#central cee fan fic

[hearta54]

He's A Distraction (Central Cee x Reader)

Summary: You're a dedicated student and going to Cambridge and become a doctor is your stars and heavens. To make that happen you have to move schools, a boy was never meant to be part of the picture. But Cench looks so good in it...

Word Count: 2 472

Notes: Sorry this is a bit long, I would love if you guys would send requests.

You scroll fixatedly on your laptop, scanning the screen in intense concentration and stopping each time something caught your attention. Reading the Cambridge Medicine webpage was an addiction; in the past you had tried to dissuade yourself from accepting this, but how could you not when it always stared blankly back at you? Addictive but productive, each time you re-read the sentences you had engraved into your memory you grew closer to your dream. And when you closed your eyes at night, you saw yourself in lavender scrubs and a pearly white lab coat; living your dream of being a Cambridge Alumni doctor.

Three A*s needed for entry motivated you to be an excellent student. You didn't mean to behave exaltedly but your current school was inadequate in innumerable ways. Today in biology, there hadn't been enough dissection kits, so the class had taken notes robotically and brushed over the practical. Defeated, you remembered how you had trudged home dubious; how could a school implore success in its students and not have the right resources? A memory of sitting in an examination room at Queen Victoria's Sixth Form Academy unnerved you, yes, you had sat the scholarship examination. It had been strenuous and the competition in the room had been palpable, even so, you didn't feel as if you could compete successfully. Falling asleep, you were plagued by these worrisome thoughts even in your dreams.

Obnoxiously the sound of your alarm erupted immersing the room and awakening you. Each morning when you woke up, a void would open gaping at you, existing ostentatiously: It was a persisting sense of loneliness at first; an innocuous reminder to cherish time with your parents. But this was difficult when they both left for work as the sun just began to emerge teasingly over the horizon. Your mother worked as a university professor, such a nominal salary for an intelligent woman, and your dad worked as a nurse; anyone could tell you nurses were underappreciated, numbers didn't have to. A smart knock was being emitted from the hallway, who was at the door?

A postman adorned in fluorescents held a letter for you to take, when you hesitated a second too delayed, he dropped it, walking swiftly to his flagged motorbike and zooming down the road. A Queen Victoria's Academy insignia? You felt so inauspicious as you leaned on the door prying the seal delicately open. Covering your face with your hand you peaked at the verdict through the intricate gaps between your fingers. "We would like to congratulate your success on the recent Academic Scholarship examination and invite you to accept a scholarship place with us." No words can grasp your joy it's transcending.

Yawning tiredly, you stretched placing your feet into your fluffy slippers, the night had gone and went without a wink of reprieve - you were consumed with nerves for the day ahead: Your first day at Queen Victoria's Sixth Form Academy. Opening the door, you walked across the creaking timber to make breakfast alone as you did every morning. You were befuddled to see your mother occupied in the kitchen handling an assortment of kitchenware ,readying a breakfast spread; usually you would just eat cereal; before you were pancakes, fresh fruit niftily cut, orange juice and array of salivating dishes.

"Mum why are you not at work?"

"I wanted to drive you for your first day, I can't begin to express how proud dad and I are," she said beaming excitedly.

You sat at the kitchen visualizing your mother's small, slightly dated and mediocre car driving alongside the avant-garde and luxurious cars of your new peers. Your stomach knotted half ominously and half guiltily. She seemed so happy to drive you and had sacrificed work to drive you, your inner monologue whispered insisting to take the bus would leave your mother forlorn.

"I'm glad you're taking me; I didn't really want to take the bus on my first day anyways."

Lies.

The academy's tree-lined boulevard was now in sight, driving alongside it now; planting your face against the misty window, eager to catch a glimpse. Your mother's car was now aligned with the curb which signaled a convenient space to leave; grudgingly you opened the door slowly as if peeking into a foreign world - in a way you were. You breathed in a long breath of courage as you slung your bag across your shoulders.

"Bye mum, thanks for the ride," you said, genuinely grateful.

"My pleasure darling, I love you, see you after school." Your mother grinned, pride cascading her face and carved smile lines. Guilt ebbed slowly as you watched your mother drive away. As her car dissipated to a speck in the distance a humble maroon car pulled to the curb, your mother had dropped you off with a car of a similar stature. You felt an unspoken sense of camaraderie. I'm glad I have someone to share the embarrassment with.

A boy emerged who appeared to be in the upper-sixth form - your year. He didn't seem ashamed of his car or even the slightest bit alienated; instead, he was confident, you could read if from his aura: it preceded him. Staring now, you saw his dark hair which was styled into jaw length box braids. His cutting cheek bones were iridescent, catching the sunlight, and you marveled at the softness of his plum bottom lip...

"I love you mum, thanks for the ride," he spoke to his mother with a genuine smile.

"I couldn't say no after you begged for a ride, could I? Have a good first day, Oakley."

What! He had asked for a ride. The guilt came gushing back, you weren't like him, yes you could relate about your car which was vain and face level. But he appreciated his mother wholly and wasn't attempting a façade to fit in with the elitism around. You felt a searing pang of shame. Frozen in thought you only broke out of this state when you felt dark coffee eyes meeting your gaze. The dwindling blare of the lesson bell dismissed you from the intense, awkward situation. Walking towards the office to meet the enrollment officer you chastised yourself sternly: This was the year of academic success entailing A*s, boys could tear down everything you had worked so hard for in a painful heartbeat.

The enrollment officer had distributed timetables to the small group of scholarship students; some of them gave a condescending air: Almost as if the fact testing had terminated slipped their minds, but most were nice and proffered kind but shy smiles, clipped at the edges with perceptible nerves. You navigated the halls wearily searching for your chemistry lab, the school was grandiose but tastefully understated. The look of old money attracted your gaze, it was a world away from where you had come. Walking the winding stairs, you see your chemistry class meters away from the landing 'room 299.'

Having arrived ahead of time allowed you to peruse the chemistry lab, it was a spectacle. Advanced modern equipment, granite bench tops, the most powerful microscopes... It left you speechless. You were broken from your trance by your classmates trickling in slowly and the booming voice of your new chemistry teacher.

"I am Dr. Olsen, I have a doctorate of chemistry from Oxford itself, trust you are in more than good hands," he paused to chuckle at his own joke but carried on when the students unreciprocated his mirth.

"This is the only chemistry class in the upper sixth form, that should allude to the arduous nature of the course. Therefore, to maximise your concentration I have taken it upon myself to devise a seating plan."

Dr. Olsen trailed off when the class began to groan resentfully.

"You can thank me when you receive your A-level results at the end of sixth form. Right then, in the back row, Y/N and Oakley Caesar-Su, Veronica Windward and Yasser Malik ..."

Oakley, You had been seated next to the boy from earlier this morning. You knew you shouldn't be smiling to yourself, chemistry was an imperative A-level. You weaved yourself to the back row and sat next to him.

"Hi Oakley," your voice had manifested much more timidly than you had expected.

" Yeah hey y/n, call me Cench, only my mum and tired old teachers like this one call me Oakley."

You giggled unexpectedly, he grinned back his gaze lingering. As Dr. Olsen droned on about Titration you took down notes studiously, beside you Cench was doing the same; writing down notes swiftly. You couldn't help but notice his handwriting was neat and prettily round, looking at his notes you dropped your pen. From your stool you reached down to retrieve it, on the way back up you bumped heads with Cench who had thoughtfully wanted to help.

"Oh my days, I'm sorry y/n, you good?" He was asking searching your eyes for signs of hurt.

You went to assure him you were okay when you got cut off by no other than Dr. Olsen...

"You two in the back Oakley and y/n quiet please."

"I am sorry Dr. Olsen I was just _"

"I don't want a justification take notes like everyone else, or get out," he said belittlingly.

Your cheeks got hotter as the class snapped their necks rubbernecking to witness your embarrassment, you looked at your notes mortified.

"Look, Dr. Olsen, You don't have to chat to her that way, she bumped her head and I was seeing if she was okay, yeah." Cench's jaw was locked making his cheek bones even more enunciated.

" Don't talk back Mr. Caesar-Su, detention after school." With an angered demeanor he resumed his lesson. You fought away guilt as you continued taking notes, if only I had gripped my pen tighter.

Trailing the halls advancing towards the exit, you're clouded with gratitude tinged with empathy for Cench, you hadn't meant to get him in trouble. Nor had you meant to tarnish his reputation in front of the strictest teacher. In your periphery you see Cench and your heart soars.

"Hi, Cench, I'm so sorry about earlier, I didn't think you'd get in trouble for trying to help."

"Don't worry about it y/n, that prick shouldn't have -"

"Right, students before we go into the room, these are the rules of after-school detention..." A teacher drawled these words with an expression of boredom.

You gave Cench an apologetic look over your shoulder before you opened the door, you were met by a smile and a shrug of the shoulders from Cench. The whole way home your mind is scattered with intrusive thoughts of him, you don't want them there but you don't want to fight them away either.

Cench's POV:

Detention dragged on just as I thought, thoughts of y/n appeased this listlessness because thinking of her had made it bearable. As we had worked on our assignments in silence I had chosen to continue my English literature essay. I could say I had not made much progress because the silence which filled the room was unsettling, but really it was because it was y/n who occupied my mind. Y/n with her guileless smile, her sharp and dazzling intellect, the clocked tick some more and I spent the time like this: Thinking up an interminable list of why I like y/n. Really and truly I had only met her today, but something about her...

Wrapping a towel around my waist and drying my wet braids, I hear a ping from my phone. 'You have received an email from..." It's a notification from the enrollments officer. Is this about today, I know I went overboard but I wasn't gonna let that prick talk to y/n like that.

I check what she has to say and she's saying I have to pick an extra-curricular to fulfil my scholarship expectations. That's calm, I'll join the Charitable Cause Club, I heard y/n is in it.

Y/N's POV:

At your desk you're riddled with inconsolable worry. In two days will be the chemistry exam which will make thirty percent of your semester grade. Staring at the notes in front of you which feel insurmountable you begin studying. It is well after midnight when you finally turn off your lamp and resign to sleep.

Cench's POV:

Standing around the classroom I see y/n, her eyebrows are nearly touching in what looks like worry while she reads her chemistry notes. I never thought she would panic during exam season, I think she's the smartest in our whole class. Watching her worry like eats away at me I really don't like it.

Lying awake on top of my covers despite the cold. My mind turns to y/n for the infinite time and I stop randomly at the Starbucks order she has in the morning sometimes. A regular matcha latte with two pumps of vanilla syrup and a strawberry icing doughnut embedded with fresh pieces of strawberry. Trust man's not simping... it's deeper than that.

Y/N's POV:

At 7am on a Friday morning, the library is empty. The comforting silence interrupted sporadically by the tinkering of the librarian. Today, is the day of the chemistry exam and no matter how much you study you don't feel ready for the exam. You feel warmth on your head, the feeling of someone watching you so you glance up straight into coffee eyes. It's Cench leaning on a bookcase your favourite Starbucks order in hand. Your heart skips several beats.

"Hi y/n, your such a neek you know, studying at this time." Cench says this as his eyes flick across your face, enthralled.

"I don't know, you can never be prepared enough," you retort, trying to fight a smile from showing on your lips but failing.

"I don't know about that, you'll do great, your as smart as you are cute. Which makes you very smart."

You feel your cheeks getting hotter and you stare blankly at your notebook.

Never taking his eyes off you Cench puts the drink and a paper bag down on the table.

"I got you a little something, good luck, yeah."

You watch him as he walks away, with his bag slung over one shoulder. Suddenly you are filled with the confidence he has in you.

Taking a few sips of your matcha leaves you refreshed, reaching into the paper bag your heart squeezes when you see a strawberry covered doughnut. How did he know. Looking inside the bag for napkins you see a strip of paper, unfolding the paper you read the message.

It says: You should go out with man. Scrolled on the bottom is a phone number.

You gasp earning a reprimanding look from the librarian. Your mind wanders visualising what your date with him will be like.

...

THE END

#one shot #x reader #central cee #cench #romance #fluffy #classical piano #fanfic #fanfiction #y/n #imagine #uk #ukrapper #central cee x reader #central x you #central cee fan fic #writer

[cartierre]

lando norris x music producer! fem reader

- reader is the daughter of drake

- mclaren has gained a new sponsor OVO and closed a new contract with zak brown of being their primary sponsor. fans were confused as to why drake out of all people is sponsoring a f1 team making its such an odd pairing but secretly he is a fan of his son in law🥹

- lando was spotted existing drakes house with a anonymous girl walking him out to his mclaren. fans go ballistic as to why lando is existing one of the biggest rapper house? this same girl was spotted with lando entering her dads jet and bonding with her little brother adonis basketball. lando posted adonis trash talking how lando can’t throw the basketbal in the hoop on his jpg page. SOFT LAUNCHING of family bonding with reader

- fans are so confused and started to dig into finding who this girl is come to find out she was the girl who inspired lando to pursue his dj side hustle. she the producer who collaborated with kaytranada, jorja smith, dave, central cee, lana del ray etc in making their major hits and another bombshell she’s drakes daughter

- background info lando and reader were childhood friends in his karting days since lance stroll introduced them to each other but parted ways when things were getting more serious in her music career and his formula career now current time reader are rekindling their relationship

- reader was first showed an appearance when lando a streaming and he had a heart attack when he noticed his gf was featured at the back of his stream. chat a spamming is that was drakes daughter and he says “who’s that” then she was spotted with lando at his dj set in Greece then doing a confirmation post on his jpg acc with reader at her dads concert captioning “supporting the father in law”

sorry if this sm info, you can alter however you want it but this is just a rough sketch of what the prompt can be. bw love your fics 💕💕

fc: alexis carrington

i'm not going to lie this was a lot at first. when i first read this i was soooo confused but working through it one by one made it easier. there's a lot of tweets involved in this to kind of tell their backstory. i hope i made it somewhat believable, but it was kind of hard to sketch all the connections together.

hopefully i've somewhat captured your idea the way you like it, please somehow tell me if i did it because i'm really not sure.

since way back | 𝐥𝐧𝟒

thank you so much for requesting, i really liked your idea once i somewhat figured it out how to puzzle it together!!

[moody4world]

I’m pretty sure you’re the one who introduced me to central cee😌 you were ahead of the curve because way after that he blew up and was more known LOL

i honestly think i was late to the game but i do talk abt him the most on here i feel like. i cant even find fics of him so i might have to start writing some of my own 💀💀 there’s not really any fans of him on here either i only know @harlowcomehome likes him as well

#lcandothisallday

[insomniamamma]

Oh Frien. The first fic I read of yours, dear. And this scene:

“There is one option,“ says Ezra, "One person consumes less oxygen than two–”            "What are you saying?“ Says Cee.            "There is medicine enough in the mercs’ med kit to take me to Kevva without so much as a whimper–”            “No,“ says Cee, "NO!–”            “You let me speak my piece, Little Bird,“ says Ezra, "You hear me out and then make the call. I take myself out of the calculation, with only you taxing the scrubbers that gets you another week, maybe more, you’re small you don’t need as much–”            "No,“ says Cee.            "Birdie, this will buy you time–”            "Don’t you leave me alone, Ezra.“            "Cee,” he breathes, and he knows it is futile, he knows as well as she does that there is no one coming. Kaslo was the last freighter company to make the sling and with the line dead? There will be no passing ships. There will be no mercs looking to skim off system traffic.            "Don’t you leave me alone,“ she says "Promise me.”

“Oh Kevva,“ you breathe, "Kevva inhale them, Kevva preserve them and keep them, Kevva write them into the fabric of creation, Kevva hold them tight together for nothing done in love is ever lost–” The rites for the dead spill over your lips, two mummified bodies curl against each other on one of the drop-ship’s crash couches. An adult and a child. That’s all you can tell. There is writing scrawled along a wall, but it’s nothing you can read. It looks like a variant of Central, but you can’t make it out.            "Flag it,“ says Varris, "We move on. Xeno-Anthropology will take care of them.” You press your fingers to the shell of your helmet where your lips would be and raise your hand to the ruddy sky. Kevva preserve them. Kevva watch over them.

"How long have we got?“            "I don’t rightly know, birdie,” he says, “Two cycles. Maybe three.”            "Will it hurt?“ This question twists in his chest like Inumon’s knife. He closes his eyes briefly, the weight of her gaze suddenly unbearable.

Ugh, achingly beautiful, and scary and sad. 💚

Oh Hazel. This was one of those fics where the idea hit me at work (cause that's when I saw the writer wednesday prompt) and I was like oh no. And I thought about it some more and I was still like oh no, J, you can't. And that turned in to oh no, J, you HAVE to. I was afraid to post this one TBH because we all want to believe that Ezra and Cee survived the events of Prospect and went on to live happy or, at least, less terrible lives. And that little voice in my brain was asking what if they didn't?

read Remain Nameless here

tell me the most memorable scene from any fan fic of mine

#ask games #hazel dear

[hearts-hunger]

together wing to wing || chapter five

Read on AO3 | Masterlist

chapter one | chapter two | chapter three | chapter four

Series Summary: He’s offered his protection before, on the Green. In the hospital, Cee wonders if he’ll offer it again, and Ezra wonders if she’ll even want him to.

Chapter Summary: Ezra makes a promise.

Pairings: Ezra & Cee (platonic!)

Genre: Fluff, hurt/comfort, angst, whump | Word Count: 3.4k

Warnings: hospitals, injury, mentions of canon-typical violence

A/N: We’ve reached the end of this fic! I’m pretty proud of how it turned out, and I’m so thankful for everyone that has taken the time to read it. Thank you for letting me share my thoughts on this little space family with you! ♡

Ezra’s eyes flew open in a panic.

He couldn’t breathe - something had his lungs in a vise grip, some heavy weight in the direct center of his chest that pressed so hard he thought his ribs would crack. He wheezed and coughed and gasped like a drowning thing, like he had on the Green.

The Green. Wherever he was now, it was too damn bright to be the Green. He screwed his eyes shut and heard the ragged, clawing sound of his breath as he sucked in greedy inhales. 

Where was he? He’d followed Cee into the Green. He’d promised he would. He needed to get to her, to find her - she was lost, the little thing, out there on her own - 

He felt something press against his face, hot and unwelcome; he twisted to get away from it, but he was so tired. 

“Stop fighting me, you idiot - breathe.” 

Well, that was certainly one way to talk to a man on death’s door. He trusted that voice, though, without having to think - he tried and failed to remember a time trust had come to him so easily, so implicitly.

The weight on his chest left as quickly as it came, and his lungs gusted full with clean, warm air. It was muggy, like the inside of an environment suit worn too long - maybe he was in the Green. He didn’t care. He kept his eyes closed and breathed as deeply as he could manage, fearing the ability would be lost to him again if he didn’t.

His hand was the thing being crushed now - a shaky, fearful grip that bruised his knuckles. It didn’t hurt like everything else. His surgical scar burned, his lungs were tired, the skin of his chest felt burned, of all things. His lost arm pulsed with a loud sort of pain, clamoring for his attention. His head, too, in a way it hadn’t before, as far as he could remember. But that tremulous squeezing of his hand - he’d felt that before, somewhere, as if from a dream he couldn’t quite recall. It reminded him of home, of long fields of tall-grass and glittering stars. He squeezed back, weakly, and hoped whoever it was would keep a hold of him while he got his breath back.

“Don’t do that to me again.”

The same voice that had rebuked him a moment ago, much softer this time. A little bird’s voice, weak and scared out of her wits.

He swallowed. “Cee.” His voice was cracked and hoarse, not at all up to his usual verbosity. He hoped the use of her name sufficed.

Another touch was given in response, like a hand laid on top of their joined ones. She held his only hand in both of hers, and then his knuckles were wet, like the first raindrops of a summer storm.

He opened his eyes, wincing against the brightness. His breath fogged into a mask over his nose and mouth - not an environment suit - and the hospital came into focus. He sighed so deeply with relief that his breath caught again, hitching until he eased it with another round of coughing. 

“Stop doing that.”

She looked at him with fire in her eyes, tears streaming down her cheeks, the lines of her face set in a determinedly unhappy expression. He wondered how often he’d be on the receiving end of that look, how many more times he’d fan that spark of anger and hurt that seemed to live like a trapped thing inside her rib cage.

He coughed again. “Doing what?”

“That,” she said. “Coughing. Dying.”

He took a slow breath. “Nobody’s dying, birdie.”

She shot to her feet, mad as a pit viper who’d met an unwitting, unfortunate boot tread. He took off the mask to see her better; his breaths came less easily, and he coughed to compensate. She flinched.

“Quit that,” he snapped. His head hurt, and somehow he was hurting her, and he couldn’t figure his way around both of those things together. “I’m not dying. My lungs are just shit.”

She stamped her foot in frustration, and it was such a childlike thing that it reminded him how young she really was. 

“Birdie - ”

“No!” she spat. “I don’t want to hear how you’re fine, how you’re not dying.” Her chin wobbled, and absolute anguish filled every inch of her expression.

“You were dead, Ezra,” she said. “Your heart stopped. You left me, and I hate you, you miserable bastard!”

He sucked in a sharp breath, and it made him cough again. He held up a conciliatory hand before she directed her fury his way again.

“Hold on,” he managed. He caught his breath again and tried to keep steady as a wave of dizziness compounded the pain in his head. He couldn’t think with her so tightly wound, looking ready to bolt should he show any sign of leaving her again - looking ready to leave him first. He weakly patted the side of the bed.

“Sit down, birdie.”

She did as he said, but it was a hesitating thing. She worried her lip again, and he knew it would bleed again soon.

“Say it again,” he told her. “Don’t yell at me. My head hurts.”

Her breath caught on the edge of a sob. “The doctors said your heart stopped.”

He felt a prickly, icy feeling in his chest that had little to do with his lungs. 

“No, that can’t be right,” he said. “I’m here, aren’t I? Wouldn’t Kevva be welcoming me into the hereafter if that had happened?”

She pressed her hands over her face, like she had when her nightmare frightened her so badly.

“They brought you back,” she said. “I...”

She dropped her hands to her lap; a smear of blood on the heel of her hand matched the bright red on her bottom lip.

“You fell when you passed out on the roof,” she said. Then, her expression twisted with guilt,  “I didn’t catch you in time, and you hit your head.”

That explained the pain there. He hoped she didn’t blame herself - she couldn’t have broken his fall, not with her tiny frame and his unconscious dead weight.

She took a shaky breath and continued. “I ran inside to get help, and when they brought you back inside, they said the dust infection had come back. They said that happens sometimes.”

He nodded. “It does.” He’d seen it happen before. Not in the hospital, of course, but on the Green, where there was nothing to be done for it. A body wasted away like that, drowned with dust until the lungs simply couldn’t draw another breath. The dust grew and festered and filled every corner; it was slow until it wasn’t, and in retrospect, he should have known that’s what was happening on the roof.

But, on the Green, if your heart stopped - it just stopped. There was nothing for it but to honor the dead as best you could in that murky wet soil and hope to Kevva they were some place better. That’s how he should have gone. That’s how he would have gone, were it not for the reckless, too-caring hands that flexed uncomfortably near his now, wanting to cling to him but thinking better of it.

“They said they couldn’t believe you survived it,” she said, almost in a whisper. Her face had taken on a deathly pallor, worse than he’d seen it in cycles. She looked like she had on the Green, half-starved, half-grown.

Her eyes lighted on the monitor that measured each heartbeat. “You weren’t breathing. Your heart stopped. They had to inject you with something, shock you with something - you were dead, and you jerked up like - like - ”

She shook her head, and her eyes glazed with tears.

“Alright,” he said, hoping to soothe; his rough, weary voice did little to help. “That’s alright, birdie. You don’t have to tell me. I believe I can untangle what happened from there.”

He wished to spare himself the image as much as he wanted to spare her the telling of it. The thought of his own body, wrenched lifelessly like a marionette whose stings had been pulled - he knew that’s where the burns on his chest had come from, electricity crackling though him, trying to wake something very nearly gone.

Cee looked back to him. “I thought you left me.”

Never in his life had he seen a more pitiful-looking thing, this little girl with too much grief and too few hands to hold. He took her hand in his and held on tightly.

He took a deep breath, tried to gather his strength. The thought of his heart failing again left him restless, eager to rise and prove he wasn’t going to make it out of the jaws of the Green just to drop dead in a hospital on Central. He shook with nervousness and pain, feared for his own body and feared for the little bird perched beside it.

He thought of what he could say to ease her, to bring her back from the terrifying edge of almost having been truly alone in the universe. He couldn’t bear the thought of it. More than his fear for himself, his fear for her was unconquerable by any method. She was alone, save for him, and it was a sorry excuse for good fortune; but it did not alter the fact that he was no more willing to let her venture off into the world without him now than he had been on the Green.

Even then, when all he knew of her was a venomous bite and an uncommon bravery - bravery her father had not had, bravery he had not enjoyed in a long while - he could not stomach the thought of her alone. In the pod, he knew the moment she decided to go after the mercs by herself, and a panic that had long lay dormant suddenly reared its unforgiving head. Panic like that was for those you loved and children and stray dogs, not someone with a thrower whose bite he’d already tasted. But she was a child and a bit like a stray thing, if not someone he loved. Those mercs would take everything from her, not just in the way she feared. He knew too much of being a lost, used thing to let her go alone and become one herself.

And so he’d offered protection. Useful, still, even with his wound; he was big, and strong enough to let her get away, at least, if it came to it. Even now, if he ever got the use of his lungs back, he would be a formidable guard against the things that preyed on little birds like her. Did she want him to be?

I thought you left me. Her words hung between them, stretched across the thread of fate and circumstance and dependence that kept them together despite how thinly it had been worn down. That panic stirred again, and he wondered if it hadn’t been right all along - it was for someone he loved, a child, a stray thing. His little bird.

“You said you would help me,” she said. “On the Green. Remember?”

“I do,” he said. He wondered if her thoughts had tended in a similar direction to his.

She looked like she wanted to say more, but her father’s taste for silence and a learned dislike of vulnerability held her tongue. He searched her face.

“I won’t leave you again,” he said. Simple, by his standards, but more meaningful and meant than anything else he’d said. He raised their joined hands and nudged a knuckle against her jaw, a clumsy attempt at affection; he’d had so little cause to hone the skill that it seemed crooked and broken-down, like he was.

But, oh. The tears she’d kept back with valiant effort finally would not be stopped, and her shoulders shook with sobs. He opened his palm and cradled her face; she pressed his hand to her cheek and cried until she couldn’t any more.

“Shh, little bird,” he said after a while, brushing his thumb over her cheek. She was feverish, exhausted; he wondered how long it had been since she had really cried, for as long as she needed to. He couldn’t imagine her father enduring it, and knew with certainty he had not comforted her even if he had.

“Sorry,” she said, though she made no move away from him.

“No, birdie, it’s alright,” he told her. His thumb continued to trace over the freckles on her flushed cheek. “I don’t mean to rush you. I only mean to offer some consolation, if I can. I’m afraid I’m not very well versed in it.”

She drew a choppy breath, but her tears were winding down and she looked very tired as she started to settle. She leaned into his touch and closed her eyes.

“You’re not too bad at it,” she said. He allowed himself a smile.

She raised her sleeve to her face to dry her tears, and he let his hand fall beside him. He was tired, and hurting, but he wanted to make his promise clear.

“Cee,” he said. She looked puzzled at his use of her given name, like it had become unfamiliar to her, or perhaps just sounded odd in his voice. 

“Birdie,” he tried again, and she softened. He felt his chest tighten in the way of feeling a swell of pride and love long denied.

“I’ll stay with you as long as you’ll have me,” he said. “My protection, my help, whatever you need from me - you have it. You need only take it.”

Every word felt like a stone dragged up from underwater, weighty with physical pain and vulnerability, a thing of heavy, hard work - but he’d do hard work for her, if she’d let him. Please, Birdie, let me. I cannot bear the loss of you. 

She swallowed. He watched her face for some sign of response, some indication of her thoughts towards his proposition; she looked unsteady, uncertain.

“You mean it?” she finally asked.

He let out a breath, a gusting sigh of relief.

“I mean it,” he said, more sincere than he’d been in his whole life. “Candid discourse, remember? I won’t ever lie to you.”

He wanted to hold her gaze, to communicate his willingness to talk more, if she was so inclined; but he was so tired. Of a sudden, his pains caught up with him, unhindered by his worry for her now that their relationship seemed so comfortingly sure. He leaned back on the pillow and closed his eyes against the gamut of pain his body seemed so keen to run. 

“Forgive my malaise, birdie,” he said, wheezing a little. “Takes a bit out of a body to die and come back, I’ve found.”

She huffed a laugh, and he took it as a good sign.

“You should have been sleeping,” she said, a tinge of guilt to her voice. “I shouldn’t have kept you up. I’m sorry.”

He waved his hand, a weak dismissal he hoped she saw. “No need to apologize. Your company is better medicine than most.”

She drew a congested breath, drying the last of her tears. “If someone crying all over you is your definition of good medicine, maybe you’re not as smart as I thought.”

He cracked a smile then; he could imagine the wry expression on her face, flushed and tear-streaked though it was. 

“You should get some rest, birdie,” he said. “I’m sure you’re worn out.” He doubted she had slept at all while he’d been unconscious, keeping vigil by his bed. He felt guilty for it, for frightening her so, and tempered it with the warmth that her care for him brought when he thought of it.

They shared the silence for a few moments, his breathing labored.

“Ezra,” she said quietly, like she was afraid he’d fallen asleep.

He hummed a response, saving words for when they were needed. He’d never been so sparing with them before, and couldn’t decide if he liked the change. He waited for her answer; when none was forthcoming, he wasn’t surprised when he felt her start to fidget beside him in a telltale bout of nervousness.

“Birdie,” he chided gently, hoping to ease her embarrassment, if that’s what it was. “You don’t have to mind your words so much around me. What is it?”

She sighed, perhaps at being caught out, but it seemed a touch relieved.

“You’re in a lot of pain, aren’t you?” she asked.

He frowned and opened his eyes, wincing a little against the brightness of the lights. She reached behind him and turned them off.

“Thank you,” he said hoarsely. He cleared his throat. “I’m just sore, little bird. Nothing to fuss over. The pain medication will ease that quickly enough.”

That wasn’t completely true - really, he hurt something awful - but she didn’t need to know that. Like he’d said, it was nothing the high-grade painkillers wouldn't solve with time.

She considered that. “You probably want to rest.”

He raised a brow. “Probably,” he agreed, puzzled at this line of questioning. Surely it was a roundabout way of asking something else, something she wanted but didn’t quite know how to ask for; he was determined to be patient with her, to try and ease her hesitation.

“You need to rest too,” he said again. “Why don’t you try and get some sleep?”

She shook her head, suddenly earnest, stubborn. “No.”

He sighed. “It won’t do either of us any good for you to be bone-tired. You’ll only make yourself ill.”

“I don’t want to,” she snapped defensively, but he knew better. He’d used frustration to mask fear, too, and knew she was worried about something.

“Birdie,” he said kindly. Getting things out of her was like pulling teeth, sometimes, and he wondered if anyone had been patient enough to do it before.

She looked almost surprised at his gentleness, like she’d expected a rebuke for snapping at him like that. Her shoulders slumped.

“I can’t,” she amended miserably, tired and defeated. “I can’t sleep.”

Ah. So, that’s what it was. Not her stubbornness, nor a need to spite him - she was frightened, too wound up to even try.

She gave him a miserably pleading look. “What if something happens?” He heard the unasked question: What if you die again?

He shook his head.

“Nothing’s going to happen,” he soothed. “I told you I wouldn’t leave you. Trust me.” He hoped to Kevva he could keep that promise, and he’d do his utmost to ensure he would.

“Please try, for me,” he said gently.

She didn’t say anything; then, in a desperate kind of voice, she said what she’d been meaning to all along.

“I don’t want to be alone,” she said softly. “Can I... can I stay with you?”

He softened. “Oh, birdie. Of course.”

He’d never felt this kind of responsibility towards anyone before, this easy, heart-rending concern that welled up in him whenever he looked at her. She needed caring for, and he’d do it as long as she’d let him. He knew that admission had been a vulnerable thing, and he knew its worth; he was keen to value it and her with patience and tenderness. 

He moved over to make more room for her, biting back a groan as his body protested to the movement. She curled up against him almost instantly, warm and so little, desperate for the kindness of a caring touch. He let her set the boundaries between them, giving her all the agency he could; he wanted nothing less than for her to be uncomfortable, to feel unsafe. No such worries seemed to cross her mind, though, and she pressed against his arm and buried her face against his shoulder like a child seeking comfort.

He was surprised at how much he was comforted by it, how her breathing steadied his, how her warmth soothed the pain to a dull racket. They needed each other, he thought - two lost things in need of companionship. He breathed a prayer of thanks for her, for this little bird who’d made a home in his heart.

“Ezra?” she mumbled, halfway to sleep already.

“Hm?”

She breathed a sleepy sigh. “Thanks for not leaving me.”

He smiled. “My pleasure, birdie.”

He listened as she fell asleep, her breathing evening out, finally resting after so much fear and worry. He wanted that for both of them, and was determined to find it for them and settle somewhere peace grew in abundance; for now, he rested with her, and it was a more tender kindness than any he’d known before.

pedro pascal character taglist: @punkgeekcryptid​, @tv-saved-the-teenage-girl​, @stardust-galaxies​, @theorganasolo​, @qhbr2013​, @willowtheewisp​​ ♡

series taglist: @insomniamamma​​, @motherofallthesmallthings​​ ♡

#ezra prospect #ezra prospect fanfiction #cee prospect #prospect 2018 #prospect 2018 fanfiction #maddie writes stuff! #i hope you guys like it! i'm happy with how it turned out :)

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𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐏𝐢𝐚𝐧𝐨 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐂𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐡 (𝐂𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐥 𝐂𝐞𝐞 𝐱 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫)

Summary: You have a long-lived crush on Cench, the boy across the road, piano is one thing you share. At a piano examination, you find out if your persistent feelings are reciprocated.

Notes: Originally was going to write about Tae-Moo from Business Proposal; thought this suits Central Cee better. Plus he's hot as f!ck.

Warnings: alcoholism, abusive father, a little swearing

Word Count: 2 453

When you played the piano it was like the notes were emitted from your finger tips, rather than from the instrument you love. You closed your eyes and let memory lead into the crescendo of Fur Elise. Playing the piano was a form of ecstatic escapism; it allowed you to transcend reality and exist in a void untouchable by what drained you.

Dad could drain a pungent bottle fast, even faster than he could drain you. Drifting into the decrescendo the melodic keys helped you block the intrusive thoughts you had about him. He used to be better, a memory which was slowly fading from memory. But if you were to be honest … those days when he embodied something other than an absent and sorrowful father were lost in a network of messy incidents, spurred by the violent man he became under the influence.

Sometimes dad was cordial and added to a pleasant ambience but this didn't overshadow his bad days. On these days, you would crawl within yourself, barricaded in your room playing until your fingertips felt numb and your hands lost their supple dexterity. Feeling a need to escape as your parents argued downstairs, mother was made timid by him; so she tread carefully, but even then he was so volatile. So temperamental.

So mother lived in crippling fear: That a chair would be thrown too hard, or that dad would drink too much alcohol. Extra shifts at the hospital was how she coped, running and adamantly refusing to confront - this tainted you with disappointment. Piano was the way you fought. But in rare instances when your favourite composers didn't ease your worried mind you turned to Oakley, the boy across the road.

Placing your sheet music atop of your keyboard you allowed yourself to sink into an inviting daze. Oakley Neil H.T Caesar-Su is it weird that I know his whole name, his friends call him Cench, Cench was an anomaly he made rap music and dressed in tech fleece but under the guise of his demeanor he was one of the best pianist you had witnessed … Grade seven.

When Cench played it was riveting, unconsciously tilting his head to the side and getting lost in the keys he looked like a worthy muse. You digressed, thinking about the way his plump lips upturned when he smiled. The way his dark curls caught the sun when she watched from afar. Afar... because Cench barely registered your existence.

Last week in music class, late as always; he bumped into you. As he retrieved your folder you thought you had glimpsed a twinkle in his eye. But it must have been the glare of the sun because your eyes lingered and his were unbothered; turning away. Changed into your satin PJs you switched the lamp off - some dreams were best left for sleep.

...

Morning had arrived, but as the sun rose smoothly you were ruminating. Casting your memory back to last night, you revisited the way your hands had glided over the keys. Each note seamless and crisp melting into the songs you had beautifully played. You hoped you would play as effortlessly today. Today was a pinnacle and would hopefully affirm the hours of practice and offer a haven which floated more away from what was happening at home and into your future at The Royal College of Music.

Doing your therapeutic morning skincare, you thought listlessly of life there and the endless respite it unlidded. Today you had chosen a white turtleneck layered by a wooly grey cardigan and cute pleated skirt, with opaque tights - for the glacial London winter - and legwarmers. Leaving your room you slipped on your Doc Marten's - a complementary staple in your closet.

They had not been cheap, but with the aid of your part-time job which was not overly lucrative; you were able to secure the shoes and cover the significant costs of piano tuition. Walking down, you treaded softly on the worn carpet, you could hear the wretched sound of beer bottles clinking in the kitchen. Clinging to the bannister you steadied yourself; Cench would be at the piano exam. So you put on a façade of bravery and nonchalance even though you knew it was erosive.

"Hi y/n slept well," his words weren't slurred yet. You were flummoxed, dad was usually rooted in self-interest. When did he start looking beyond himself?

" Dad..." Your words caught in the static air, it sounded so raw.

"Mmm."

"Do you think you can drop me to my piano exam it's a bit far by bus, mum is working and -" Glass smashing to smithereens startled you; you covered your head instinctually.

"Who do you think I am. A fucking taxi, take the bus. You and your God damn piano," he was seething, as he turned around you took in his bloodshot eyes. So temperamental. He wouldn't have been good to drive anyways. Rigid and shaking you rushed up the stairs hurriedly and stuffed your bag blindly with your sheet music. Your eyes were too watery. You shut the door behind you with trepidation, not wanting to spark another polarizing outburst.

Tears streaming endlessly down your face you breath caught as you saw Cench leaving his house across the road. Seeing you he seemed perturbed like he'd seen something he shouldn't have. You watched aghast as he put his earbuds in and pulled his quintessential Trapstar hoodie to shroud his possessing curls. Walking down the street with your eyes downcast, you felt mortified, you felt Cench had seen a part of your life you worked so hard to hide.

You bumped into something unmoving, "ugh," you scoffed exasperatedly. Could my day get any worse? Glancing upwards you were dumbfounded by who stood in front of you.

"Hi y/n, you alright, everything calm yeah?" Cench was looking directly into your eyes, his earbuds out.

You nodded, clutching at fading conviction. How could you tell Cench your problems when he barely knew you? So dishonestly you made it seem like everything was fine; insecurity hoodwinked you into believing he would think you were 'too much.'

Almost smirking, he rolled his eyes tilting his head to one side like he was lost in demanding piano piece.

"Why do girls always move shady? I can tell your not fine, you were tearing up and that _ " he sighed seeing the resolve you had in being stoic.

"Alright then y/n, your fine I guess. The piano exams are time away, taking the bus is mad _" he was stopped short by a honk from a car blaring rap music.

"Anyways good luck, don't stress too tough, your piano skills are hard," Cench said this as the car drove away erratically.

Piano skills? Cench knows about my piano skills? Maybe you're not so self-deluded.

...

Raveled in the chaos of the morning, walking into the revered and coveted Royal College of Music was an exhale. The school was the cornerstone of all your dreams, you could always visualize it vividly. And now here you were for a piano exam, it was a reminder that it was real and not just a conjuring of your escapist imagination.

Walking through the hall you took in the surreal architecture and basked in its splendor. I could get used to this. Peeking at your crumpled pamphlet you realised the auditorium was on your left: 'Auditorium 9B.'

You sat down in a velvety plush seat and felt yourself inflate with hope, a place hear would be a gateway to magic. A piano piece began softly, enthralling the dozens of other pianists scattered in the vast, gilded auditorium. Flicking your eyes heavenwards you saw him, playing as gracefully as ever. Sometimes you thought to yourself Cench was born solely for this very thing.

Cench's POV:

I have played this piece a thousand times before now; I perfected it and made it radiate real talent even. Just so that when I got on this stage, I could stare at y/n and absorb her beauty. I committed every detail of her face to memory before the eighth bar - What can I say I'm a quick learner innit. The truth is I am worried about y/n, I know her dad is an alcoholic, I just don't want her to know I know. She'll get embarrassed and hurt, and I don't want to see her like that, ever. This piano exam is important, grade eight is what I need to come here; so why is all I can think about how to tell y/n I like her? I shake these feelings off as the keys fade for the end. These man are tapped if they say I didn't make Grade 8.

...

Y/n's POV:

Speechless and hypnotised is what you are. Making your way up to the mahogany stage, butterflies battle for dominance in your stomach. This mix of nervousness for the performance and the fact Cench will be watching is both nauseating and intoxicating. You inhale filling your squeezing lungs. The conductor motions for you to begin, the sheet music you have on the ledge... It's not Fur Elise, like you were assigned it's the one you've been experimentally writing. Horrified you close your eyes. Lost. You begin to play anyways. Confront don't run. You play until the amounting crowd is rendered delirious with applause and Cench is peering funnily at you in the audience, you brush it off. That's probably the look of disinterest.

As the curtains closed you saw your future becoming narrower... and narrower. There was an office which you were meant to report to promptly, to hear results. Practically tiptoeing in anticipation you felt yourself drown in dread. Not commencing to Grade seven meant bidding this school a sorrowful goodbye, before you even had a chance to enroll! It wasn't just the prestige, or the vigor which made this school shine in a pearly light, it was the love for music and adorned opportunities it created. For some a school like this was a pretty ornament on a promising resume, but for you, this was your youthful life's work.

Now standing outside the tastefully decorated office, you heard two adults discussing tersely, the conductor and examiner. Knocking lightly on the door, you were further unsettled at how swiftly it swung open. For the millionth time that day, you sat in a seat powerless; while others dictated your fate.

"Ms. y/n last name, we were shocked when you played the piece that was not assigned to you, but it appears you wrote it, yes?" The conductor drawled.

You cleared your throat hurriedly, looking intently at the poker-faced men.

"Yes sir, I did," it came out a near whisper.

"Excellent, welcome to grade seven, I look forward to seeing you at the Royal College of Music in the very near future."

...

You were beyond ecstatic. You honestly had no words to describe this feeling it was bliss and euphoria intertwined. The rain sprinkled predictably as you walked to your bus stop: You couldn't help but romanticise life at times, but this moment was a smidgen of actual romance in your life. Your gentle musings of how much you loved the piano led way to someone you might adore just as equally.

You could hear fast steps behind you through your beige XM4s, thinking it was just another jogger it didn't faze you.

"y/n..." your name caught in Cench's throat. Hearing his voice made you rip your headphones off. Ugh So unsubtle. You stopped to see what he had to say, Cench was only a few inches away. But you wished he was closer... Closer still. As close as possible.

"Hey y/n I saw you walking, can man walk with you," he said this confidently but his eyes were slightly down cast.

"Yes, of course," you replied, letting your heart soar with the possibility of this being the day you would turn a new leaf together.

You walked together to the bus stop talking about piano and your shared dream school, until you could see the tall, red bus blinking at you in the distance.

"There's my bus, see you in music class, Cench," you tried to mask your disappointment as you reluctantly climbed the steps.

"Where do you think I'm going, we live on the same street still," he chuckled rolling his eyes; exciting the butterflied entrapped in your stomach.

"Oh okay," you smiled awkwardly.

Cench's POV:

I am sitting so close to y/n in the bus right now. What if I just leaned in and... Truthfully I am overwhelmed with nervousness right now. This never happens ever. I don't want to talk to her about what happened this morning; she doesn't seem ready and the way she's smiling right now and just looking around the bus. Man she's so cute. Bu there are things to discuss..

"Y/n.."

"mmhmm," she was looking into my eyes and I thought my mind would go blank.

" I - I actually like you a lot... I have for time, I can't lie." Holding my breath. I'm hoping... I hope she responds the way she does in my head.

Y/N's POV

The air left your brain, the moment felt ethereal. You had pictured and edited this moment innumerable times in your imagination. And you always thought it was just remain a figment. Looking into Cench's dark, enamoring eyes you could see he was waiting for your answer.

"I like you too Cench... I have since forever." Your smile turned impossibly large and you faced the front, excited for what's yet to come and beaming.

"Since forever huh, babe don't be silly," Cench's smile was a reflection of a sunny day.

"It's true - " you mumbled realising what he has said. Babe.

Cench placed a warm hand on your cheek. His lips were soft like you had always envisioned; grazing over yours slightly - searching for reciprocation. You opened your eyes wide in awe and surprise, pressing your lips against his. You could feel Cench smiling into the kiss; his lips were sweet and fit yours perfectly. Slowly his hand trailed to grip your waist while the other stayed on your face. Moving your lips together he pushed his tongue in your mouth and roamed everywhere he could; you saw a different galaxy.

Gasping quietly you both pulled away grinning stupidly.

"You're so beautiful y/n you don't understand," whispering for only you to hear, he wrapped his arm around you moving closer. You put your head in the soft spot between his neck and the edge of his shoulder closing your eyes. You thought about love. Love for piano and Love for Cench.

....

THE END

#one shot #x reader #central cee #cench #romance #fluffy #classical piano #fanfic #fanfiction #y/n #imagine #uk #ukrapper #central cee x reader #central x you #central cee fan fic #writer

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❀Masterlist❀

Hi guys, I'm working on posting more... For now enjoy the few I've written :) PSA: SEND REQUESTS PLS

✦ Central Cee ✦

X-Reader One Shots

Love For Piano and Love For Cench

He's A Distraction

✦ Dominic Fike ✦

Poems

Dominic Fike and I Are Para-social

X-reader One Shots

Cherry Red Guitar

#one shot #x reader #central cee #cench #romance #classical piano #fanfic #fanfiction #y/n #imagine #uk #ukrapper #central cee x reader #central x you #central cee fan fic #writer #dominic fike #guitar #electric guitar #vanilla #poem #singer #rapper #babydoll #3 nights #rocstarbf #lameboyz #dom fike #guitarist #musician