is the most annoying part!"

"Wait, so if you guys met during Hyde, did he know what the movie was about?" She asks, and you make an eek face.

"No, and I wasn't going to tell him because I didn't know how serious we were gonna get, but then he showed up to set with me one day, and we were filming the cabin scene-"

"Oh, the cabin scene!" She half-yells, and you laugh. "Dude, when that movie came out, I got asked about it all the time."

"Really?"

"Yeah! Well, everyone knew how close the three of us were, and when the movie came out, people were shocked that I would let my husband do a scene like that with one of his best friends. But Ryan told me he wasn't going to take the part until I read the script and approved or disapproved or whatever, but I thought it was just fantastic. Because it wasn't just about this relationship between these two people, it was about the different paths each wanted to take when it came to your character, Amber, being pregnant. Plus, it's just work. It's not like this was a real thing that was happening." She says, and you nod in agreement.

"I remember I got cast first, and then they brought us both in for a chemistry read, and we were like, 'this would be so crazy if we got to be in this movie together,' and then we were. And I think I do recall Ryan saying something about letting you read the script and you encouraging him to do which, thank you, by the way."

"I didn't do anything except give him a nudge," she shrugs. "Wait, so Joel was there when you filmed that scene?"

"Oh, my God, yeah. I tried to get him to wait in my trailer, but he didn't wanna listen to me. So, he was off in the corner while I'm, like... filming this sex scene, and it was so embarrassing because we had only been dating for a few months at that point. Plus, you're already so vulnerable in scenes like that, but Ryan and Tanya Reid, our intimacy coordinator, were so supportive, so I felt really safe," you explain. "You did a good job with that one." You say, and she laughs.

"Yeah, you too."

#one for the money two for the show #rockstar!joel x actress!reader #rockstar!joel miller x actress!reader #rockstar!joel miller #tlou au #the last of us au #dad!joel miller

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ixynaa · 1 year

Text

“SPACES BETWEEN US”

18+

Simon “Ghost” Riley x f!reader

Warnings: Language, Dry humping, Alcohol, Virgin, Fingering

Celebrating their victorious mission to exterminate Phillip Graves, Captain Price, Gaz, Ghost, Soap and Y/n spent the evening together inside of a small bar, accompanied by Laswell.

“What would you like to drink?”

Y/n snapped out of her trance, looking up at the waiter. She hadn’t realized Ghost’s eyes as she cleared her throat.

“A bloody mary, please.” She said, folding her arms over her chest. The man beside her leaned over the table, his dark eyes focusing on her as she inhaled.

“What is it?” Simon asked. She turned to look up at him, which was a big mistake. She felt her heart swell inside of her chest as she stared into his sad, dark eyes. He was beautiful, whether he wanted to admit it or not.

“Nothing.” She said quietly. “Just. . . I can’t believe we actually got him.”

“Are you doubting our skill?” It was almost an amused tone, she caught, especially by the way he drew in his brows as he watched her.

“Not yours, maybe mine.”

Ghost watched as the man placed the bloody mary on the table, and she reached out to grab the glass. He watched her intently as Y/n stirred the drink with her stick, before pulling it from her glass.

The man enjoyed watching as she stripped the stick clear of the green olives, popping one into her mouth one at a time. She chewed the first few; before taking a long drink.

The entirety of Price and Laswell’s conversation, Ghost had a difficult time paying attention to anything but Y/n. Ever since the moment after Graves was killed.

Y/n turned and looked at Ghost, and a warm flush crept to her cheeks. “What?”

Soap glanced over at the two, before glancing back to Price.

What she didn’t expect, though, was Ghost to lean forward and swipe his thumb against the corner of her mouth, wiping the faint smear of sugar on her skin. The man dropped his hand down to his side, turning his eyes back to the others.

Soap held a photo in his hands, holding it out to Ghost. As he took it and examined the photo, the blood ran cold in his veins, and his eyes rose slowly.

Y/n took the photo and felt her muscles tense. With a scoff, she swallowed.

“Who is he?” Laswell asked, looking to Price.

“Makarov.”

Y/n was startled by the time Ghost pushed his chair back and stood, towering over the woman. As he set a few dollar bills on the table, he turned and exited the bar, the door slamming shut behind him.

“Oh yeah, he’s pissed.” Soap said.

“What gave it away?” Gaz asked.

Soap glanced over at Y/n. “He needs you. You’re the only one he won’t beat the shit out of.”

Y/n stood to her feet. “Thanks for the drinks, Laswell.”

She hurried out of the bar and stepped out into the pouring rain. She quickly lifted her hood, squinting her eyes as she searched the sidewalk. When she noticed the tall, broad man walking towards the parking lot, she stuffed her hands into her pockets and jogged across the street.

“Simon!” She shouted. Ghost barely glanced over his shoulder, beginning to open the driver’s side door to the SUV. Y/n sighed, pulling open the driver’s side door before sliding into the seat.

She pulled the hood down and cursed quietly as she sat sideways in the seat to look at him. Ghost sat there, his breathing heavy and his eyes casted on the rainy windshield.

“I can’t figure out why in the bloody hell we’re sittin’ in a bar, while Shepherd and Makarov are running around like the fucking monsters they are.” Ghost began as he clenched his hands into fists. “‘S not right, it hasn’t ended with Graves—”

“I know.” Y/n said. “And we’re going to figure this out, as a team. Simon, I know you’re holding onto guilt—”

“You don’t know what I’m holding, Y/n.” His voice was dark, laced with an indescribable anger that sent a chill down her spine.

“I know you’re angry. And you have every reason to be.”

Ghost suddenly turned in his seat. “You’re right. I am angry. In fact, I’m bloody pissed. I’m ready to kill someone.”

“That’s what Soap was afraid of, why he sent me.” She said, her voice quiet. The man huffed, shaking his head.

“That was his mistake.” Ghost said, reaching for Y/n’s hand. “There’s somethin’ you should know about me, Y/n. I don’t like company when I’m pissed off.”

Y/n drew in a sharp breath as he suddenly jerked her forward, her torso over the center console. “Then what are you doing?”

“I’m taking advantage of it.” He said. Ghost pulled Y/n’s body across the console, causing her to gasp. Her thighs immediately straddled his thighs, and she felt a sudden rush of heat between her thighs as she felt his gloves hands against her thighs.

Ghost’s eyes met hers as he slid his hands up to her waist. “I need a distraction.”

Her heart raced rapidly as he slipped his hands beneath her hood. “Is that all I am to you?”

“No, you’re everything.” He said huskily. Y/n blinked several times as he lowered her body on his thigh, causing her to grip the seat beside his head. The woman exhaled as Ghost began to guide her hips back and forth.

She was beginning to lose her mind. She leaned forward, breathing in his ear. “Simon, I don’t know what I’m doing.”

“Good, I’ll teach you.” He said, pulling his gloves off of his hands. She watched him as he began unbuttoning her jeans, sliding the zipper down.

“Up,” he demanded. As she lifted her hips, he immediately tugged her jeans down before pulling her back on his thigh. Ghost watched the expression cross her features change as he lowered her down on his thigh, pressing against the dampness of her underwear.

“Fuck, you’re ready for me, aren’t you, love?” He asked, slipping his hand downward. Y/n whined lightly as he hooked his hand on the outside of her underwear, stroking her cunt. He could feel her release on his fingers, and he felt his dick throb.

“‘M going to teach you how to prepare for me.” Ghost told her, his breathing mangled as he pressed his forehead to hers. The woman didn’t respond, instead, allowed him to move her hips, back and forth. As she worked his thigh, the friction was enough for her to curl her toes. Y/n closed her eyes, listening to Ghost as he hummed in satisfaction.

“You feel that?” He quickly grabbed her hand and pressed it firmly to the front of his pants. “All from you, sergeant.”

Y/n moaned quietly as she went faster, her fingers pressing to his neck. “Let me see you, please.”

“See what? My face?” He asked her. “You’ve seen me before.”

“I want to see you, right now.” She urged, slowing her movements. Ghost lifted his hips slightly, kneading her thigh in his hands like a soft, delicate dough. “Do you need inspiration, sweetheart?”

Y/n watched as Ghost slowly removed his balaclava, his sharp jaw the first thing in her sight. Immediately, she drew her fingers over the angle, running over the thin layer of stubble. His eyes, still the same as before, seemed to lighten at her touch.

“Are you going to take me, Simon?” She asked him as she sat down on his thigh again.

“Fuckin’ hell.” The man groaned as she touched the back of his neck, just beneath his hairline. “Come here.”

His deep voice sent a thrill through her tingling body as Simon lifted her hips and yanked her underwear down her thighs. As he positioned her with her thighs apart, the man leaned forward in his seat, before slipping his fingers through her slit and rubbing her core.

Y/n moaned, arching her spine as she squirmed. Ghost made sure to watch her as he took her cunt with his hand.

“A good girl,” he cooed almost teasingly. “A good, wet girl.”

Whatever she was feeling, she wanted more. Her breasts hardened beneath her shirt, and Ghost slipped his free hand beneath the material before cupping one into his large hand. His thumb stroked the hardened bud, and he cursed as he massaged her clit.

“No fuckin’ bra, either. It’s like you were waiting for me.” Ghost said to her. Y/n closed her eyes as he fucked her with his fingers, two fingers inside of her. He leaned forward and pressed a chaste kiss to her jaw, moving his lips to her neck. As she tilted her head to give him more access, he squeezed her breast.

“God, Simon.” She moaned. Ghost lifted his head, staring into her eyes as she clenched around his fingers.

“How’s it feel?” He asked her. “Does it feel good?”

She nodded. “Yes.”

Ghost slipped another finger inside of her and hooked, sending her immediately over the edge. She thrusted into his hand, squeezing her eyes shut as he stroked her walls.

“Lesson one.” He breathed, pumping his fingers quickly. Y/n’s legs trembled on either side of his thighs as she whined, gripping his arm.

Her walls tightened around his fingers, and he exhaled. “You’re close, aren’t you?”

Y/n nodded.

“Good.” He said, hooking his fingers again. “I want you to cum on me.”

She began to pant. At this point, she didn’t care that the others were only inside just a short distance away; she wanted nothing but Simon.

He gripped her thigh as she began thrusting into his hand. “I’m—”

“Go on.” Simon encouraged. As Y/n released, she released a long moan that was music to his ears.

Ghost was tired of waiting. “Lesson two.”

Y/n watched as he began unbuckling his belt and unbuttoned his jeans. As he lowered the zipper, he immediately lifted his hips and pulled them down just below his thighs. She stared at the bulge threatening to break loose from his briefs with anticipation.

Pulling them down, Ghost slipped his dick into his hand and worked himself slowly. He watched her as she stared, as if she hadn’t seen one before; because she hadn’t.

And it was huge.

Ghost sighed as he slipped up his shaft, stroking his head with his thumb. “Fuck, Y/n. Do you like this?”

The woman didn’t respond, and he reached for her hand before closing it around his shaft. As he helped her move up and down, bending her wrist, the man moaned softly.

“Just like that, sweetheart. Fuck, you’re good at this already.” He said, leaning back. He watched her for a moment, noticing the concentration in her eyes as she worked him carefully. Her fingers traced over each vein bulging across his shaft, to the head. Pre cum leaked from his tip, and he pulled her hand up to stroke the thin white line.

“You’re so big,” she said quietly. “How will I. . .”

Ghost pulled her forward and positioned her above his dick, taking it into his hand as he parted her thighs farther. “I’ll make it fit. Every inch of me inside of you.”

Placing his hands on her hips, he pulled her down on top of him, the tip slipping in slowly. The more she engulfed him, the more pain it caused. The woman yelped as she buried her face into his neck.

Ghost lifted his hips and grunted as he shoved himself inside of her tight cunt. Y/n cried out, frozen on top of him as he exhaled.

“Fuck,” he whispered, placing one hand on the wheel behind her. “You’re so bloody tight.”

He lowered his hips and lifted them again, his hand sliding up her spine as he listened to her small whines. Ghost grabbed her waist, helping her move with him.

“Like this.” He instructed. “Fuck, yeah, just like this.”

Y/n rolled her hips back and forth as she was shown, and she exhaled as the pleasure began to override the pain. Ghost held her close, gripping her rear as she moved.

“It hurts.” She said, but it was muffled by a moan.

“It will. Until I’ve fucked you some more.” He told her. He pressed his lips against hers, moaning against her mouth before slipping his hand into her hair. He tugged at the roots, watching as her head fell back into his hand.

Ghost moaned as he bucked his hips, the smack of their skin echoing through the car as he did so. He gripped her jaw and forced her to look at him, the woman panting.

“Harder.”

Moving faster, he leaned back in his seat and began lifting her body, pulling it back down on his dick. The man gritted his teeth, his fingers digging into the flesh of her hips for more. She was intoxicating— her scent, her body, her. Just her.

“Fucking Christ—” he stroked her walls with every clench, feeling her warmth on his dick as he slipped in and out. Y/n breathed heavily.

“God, Simon—” she whined, watching the man as she moved. His eyes flickered to her thighs, wiping the small line of blood from her skin.

“Just a bit more, yeah?” He moaned, feeling her clench. He sighed as he lifted his hips again. “Good girls learn fast.”

His words were enough to send her into a frenzy. As her thighs began to tingle and her stomach began to burn, she squeezed her eyes shut as Ghost slammed into her again.

His dick began to throb, and his tip began to tingle. Digging his fingers into her flesh, the man sprung his hips up, and he came with a grunting moan. And as if just on cue, Y/n yelped.

She could feel his warmth in the pit of her stomach as he released, lifting her body from his. Cum splashed across Simon’s thighs as he slipped out of her.

“Fuckin’ hell.” He said, slipping the balaclava back into place over his head and face. He held her body to his, listening to her as she steadied her breath.

“Was it good?” She asked him. Ghost began pulling her underwear and her jeans back into place, exhaling. “You were brilliant.”

Y/N flushed immediately as he opened his car door.

“They’re going to wonder where we went.” She said to him.

“Yeah, well, Price owes me a fuckin’ tequila.” Ghost said as she slid out of the car behind him. They walked side by side back into the bar, where the others waited in the same place.

Soap watched, chewing on his food as Y/n sat down beside him carefully, wincing. Ghost came in last, sitting down near the others as he looked once more at Y/n.

Soap smirked as he swallowed his food. “Hail must’a hurt, aye?”

He addressed to the bruise on her neck, and the woman immediately pulled the neck of her hood up farther as she kicked Soap’s shin beneath the table.

“Aye, Lt. Find anything good outside?”

Y/n buried her face into her hands as Ghost sent the man a look, crossing his arms over his chest as he leaned back in his chair.

“Fuck off, MacTavish.”

#simon ghost riley #x female reader #x fem!reader #call of duty #smut #mw2 2022

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spicywarl0ck · 4 months

Note

Happy Friday! “Come on. I’ll show you how to dance” for Fenhawke?

Thank you very much for your ask for @dadrunkwriting, I know I took my time, but I really enjoyed writing this x3 Pairing: Fenris/mHawke Rated: G Lentgh: 1075

“Well, aren’t you a wallflower?” Hawke chuckled as he walked over to Fenris.

The elf was as broody as usual, holding a glass of wine in his hand and his ears dropped just slightly. He didn’t look pleased to be here, but Fenris was generally hard to read.

At least there had been no occasion where Hawke could read the other man’s face.

“And you are just as funny as usual,” Fenris remarked unimpressed. There was nothing changing in his expression, apart from a hint of annoyance maybe. “Shouldn’t you be on the Dancefloor?” he added, not very subtle in hinting he wanted to be left alone.

“I could ask you the same.” A grin spread on Hawke’s bearded face. “Why aren’t you dancing with someone? Surely there is someone who caught your eye.” He knew for a fact that Fenris caught many, leaving him with a minor feeling of jealousy.

“Maybe.” Fenris's answer wasn’t giving away much

He watched him bringing the glass of wine to his lips, watching them parting just slightly to allow the red liquid to pour in before his throat moved as he swallowed. It was the most beautiful way he’d ever watch someone drinking wine and he found himself falling even more than before.

How could there ever be someone as sensual as this man beside him?

“How about you?” The man beside him broke the short moment of silence, his green eyes watching him intensely. “Isn’t anyone in the crowd that caught your eye, Serah?” he added pointedly.

“Someone as known as you, should probably have a suitor… or more?”

“Ah, you see it’s a bit more complicated than that,” Hawke answered. He did have many who tried to win his favour, but there weren’t many he had an eye for, unfortunately. Well, at least none apart from the mysterious elf beside him.

Yet, there was no way he could tell him that, was there?

Actually, it was quite funny really, because Hawke never had been bad when it came to being upfront. At least, he never had been before. But when it came to Fenris, there was so much fear that what he could say would be wrong that he felt as if someone had tied a knot into his tongue.

“Complicated in what way?” The elf beside him cocked his head, seemingly intrigued.

Oh, shit, here they go.

“You see, the person I want to dance with, has yet to come forward,” Hawke answered, swallowing a heavy lump in his throat as he tried to appear confident at the same time. Yet, according to Fenris's face, he wasn’t very lucky in that department.

“Hmph, If you want to dance with them so badly, isn’t it you who should ask?” Fenris just remarked. “I bet there is no one who would deny your request,” he added silently, taking yet another sip from his wine.

“How would you know that?”

“Because you are a handsome man Hawke.” A smile played around the elf’s lips as he regarded him. His green eyes were haunting, yet intimidating at the same time, leaving the taller man speechless and suffering a dry throat.

“So, you wouldn’t pass down an invitation to dance?” Hawke asked, his heart beating violently in his chest.

He watched as Fenris's cheeks deepened in colour, a flash dancing over the olive-toned skin. The shadow of his bangs fell over his eyes for a moment, probably in an attempt to hide as he pursed his lips, searching for a possible answer.

“I’d be flattered. But I am afraid that I am no dancer.” he tried to answer as diplomatically as he could.

“You mean, that you don’t know how?” Hawke answered with a grin. “Is that what you mean?” he added, watching how the blush depended on Fenris's face. So, that was a yes then, leaving Hawke a bit smug and more confident than before.

“Probably.” Fenris evaded his question, making him more endearing to him.

“Well, in that case, that won’t be a problem.” he left a short pause before he stretched his hand out all gallantly. “Come on. I’ll show you how to dance. You see, I am quite the talented dancer.”

“No talented dancer would ever say that.” The elf scoffed, yet he could swear there was a hint of a smile showing on his face.

“Alright then, I accept,” Fenris added, setting the wine glass to the side for the moment. “Lead on then, Serah,” he added, his voice dripping with mockery while Hawke couldn’t be any happier at this moment.

It seemed that it wasn’t too foolish to hope after all.

He took his hand carefully, amazed by how warm it felt when he tugged him with him. Hawke felt a bit of reluctance but it eased up right away as the elf let him lead the way towards the dance floor.

Softly, he put them into position, taking Fenris's hands and placing them where they were supposed to be before he took the first step.

It felt like an entirely new world to him. He could feel the elf’s body connected to his, felt the warmth spreading through his skin as they took it slow, leaving time for Fenris to match every single step.

“So, how is it?” Hawke asked softly, feeling the elf’s stiffness as he gently moved them, taking the lead.

“Overrated,” Fenris answered through pressed lips, yet there was still the hint of a smile spreading on his lips. “But not too bad,” he added swiftly because he didn’t want Hawke to feel too bad.

“See, it can be fun.” Hawke was proud, the warm glint in his eyes showing how much he enjoyed this.

“So it can be. But I’d like to think, only with the right company.” Fenris dared to flirt. He had to admit he wasn’t very good when it came down to it, but for this man… maybe he could practice his flattery a bit more.

“Maybe I should make sure you only practice in the right company then,” Hawke answered while holding on tight.

There was nothing that could make him stop sweeping over the dance floor for the next free hours. Too caught up was he in Fenris' intense green eyes, the very heat of his body joining his.

And just for the moment, they both were happy, caught in the dance and only having eyes for the other.

Just as it should be.

#dragon age #dragon age fanfiction #prompt #writing #dadrunkwriting #my writing #unedited #fenhawke #fenris x hawke #fenris/mHawke

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sneakyblinders · 11 months

Text

Superstition pt ii modern!tommy shelby x ofc

A/N: pt 2 of superstition! tommy x amandine, a new ofc! set in Louisiana in modern day. read pt i here. listen to the ambiance here. warnings: sexual themes, violence, superstition, not canon, weapons, war.

Amandine watched as Tommy pulled his clothes on. Jeans, t-shirt, holster over his shoulders, gun loaded. He pushed his rings on his fingers, his signet ring and a ring she had bought him years ago. She was surprised he still wore it. He clasped a chain around his neck, one from his brother, Arthur. He sprayed his cologne on and turned around, blue eyes beaming at her. He felt more human today.

“Ready?” she asked, already hot in her sundress.

“If you are,” he said, walking out to the living room, ceiling fan chugging away at the already oppressive heat.

The drive to Amadine’s parents house was quiet. They lived about twenty minutes from them, closer to the center of the small city they lived closest to. They pulled up to the old house, which always made Tommy seethe. It screamed old money. White brick, four white pillars holding up the second story balcony with the biggest porch on a house he’d ever seen. Rocking chairs on the porch, rocking gently in the breeze, air circulating well thanks to a ceiling fan that whirred on the ceiling of the first floor.

They could smell the food from the driveway– the smoked boudin and collards, the peach pie–from the front porch.

“Della, I think someone’s here to see you,” Roseanne Theiriot said, dark eyes serious as she met Tommy’s eyes through the screen door.

Amandine and Tommy heard little footsteps running down the tile floors, stopping short when she saw her daddy. “Daddy?” she whispered.

Tommy knelt down. “It’s me, baby,” he said.

She smiled, running to him, crashing against his chest. Tommy wrapped his arms around his little girl. This little girl who he’d only seen pictures of–only ever heard her voice over a fuzzy phone call.

Amandine had gotten pregnant right before he’d enlisted in the service and gotten sent to the sandbox. He’d been away at war ever since–a topic that Amandine and Tommy fought over often. He had the opportunity to come home on leave but never took it–always choosing to stay with his men.

“This is really him?” Della asked, looking up at Amandine.

Amandine’s emotion caught in her throat. “Yes, sweetheart. This is your daddy,” she said, nodding.

“Thomas, I need to speak to you,” Roseanne said in that eerily quiet voice of hers. Gus, Amandine’s father and Roseanne’s husband walked down the hallway, and after seeing Tommy, groaned.

“Ah, fuck,” Gus groaned.

“Good to see you too, Gus,” Tommy said, standing up, Della clutching Tommy’s legs.

“Della, baby, Grandmere needs to talk to your daddy for a minute, okay? I’ll bring him right back,” Roseanne said, talking to her grandchild in a voice she only reserved for her.

Roseanne Theiriot was a force to be reckoned with, and one of the few people Tommy feared. Her hair was black, dark eyes, an olive skin tone. She always wore flowy dresses that billowed in the wind. Many people who did not understand this life, this culture, would refer to her as a witch, a fortune teller, a necromancer, a palm reader. The mystical power that was Roseanne Theiriot scared many, and enchanted all others.

The Theiriots and the Decourdreaux’s, Roseanne’s family, had been in Louisiana for generations. The land Gustav and Roseanne owned belonged to Gustav’s family going back to the 1800’s. Roseanne was raised in New Orleans. Her mother, and her mothers mother, and all the mothers before them, had been cursed with the gift of the spirits. Gifts going back to their Creole and Indigenous American roots from before Louisiana was even a state. They made their money telling fortunes and reading palms in Jackson Square. It’s how she met Gus, actually.

Gustav’s family roots traced back to the original Acadians, French immigrants pushed out of Nova Scotia in the late 1700’s. Amandine, and as a result, Delphina, affectionately nicknamed Della, had strong Louisiana roots that tied them to this land. This culture.

The Shelby’s had settled in Louisiana sometime around the 1930’s during the Great Depression, forsaking their traveler ways, but never forsaking the superstitions and beliefs that they so deeply to their core. The Gypsy beliefs that mimicked the beliefs of the Theiriots.

Roseanne pulled Tommy to the sitting room, where she shut the French doors. He pulled a cigarette out of his pocket and lit it, knowing it would bother her. “I knew you were coming, Thomas,” she said in a calm voice. “The waters were disturbed before you came back.”

Tommy tried to remain unphased, although being alone with Roseanne always sent chills up and down his spine. “Is that right?”

“I know what you did in Iraq,” Roseanne said, walking closer to him, her dark eyes boring holes into his soul. “Who is Grace?”

Images of her flashed through Tommy’s mind. Her on top of him, her lips on his skin. Sinking into her. Then her gun to his temple, nearly pulling the trigger before his men stormed the barracks, aware of the mole. The rat.

“No one,” he said simply, eyes meeting Roseanne’s.

“You should know better than to lie, Thomas,” Roseanne warned, jaw clenched. “The curse,” she shook her head slightly, her turquoise jewelry rattling.

“I haven’t betrayed Amandine in any way that she hasn’t betrayed me,” he said plainly.

Roseanne slapped Tommy across his cheek, a stinging pain shooting through him. “Don’t speak of my daughter, and the mother of your child in that way,” she seethed. “She has taken care of all your filthy business and ran it through her own business as a damn cover operation, evading arrest multiple times all to continue the filth you started, just so you would come home to her.”

“She did it for the same reason I came back to this shithole,” Tommy argued. “She did it because she doesn’t want to live the rest of her days with the mark of Cain, and a curse to rival hell’s fury,” Tommy exhaled, annoyed already. “I have a child I need to introduce myself to, so if you don’t mind, I’ll be seeing myself out. We won’t be staying for lunch,” Tommy said, forcing himself past her and out the doors.

Amandine found herself back at Marie’s the next night–the restaurant she had opened the year she fell pregnant with Della. Tommy and Della were alone together for the first time. He had decided to take her to a movie and out for pizza.

Sweat ran down Amandine’s back as she grilled off steaks and asparagus, before one of her waiters came asking for her. “Somebody here to see you, Ma’am,” the young waiter, no older than seventeen said.

“Who?” she asked, unbothered by him and far more concerned with the char on her New York Strips. The muscles in her back flexed, reminding her of the gun she had tucked in the waistband of her checked pants.

“Uh, Vincent, ma’am,” he said uncomfortably.

“Alright, I’ll be out as soon as I get this ticket done.”

Vincent Camponi was a farmer and fisherman who Amandine bought her produce and shrimp off of for the restaurant. They’d fumbled into each other one night at a bar. One thing led to another, and they couldn’t keep their hands, or mouths, off each other ever since.

“Hey, baby,” he drawled, his thick Louisiana accent making Amandine’s stomach flip.

“Vin,” she began, putting her hands on his chest to avoid his kisses. “Vin, Tommy’s back. I–I can’t do this.”

Vincent’s eyes became dark, the often playful look that was in them disappearing completely. “After the hell he’s put you through? After all the neglect? What did he do to deserve you, Dine?”

His lips were dangerously close to hers. So close. “Not a damn thing,” she breathed before their lips crashed together.

That night, Amandine tried her best to sneak home, but Tommy was up, whiskey in his hand, gun on the coffee table. Della was asleep in the recliner, curled under her favorite blanket.

“Where the hell have you been?” Tommy asked, eyes heavy with fatigue.

“Working,” she said.

He checked his watch. “Restaurant closed damn near three hours ago,” he said.

“Lots of dishes,” she said, the lie rolling off her tongue easily.

Tommy stood up, stalking towards her. “Are you trying to ruin our lives? To ruin our daughter's life?”

“What are you talking about, Tom?” Amandine sneered, trying to push past him.

“I can smell his cologne on you,” Tommy seethed, backing her against the wall. “You’re the one who made your mama cast that damn spell,” he pinned her hands above her head, against the wall, his hips crushing against hers. “And you’re gonna keep the end of the damn bargain, woman,” he sneered.

“You wanted that spell as much as I did,” she countered, wiggling her hips against his. Talks of curses and spells be damned, he had a spell on her. On her body. How she craved him. How she needed him.

“What an idiot I was,” he chuckled to himself.

“Do you love me, Thomas?” she asked, emotion cracking through her voice.

He shook his head, in disbelief of himself, of his life. “With all I fucking am,” he breathed before crashing his lips to hers.

After Tommy rolled off her for the last time that night, collapsing into exhaustion and blissed out sleep, Amandine had some time to think. Reflect. On this life. This confusing as hell love she and Tommy shared.

They’d met in high school, what seemed like eons ago now. They’d fallen head over heels in love with one another–lost their virginities to one another, shared hopes and dreams, slept out under the stars in the canals, the swamps, together in his pirogue. They’d graduated a year apart, buying their house the day after Amandine graduated.

Tommy had gotten mixed up in the wrong crowds that first year out of high school, a result of Arthur’s dealings and out of a necessity for money. The drugs had begun flowing freely when they began working as protection detail for big time dealers. And the money followed.

Amandine had proven her talent in kitchens time after time. And before he went away to war, he had bought her Marie’s–a restaurant named for her Grandmere, who taught her everything she knew about the kitchen. He had bought it for her under the condition that she would use it as a cover business to funnel his drugs through. He, Arthur and John had managed to make their own name in the business, also continuing to illegally produce their own alcohol. A form of moonshine, outlawed in the States for decades. She had reluctantly agreed.

Before Tommy went away to war, the couple, still desperately in love, bound themselves together spiritually. Roseanne cast a spell over the two of them, binding them together in love and devotion, with the warning that if their love was ever broken, calamity would befall them and all their children for the rest of their days.

The scars on their palms were from where they had bound themselves together with blood. Bodies and souls–forever bound.

Despite their awkward reunion, their wayward hearts and confused minds–Amandine knew she and Tommy would always come back together. The love they had ran deeply.

Deeper than most understood.

#tommy shelby #tommy shelby x ofc #tommy shelby x amandine #tommy shelby x oc #thomas shelby x oc #thomas shelby x ofc #thomas shelby #peakywomen #peaky fookin blinders #peaky blinder fanfic #peaky blinder imagine #sneakyblinders #louisiana au #modern!tommyshelby x ofc #modern!tommy shelby

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kingkatsuki · 1 year

Text

Aiku Oliver & @luvjiro

How you meet.

You loved this festival, but you hated the lines. Trying to find the smallest one to get any kind of food before heading back towards the main stage for your favourite bands. Trying to weave your way through the thick sea of people to find a partially shady place to rest for a few minutes until a tall, hulking guy ran directly into you beer first—

“You should watch where you’re going, sweetheart.” He grunted, still holding the now empty plastic cup in his hand.

“Are you fucking serious?” It wasn’t enough the fucking asshole had split his beer all down your top, the fries you’d just paid an exorbitant amount for after queueing for the better part of an hour, we’re now scattered all over the grass.

To say you were seething was an understatement.

“Lighten up, it’s Chase Atlantic tonight,” He grinned, and the smug look on his face only made it worse as you were about to explode.

You’d spent ages planning this cute outfit and now you’d have to spend the rest of the day wet, sticky and reeking of beer.

“You’re such a jerk,” You groaned, wishing you could wipe that smug smirk off his face.

“Aww, don’t be like that. Normally girls are happy when I make ‘em wet,” His grin only seemed to get wider, “At least you still look hot.”

You had to walk away before you punched this guy in the face for sheer audacity alone, so you turned to leave but he was quick to block your exit.

“Let me give you my shirt instead,” He offered, “As an apology.”

The word was dripping with sarcasm and it only made your mood worse, but he didn’t look like he was kidding.

“Come on, sweetheart.” He paused, tugging his oversized shirt up and over his head to expose his toned chest to the evening sunshine. His skin glistening in a thin sheen of sweat as you had to stop yourself from drooling— of course this asshole had a reason to be cocky, “I ain’t got all day.”

And you knew deep down part of him thought you wouldn’t take your shirt off in the middle of the festival arena, but you called his bluff when you pulled it over your head. Oliver made no efforts to hide that he was shamelessly ogling your chest as you handed your dirty shirt to him before tugging his Supreme branded shirt over your head.

Of course, he had to dress like a fuckboy but at least you were dry— and you still looked cute.

You were even more surprised when he pulled your shirt over his head with no hesitation, “How do I look?”

“Not as cute as me.”

You went and found a spot of grass to sit down on as you watched one of the artists performing on the stage, keeping an eye on the food truck queues in the hopes of being able to grab something to eat before Chase Atlantic. Until someone flopped to the floor beside you and held out a fresh tray of fries to you.

“I didn’t know what sauce you liked so I got both,” He shrugged, stealing a fry off the cardboard container as he grinned at you while he chewed, “Peace offering?”

Of course it was the asshole from before.

“It’s gonna take more than just fries,” You grumbled, but still took the container as you dipped them into the sauce.

And of course he left with your number in his phone (to get your shirt back obviously, nothing else-)

#it’s the way I had this idea in my head the moment I saw the outfit #before I even read what fandom it was #so when I saw bllk I was like THANK GOD 😂😂😂#jos festival matchups #ask games #ask game

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soulofapatrick · 1 year

Text

Grief and Love - Tommy Miller x Reader

Summary: Y/N works through many different emotions when arriving to Jackson - want and love being two of them

Words: 4.2k

Warnings: mentions of death; dry humping

Notes: I kinda mentally disappeared while writing this so it’s not proofread - had to repose as it glitched out on my phone

Y/N’s POV:

I’m sat at the bar, glass of whiskey in my hand and my head in my hands as my body just wants to crumble. He’s not here, I had hoped when Joel and Tommy ran to each other that I’d see a glimpse of him but there’s no trace. He’s not here. A heavy sob escapes my slightly parted lips as I can here for nothing. I only have one purpose now, to get Ellie to the fireflies and that’s all I have to hold onto now.

“There you are,” A southern lilt sounds to my left and I’m turning my head the opposite direction, wiping my tears on my sleeve and the tone softens even more, “You okay sweetheart?”

There’s movement and the sound of a bottle cork popping open before the glass in my hand gets heavier. I take a sip, frowning when it’s not whiskey but something sweet, something from the past, something like Dr Pepper. Finally giving in, I flick my eyes from the dark liquid up to look at the man the other side of the bar. His eyes are a deep brown, the nearest colour coming to mind is russet and I like it, there’s an emotion in them I can’t recognise but it’s not sympathy as I know my eyes are probably red and puffy. His light olive skin is complemented by freckles scattered around his face and my hand itches to connect the dots but I don’t even know this man and the way he was sat so close to Maria made me guess he’s not single. His hair falls in dark curls, stopping just before his shoulders, his moustache the same colour. I’m not really for facial hair like moustaches but the way it frames his face and draws attention to his lips that are currently in a curious smirk.

I’ve been staring at him and he’s been letting me without a word, the moment seemingly broken when he raises his glass to those enchanting lips and takes a sip. I can’t not watch as he leans against the back counter, crossing his ankles and his muscles defining under his plaid button up. He seems to know what he’s doing with the small rumble that erupts from his chest and I’m looking away, taking a sip of my own drink as I try to push down the feelings this man is stirring in my chest.

“You were looking for someone? A partner?” There’s something in the way he says partner that holds an unasked question. But I saw him and Maria. I’m so confused, why would he…? Am I reading too much into this?

“Brother,” I choke out, trying to steady my voice, “Last I heard he was heading here.”

“What’s his name?”

“Shepherd.”

“I’ll an ear out for the name.” He murmurs, voice low as he moves to lean on his forearms against the bar I’m leaning on, his face is so close I smell the cherry sweetness from the drink and the woodsy musk surrounding him. His eyes are deep and entrancing, full of endless possibility and the feeling of being stuck inside as the storm brews over the sea. It has me breathless and I’m leaning closer to him, him copying me and we’re so close his nose bumps mine slightly. What the fuck am I doing? This is Joel’s little brother, my best friend’s brother and I’ve only just met him but he feels it too…

“Y/N,” Joel’s gruff voice has me jumping away from Tommy, trying to not look at either Miller as I down the rest of my sweet and fizzy drink, “Come on, bedtime.”

I follow Joel like a child despite being 24 and able to decide things like my own bedtime but here I am, sending a shy smile Tommy’s way and following Joel back into the cold. It’s how it’s been ever since Joel took me with him and Ellie from Bill and Frank’s: I do as he says, when he says and he keeps me safe. He’s a strange mix between a father and a best friend that we both haven’t worked out yet. If I really had to think about it I would say platonic soulmate as I never really have to tell him what I’m thinking or feeling. He just seems to always know and right now he’s striding towards the house Maria said we could occupy for the time being with an angry purpose. I think I’d be mad if I saw him almost kissing my sister like three hours after being introduced.

“I’m sorry,” My voice is quiet and he sighs as he shuts the door behind me, “I don’t know what happened.”

“You fell for the Tommy Charm,” Joel scrubs a hand over his face tiredly before slipping out of his jacket and toeing his boots off. He’s getting comfortable and it’s weird to see this side of such a closed off and emotionally broken man but I don’t hate it. The way his whole body seems to soften, especially when Ellie reappears in clean clothes and hair wet as if she’s just had a shower. Her face is flushed and I’m glancing back to Joel, silently asking if we really have hot water and he’s nodding, “Go shower.”

“Don’t be mad at Tommy,” I whisper, waiting to see any form of reaction from him and he squeezes my shoulder which is enough for me, “I won’t be long.”

The bathroom is already steamy from Ellie’s shower and there’s two piles of clean towels and clothes - one for me and one for Joel I’m guessing as Ellie came down in clothes I didn’t recognise. I don’t hesitate to strip off the muddy, blood soaked clothes I’ve been wearing since I left Lincoln and practically jump into the shower.

Oh. Fuck. The hot water is heavenly and it takes everything for me to remember to actually wash myself and not stand there, drawing in the hot stream. The soap smells like apples and it’s something I never thought I’d experience again, taking my time to really scrub myself clean before going on to detangle my hair then washing and conditioning it.

Something about the comfort of hot water and products has that wall I’d build around my heart crack a little as the last time I had this was with Bill and Frank. The way they took me under their wing like a daughter they never got to have, Bill being sceptical at first but that was who Bill was: paranoid. He was a prepper, that’s the word Joel used when he and Tess visited for the first time. Bill had kept the area around his beautiful home safe from infected, being the sole survivor of a ghost town. Then Frank came along, falling down a hole and persuading Bill to let him stay and not long after I did the same damn thing. Frank took a liking to me immediately and Bill followed not long after, calling them my parents like they really were.

Joel and Tess came along and despite Bill’s hesitance I met them the second time they visited, gaining a curiosity about them immediately. Joel was skeptical of me while Tess seemed to warm up to me immediately, she would bring me back gifts like books when they came by and I would cook them all a meal. It was an unspoken agreement that worked for years then…

I woke up to a letter with my name on it in Frank’s deteriorating handwriting and knew what it was immediately. I had read it anyway, dropping the letter and running to the bedroom to find them… Locked in a lovers embrace forever more. I spent that day digging them a grave and saying my goodbyes before tending to the house on autopilot because if I carried on like normal nothing would change. Bill and Frank were just out checking the boundaries, they’d be back in time for dinner. Of course they would.

The sight of them on the bed is imprinted into my mind and it breaks me, I don’t care if Joel or Ellie can hear me when I double over and let out a sharp cry of pain. My knees hit the ceramic tiles, the pain barely registering as I fold, finally letting myself feel every I’ve bottled up for months. I’m clawing at my heart, trying to squeeze it back together as the tears mix with the water and that lump in my throat chokes me. I shouldn’t be here. I shouldn’t have left. I shouldn’t… what if they come back and I’m gone. No… No, I couldn’t stay there or I’d have been dead my now. I…

I don’t know how long I sit in the shower, screaming and crying until my lungs give out and there’s no more tears to fall, the ache in my chest still there and my knuckles bloody from punching the tiles in anger as it’s unfair. Why do I get to live while they-

“Y/N?” Joel’s knocking on the bathroom door and I just stay quiet, I can’t feel or hear if my voice is working over the roaring in my ears and the pounding of my broken heart. The pieces scattered all over the shower floor and running down the drain to never be found again and I just watch, “Oh sweetheart.”

The shower stops, arms guiding me to my feet and a fluffy towel is wrapped around my body to cover my modesty. I feel like I’m not here, not in control of my body as Joel leads me from the shower and is checking the damage done to my knuckles. It’s not that bad, I can flex all my fingers, still able to bring them to a fist but Joel just lets out a sound. He does a once over to see if I’m hurt anywhere else, satisfied that I’m not, before helping me into the clothes left out for me. He dries my hair the best he can with the towel before gently braiding it so it doesn’t make a watery mess as it dries. I’d have told him how much I appreciate it but he’s pressing a kiss to my forehead before disappearing from the room. I’m sinking to the floor again, hearing hushed voices before Joel reappears with Ellie this time.

I can see Ellie’s hand in mine but can’t feel it, she’s talking but it’s muffled so I just follow her back down to the living room area. She gets me to step into my shoes and does the laces up for me. I should be doing this for her not the other way around. I should be caring for the fourteen year old not the fourteen year old taking care of a twenty four year old but here we are. Ellie taking my hand again and taking me to the house across the street, knocking before leading me inside.

Maria and Tommy are there and I must look so fucking bipolar right now, having been flirty and almost kissing Tommy only minutes ago. My eyes find the clock and I think my jaw drops a little. Two hours ago. I was in that shower for almost two hours.

“Oh doll,” Maria soothes, moving to hug me but I’m moving in a different direction. She stops advancing, a knowing look crossing her face, “Let me get you a nice hot drink, why don’t you sit down lovely.” She crows before bustling off to the kitchen, Ellie hot on her tail already asking a multitude of questions.

I’m left looking at the homey living room, adorned with photos and tidbits from the past. The sofa looks well kept despite the time we’re living in the all the wooden structures like the bookcases look new, well built and sturdy. I’m migrating to it, skimming my fingers over the decaying covers and thinking of all the books from Tess that are still sat in my room, untouched and losing love.

“You like to read?” His voice is by my shoulder, a gentle hand on my left hip as he stands a little behind met to my right. I’d have shoved whoever touched me like this if it was anyone else but there’s just something so comforting and safe about Tommy.

“I used to read all the time.” My voice sounds wrecked and there’s a firm warmth pressing against my back, silently telling me it’s okay to relax. I’m falling backwards against the firm chest, letting my head fall back to his shoulder as I take a deep breath, my left hand finding his on my hip. It feels all so right and like I could be happy right here, right now. I want to introduce Tommy to Bill and Frank, knowing they’d both love him. Frank would test his knowledge on anything and everything while Bill would just stare at him with narrowed eyes as if trying to intimidate Tommy but I’d have warned Tommy about that in advance.

The fantasy gets ripped from my grasp when Maria’s strong voice has my eyes flying open, “Here’s a cup of coffee for ya doll.” She’s holding the cup of steaming liquid out for me, the sweet aroma of coffee beans filling my sense and Tommy doesn’t move away from me when I reach around him to take the cup. Why isn’t Tommy moving away from me? Isn’t Maria his wife or lover or something?

“Are you two not fucking?” Ellie asks bluntly, looking between Maria and Tommy, the latter guiding me to the couch to sit between him and Ellie while Maria takes the armchair.

“God no, Tommy’s like my right hand man.” Maria laughs warm and heartily, shaking her head at Ellie, “I’m not going to deny that I did preposition Tommy not long after he settled in but he told me was waiting for the right one.”

“The right one?” Ellie turns to Tommy with an eyebrow raised, “You didn’t want to just blow off some steam?”

“Eleanor!”

“What? He’s a guy!” Her obtuseness brings some normalcy back to me, the numbness in my heart fading slightly and I just cling to the feeling of Tommy’s arm around the back of the couch, his fingers gently playing with the braid Joel did for me. Tommy asks Ellie something and she retorts immediately, causing them all to laugh but their voices are beginning to fade as exhaustion takes over. It starts in my legs, getting heavy, then my hips seem to loosen completely and the now empty cup is being slipped from my hands before my head falls onto Tommy’s shoulder. I don’t mean to gravitate towards him, it just feels natural and my body acts on instinct, feeling safety in the mixture of woodsy musk, cherry and gunpowder that is Tommy.

——————

The bed is soft, the duvet laid over me fresh and smelling like cherries somehow. I haven’t seen cherries let alone many other fruits since… well, forever. Frank grew us some strawberries and I’ve been obsessed with them ever since but they’re long gone now. There’s another aroma in the air: coffee. Oh how I have missed coffee so, so, so much. I’m wearing an old shirt and my underwear, the rest of my clothes are neatly folded on the chair across the room.

I’m not in the bed Maria showed me to when she gave us the house across from hers. I’n not in the room either I realise. There’s a photo by the bed, the glass cracked and the picture worn with age but it’s obvious who it is: it’s Joel and Tommy with a little blonde girl. She must be Sarah. Joel talked about her once and it was so heartbreaking the way he talked about her, she was his world and I think she hung the stars for him. She looks just how Joel describes and my heart clenches a little as I wish I could have met her, met the man Joel was before the outbreak.

Sitting up I look around the rest of the room, my feet settling on the worn rug that’s on floor, taking in what I can. It’s very boyish with posters from back in the day scattered all over the walls and there’s a few more framed pictures of Joel, Tommy and Sarah on different surfaces but before I do more exploring the bedroom door opens to reveal Tommy. He’s holding a mug of coffee, entering the room and gently kicking the door closed behind him before he puts the cup on the bedside table and sits next to me. We seem to move at the same time, fingers intertwining and I’m resting my head on his shoulder so he can rest his head on mine and it’s so natural.

“Joel had a talk with me,” Tommy chuckles lightly, “You crashed out hard before he’d come round after his shower. He took Ellie home but you, even asleep refused to let my shirt go.”

“Oh.” I blush, hiding my face in my free hand and he laughs a little harder, prying my hand from my face and forcing me to look into those pools of russet with a finger under my chin.

“I think it was cute.” Tommy’s voice is a quiet murmur, eyes flicking down to my lips then back up to my gaze before he’s shifting just that little bit closer. He goes slowly, giving me time to move away and say no if I want to but of course I don’t. I’ve been wanting this since in the bar, when he almost kissed me then, I have been craving it.

His lips are soft and pillowy, the taste of coffee and bacon on them as he cups my cheek gently, lips moving against mine and drawing the air from my lungs as his other hand lands on my hip. I instinctively tangle my hand in his hair while the other lands on his neck, thumb rubbing his jaw while his moustache grazes me skin tantalisingly. I feel like my skin is on fire with every touch and breath, not wanting this to end. I’m swinging my leg over and settling in his lap, his hand on my cheek tightening as if he doesn’t want us to part either but we have to, my lungs burning from the lack of oxygen.

“You’re so beautiful.” His thumb rubs over my cheekbone as we just watch each other, chests rising and falling rapidly as we try to catch our breath. I just lean into his touch, letting my eyes slip shut and relaxing into him, feeling his hands move to wrap around my waist as I slump forwards to rest my head on his shoulder in a hug. It’s so unexpected but it’s loving and calming and everything I need right now. Being able to let my guard down is so weird and feels so wrong, I’m exhausted still but I shouldn’t be as I just had the best nights sleep ever. He presses a chaste kiss to my neck as I wrap my arms around his shoulders, feeling like I have a purpose and meaning again which I sort of lost between Lincoln and here.

“You feel it too, don’t you?” I ask quietly, scared to break the moment and Tommy’s gently shifting us so we’re laying down, facing each other. He moves my hair out of my face and I kiss his palm, a little overwhelmed by all of this: sanctuary; love; want and family. He brushes his nose against mine in an eskimo kiss, drawing an embarrassingly girly giggle from my lips and he smiles so wide. He’s flawless and I finally get to reach over, tracing the freckles with featherlight touches, watching the way his face seems to soften even more. I’m leaning forwards, lips brushing ever so slightly and it’s like I can’t get enough of him, he’s so gentle and loving towards me and it makes my heart swell.

“I feel it too.” He agrees, kissing me properly and tongue darting out to run along the seam of my lips before my lips part for him, tentatively meeting his tongue with mine. This is the most I’ve done with a guy as I did grown up during this ongoing apocalypse with only Joel as a companion and as good looking as he is we’re not like that. I know I should tell Tommy I haven’t done anything, he has a right to know he’s my first everything but I don’t want to break this moment.

“Tommy,” I place a hand on his chest, over his heart just feeling it beating beneath my palm, “I… I haven’t…” I’m blushing, burying my face in his shirt. He hums in understanding, playing with my braid and rubbing my back soothingly, “D-does that bother you?”

“Of course not baby girl.” He presses his lips to my forehead, before gripping my chin between his thumb and forefinger, forcing me to look at him, “I’ll wait until you’re ready, no matter how long it takes. I don’t mind waiting forever if I have to.”

It’s incredibly cliche but it’s adorable and I kiss his nose before remembering the coffee he brought up with him. Slipping out of his arms I sit up again, grabbing the mug and fuck me it tastes amazing. Oh how I’ve missed coffee, Joel always keeping his coffee to himself as it’s in short supply with the whole end of the world. I gotta savour this but then again this is the second cup of coffee I’ve been so they must have a supply. Tommy’s sitting up behind me, hands going to my hair and undoing the braid for me, chuckling as I down the coffee like a dehydrated man. My hair is fluffed up by his expert fingers, nails lightly scratching at my scalp and the sensation drawing a low moan from my lips.

“You sound so perfect,” He mumbles, lips ghosting over the back of my neck, more to himself than me and it seems to start a fire in my belly, “You’re so perfect.” He continues as I turn back around, a desire burning. I’m kissing the words right out of his mouth, swallowing the sound of surprise that leaves him and his hands move to my hips, “Are you sure about this?”

“I want you but…” I hesitate, feeling suddenly stupid for this as it must be teasing for him. Instead of getting annoyed he scoots us to the edge of the bed so he can plant his feet flat on the floor. He moves me so I’m practically sat on one of his legs with his hips holding tightly to my waist. My breath catches in my throat as he keeps his eyes locked on mine, searching my face for any reaction, when rolls my hips down onto the rough fabric of his jeans. It drags a broken moan from me and I’m flushing bright red but he’s kissing me again.

“Do you trust me?” He’s asking and I’m nodding, the ache between my legs getting harder and harder to ignore. My hands grip his shoulders for stability as he sets a pace, moving my hips over his clothed leg with my throbbing clit catching on the denim with every roll of my hips.

“Oh fuck, Tommy.” I whine, the pressure beginning to get almost too much, my body stuttering and he’s leading my hips down again and again, kissing me hot and heavy and full of passion and it’s building up, “O-oh Tommy.” His name falls from my lips as my thighs clamp shut and my nails dig into his back through the shirt.

“That’s it baby girl,” He coos, helping me ride through the orgasm until I’m slumping forwards against him. He moves his arms to wrap around me, kissing sweet praises into my neck as I try to breathe normally again, body still spasming and shaking, “I’m so proud of you baby girl.” Of course I’ve had an orgasm before but it’s always been me doing it to myself so to have someone else like Tommy get me off is a whole new feeling and it’s almost twice as intense. It takes longer for me to come down from the high, Tommy murmuring against my neck and rubbing my back as I slump with a small sigh.

“D-do you…?”

“It’s okay baby girl, come on lets go back to sleep.” He kisses my cheeks, moving to kiss my forehead and then places a sweet kiss to my lips before laying me back down on the bed, “Let me clean you up then I’ll join you, does that sound okay?”

“Please.”

He does just as he says, asking permission before he slides my underwear down my legs to clean my thighs and replacing them with a pair of his boxers. I watch as he shimmies out of his jeans and his shirt joins them on the floor before he’s climbing into bed with me. He pulls me into his strong arms, my head against his chest, arm around his waist and his hand carding through my hair.

“Never leave me baby girl.”

“I promise.”

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