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pinksturniolo · 1 month

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Biggest Fan: Part Two

Summary: The one in which a fan gets rear ended in a car accident by none other than Christopher Sturniolo during her stay in Los Angeles.

A/N: This is my first series I will be publishing on here! There will most likely be 3 or 4 parts. I hope you like it and I’m really excited to share with you all. :)

Content Warnings: smut, oral receiving/giving, fingering, penetration, slight degradation, swearing, brief mentions of blood, head injuries, mentions of a car accident. mentions of a panic attack

word count: 5,287 😳

I was inspired by this song:

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‎ 𐮙ღ✰☾✿ღ𐮙

You were having a panic attack.

You tried to calm down in the 5 minutes it took Matt to drive to their house, but your thoughts continued to race, and your hands became shakier the more your head continued to throb with pain. Your wet sneakers squeaked against the floor as they led you into the house, having a seat at their kitchen table. You were starting to get tunnel vision, your breaths getting more rapid by the second. You’ve had panic attacks before, but this was the first time in a long time it’s occurred and the fact that you were inside the home of your favorite Youtubers did not help. Nick and Matt announced they were going to shower, being that you all got drenched in the rain, both of them giving you hesitant looks. “Chris, go find the first aid kit. We’ll be right back.” he instructed, giving you one last look before they both disappeared to their rooms.

Chris sat next to you, hovering his hand over your shoulder, unsure if he should touch you or not. “Hey, you okay?” he asked softly, his eyebrows furrowed in concern. “Yeah... I just feel really lightheaded all of a sudden. I think I need to lie down.” You responded, dropping your head into your arms on the table, closing your eyes. You tried taking deep breaths to calm your pounding heart.

Chris jumped up. “Of course, you can lie down in my room while I go look for the first aid kit.” He said, making you lift your head to look at him in surprise. “Oh no, I meant like on the couch. I don’t want to invade your privacy...” You laughed nervously. He shook his head, a smile forming on his face. “I’m the one who invited you here, I promise I don’t care. Besides, I’d rather my bed get wet than the couch. I can always wash the sheets tomorrow.” He said, reminding you that were still in your wet clothes, now including his hoodie which also had a bloody sleeve. You let out another nervous laugh. “Right…”

“Come on.” Chris said, motioning for you to follow him downstairs. Once you got to his room, he switched the light on and patted the bed, inviting you to sit down. You did slowly, your arms shaking as you perched on the edge. He was still standing, looking down at you. Now that he could see you in better lighting, he couldn’t help but notice how beautiful you were. You had plush, pink lips and warm brown eyes, giving him the most innocent look that tugged at his heart strings. Water droplets were falling from the long dark hair that framed your face, dark red nails gripping the side of his bed. There was no doubt he was extremely attracted to you.

He noticed your leg bouncing in nervousness, your black converse making a small damp spot on his carpet. “Do you want to take your shoes off? I can put them in the garage so they can dry a little bit.” He spoke. His stare was making you even more nervous and you were grateful he broke the silence. “Oh yeah, sorry I-“ you started to say when he suddenly crouched down, carefully taking your left ankle in his hands and slipping off your shoe, then doing the same with the right one. Your eyes widened, butterflies again swarming your stomach at the light touch. You watched as he stood back up, both your shoes in his hand as he crossed the room to his dresser, grabbing a pair of grey sweatpants and a black T-shirt. He came back over, setting the clothes next to you on the bed. He smiled sweetly at you, seeming to ignore the fact that he just removed your shoes for you. “You can change into these while I go look for that kit, okay?” he says, making his way towards the door. “Uh… thank you…” You say meekly. “No problem, sweetheart. Be right back.” He responds, looking at you once more with a smirk before he closes the door, noticing the obvious look of fluster on your face, your jaw slightly dropping.

Sweetheart? Did he really just say that? If your heart could beat any faster, it would explode out of your chest. Was he flirting with you?

So far, he had insisted that you come to his house, willingly brought you to his room, gave you his clothes, touched your face in the car earlier, took off your shoes and called you sweetheart. Not to mention the longing stare he was giving you earlier. You know that any girl would kill to be in your place. But you wanted nothing more than to leave the minute you got here.

Would you have the chance to sleep with him if you stayed? You weren’t the type to throw yourself at any guy, even if it was Christopher Sturniolo himself. Let’s just admit it, even if you were that type, you didn’t have the guts to act upon your desires. You were way too shy. Not to mention, you’re just a fan. Who’s to say he even found you attractive? What if he was just taking pity on you? What if he-

These are the thoughts running through your head as you sit on the black sheets of his bed, your hair, clothes and socks completely soaked from the rain that was currently pouring down outside. The cut on your forehead from the accident burns as you reach up to touch it. You wince, blood dripping onto your fingertips as you look down at your hand. Your stomach starts to turn in on itself, a wave of nausea starting to set in. You decide this was a bad idea to come here and are about to bolt out of the room but before you can stand up, Chris comes through the door, a clean towel in his hand and some more items in his other hand, a look of panic on his face once he makes eye contact with you.

“Are you okay? You look like you’re about to pass out or something.” He speaks.

You let out a small laugh, smoothing your palms on the top of your thighs to try to calm your nerves down.

“I’m fine, this is just… a lot. I feel like I’m intruding.” You reply, looking hesitantly around his room.

This whole night has been surreal, and you still have no idea how you ended up in this situation. Chris sits next to you, handing you the towel to dry yourself off. He raises his eyebrows in surprise, a smile on his face again. “I literally rear ended you in a car accident and you think you’re intruding?” he says, shaking his head. “Stop worrying about intruding and let’s focus on the real issue here. That cut on your head is still bleeding. I couldn’t find the first aid kit, but I brought another clean towel and some bandages.” He then brings the smaller towel he brought with him to your face, gently wiping the blood clean that had trickled down from your forehead. Your breath slightly hitches, and you clutch the other towel to you, avoiding eye contact with him.

“Is this okay?” he asks, pausing his movements. “Yes.” You say after a few seconds. He continues cleaning your face and putting some pressure on the cut while you use the towel he gave you to dry your thighs and legs. Once he finishes, he places the bandage on the wound and you can’t help but stare at him, a cute look of concentration on his face. Your nerves slightly go away and your heart rate slows down, Chris’ presence bringing a sense of calmness to you. The silence is comfortable instead of awkward. You no longer feel like you want to run to the nearest exit. “All good.” He says, pulling away from you. “Thank you again. I wouldn’t have pegged you as the nursing type.” You joke, a playful smile on your face. He scoffs, his eyes narrowing at you. “You’re funny. There’s a lot you don’t know about me.” He then glances at the clothes he had set next to you earlier.

“You don’t want to change? I know they’ll probably be a little big on you but if you stay in your wet clothes, you might catch a cold. And I would know, seeing as I have great nursing skills and all.” He adds, making you laugh. “I’m gonna take a shower in Nick’s room so I can get dry as well. I have a shower over there in my bathroom, I don’t mind if you use it.” He says and you open your mouth to protest but before you can talk, he holds up his hands and cuts you off. “I promise it’s fine. You can lock the door behind me and take as long as you need to. I swear. I just want you to be more comfortable.” He said, a serious look on his face. You roll your eyes and take a deep breath, knowing that Chris is just as stubborn as you are and won’t take no for an answer in this situation. “Okay, okay. I’ll call my friend and see if she can come get me once I’m done.” If she’s even up at this time.

“Deal.” He nods and smiles as he seems to be satisfied with your answer, standing up and grabbing some clothes to take with him. He walks toward his door, giving you another reassuring smile. Before he can walk out, you speak again. “Thank you, Chris. Honestly. I really do appreciate how nice you’ve been tonight.” He can’t help the way his heart skips a small beat at the sound of you saying his name and the genuine smile on your face. “You’re welcome.” He responds, winking at you and closing the door with a soft click.

‎ 𐮙ღ✰☾✿ღ𐮙

You took a hot shower, careful not to get the bandage on your head wet, changing into his clothes and placing a dry towel on the spot on his bed you were sitting in earlier. You already felt ten times better now that you were dry and clean. You gathered your wet clothes, placing them into a neat pile on his bathroom floor. Then you grabbed your phone, checking the time. 2:30 am.

You silently prayed your friend Isabel would answer as you called her. You really didn’t want Matt to have to drive you back to your hotel and you also didn’t want to overstay your welcome.

Ring ring ring.

She didn’t answer. You tried 2 more times and called your other friend that came with you.

Still no answer. Fuck.

You sighed, sending them a text to call you as soon as they could. You set your phone back down on Chris’ nightstand, looking around his room again. It was slightly messy but not as much as you would have thought. There were little knickknacks here and there, pieces of his personality throughout the room. It smelled like his cologne and was still slightly warm from the shower you took. Chris knocked on the door, interrupting you creepily observing his room.

You walked over and opened it for him, a cheeky smile already on his face. His hair was slightly wet from the shower, grey sweatpants hanging low on his hips and a white tank top on. He looked insanely good.

You stopped yourself from staring any longer and moved aside so he could walk in. The way he called you sweetheart earlier replays in your head.

“Feel better now?” he asks, looking you up and down. “My clothes look good on you.”

You clear your throat, ignoring his comment despite the immediate swarm of butterflies it gives you. “I called both of my friends I’m staying with, but they didn’t answer. I was going to try again in a few minutes.” You said, self consciously covering your chest with your arms as you realized you did not have a bra on and the air was now cold from the door being opened, letting all the shower steam out.

Chris walks past you, plopping down on his bed, leaning back on one of his elbows with his legs spread. “Okay… well either way I don’t mind if you have to stay. Matt and Nick already passed out after harassing me to make sure you were okay, and Matt has no problem driving you home later on.” He responds. You just look at him, unsure what to say. Considering the events of tonight and how many times Chris has made it clear he doesn’t find it weird you being here, you’re ready to just agree with him from now on. Your body and mind feel exhausted at this point, and you don’t really have it in you to argue anymore.

He’s still staring at you, waiting for your response when you finally take a seat next to him, tucking your legs underneath you. “Alright then, guess I’m stuck here for the time being.” You say and Chris tries to hide his excitement. “I do have a good question for you though.” You add, putting your chin in your hand and giving him a playfully stern look. He raises his eyebrows, curious as to what you’re going to say next. “Shoot.” He answers. “What the hell were you doing when you hit me?” You ask and he immediately throws his head back, laughing. You can’t help but laugh too, the sound like music to your ears.

“Matt had agreed to let me drive home from Taco Bell and I swear I was doing great. Next thing I know, I’m choosing the next song to play on aux, and I look away for one second and there you are, appearing out of nowhere. Actually, now that I think about it, I think it was your fault that I hit you.” He says, smirking at you. You give him a deadpan look which makes him laugh again. “Yeah okay buddy. Don’t get ahead of yourself.” You respond back, relaxing against his pillow.

He seems to mirror your comfortable position and lays on his side across from you, still leaning on his elbow, placing his head on his fist. “I haven’t even asked your name yet. What is it?” He said. “Y/N.” You answer. “Y/N.” He repeats with a smile. “Pretty name.” You feel a blush creep across your face which only makes his smile widen.

‎ 𐮙ღ✰☾✿ღ𐮙

For the next hour, you and Chris talk. The conversation flows easily between you two. He asks about college and what you’re currently studying, your hometown, and how long you will be in LA. He genuinely seems interested in what you have to say, and to your pleasant surprise, he’s just as funny in real life as he is on camera. Not to mention, just as gorgeous. As corny as it seems, you can’t help but get lost in his dreamy blue eyes. The way his hair falls in his face and how strong his arms look in his tank top. And his voice. God, you could talk to him for hours. You couldn’t help but wonder how he was in bed, if he talked you through it, if he was rough, or if he was into praising.

Unbeknownst to you, Chris is admiring you as well. He listens to you when you answer his questions with ease and he appreciated the fact you didn’t ask him too many personal questions about his life. He loved the way your lips move when you talked, how your eyes lit up when you mentioned your friends and family. He couldn’t help but notice your alluring figure even in his baggy clothes and he definitely noticed that you weren’t wearing a bra. He wondered when or if he would ever get a view of your plush thighs again, how good your lips would feel against his, if you were flexible enough to let him hold your ankles by your head when he was deep inside you. He felt the slight tension earlier when he removed your shoes for you and to be quite honest, it took every ounce of strength in him not to touch himself in the shower.

A loud rumble of thunder outside broke you and Chris’ current debate on the best flavor of ice cream. You glanced at the time on your phone. 3:45 am. You looked at him with sleepy eyes, fatigue starting to set in. He also looked tired, the whites in his eyes slightly red. “I don’t think your friends are coming anytime soon…” he said softly, scooting onto the other side of the bed next to you, getting underneath the blanket. Suddenly you felt hot, your heart rate picking up a little. Surely he didn’t expect you to sleep in here with him?

“Yeah I figured as much. I’ll just get some rest, I’m pretty exhausted.” You said, getting up to go to the living room, your intentions to sleep on the couch. But before you could leave, he grabbed your wrist. “Where are you going?” He asked, a puppy dog look in his eyes. Your eyes widened, glancing at his grip on your wrist. “Um… The couch?” You replied with confusion in your voice. He simply shook his head, dropping your wrist and patting the spot you were just in. “It’s fine. Just sleep in here.” He said, opening the blanket for you to get under.

You hesitated for a while until he said, “I don’t wanna hear any excuses that you’re intruding or suggestions of me going to the couch instead cause there’s no way you’re gonna kick me out of my own bed.” He said, earning a scoff from you. You got back onto the bed, laying down next to him, ensuring there was as much space as possible between the two of you. “Has anyone ever told you how stubborn you are?” You said, closing your eyes since you could barely keep them open anymore. He chuckled, his voice raspy with fatigue when he replied, “Anything to get you in bed next to me, princess.”

Your eyes shot open at his response, and when you made eye contact with him, his expression was unreadable, any hint of joking gone from his features. You were unsure what to say or if you had even heard him correctly.

Princess.

Sweetheart.

Never in a million years would you have ever thought you would hear Chris Sturniolo call you a pet name. It drove you crazy.

He started to feel bad as you stared at him blankly, worried that he crossed a line.

“Am I making you uncomfortable? I swear that’s not my intention. If you feel weird, I can go-“ he said and you started to shake your head.

“Chris. I’m not uncomfortable at all… It just makes me nervous when you say things like that.” You admitted. He smirked and then clapped suddenly which made you jump. You burst into laughter once you realized what he did. The lights had turned off. “Oh my god. Of course you have clap on, clap off lights.” You said, still trying to control your laughter. He laughed with you, closing his eyes and getting more comfortable in the bed. “Don’t make fun of me.”

You turned away from him, letting your eyes close as well, ready to let the sleep take over your body. But for the second time around today, you still found yourself not being able to. This time, it was because you couldn’t stop thinking about Chris’ voice calling you princess and sweetheart, the way his touch felt on your face and how the simple act of him taking off your shoes turned you on. You squeezed your thighs together, starting to feel a throb from your salacious thoughts.

You heard Chris toss and turn a couple times, knowing he hadn’t fallen asleep either. The sexual tension was so thick you could cut it with a knife. And you knew tension wouldn’t be that thick unless the other person was having the same thoughts. You were in a bed with the guy you had an embarrassingly huge crush on. You thought. Who knows when you will have this chance again? Obviously, the universe had set a fucking huge opportunity in your lap, and you would be an idiot if you didn’t take advantage.

You knew if anything was going to happen, you would have to be the one to make the first move.

You’re not sure where this sudden wave of confidence came over you as you spoke out loud after what had felt like an eternity. “Chris… were you flirting with me earlier?” You ask, your heart beating so hard you could hear it in your ears.

“What do you think, Y/N.” He simply replied, his voice raspy.

The thunder echoed again outside, rain still beating down. The early morning hours made the room a dark, midnight blue color, some light seeping in from the street, the scent of his strong cologne still in the air.

You turned towards him, and his eyes were already on you, his expression dark, sending a small shiver through you, butterflies gathering in your stomach for the thousandth time tonight. He stared into your eyes and then your lips and back to your eyes again. You moved closer to him, letting out a shaky breath. You slowly placed a hesitant hand to his chest. His heart was racing.

You bit your lip, staring at his. A few more inches and they would connect with yours. You looked into his eyes again, searching for some sort of approval.

“If at any time, you want to stop or you feel uncomfortable, just tell me and I’ll stop. Understand?” he said quietly, placing a hand on your waist, pulling you closer. You nodded, moving your hand on his chest, to his face, your lips now brushing, sending sparks through your body. “I need words, princess.” He whispered. “Yes.” You breathed, your lips finally connecting.

The tension that had been building the whole night seemed to snap and burn the moment you kissed. His lips molded with yours perfectly, and you slid your hand into his hair, the deeper the kiss got, both of you moaning from the passion that had been ignited. You already felt wetness between your thighs, knowing how much of a mess you were beginning to make in his sweatpants. His tongue slipped into your mouth, only making your stomach do somersaults and he gripped your hips tighter, pulling your leg around his waist. You pulled on his hair slightly, making him groan into your mouth. He then traced kisses down your jaw and onto your neck as you leaned your head back for easier access. He sucked and licked and bit his way all over your neck, leaving little love bites in his trail. He held you even tighter to him as you kept your leg wrapped around him, and you suddenly felt how hard and big he was through his sweatpants, making you lust for more.

This had gotten hot and heavy fast, the passion and chemistry from both you of pouring out, small moans and whimpers filling the room. He continued the assault on your neck until you couldn’t take it anymore, your wetness growing by the second and your fingers in his hair gripping for dear life. At this moment, all your nerves had disappeared, your need to feel him even closer becoming your main priority.

“Chris.” You exhaled with a shaky breath, moving your hands to grip his broad shoulders. He moaned against your neck, trailing his plump lips back to yours. “Say my name again.” He whispered against you, his breathing hard. “Chris… I need you.” You replied, letting your hands smooth down his chest and then dip down to go under his shirt, feeling his stomach flex against your fingertips. He hummed and took your bottom lip in between his teeth, biting very softly. “How do you need me, sweetheart?” he asked, teasing you and looking into your eyes. “Show me.” He demanded.

You took his hand and moved it to where you needed him most, dipping into your sweats. You weren’t wearing any underwear, he discovered, as his fingers slicked through your folds. “Fuck… you’re soaked.” He breathed, circling a finger around your entrance, making you moan loudly as he moved it back up, making slow, small circles around your clit. “Please, Chris.” You whined, feeling the neediest you ever have. “Please what? Hm? You want me to make you feel good?” He said, now putting his hands under your shirt and grabbing your breasts, thumbs flicking across your nipples. “Yes. Please. Yes.” Was all you could manage, your hands gripping his shirt, lifting it up so he could take it off. He removed his hands from your breasts, slipping his shirt over his head quickly and then moving so he could hover over you. He lifted your shirt now, helping you remove it, leaning down to leave wet kisses down your chest and stomach, making you squirm, stopping near the top of your sweatpants.

He looked up at you, his blue eyes almost black with lust, his lips swollen and red, his hair wild. The sight almost made you moan aloud. “Can I take these off?” he asked sweetly, his hands around your hips, ready to pull your pants off once you gave him the approval. You nodded and he squeezed your hips roughly. “Words, please. I’m not gonna tell you again, mama.” He says, giving you a stern look.

“Yes. Take them off already.” You say in a rush. He smirks at your neediness, pulling the sweats he gave you down your legs and off your body, discarding them somewhere on the floor. His large hands splay across your thighs, spreading you open for him, and he groans at the sight of your arousal glistening in the dim light of the room, leaning down to place kisses along the insides of your thighs, sucking and leaving more hickeys on your body.

“Remember what I said, princess? If you want to stop, just tell me.” He says, still holding your legs open for him. “Yes, Chris.” You respond.

“Good girl.” He says, then taking a finger and slowly pushing it into you.

You lay your head back, closing your eyes, your heart racing and fingernails digging into his bed sheets. The pleasure from just his finger alone is enough to elicit a fire through your body as he fucks it in and out of you for a few moments before adding another finger, making your back arch slightly. “Fuuuckk…” You moan quietly, your teeth biting down hard into your bottom lip. He’s in a trance watching your slick arousal coat his fingers, the wet sounds and your sweet moans like music to his ears. His dick twitches painfully in his pants as he wants nothing more than to know what you feel like around him, crying out his name while he stretches you out.

But he wants to take his time with you. He’s been enamored by you since he first laid eyes on you and wants to give you everything you deserve. He lays down on his stomach now, strong arms wrapping around your thighs, keeping you wide open, and he looks up at you seeing your blissful expression and eyes screwed shut. “Y/N. Look at me. I wanna see your face when I make you cum.” He rasps, pulling you even closer, his breath fanning against your aching cunt.

Your heart races and face redden at his words, bringing your head up to look at him and propping yourself up on your elbows. He keeps eye contact with you as he places his flat, wet tongue on your clit with pressure, making you cry out. He then makes circles and sucks on it, and you can’t help but let your eyes roll back in your head. He drags his tongue down to your entrance, thrusting it in a few times, making your toes curl and your back arch. “Oh God, don’t stop.” You moan as he alternates between sucking on your clit and fucking you with his tongue. He grips you tighter, keeping you in place as you fall apart from his mouth on you.

You feel a delicious warmth spread through you, a tight coil forming in your abdomen. You lay back down, your hands fisting in his hair as you grip tightly and pull, earning a deep moan from him which reverberates through you. Your moans and cries get louder and more desperate as you feel the coil threaten to burst, tingles down your spine. He adds two fingers back inside of you, thrusting at a fast pace and brushing that spongy spot when he curls them, his warm tongue circling your clit.

“Chris… fuuuck. Chris, please.” You say his name over and over again like a chant, your legs locking around his back. “I know mama, let go. Cum for me.” He responds, knowing you’re close. He can’t help but thrust down into the mattress, trying to release the tension in his crotch. He almost cums in his pants from seeing how much pleasure he’s giving you. “You look so pretty like this. I can’t wait to feel you around my dick. Fuck, you’re so needy, making a mess all over my hand. Cum for me sweetheart.” He coos.

The coil snaps and warmth floods your body from his words as you throw your head back and cry out his name. Your legs shake as he coaxes you through your climax, only letting go of you until you’re done riding out your high, your breathing come out in short, rapid puffs. “Fuck, you’re beautiful.” he praises, coming up to kiss you and you taste yourself on his tongue. You reach your hand down to palm his erection which makes him moan against your mouth. “I need you so bad.” he says, pulling his sweats off and reaching into his nightstand for a condom. The thought of him inside you excites you all over again and with the sheer force of the orgasm he just gave you, you can only imagine what it would feel like.

A sharp knock on his door interrupts your moment of bliss and Chris silently curses next to you. “You got to be kidding me.” he says standing up and pulling his sweats back on. He gives you an apologetic glance as you cover yourself up under his blanket. “One second.” He says, going to the door and cracking it open an inch. “What.” He hisses at the person on the other side. You think you hear Matt’s voice in a hushed tone, him and Chris exchanging a few words you can’t make out. Then he shuts the door, locking it again and walks over to you. He looks a little awkward, his hand rubbing the back of his neck.

“Your friend is here to pick you up.” He finally says. You now realize it’s early morning, the sun barely starting to come up, the room now a light blue and you grab your phone from his nightstand.

5:00 am.

4 missed calls.

5 text messages.

The most recent one from your friend Isabel – Okay, you’re not answering. I’m getting worried. I’m on my way.

Convenient timing. You think, your head falling back in frustration as Chris grabs the clothes he gave you earlier from the floor and hands them to you to get dressed.

a/n: ahhh what a cliffhanger 😅 i would love any and all feedback!! let me know your thoughts pls :) there will be one more part to this out later this week, but let me know how yall like it! do we like the use of y/n? i wasn’t sure if i should use it or not i just couldn’t come up with a good name 😂 lmk :)

#chris sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #sturniolo fanfic #sturniolo smut #sturniolo triplets #sturniolo x reader #chris sturniolo fanfic #chris sturniolo smut

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toomuchracket · 5 months

Text

all i want for christmas (birthday party!matty x reader fluff)

back from the dead (a depressive episode) with a fluffy pre-dating fic that's honestly longer than it needs to be. whatever. it's christmas. this fic is also part of christmas75/twelve days of christmas, organised and curated by my lovely friend @abiiors. hope you all enjoy <3

wednesday, 3:34am

as soon as the “email sent” pop-up appears, you feebly close your laptop and lay your head on the desk, ready to finally give in to the sleep that's been edging ever closer to your eyelids for the past hour. but before you get the chance, your phone buzzes with an incoming notification, the vibrations rattling through the wood of the desk and into your skull.

swearing, your voice scratchy with underuse, you open one eye and tilt the screen towards you - the name it bears above the unread text makes you shoot back up to a sitting position, and knocks all traces of grumpiness and tiredness from your brain and body.

matty.

pointedly ignoring the butterflies in your stomach when you see he's opened his message with hi, darling, you continue reading: hope you're alright, and that the new book isn't kicking your arse too much. saw a group of kids in barnes & noble raving about your last one earlier. would've joined them if i wasn't in a hurry, to be honest. fucking brilliant. anyway, i know it's late, but i had to text you before i forgot. can you give me a call when you get this, darling? flying home early tomorrow so i'll be up from about… 8am your time? i've got a favour to ask you. nothing crazy, though, and nothing urgent. but yeah, just phone me when you can. thanks, darling. miss you, talk to you soon. bye! X

just as you're reeling from the three darlings and the kiss and the miss you, another text from your best friend comes in, accompanied by a photo: also look at who you were next to on this display. i got so excited. my three favourites!

you laugh out loud, a combination of shock at the fact your collection is between slouching towards bethlehem and consider the lobster and adoration at matty's beaming face next to it all. fuck, he's cute.

so cute. enough for you to forget that it’s 3 o'clock in the morning, and happily pick up your phone and dial his number - you've spent so much time poring over your message threads that you know it off by heart - as if it was mid-afternoon. you kick your legs back and forth as the call connects, smiling to yourself at the thought of hearing his voice for the first time in over a month.

luckily, you don't have long to wait; your heart flutters as he picks up on the second ring, voice thick in the way it only goes when he's smoking. “you know, you didn't have to call me right away, darling. thought you'd have been asleep. but hiya!”

“hi, matty,” you smile. “and come on, it's deadline week, of course my sleep schedule is fucked. questioning why i'm not asleep, christ, thought you knew me better than that.”

he takes your teasing in good faith. “i do, darling, i do know you,” matty's voice is soft, his tone as tender as you've ever heard it. it's driving you batshit insane. “but you know me. i just want to make sure you're not stressing yourself out about your work too much. rather have my best friend's wellbeing intact than another book, even though your writing is my favourite. speaking of, that display! i'm recreating it at home. genuinely. s'amazing.”

you can feel your cheeks burning. “i can't even comprehend that display right now, m'too tired. but i’ll text you my thoughts once they make sense. and i'm alright, matty, honest. please don't worry about me, lovely.”

“that'll never happen, and you know it.”

“god, you're obstinate. but thanks. i appreciate the care.”

“even when you're insulting me, you're so eloquent. you've got a gift,” matty laughs down the phone. “how's deadline week going, anyway?”

“it's done. just sent the final draft away for edits. s'why i'm still up, actually.”

“really? congrats, darling!” the genuine happiness in his tone makes your heart hurt. “god, i wish i was home now, so we could go out and celebrate.”

“me too. but we'll see each other this weekend for early christmas dinner, yeah?”

“that's what i wanted to talk to you about, actually. you know those roast potatoes you made last year?”

“you mean the ones you and alexa fought over the last spoonful of?” you laugh, remembering the two of them racing to the tiny kitchen in your flat to try and nab them.

“m'still fucking fuming that she got them. bitch,” matty grumbles, then giggles. “nah, she's like my sister, i love her. but yeah, those potatoes. can i have the recipe for them, please?”

you suck air in through your teeth. “well… no. that’s a family secret, lovely. m'sorry.”

“oh,” matty sounds so genuinely deflated that you could cry - you seldom see him upset, but the thought of his pretty face all sad makes you feel incredibly guilty. “that's alright, darling, i understand. my nana was the same with her soup recipes. you'd have to marry me if you wanted them.”

you hum out a laugh, brain suddenly scrambled at the thought of walking down the aisle towards him. god. get a grip!

scrunching your eyes closed and blinking them open again - a tried and tested way to stop yourself going off on tangents - an idea pops into your head, so obvious that you’re not sure why you haven't suggested it already. “well, in lieu of us getting hitched within the next week,” you smile, enjoying the way matty laughs softly at the other end of the line. “i could come over early to yours and make the potatoes for you, if you'd like?”

“i quite like the sound of the first option, to be honest…”

what the fuck?! you have to clap a hand over your mouth to stop a gasp. or a scream. perhaps even a moan.

“...but i'm more than happy with the second one. thank you, darling,” matty's smile is as audible as his relief. “you're a lifesaver and a legend. come over whenever on sunday, yeah? wake me up if you have to. actually, no, i'll pick you up. s'the least i could do to thank you. and it means we get to spend even more time together.”

“that sounds nice,” you all but sigh into your phone. “i'm excited to see everyone.”

mostly you, though.

“as am i, darling,” matty yawns. it's the cutest sound you've ever heard. for fuck's sake. “m'not bored talking to you, honest, just tired. this is actually the most fun i've had in weeks, this phone call.”

you want to assume he's lying out of politeness, but something in your brain tells you he's being sincere; it's not like you can say anything to dispute him, either, given it's also the most fun you've had in weeks. “matty, you’re in new york. at christmas time.”

“yeah, alone! s'boring. macaulay culkin made it seem a lot more fun when i was a kid,” matty snorts. “plus, i saw you the last time i was here. any trip you're not on is just automatically a bad one.”

christ, what is with him today? “flatterer,” you smirk, before grimacing and continuing to talk. “but i assume you've not been… totally alone, the whole time? i don't like the thought of that being the case.”

you hope to god he's too tired to pick up on your actual meaning; the sight of him with another girl isn’t unfamiliar to you, but that isn’t to say you don't mind it. quite the opposite, in fact.

thank christ, he misses it. “no, i’ve been good. slept by myself every night,” he laughs.

you giggle, relieved. “really? wow.”

“why are you surprised at that?”

“you're you, matty.”

“yeah, well, i'm going through a metamorphosis-”

“kafkaesque of you.”

“knew that one was coming as soon as i said it,” matty sighs. “but in all seriousness, in the past couple of months, i've just… fully realised what i want in life, you know? and it's not what i used to want, or get up to.”

interesting. “well, that's good. m'happy for you, lovely.”

“yeah, thanks. and what about you, miss? you, um, bringing anyone to christmas dinner?”

you snort. “obvs not.”

matty hums. “why'd you say it like that?”

“like what?”

“like,” he pauses, trying to find the words. you can just picture the shape of his eyebrows as he does. “derisively. as if it's a silly question.”

“because it is a silly question, matty.”

“is it?”

“yeah,” you giggle. “i wouldn't even have time for a one night stand, let alone a relationship. not that there's anyone particularly interested, right now, anyway.”

“oh, there is,” comes the reply. “there really is.”

“if you say so.”

“believe me, darling, people want you. they're down bad. totally in love with you.”

“oh, you are so high right now, aren't you?”

“i mean, yeah. but i'm right!”

“uh huh,” you smirk. “i think you need your bed, matty.”

“pot, kettle.”

“alright, point taken,” you peel yourself off your chair, joints cracking slightly worryingly as you stand and pad across the flat to your room. “i'm going there now.”

matty sighs happily. “good. but send me a selfie as proof. accountability and all.”

it's an innocent enough ask, and not a totally unprecedented one - in the times where your self-neglect was at its worst, you would send matty and your other friends selfies so they could make sure you were alright - but the concept of sending matty a late-night pic from your bed does something quite odd to your brain and stomach.

still, you’ll oblige. but will he?

matty giggles when you ask him as much. “yeah, i'll send you one in return. i'm all about reciprocation, me.”

the words leave your mouth before you can stop them. “good to know.”

he laughs, that stupid hyena cackle of his that might be your favourite sound in the world. “christ, i've missed you.”

“it's reciprocated,” you smile, switching your phone between hands as you get into bed and hissing quietly at how cold the sheets are. “alright, i'm in my bed. and you should be too.”

“you're right, i should be,” matty says. his voice is lower than you've ever heard it, the rasp of his cigarettes prominent; despite yourself, it goes straight between your legs. “soon, though, darling. promise.”

“good,” your voice comes out breathier than expected, a setting you haven't used in some time. “i think we both need it.”

“yeah, i think we do, too,” matty yawns again, following it up with a sigh. “right. i'm going to hang up now, darling. i really don't want to, but i feel like if i don't then one of us is gonna fall asleep before we can exchange pics. and i can't be having that, honestly. miss looking at you.”

you giggle, rolling onto your stomach and kicking your legs back and forth. jesus christ, what is this man doing to you? “don't get too excited, i look like shit.”

well, you've looked worse lately - you at least showered and clipped your hair up and put on a clean outfit today. but still, far less glamorous than matty's used to.

or not - “i've literally held your hair back while you yoshed in a plant pot, darling, i think you're alright.”

“and on that note, let's wrap it up,” you laugh, rolling back to lie down. “what time should i be ready for on sunday?”

“oh, um… half twelve? that should be enough time to get everything sorted.”

“half twelve it is,” you yawn. “ok. bedtime. have a safe flight, lovely. talk soon?”

“‘course. don't forget that selfie, by the way. eagerly awaiting it.”

“et toi. lots of love, see you soon.”

“back at you, darling. goodnight.”

the call ends. you close your eyes and, for the briefest of moments, let yourself dwell on the fact your best friend - who, let's be honest, you have a bit of a crush on - shamelessly flirted with you to the point of bordering on phone sex, and let yourself believe that maybe, just maybe, there's a chance he might feel the same way you do.

but it's matty. sweet, cheeky, affectionate matty, who'd find a way to flirt with a brick wall if he was bored enough. because that's what he is, really - bored, high, alone on a phone call with a girl late at night. it's just a natural thing for him to do in those circumstances. you're not special, you were just… there.

that notion stings more than you expected. but you persevere, opening your camera and fixing your glasses. he's your best friend, after all, and he asked you to do this to make sure you were alright. nothing more than that.

still, as you close your eyes and smile, you hold the phone with both hands so your boobs push ever so slightly more together. just in case. then you caption the pic as requested, and hit send.

matty’s reply buzzes in a few seconds later, eliciting a shocked giggle from your lips: fucking love it when you wear your glasses. a follow-up appears in another few seconds: if that's you looking like shit… you're defo the sexiest bit of shit i've ever seen.

fuck him for getting you flustered like this. honestly, fuck him.

and, oh, when he sends a selfie in return, shirtless in low light, hair in its natural state, one hand behind his head… don't you want to do just that?

you bite your lip as you compose your response: my condolences to the single girls in nyc who are missing out on you looking like that tonight.

matty: i know, poor them lol. but their loss is one specific single girl in london’s gain, though, yeah?

you: fuck yeah

matty: you crack me up

matty: miss you sm

matty: anyway, sweet dreams. see you in them, i hope

matty: but see you irl on sunday lol xx

you: miss you too, lovely. goodnight xx

***

sunday, 12:56pm

a mass of black fur rams into your legs as soon as you step through matty's front door. you laugh, dropping your bags and crouching to pet an over-excited mayhem, while matty grumbles behind you. “at least let her get in the house, mayhem, christ!”

“don't listen to him,” you coo at the dog, nuzzling into you quite adorably. “i'm just as happy to see you as you are to see me, baby. got a present for you and everything.”

“you did not buy the dog a christmas present,” matty groans, gently pulling the coat from your shoulders.

“of course i did. got you one as well.”

“thought we agreed we weren't doing presents this year?”

“well, i'm a dirty liar,” you brush down your dress and turn to face matty, smiling. “that, and i saw something when i was in glasgow that i couldn't resist getting you.”

matty's eyes widen near-imperceptibly as he takes in the dark red fabric clinging to you like a second skin, raking up and down your body almost too quickly for you to clock.

almost. you bite back a smirk. got him!

much to your chagrin, though, he recovers quickly and turns the tables. “well, it's difficult to keep control when you see something… attractive,” he murmurs, gaze lifting to meet yours. “i like that dress, darling, you look gorgeous. and,” his tone and face brighten. “i actually got you a gift, too.”

the revelation is just as shocking as the way he looked at you is. “you did?”

“we're both dirty liars, it seems,” matty grins. he nods towards the kitchen. “make yourself comfortable in there, darling, and i'll go and get it. only be two minutes, promise, and then i'll help you find whatever you need, yeah?”

“you've not done a mad rearranging of your kitchen cupboards since the last time we all came over for dinner, have you?”

“nah.”

you wave nonchalantly. “then i'm good, i know where everything i need is.”

matty smiles down at you - there's an expression in his eyes that you can't quite name - and gently nudges you down the hall. his hand is light against your back, but it sends shockwaves through your nervous system regardless. “alright. give me a shout if you need anything, though, please.”

“i will, lovely,” you smile back just as sweetly. “want me to put some christmas music on? get into the festive spirit and all?”

“anything but band aid.”

you laugh, and matty joins in. “i was thinking more sinatra, anyway.”

“perfect.”

and that's exactly how he'd describe the scene in the kitchen he walks into thirty minutes later. the room is warm, made cosy by the oven that's been slow-cooking turkey for a little while now, soundtracked by frank crooning out have yourself a merry little christmas. mayhem snoozes in his bed by the massive window, which shows snow dusting over the garden like icing sugar on a cake, and then there's you. still keeping an eye on the potatoes bubbling on the hob, you sway gently to the music as you pour dried spices and seasonings into a bowl, your face as content as matty feels.

it breaks into a big smile when you see him in the doorway, white dress shirt hugging his chest quite deliciously. “oh! you got changed. i like it.”

“had to keep up with you, didn't i?” matty smiles, wandering into the room and laying a gift bag on the counter. he peers into the pan of potatoes. “thank you for doing this, by the way, darling. means a lot.”

he opens his arms, and you slot into them before they wrap around you tightly, resting your chin on matty's shoulder and smiling. “no one else i'd do it for.”

matty hums happily. “god, i've missed you. you're always a total peach to me. makes me feel good.”

“a peach? you've spent too much time stateside, matty,” you giggle, pulling away just enough to look at him. “thank god you're home for a bit. but thank you, lovely, i'll take the compliment.”

“for once, you'll take one,” matty teases. his face turns slightly more solemn. “yeah, m'glad to be home. it's a shame you won't be at any of the UK shows, though. i always like them more when you're there.”

“well, when hollywood calls, you have to answer,” you shrug, then smirk. “you just want me at the shows so i'll praise your narrative structuring again, don't you?”

matty's eyes close in bliss. “don’t tease, you literally barrelling towards me backstage screaming about midpoints and how proud of me you were is genuinely the best thing that's ever happened to me.”

“oh, shush,” you roll your eyes, suddenly shy.

“i'm serious! it'd be like joan telling you she thought one of your sentences had perfect structure. a writing compliment from you is a gift, darling.”

“well… thank you. and speaking of gifts,” you - with great reluctance - pull away from matty, bending down to grab a wrapped box from your bag. “here. joyeux noël.”

your best friend takes the present from you, murmuring a “thank you” and smiling at the tag addressed to him. he holds it to his ear and shakes the box, eyebrows raising at the slight rattle.

sighing, you roll your eyes. “just open it, matty.”

his face lights up. “alright.”

after carefully peeling the tag from the box and placing it in his pocket, matty tears through the paper and lifts the lid off. he squints at the sides of the smaller plastic boxes inside, before realisation hits and his jaw drops. “this is…”

“cassette recordings of ten blue nile gigs throughout the eighties and nineties, in their entirety,” you finish, smiling. “thought you'd like them.”

“like them? darling, this is- i don't even know what to say, other than thank you,” matty looks at you, awed, and pulls you into another tight hug. “how the fuck did you manage to get them?”

“the guy in one of the record shops i went into in glasgow was selling them. they're his recordings,” you say, half into matty’s neck. “and he'd digitised them, so he didn't need the tapes anymore, and he wanted them to go to someone who'd genuinely use them. remembered you saying you'd bought a tape deck, and i know how much you love that band, so… i kinda had to buy them.”

matty turns his head and presses a kiss onto your temple; while you bite the inside of your cheek to keep from screaming in delight, he speaks again. “you really are one of the best people i know. christ, i'm so overwhelmed by how perfect that present is. i need a drink,” he pulls away and heads to the fridge. “d’you fancy some champagne, darling, before i give you your gift? you might need it, actually.”

“that's not ominous at all,” you quip, then nod. “pour me a glass while i sort the potatoes and get them in the oven, please.”

matty nods, pulling out a bottle of perrier and grabbing glasses to take over to the table, while you drain and pat-dry the potatoes. he hums along to the background music while he fiddles around with the foil covering the champagne cork; you smile, eyes flicking up periodically to look at his cutely confused face, then back down to the food you're currently buttering and seasoning. it's incredibly domestic, a cosy little christmas dinner tableau, so much so that it hurts your heart to think that life isn't always like this for you and matty. and mayhem, obvs, curled up so adorably in his bed that you have to resist awwwwing every time you look at him.

still, it's hard to be melancholy when matty's irritation at the bottle foil is so amusing. you giggle at his grumbling, turning around to look at him scowl once the potatoes are safely in the oven. “need a hand?”

“no thanks, darling, i'm- ok, yeah, please,” matty sighs, leaning back in his chair and stretching. you pretend not to notice the way his shirt rides up and exposes his hip tattoo. “can't find the tab on the foil.”

“hmm, let me see,” you wander to the table and sit beside matty, moving your chair closer to him. well, to the bottle. “ah - that's because there isn't one.”

“well that's fucking stupid. how are you meant to open it?”

you smile, swiping your index nail across the foil; it slices clean through, and you're able to peel the covering off the cork. “like that. these aren't just for aesthetic purposes, you know.”

“that was actually quite hot. let me see them?” matty gently takes your hand in both of his own, admiring the abstract line pattern on your fingernails, tenderly rubbing his thumbs over the gel. “yeah, definitely hot. let me open the champagne from here though, darling, yeah? can't risk these pretty nails being damaged.”

you bite the inside of your cheek again; this time, to stop from giggling flirtily. “have at it, lovely.”

“i like it when you call me that,” matty smiles, grabbing the neck of the bottle in one hand and the cork in the other, and slowly twisting. “makes me feel good.”

“well, you are lovely,” you smile back. “and opening that champagne quite effectively, i must say.”

“learnt from the best,” matty winks. “you're right, though, it's a lot less messy. although i don't mind that, sometimes. s'fun.”

“yeah, me too,” you smirk, glad to be sitting down and not having to worry about your legs caving in at matty and his words. “kinda fun getting it all over your hand, isn't it?”

matty's eyes widen again, and the cork breaks free with a loud pop; before either of you can cringe at or make light of it, though, mayhem jolts awake with a yelp at the sound, and quickly runs over to sit at your feet.

you coo at him, reaching down to scratch his sweet head and reassure him (and berate his dad). “aww, mayhem. you scared the baby, matty! look at him, he's terrified! s'ok, sweetheart, i'll keep you safe. come on, you can have your christmas present to cheer you up.”

matty rolls his eyes, but he can't keep the smile from his face as he watches his dog eagerly follow you to your bag. “you know, mayhem, you're such a sap, honestly.”

“oi, don't talk about my friend like that,” you frown, face lighting up as you find what you're looking for in your bag. “aha! here you go, mayhem. merry christmas.”

the dog takes the guitar-shaped dog toy with relish, plodding back over to his bed and playing with it contentedly. matty leans to the side to look at mayhem's gift, bursting into laughter when he sees it. “fucking brilliant. that'll be his new favourite, by the way. but you're his favourite, so it checks out, i s'pose.”

“really?”

“oh, he loves you. he never gets so excited to see anyone else,” matty nods, pouring champagne and sliding a glass to you. “bet he'd enjoy seeing more of you. as would i, actually - i really like spending time with you, darling.”

you nod, touched. “so do i,” you raise a glass. “to seeing more of each other next year.”

matty clinks his glass off yours, repeating your words with a soft smile. you take a sip of your respective drinks, humming in satisfaction as the champagne hits your lips. you nod again as you swallow. “christ, that's good.”

“agreed. and now that we've had a drink,” matty puts his glass down, then leans back in his chair and reaches to grab your gift from the counter. he presents it to you with a grin. “merry christmas, darling. save the box til last, yeah?”

“ok. thank you,” you smile sheepishly, opening the bag and pulling out its contents: a notebook, with a pen tucked into the front cover, a book, and a thin, a4-size box. laying them on the table, you inspect each facet of the present in turn, starting with the notebook. “a parker pen? matty, this is beautiful.”

“that one's also kinda a congratulations gift for getting your manuscript in. there's a little message on the inside, too,” comes his reply.

you flick your gaze up to find him blushing, and it makes you smile even wider. carefully, you lift open the black cover, and find matty's familiar scrawl on the inside: to my favourite writer… this is for the next one. lots of love, matty ♡. a little giggle leaves your lips, and you reach for your friend's hand to squeeze it. “you really are the loveliest, you know.”

“shhh, it's nothing,” matty softly rubs the back of your hand with his thumb. “the next bits are the good ones, really. m'excited to see you react to them.”

“better not keep you waiting, then,” you smile, reaching for the book; you let out a little cry of excitement when you read the title. “on beauty! i haven't read this since i was at uni, my god. thanks, matty, i can't believe you remembered me saying that! oh, this is amazing.”

“open it.”

your head shoots up. “what? why?”

matty smiles. “just do it, please.”

“alright,” you do as requested. when you see what’s on the title page, your jaw drops. “matthew…”

“oh, shit, the full name. am i in trouble?” matty quips, smirking as he takes another sip of champagne.

“no, no, just… you got zadie fucking smith to sign a book for me? with a personal message?” you all but sob, lip quivering, completely overcome. “she's telling me she loves my work? what the fuck?”

“well, she's got good taste.”

“matty,” you wail. “this is the best gift i've ever been given.”

matty giggles. “no it isn't.”

“i'm telling you, it really is.”

“nah,” matty gently tugs the book from your hands and replaces it with the box. “this might be, though. but you need to stop crying before you open it, though, darling. can i just…?”

tenderly, so tenderly, matty takes your face in his hands and uses his thumbs to carefully wipe the tears pooling on your lower lashline. at his touch alone, your breathing starts to regulate; the same can't be said for your heart or brain, which both go haywire at the intimacy of his actions, something not helped by him whispering reassuringly to you. “there you are, darling. you're alright.”

it's not a question, but you nod anyway. “thank you.”

“anytime,” matty lets go of your face and sits back; you miss him as soon as he lets go. “right. now you can open it.”

with a smile, you lift the lid from the box - it falters, though, as soon as you take in the words on the paper in front of you. “these are outlines.”

“yeah, they are. look closer, darling.”

you squint at the paper, a choked noise escaping your lips. “feel free… fuck off. zadie gave you her essay notes?!”

“she did. and told me to give them to you.”

“how?”

“well,” matty grins, shuffling in his seat. “i went to see her and nick while i was in new york, and i asked her to sign the book while i was there. when she found out it was for you… she insisted you have those. printed more off for me and everything. she thinks you're the shit, darling.”

“you're sure she didn't say i was shit?” you hiccup, sliding the box onto the table before your tears hit the paper and picking up your glass for a long drink.

“positive. she only had lovely things to say about you,” matty takes your glass and refills it, beaming at you. “so, yeah. bit of a weird present, i know, but i knew you'd appreciate it.”

you laugh through your tears, wiping your eyes and shuffling your chair next to matty's to hug him. “i really do. and i appreciate you even more. thank you, lovely, you're too good to me.”

“nah, you deserve the best, darling,” matty’s hand comes up to rest on the back of your hair, stroking it gently.

you wallow in the tender moment for a second, before pulling back to smile at him. “m'sorry for crying, christ.”

he shakes his head. “don't worry about it, s'cute. and you still look fit when you cry, so…”

“shut up,” you laugh, shoving his shoulder.

“really, you look perfect,” matty smiles, eyes soft. “m'glad you came over early today. not just because it means we get the good potatoes, but because we get to do this, have a bit of peace before everyone gets here. s'nice. really nice.”

you nod. “it is. thanks for having me. and for the gift.”

he kisses your hand. “anytime. thank you for my gift. and just for being you, i s'pose.”

“it's like you want me to keep crying.”

“well, like i said, you look fit,” matty grins. “but nah, i'll stop. let's have a nice time and get rid of this champagne before everyone else gets here, yeah?”

“sounds like a plan.”

so that's what you do - sit at matty's kitchen table, drinking champagne and watching mayhem playing with his new toy, talking and laughing with your best friend. outside, the snow falls faster and faster, blanketing the garden in pristine white, but it's falling nowhere near as quickly as you are for matty. when the front door goes, you’re actually welcome for the excuse to leave the table, the kitchen, the intense care in those beautiful eyes that threatens to shatter your sanity and perspective.

it's your newly engaged friends, laden with more champagne and christmas crackers. once you've exchanged pleasantries, your friend sends her fiancé into the kitchen with the bags so she can interrogate you. “now why are you here so early? you're a little bit unsteady on your feet… oh my god, did you and matty fuck?”

“no! christ! and keep your fucking voice down,” you hiss, looking back down the hall to make sure the coast is clear. “i came over early to help with dinner. and we opened champagne. that's it.”

her eyes narrow. “but you want to fuck him, don't you?”

you open your mouth to answer, but pause for a split-second too long; she cuts back in again. “oh, you do! well, you should.”

“i don't just want to fuck him, babe,” you sigh, leaning against the cold concrete wall. your brain is screaming at you to shut up, but you can't. “i… like him. in a more-than-platonic way. like in a deep way.”

“so… tell him that.”

you blanch. “today?”

“yes! it's christmas. we've all seen love actually - it's the perfect time!” she quietly claps, beaming. “and you won't see him again until my birthday dinner, so if the revelation goes tits up… you've got two months to get over it.”

“really filling me with confidence here.”

“sorry,” she kisses your cheek. “i just like the thought of the two of you being happy, that's all.”

“i know, it's just-”

“darling?” matty wanders down the hall to you, pulling your friend into a welcoming hug, then turning to face you. “sorry to interrupt, but your timer is going off.”

“oh, thanks, lovely,” you smile at him. “be in in a minute, yeah?”

“alright. looking forward to it,” with a wink, he's gone again.

your friend smiles at him, then turns to you. “he is looking forward to you returning to the same room as him. how interesting!”

“yeah, because it means we all get the roast potatoes i made. that's it.”

“oh, you made those again? amazing,” she nods appreciatively, then looks at you and tilts her head. “he could still just be looking forward to being in close proximity to you again, though. wonder if there's any mistletoe around.”

“shut up, please, i am literally begging.”

she laughs, tucking you under her arm and walking to the kitchen. “alright, i'll leave it be tonight. but i'm just saying - i think you have to seriously consider that matty might want you under his christmas tree this month just as much as you want him under yours.”

“and i think you have to seriously consider that you might be delusional.”

“well, we'll soon find out, i'm sure.”

#mads muses #mads does writing #into the birthday partyverse #christmas75 #matty healy fanfiction #matty healy fanfic #matty healy fic #matty healy fluff #matty healy x reader #matty x reader

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nburkhardt · 5 months

Text

Here is an angsty thing with a happy ending! (Please note: this takes place BEFORE seasons 3 & 4 but after demodogs.)

Pray for the Ground to Swallow Me Whole

He’ll eventually thank her for the domino effect she caused. It’ll be the best thing to happen to him, even if it meant leaving town very premature.

But for now, his heart hurts and his eyes are burning from holding the tears back. For now he’ll stand here and listen to words that’ll haunt him, to faintly be reminded of times when he was an ignorant asshole that only cared about himself and didn’t bother thinking of his actions.

Truthfully, he sorta thought this would happen.

The only ones who actually actively engaged with him was the kids, especially Dustin and Lucas. But if he was being truly honest with himself, a nasty voice in the back of his head always told him they just liked him because he saved them. He tried not letting that get to him.

Currently though? That nasty voice is whispering and it’s not just a voice in his head anymore.

The voice just sounds a lot like Joyce Byers.

“- you did help him and I’ll always be grateful for that. Honestly. But I also remember him coming home from school and telling me about this kid, this jerk who laughed and poked fun at him,” Joyce stops to take a breather, crossing her arms and looking disappointed as if he wasn’t already used to that kind of look, “It actually makes me very uncomfortable to have you around, you have to understand that?”

He choked down a defense and sob, blinked hard before looking away with a nod. Listening to this for the last twenty minutes has broken him down faster than Nancy calling him “bullshit”.

“Yes, Mrs. Byers, I’ll-I’ll leave your family alone”

She nodded, “I’d appreciate that, Steve. But I’m not just talking about my family”

He’s hit with ice and dread. Freezes up and looks back at her, “wha-what do you mean? I’m sorry, I’m confused”

“I don’t think it’s really appropriate for you to be around Will and his friends. With my knowledge of what Jon told me about you and the fact you are five years older than them. It would make a lot of their parents uncomfortable too. Don’t you know that?” She’s speaking softly now, like she’s talking to a scared animal.

And maybe she is, he feels like it.

He shakes his head, not to her though. To himself, shaking the memories of hang outs with the Henderson family. Memories of Claudia Henderson making extra food- “just in case, dear! You can even have leftovers for tomorrow!” And Dustin biking over just to tell him about the newest movie he wants to see- “we absolutely have to go, Steve! It’s gonna be a classic, trust me!”

The memory of Claudia hugging him close, telling him “such a blessing, sweetie! You’ll always be welcomed here” that still makes him cry late at night in his empty quiet home.

He avoids looking at Joyce, trying to figure out a way to get away.

“I- uh, I gotta, if you’ll excuse me” he mumbles and doesn’t smile or even look directly at her. Just moves around her to leave, as he walks out and overhears the excited voices calling for him, he ignores them and keeps his head down to avoid showing them how red his cheeks are in embarrassment and how much he’s holding back tears.

Without saying goodbye, he gets into his car and drives.

He doesn’t know how long he drives, doesn’t know where he’s going. Just driving to get away, to avoid listening to Joyce’s words that are already taunting him in his head. Slowly mixing in with “you’re bullshit” and “run away, Steve, always running away!” and all the disappointed sighs and taunts from his father.

The car picks the location for him, gas running low and he’s forced to stop at Lovers Lake. Pulling to a stop and turning his car off, he sits in silence. Staring ahead at the lake, eyes still burning.

It’s a long time as he just sits there. In silence.

Rubbing his eyes to get the tears to go away, there’s no reason to cry. She is right, he was an asshole and it is inappropriate for a eighteen year old to hang around thirteen year olds.

Even more inappropriate to hang around a house where he isn’t welcomed.

He rests his head against the steering wheel, arms around it and his knuckles turning white from how hard his gripping the wheel. His eyes burn and he laughs a bitter sound, lightly hitting his head against the wheel. “Fucking, knock it off, get yourself together” he mumbles and it’s weak, he chokes back another sob as he squeezes his eyes shut.

There’s a knock on his window that makes him flinch hard, eyes are wide and he’s immediately aware of how fucking stupid he was to let his guard down like that. Looking next to him he flinches again, not because he’s scared but because of who’s standing there.

Of all the people to find him right now, during probably his lowest point ever, is the local drug dealer. The twice senior and King of the Freaks, Eddie Munson.

“Hey man, uh, you okay?”

Shaking his head, he rests it back on his headrest taking a breath before rolling the window down. Munson takes a step back, he only knows because of the chains hanging from the guy’s pants.

“All good, Munson” he lies straight through his teeth, he doesn’t need to see how red his face is with how warm it feels. And his hands actually hurt now from how hard he was gripping the wheel, “i didn’t- uh, see anything.”

Since he’s leaning his head back on the headrest with eyes closed, he doesn’t see how Munson reacts. The only noise is just nature, birds chirping and the wind hitting leaves. He doesn’t even hear Munson moving, so opening his eyes he looks over and finds the guy standing there with an odd look on his face.

“Look, I’ll just- fuck,” he knocks his head back before rolling the window up and turning his car off, climbing out and avoiding looking directly at the guy. “I’m gonna just go”

Doesn’t bother waiting for something back, it’s been long enough in his own pity party. Now, he just needs to walk home and figure out how he’ll go about life without seeing the Henderson family and the rest of the kids.

“Are you walking? What the fuck, just leaving your car here?” Munson shouts out at him.

He glances back at his car then at Munson, slowing to a stop. “Why do you care?”

It doesn’t make a whole lot of sense, why would this guy care whether he leaves his car here? It’s only Hawkins, no one is going to steal his car. You’re more likely gonna come across a monster around than a stolen car.

Especially not at Lover’s Lake. Also why care about him? He’s an asshole and everything Munson hates and loudly announces at lunch.

He shakes his head and starts walking again, taking the silence that Munson doesn’t actually care about him. It doesn’t hurt to admit another person doesn’t like him, he honestly would be shocked if someone did like him.

What really hurts is the fake worry, the questioning, the fake concern and the curiosity.

He’s going to continue to walk home that’ll take him a few hours and will only make it back by dark. Without a weapon, without the bat to hold, because he left that in his car and Munson is still here. Can’t let him ask anymore questions.

“-sus Christ! Jesus, slow the fuck down Harrington!” Munson sounds out of breath, a lot closer too.

He flinches when a hand lands on his arm, “What? What do you want?” He turns and shakes the hand off, “if someone steals it, whatever. It- it doesn’t matter.”

Munson squints at him, looking confused, “Dude, wait, why are you crying?”

Touching his face, he laughs and it sounds so wrong. He is crying, didn’t even realize it was happening. Shaking his head, he turns around and doesn’t bother answering.

“Come on, Harrington!” Munson grabs hold of his shoulder and his grip is rough, “look, I’m sorry if you want to be alone but fuck, dude, you look like shit and crying alone is the worst. So, why don’t I give you a ride to whoe-“

Shaking his head, “like I have anyone to run to right now”

There’s a flash of Claudia and Dustin Henderson in his head and he wants, thinks that they’d shake him and hug him tight if they knew what was said and how it’s haunting him already. Won’t go away, it just brings more tears.

Munson’s silent and his hand drops, leaving behind a faint pressure and that hurts too.

“God, I’m so pathetic right now.”

“Nah, just lonely it seems”

His eyes snap to Munson and his hands are shoved into his jacket, kicking his foot before looking back at him, “I won’t judge, seriously. Let me help, even if it’s just to give you a ride”

“Just a ride?”

Munson nods, “just a ride, unless you change your mind”

He nods, taking a deep breath before stepping towards Munson, “okay, you can, um. Take me home?”

A smile spreads across Munson’s face and he takes his hands out to swing them towards where his van most likely is, “your chariot awaits, good sir!”

Despite his mood and how this might possibly be one of the worst days of his life, he cracks a tiny smile. Just enough to squeeze at his heart, actually.

Walking along side Munson is quiet, it’s a little peaceful. If he remembers correctly, Munson was never this quiet before. Always talking or laughing or yelling, he’s loud and sometimes overly obnoxious.

This is nice. Actually really nice, this quiet with him.

They make it to the van and the ride isn’t the same quiet but it’s still there. He can feel it deep in his bones now.

That this, right here, is peaceful.

Hello! This whole thing originally started back in May and I lost a little interest in this particular WIP, so I stopped and it’s been in my drafts since. Then I kept getting writers block, still have it tbh. But I read it back today and decided I can technically turn this into a two part fic instead of a one shot soo, it’s finally being shared!

I want to be clear that it’s an AU from after the demodogs and everything after that won’t be the same. And that I have nothing against Joyce but I thought “what if it was someone else than made Steve leave/didn’t like Steve?” guess who I picked 😇 plus we have enough Hopper & Joyce adopt Steve fics, we need a little more of them not doing that. Also!! There should be more fics of them being wrong, that they’re being judgmental and need consequences for their words & actions.

Anyway! I’m automatically assuming only a few people will read this far into my rambling. And if you did I love you, you get a platonic forehead kiss ☺️

Permanent Taglist: @spectrum-spectre @itsfreakingbats @mysticcrownshipper @artiststarme @thereindeerlady @justforthedead89 @ronniescontinuum @freyaforestafay @littlewildflowerkitten @gregre369 @zerokrox-blog @flustratedcas @carlprocastinator1000 @marvelmwah @solliesolesito @navnae @i-less-than-three-you @grimmfitzz @estrellami-1 @cartercaptainofthemoon @strangersteddierthings

#steve harrington #eddie munson #joyce byers #stranger things #pre steddie #steve needs a hug #fic #nburkhardt writes #steve harrington fic #angst #hurt and no comfort #sorry but it’s just not there rn #eventually this boy will get it #and trust there WILL be steddie #maybe I’ll write the second part in Claudia’s pov 🤔#pray for the ground to shallow me whole

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rogueddie · 3 months

Text

Buckingham, 1,760 words, for @thefreakandthehair’s Spicy Six Winter Challenge, with the prompt; snowball fight.

Winter, and Christmas especially, has always been Robins favorite time of year.

Or, more accurately, it used to be.

With the heavy snow, December of '85 is starting to become the worst month of Robins year. She can't even bring herself to enjoy the snow. Nothing her parents usually do to cheer her up works either.

"Until the roads are cleared, I've got to walk," Steve repeats. "I'm sorry, Robs. Maybe the snow will clear tomorrow."

"Maybe," she reluctantly agrees, ignoring the fact that he'd said the same thing yesterday... and the day before that... and the day before that. "At least we're on shift tonight, right?"

"Oh..."

Steve's tone only fills her with more dread.

"What?"

"Keith called me before you," Steve says. "Family Video is closed for the day. Something about the snow being too much and no one shopping in this weather anyway."

"So, hey, maybe school will be cancelled too," Robin tries, though they both know school won't cancel.

"I'll walk you home from school," Steve offers. "Or we can go back to my house. I still have that cake we made."

"Yeah, alright, whatever. I'll call you at lunch, yeah?"

"Ok. Missing you already, Robs."

"Love you too, Dingus."

Hanging up, she drops her head against the wall with a soft 'thud', grumbling complaints under her breath.

"No Steve today?" Her mother asks.

Robin turns, glaring when she sees the teasing smirk. "No, no Steve today. By the time he clears his driveway, I could have already walked to school and waiting... whatever. It's not a big deal."

"Mhm," her mom hums, chuckling. "Sure it isn't, sweetie."

"It isn't! It's not like we need to be together all the time. We can go one day."

"Your uncle and I used to use those same excuses, you know. We weren't any more convincing than you two. Now, come on, get ready. You'll be late if you don't leave soon."

Reluctant, and groaning, Robin takes the coat her mom holds out for her. She picks her bag up, sat by the door, and sitting on the stairs so she can pull on her boots.

"Don't rush, there's a lot of ice," her mom warns. "And keep your coat zipped up. And-"

"I know, I know. I love you, too. I'll see you later!"

"Bye sweetheart! Be careful!"

The air outside is freezing. It hits Robin like a brick wall when she steps out and, despite her mom's warning, the idea of spending longer is the cold than she needs to is horrifying.

She jogs, careful to avoid patches of roads and sidewalks that look icy.

She makes it most of the way with only a few stumbles before, inevitably, she slips over.

"Oh my god," someone yelps. "Are you ok?!"

Robin flushes, muttering curses, when she realises that, not only did someone see her fall over and eat shit- Chrissy Cunningham saw her fall over.

"I'm- yeah, fine, totally," she chokes out, forcing a laugh.

"Here," Chrissy pants a little, having ran over to her, offering a hand.

Robin takes her hand, a little surprised at how easily Chrissy pulls her up.

"Thanks," she says, trying to smile.

"Are you sure you're ok?" Chrissy frowns, looking her over. "We have a first aid kit if-"

"Oh, no, that's not... I am ok, really."

"if you're sure." Chrissy shifts, glancing back to the drive. "I'd over to drive you the rest of the way, but..."

Robin leans to look around her, wincing when she sees the drive.

The snow is piled high in the driveway and, despite how much has been cleared, there's no way that Chrissy is going to clear the rest in time.

"Why don't we walk together instead?" Robin suggests.

She almost takes it back, wincing at her own boldness, but Chrissy lights up.

"Yeah? I mean, yeah, let's! Lemme grab my bag, ok?"

"Ok, yeah, that's fine."

Robin wraps her arms around herself, starting to step side to side in an attempt to keep warm while she waits.

Luckily, it doesn't take Chrissy long.

"Ok, I'm ready!" She smiles. She pulls the strap to her back a little further onto her shoulder, the polite smile faltering. "Oh, are you cold?"

"Uh, yeah, but I'm fine, really, it-"

"No, don't worry," Chrissy twists so she can root through her bag. "I've got a spare... aha!"

She pulls out a scarf that's mostly green and white. She wraps it around Robins neck before she can protest.

"You can give it back later," Chrissy easily dismisses, starting to walk down the street. She raises an eyebrow when she glances back at Robin. "Come on!"

Robin stumbles a little in her rush to catch up.

"Careful," Chrissy says, taking hold of Robins right arm and cradling it in both of hers. She glances down at her boots. "Do you have enough grip with those?"

"What? I mean, yeah, these are great, they're sturdy and build for ice- mom got them specifically because they have great grip. The problem is with me, I'm not good at running. Like, I have terrible co-ordination- Steve is always joking about how I run like a windmill and, yeah, I do, but he learnt to walk slower than I did so really, he's the weird one here- I mean, what type of baby tries to crawl backwards, right?"

Robin finally pauses for breath. She glances at Chrissy, who is struggling to stiffle her giggles.

"Steve Harrington?" Chrissy asks, when she finally realizes that Robin isn't going to continue.

"Uh... yeah... don't tell anyone I told you that."

"My lips are sealed."

"No, really, that's- I think he told me that in confidence or something, I shouldn't have told you that, I just can't stop rambling when I get nervous around- and you're- oh god. I'm shutting up now. No more conversations. We're just... having a nice- silent- walk to school together. Just... me and Chrissy Cunningham. Jesus."

"You say that like I'm scary."

"Well, I mean..."

That only makes Chrissy giggle harder. "You think I'm scary? Really?"

She leans heavily into Robins side, one of her hands curling up around Robins bicep. She's looking up at Robin with an expression that's painfully familiar.

It's the same expression she's seen girls pull out when they're hitting on Steve. The same moves too.

But what would Steve do? Robin thinks, panicking.

She's grown so used to old conversations with Steve repeating in her head, his bad jokes and questionable advice a constant and welcome companion.

But, now that she actually needs him, he's nowhere to be found.

After a few seconds of panicking, Robin is desperate to break the tension that is quickly turning from flirty to awkward.

She ducks down, grabbing a handfull of snow, and throwing it against Chrissys coat.

Robin jerks up, standing stiff upright, frozen and stunned at herself, whilst Chrissy is equally frozen, staring at Robin with her mouth agape.

It doesn't take long for the shock and confusion to vanish though, and soon Chrissys grin turns wicked, a dangerous glint in her eyes.

"I'm sorry?" Robin tries.

"Are you?"

'That means she's flirting, just... in a more playful way', Steve voice finally rings in her head. That day had been confusing for Robin- she hadn't known if the girl had been flirting with him or bullying him. 'I kinda prefer it. It's nice to know you can roughhouse a little with a girl, you know? It can be fun. Sexy'.

That had been one of his more successful dates, Robin remembers. He'd gushed about her for the entire week between their first and second date. She can't remember what went wrong, but he was confident that-

Chrissy ducks down, quick, scooping up a pile of snow with both hands.

Nope.

She takes off running, barely darting out of the way of the snowball in time.

"Hey!" Chrissy yells after her. "Get back here!"

But she's laughing as she says it.

So, almost tripping onto her face as she ducks down, she scoops up another ball of snow. She turns, aim going a little wild with how fast she keeps running.

She yelps, stumbling a little heavier when the snowball sent back in return smacks directly in the back of her head.

"Careful!" Chrissy yells.

"Then don't aim for my head!"

"It's not my fault it's an easy target!"

"Hey!"

Robin scoops more snow, turning and sliding to a stop. Chrissy doesn't have enough time to stop, but she does duck out of the way so it hits the side of her head instead of directly in her face.

She realizes her mistake a second too late.

Chrissy, unable to slow her momentum on the same patch of ice that Robin had slid across, slams straight into Robin.

Robin winces when her back slams into the ground, the snow doing nothing to cushion the fall. She feels lucky that her head didn't also slam into the ground.

"Oops?" Chrissy says, pushing herself up slightly but making no move to get off her.

"No, it's ok, that's on me."

"Yeah..." Chrissy trails off, voice weak- distracted.

Robin holds as still as she can, irrationally worried that if she moves then she'll startle Chrissy out of whatever moment she's having that has her looking down at Robins lips, cheeks flushing.

For a moment, Robin is sure that Chrissy is going to kiss her. Her eyes flutter, shifting up so her face is above Robins, tilting her head and starting lean down, to-

Someone wolf whistles, loud.

Chrissy jerks back, throwing herself off of Robin- but she is immediately glaring at the two boys, laughing and leering at them.

"Fuck off!" Chrissy yells. "Jerks!"

She ignores them when they try yelling back, instead focusing on Robin and helping her to her feet.

"Ignore them," Chrissy mumbles, grabbing hold of her hand and gently dragging her along, walking fast. She glances back, seeming to relax. "What assholes."

Robin glances back, relieved when she realizes that they're turned around and started walking in the opposite direction.

"Yeah," she agrees, turning back to stare at Chrissy, awed. "You're so brave."

"What? Oh, no, I'm not."

"Yeah, you are! Scary, too."

"I am not!"

"Scared those two."

Chrissy huffs, leaning in so their shoulders bump together.

"You're something else," Robin continues, emboldened. "It's impressive. You're, like, actually cool. Not just popular kid cool, but... truly, really, awesome."

"Shut up." She's mumbling, but she's smiling. She's blushing. She's looking up at Robin through her eyelashes.

"Nope," Robin grins.

#stranger things #robin buckley #chrissy cunningham #buckingham #bandqueen #ficlet #chlprm

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sinofwriting · 1 year

Text

Sweet Nothing - Clay Spenser

Words: 4,912

Note(s): This is a long one that I honestly did not want to end. Also this is x reader but she goes by the nickname Mira. And anything in italics unless stated otherwise is them speaking Urdu. (Oh, and title is of course from a Taylor Swift song)

Tagging @nerdyreaderpapi who said they were really excited for this. Hope they and everyone else enjoys this.

Summary: Clay has a wife and no one believes him. He’s been a part of Bravo for eight months, the wife excuse is getting old, got old after the first month and yet he sticks to it, despite the fact that they never met her, don’t know her name, or seen a single picture of her.

Turning his phone on, a tired smile crosses his lips at the sight of his lockscreen and he can’t help the way his thumb caresses the screen as he mouths the words on it that he knows by heart, a yawn leaving him in the middle as he adjusts to being awake.

The always there ache in his heart, grows now that they’re so close to being home. And he has to resist rubbing at his chest. He didn’t need to catch Trent’s attention, the medic was like a mother hen to all of the team, but especially him since he was the youngest.

Unlocking his phone, he goes to his texts and scrolls through his missed texts, body relaxing into his hammock as he looks at the texts from his wife. Some just random tidbits of things she had to translate, or things she had to buy that they ran out of, things she made for dinner, how she forgot to pick her meds up but not to worry because she did end up getting them, just a week later than she should’ve and he can ignore the email from the pharmacy about it, and that yes Clay she knows she hopeless without him and she’s more than okay without.

He lets out a chuckle at one of her texts telling him that she wants a dog and he needs to stop dragging his feet about it.

“It’s been nearly a year, husband. The longer we go without any paws running about, the more I’ll want.”

He lifts his eyes from his phone, letting them drift around until they land on Brock who’s also laying in his hammock, though he’s more upright, Cerberus in between his legs.

“Hey, Brock.” “Hmm?” Clay doesn’t notice that the rest of the team have also turned their attention to Clay. It wasn’t often that the kid was talkative after missions, especially one like this one. “I’ve been meaning to get a dog, anything I should keep in mind with Cerb?” The dog lifts its head at his name, tail wagging as he looks at Clay. Brock runs a hand over the dog's head. “I’d say once they settle in, we introduce them, just in case.” “What kind of dog you getting?” Clay shrugs, “not too sure yet. It’ll be a puppy, that’s for sure.” His wife would have his head if they’re first pet together wasn’t a puppy. “Puppy? That’s a lot for our job.” “Yeah, who’s getting to watch it when we get spun out or are on deployment?” “My wife, who absolutely exists.” He throws up a middle finger at Sonny, already knowing what comment was going to leave the Texan’s mouth. He makes a noise and half hearted denial, but doesn’t say anything, jaw twitching as Clay tries to press that he had a wife on them again.

“She going to pick you up?” Clay’s eyebrow raises, and he pockets his phone as he feels a shift in the altitude. They’d be landing within the next thirty minutes. “I drove myself. So, no.” Ray makes a noise at that and he has to resist the urge to snap at him or one of the other guys who was staring at him.

“Join us for beers tomorrow?” Sonny asks, as they all step out and start heading to their cars. “We just spent nearly two weeks together, next time absolutely.” Sonny grunts. “Fine, but just remember what you're missing out on, GQ. I could get you a great girl.” “Married.” He shouts, as he rushes to his car. The door shuts before he can hear Sonny’s reply and with it comes a sigh of relief.

The drive home passes quickly and before he knows it, he’s in the driveway of his house. His wife’s car parked in its spot and the porch light on, with its automatic timer set to turn on at eighteen hundred and shut off at four hundred.

Clay feels the ache in his chest grow, being so close and yet still so far away. So, he doesn’t bother grabbing his go bag, even though everything needs to be washed, he just climbs out of the car, barely remembering to lock it and running up the steps to the front door.

Opening the door, he quickly steps into the house, kicking off his boots as he closes the door behind him.

“Baby?” He calls, anxiety and excitement warring inside of him. “Mira?” He uses the name that her parents started calling after learning that he and her grandmother had taken to calling her Miracle in Urdu. “I’m home.” He hears the sound of feet rounding the corner before a cry of his name greets him and he’s got an armful of his wife.

He holds her tight, lifting her off her feet, his hands moving down to her bottom to hold it as her legs wrap themselves around his waist.

“Fuck, I missed you.” He whispers into the skin of her neck, tears pricking at his eyes, as he takes in the feeling of home, the smell of it, of her. “Missed you too.” Her arms loosen from around his shoulders and she pulls back slightly, looking into his eyes as her hands come up to his face. She sighs, thumbs rubbing his cheekbones. “You got even more handsome. I think you can’t, then you leave me and somehow it happens.”

His cheeks turn pink at the compliment, the one she always gives him when he comes home to her. At one point he had denied it, thought she was just saying it, that she didn’t mean it, but with over a decade together, he knew that she meant it. It was clear in her face, the way her eyes were lit up in awe and they couldn’t stop looking at him. Clear in her body, how her breath still sped up, heart hammering in her chest.

Emotion bubbles up in him, how overwhelmingly he is in love with this woman and has been since they met, since he was fifteen. And he knows that if he speaks right now, he’ll stumble over his words, so instead he presses their lips together.

And the ache that had been plaguing him vanishes at the contact. At the soft lips pressed to his. Her hands slip from his face to his neck, her right pointer finger tracing the shell of his ear making him tighten his grip on her and press his tongue to the seam of her lips, gently touching them, before retreating. Even with the sigh into his mouth.

“Do you have anything cooking?” “No.” She breathes, “take me to bed, soldier.” He grins at the command, pressing their lips together, once than twice before starting the trip to their bedroom. “Yes, ma’am.”

—

“Stop looking at me like that.” She murmurs, eyes scanning the menu. “How am I looking at you?” She lifts her eyes off the menu, her husbands grinning face staring at her. “Like you won the lottery.” His grin grows wider, eyes alight with amusement. “Everyday with you is like winning the lottery, miracle.” She has to look away for a moment, lips pressing together to suppress a giggle. Fuck, her husband was a charmer.

Her eyes drift back towards the menu. Despite having dinner two hours earlier, she was hungry again, but not hungry enough to eat something all by herself, so it was a good thing she had Clay with her. She swore sometimes he had more than one stomach on him with the way he ate.

“Want to share a chicken strip basket with me?” “Sure. You want a beer?” He asks, looking out for a waitress. “Please, just whatever you get.”

Resting her chin on her hand, she watches as he orders for them. Seamlessly keeping the waitress's attention off her.

“It ran over. Complications?” She asks when the waitress leaves, curiosity pulling at her. He nods, “Intel was bad. HAVOC nearly blew a gasket.” “But, no injuries.” “No injuries.” The whole team had basically been glorified bodyguards for two weeks. “It was a milk run that went long. Only reason we were there for so long was because of the intel and having to get new contacts.” She hums, switching back to english. “This place seems nice.” She takes a glance around. “Only opened up a month or so ago. Kids aren’t allowed after eight.” “Yes, sir.” The waitress says, setting down two beers in front of them. “And the last family we had just left. So just a warning the music will be going up and our cook is only here until ten.” “Thank you.” She smiles at the waitress. “Of course. Let me know if you need a refill and your food should be out shortly.”

“She’s nice.” “Hasn’t worked long enough in food service.” Her eyes roll. “Says the man who's never worked in food service.” “But you did. Worst six months of our marriage.” Her mouth falls open, “you were deployed for all of it.” He shrugs, “you were miserable working at the place. Me not being there just made that worse.” “Such a softy.” Clay smiles, tangling their fingers together on top of the table. “Only for you, my miracle.”

They're halfway through their beers when the music gets turned up and their basket of chicken strips arrive. Grabbing one, she hisses at how hot it is immediately dropping it back down. She shakes her hand out, rubbing the pads of fingers together.

“Cut it?” “Please.” He doesn’t say anything, sending her a fond look before grabbing the fork and knife that had been resting on the table and cutting the chicken up.

Nearly an hour later and on her third beer and last one, since Clay was also stopping at three since he was driving, the door opening to the bar and raucous noise catches her attention.

Turning her head, she eyes the group of six men and two women, military she noted by some of their stances and they way all the men seemed to be surveying the building. It’s then that her eyes focus on their faces and her eyes widen, recognizing some of them.

“Clay,” she kicks his shin lightly. She hears his sharp intake of breath and she blindly reaches for his hand, squeezing it tight. Her heart thuds painfully in her chest when he grasps it tight, clinging to it. “Do you want to leave?” “No.” “Are you sure?” “It's your choice.” She takes her eyes off his team, going to protest, but he stops her. “No, it’s your choice. I know you don’t particularly like them.” His face twists at that, because that was a light way of putting it.

His wife nearly despised them for judging him just because he had the last name Spenser. Add on Sonny’s treatment those first few missions and how Jason treated him after that first time he worked with Bravo. He was surprised that she hadn’t stormed onto base using her clearance to give the Master Chief a piece of her mind. It wouldn’t shock him if them meeting eventually resulted in that happening. She wasn’t one to hold back, not when it concerned him.

She eyes her husband, remembering how he had come home practically collapsing in her arms because of Bravo, because he had the last name Spenser and more stupid military men weren’t willing to not judge a book by its cover. Remembering their refusal to believe that he was married, all because he won’t introduce them or talk about her, because he was a kid, despite being twenty-seven. But she also remembers the light in his eyes as he talks about Cerb, Trent’s mother henning, Ray’s quiet accompaniment to the range. He’s been with them for nearly a year and she knows that they’ve become like family to them, so close to being brothers in not just name but also bond. And she knows that the only thing that is stopping him from letting them in and really see who he is behind that cocky façade is her. And she can’t deny him family, more people to love him, so she squeezes his hand again.

“Let’s stay.” “Really?” She nods. “They’re your brothers, honey. I can’t deny you people that love you, just because of my misgivings.” He looks at her in awe, blue eyes shining. “I don’t deserve you, not one bit.” He sounds reverent and before she can deny it, protest, he’s leaning across the table, crushing their lips together in a passionate kiss.

A loud whistle breaks them apart and he’s still looking at her in absolute awe. “You, Mrs. Spenser, are going to be spoiled so much later.” She swallows harshly, thighs pressing together at the promise. “And I can’t wait, husband.” His eyes flash but the sound of a chair being pulled out stops him from kissing her again.

“I’m going to take these up and get something else to drink. You want anything?” She asks, grabbing their beer bottles. “Water, please.” She nods, flashing him a smile before standing and heading to the bar, a slight limp in her gait.

He watches her, heat simmering inside of him.

Clay looks away when someone sits across from him, knocking their feet together,

“Would ya look at that, GQ. Said you didn’t want to come out drinking with us and we still ended up at the same place.” The Texan accent makes him sigh. “Sonny. First stop of the night?” “Yeah, even managed to get Blackburn to join us.” Clay spots the rest of the group in the corner where there’s pool tables, brows going up seeing Naima standing next to Lisa. He had forgotten that her parents were in town this week. “Naima eat?” “You think Ray would’ve let her out of the house to drink without food in her stomach?” “I don’t think Ray tells her to do anything.” Sonny laughs, “right you are, brother. Last time Ray tried to tell her to do something,” he whistles. “I don’t think I’ve seen a man regret something so much.” He chuckles, he hadn’t been part of the team for that but he could imagine it. “Lisa text you, we were coming here? Decide to join us anyways?” “No, I actually,” he begins before he can continue, two glasses are being put on the table and a familiar weight is settling on his leg that’s planted outside the booth.

“Next time we should Uber, they’ve got some interesting cocktails.” She tells him, before turning her head to look at the stunned Seal sitting across from them. “Hi, I hope I wasn’t interrupting.” Clay has to press his face against her back to hide his smile. She knew damn well what she was doing and he couldn’t love her more for it. “No, ma’am. You known Clay long?” His eyes flicker between the two. She lets out a laugh, just a little off from her normal one. “Long enough.” He squeezes her waist and she relaxes a little back into him. “Well, my name's Sonny Quinn, I work with Clay since he ain’t got the manners to introduce us.” She extends her hand, giving the Texan’s a quick shake before giving her name and they both watch as his jaw drops and his eyes widen. “But please, call me Mira. Everyone does.”

“Spenser?” He repeats, barely hearing her request. “Yes, sir. And proud.” She lifts her left hand and gives it a small shake where both his grandmother’s wedding band sits and her grandmother's wedding ring. “Well, it’s a pleasure to meet you” He manages to say after a few seconds. “Mira, I don’t think you’ve met the rest of the team, but if you’d like you could join us. We're just playing some pool and drinking.”

“Join?” The french makes him blink, but he nods. “Sure.” “We’d love to.” He blinks at the language change, but nods, standing. “Alright, then. Can I get you anything to drink?” His eyes flicker to Clay, expecting to see some sort of scowl on the younger man’s face at his offer but the kid just looks amused and tension he didn’t know he was holding, vanishes. “I’m alright. I just got us some water.” She tells him, standing, grabbing one of the waters from the table.

Nodding, he watches as Clay also stands, doing the same as her, his arm looping around his wife’s waist, lips brushing her temple. They make an interesting picture, a pretty one. Cause of course Clay would have a wife even prettier than he was.

Leading them over to the corner that Bravo had commandeered, Jason spots them first, smiling at him, before a brief look of concern takes over at his wide eyes. And a quick nudge to Ray’s ribs from Jason gets everyone else's attention.

“Ladies,” he nods to Lisa and Naima, “gents. Look who I ran into?” He steps aside letting them more easily see Clay, who’s setting their waters down on a high table they took over. “Hey!” A few say at the time, catching other people's attention for a moment. “What are you doing here?” Lisa asks, smiling at the youngest member of Bravo. He tilts his head to the left, gesturing, “date night. Went to dinner then ended up here. Would’ve gone somewhere else if I knew who we’d run into.” He grins, catching the elbow his wife starts to throw before it can make contact. “You love us.” She teases and Clay rolls his eyes but the soft line of his shoulders and grin betrays him. “And who is this?” She looks at the woman next to Clay offering her smile. She smiles at the woman who Clay talks about fondly, always having their back in HAVOC, “I’m Mira, Clay’s wife.” Her smile doesn’t flicker at the sharp intakes of breaths her introduction causes. “You must be Lisa, Clay talks about you often. He talks about all of you often.” She looks at the rest of them. Naima hits Ray’s chest. “I had no idea that Clay was married.”

She quickly shakes the younger girl's hand. “I’m Naima, Ray’s wife. If Ray had something sooner, we could have set up something sooner. All of us wives and girlfriends have a groupchat. I know how difficult it can be.” “Thank you. We’ll have to exchange numbers. You have two kids right? Jameelah and RJ?” “We do.” Her smile widens at Mira remembering her kids names just from hearing Clay talk about them. “Clay mentioned them. He’s never been uncle Clay before. Came home all lit up.” He nudges her slightly. “They meet you and you’ll be Auntie.” “Damn straight, I married you for the benefits, honey.” “And my body.” He grins down at her, holding her tighter against him. She pats his chest. “And your body.”

Naima awes a bit at the young couple. She remembered when her and Ray were first together, they had also been stuck together at the hip. Now with being together for so long and two kids, there wasn’t a lot of being stuck at the hip.

“How long have you two been together? Or married?” She asks, curious. They seemed like newlyweds, just a couple of months under their belt, still firmly in the honeymoon phase. “Been together for twelve years, married for eight.” Clay tells everyone, a proud look in his eyes. “Seven, honey. We got engaged eight years ago.” She corrects, watching the shocked faces of his team. He scowls at the reminder of the near year of waiting he had before they finally could get married. “Worst year of my life.” “It wasn’t even a year!” “It was nearly a year.”

“Now, why do I feel like there’s a story there?” One of the guys says, recovering first. “Trent,” he offers his name, just in case. “That would be because there is.” She pats Clay’s hand. “Clay and I got together when we were fifteen, but there’s nearly a year between us. So, Clay turns eighteen, proposes, is already to go to the courthouse and be married and I had to remind him that we had to wait a good eight months to get married since I was still seventeen.”

“The wait was horrible.” He groans. Mira laughs, “what wait? The only thing that changed was my last name and us getting a piece of paper. Nothing else changed.” “Sex.” Sonny chokes on his beer. “We had sex before.” Lisa lets out a laugh at the exasperated look on her face, she already liked this girl. “Yeah, but it wasn’t married sex.” “Oh my god.” She rolls her eyes, not needing to look at him to know he was grinning, chest puffed out a bit.

She looks at the other women in the group, “Please save me from him.” Naima laughs at the girl, but steps over to the booth where Brock is sitting and motions for her to join. “Sit with me and Brock. I want to know all about you.”

She feels Clay squeeze her hip and brush his lips across her temple before letting her go. She sends him a smile before joining the older woman at the booth, sliding in on the same side that Naima’s sitting on.

“Nice to meet you, Brock.” She greets the man. “You too.”

Clay watches as Naima and Mira start to talk, Brock paying rapid attention if the way his body language is anything to go by.

“So, Bam Bam does have a wife.” He scowls at the Texan, “Told you I did.” “Still. Can see why you kept her away. She’s so far out of your league.” Sonny laughs, sending Clay a wink as he dodges an elbow from Lisa. He looks back at Mira, who’s laughing. “Damn right.”

He felt lucky most days that she even took a glance at him.

“Why did it take so long for us to meet her?” Jason asks. “Does she not like the job? Cause problems at home?” Clay scoffs, “god, no.” It wasn’t that they hadn’t had problems, they’d been together for over a decade they had them, but the idea of his job causing some was laughable. “She encouraged me to enlist, wouldn’t have made it as far without her. And she understands the job.” Something in his tone sets Jason on edge, “Not too much, I hope.” “Spenser,” Eric starts, realizing where Jason’s head went and it’s clear Ray did too by the way he sets his pool cue down. He sticks his chin out, shaking his head. “She’s a linguist.” He gets blank looks. “She knows as many languages as me, more. She’s been a consultant for the CIA since we were twenty. She’s got higher clearance than me.” Sonny whistles, “she’s really out of your league.” He grins at him.

“So, what was the problem?” Jason asks and god was he like a dog with a bone. He could tell there was a reason and all of them knew he wouldn’t stop until he knew why. Clay sighs, sending a look over to Mira, who sensing it, looks back at him and sends him a smile and nod. “I talk shop with her.” Jason sends him a disapproving look, but he ignores it. He liked Jason, but he wasn’t about to take relationship advice from the older man. “So, if I’ve had a bad day or something went wrong I talk about it.” “I don’t get it.” Lisa whacks the Texan on his arm, understanding why Clay hadn’t introduced her or even talked about her. He sighs, “she doesn’t like you,” he looks at Sonny. “Or you.” he looks at Jason. “What? For what reason?” Trent and Ray let out laughs at Sonny’s confusion. They could take a good guess for why she didn’t like either Sonny or Jason and they couldn’t say they blamed her. “She doesn’t have much tolerance for anyone who sees the last name Spenser and immediately assumes I’m like my father.” Jason winces at the statement and reminder of what he had first thought of Clay and how he treated him because of it. Yeah, he could see the reason for dislike. “Shit, Bam Bam. I fucked that one, huh?”

Clay smiles at the older man, “give her a year, maybe two. You’ll get off her shitlist.” “And me?” Jason asks, noticing that his eyes hadn’t drifted over to him. He winces, “that’s a bit more complicated.” Ray lets out a laugh at Jason’s face, slapping him on the back. “I told you that one of these days your big mouth and unwillingness to let things go would bite you in the ass.”

“He did not, Mira!” Naima’s scandalized voice rings out and makes them all turn their heads to look over at the booth where her, Mira, and Brock were sitting. She lets out a laugh, people’s reactions to how exactly Clay proposed never ceased to make her laugh. “He absolutely did.” Naima’s scandalized expression vanishes and her jaw locks as she ushers the younger out of the booth, turning her attention to the man they had just been talking about. “Clay Spenser!” His eyes widen at his name being said like that and he sends a look to Ray, but the 2IC just shakes his head. He was on his own with this one. “I can not believe you! Proposing like that!” She stands with her hands on her hips, lips pressed together in a frown. He relaxes at that. He knew how he proposed wasn’t normal and had pointedly not mentioned how he had to her parents or his grandparents knowing he’d got smacked upside the head. “Naima, I was eighteen.” He pleads, putting his hands up in surrender, sending a look to Mira who’s giggling. “Really, it’s funny more than anything.” “Oh, I’ve got to know this.” Sonny mutters under his breath. There would never be enough material to tease Clay with. And something from his relationship, well that was even juicer.

“How exactly did Clay propose?” Lisa asks, wondering what had the normally chill woman up in arms. “Well, honey, should I tell them or do you want to?” She asks, teasingly as she walks over to him. He wraps an arm around her, pulling her closer. “You can, miracle. Already told it once today, what’s two times?” She nods, wrapping an arm around him as well. Might as well get as comfy as she could with all the eyes on her.

“Well, you already know that Clay was very eager to get married.” “Be a fool not to.” He mutters, interrupting her which she ignores but Trent snorts hearing the mutter. “But he was really eager. My parents and his grandparents were missionaries, so they kept odd hours, were really only home to sleep and even then sometimes depending on how bad the area they were at was they sometimes would sleep there. Which meant we had a lot of time to ourselves.” The guys all grin at that, knowing exactly what that meant. “And with our luck, the week that Clay turned eighteen, they were away helping a village six hours away that experienced a horrible fire.” That earns a few frowns, but everyone is still listening intently to her.

“So, when it rolled over to midnight, I woke him up to wish him a happy eighteenth and to have birthday sex.” She earns a few laughs at how unashamed she is and she smiles at the sound. She could blame it on being a horny teenager but she still wanted to climb Clay like a tree as much if not more than when they were teens. “In the middle of said birthday sex, he just asks me to marry him. Tells me that one of the guys in the village we were in owes him a favor and we could take his truck to get married as soon as the sun was up.” “You didn’t?” Clay shrugs at the disappointed look from Jason. “I’d been thinking about it for months, it slipped out.” He defends. “It was sweet.” Mira also defends him. “Even if my response put a damper on things.” He winces at that, because yeah, he hadn’t reacted the best to hearing the word can’t right after he had proposed and then forced onto his back so she could ride him. It was one of the few times that he had stopped in the middle of sex for a reason that wasn’t cramping or someone knocking on the door. “And what was your response?”

“Can’t, just the word can’t.” She gives Clay a sorry smile. “Even in the middle of sex the logical side of my brain was working.” “Sounds like someone wasn’t doing a good job.” Sonny jokes. “Nah, I was thinking of a way to flip him on his back right before he started talking.” Sonny lets out a loud laugh at that and the way it makes Jason slightly bug eyed. “I definitely like you, Mrs. GQ.” “Can I be Mrs. Bam Bam instead?” She asks, grinning. “Rolls off the tongue better.” “You can have whatever nickname you want, Mrs. Bam Bam.” The Texan tells her, a bit more southern drawl in his voice as he gives her a wink.

#clay spenser x reader #clay spenser imagine #seal team imagine #seal team x reader

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effervescentdragon · 7 months

Note

Twinklaren + Oscar winning a race before lando

im not good today so. yeah.

"I mean, it's not like it counts properly," Lando says, and Oscar doesn't have time to react because he goes on, "like what they said to George in Brazil last year, yeah? Untill he won Sunday too," he finishes.

His elbow doesn't dig into Oscar's side because the movement gets aborted, and the grin on Lando's face is still present, and Oscar doesn't know what to think, and isn't that always the fucking case with Lando?

"I guess -" he starts to say, but Lando interrupts, sweaty and grinning, something manic in his eyes. "You just gotta win tomorrow," he says, and Oscar's stomach drops. "But congratulations, that was a wonderful drive, they really did magic with our cars, didn't they?"

Lando doesn't stop talking and Oscar can't catch his breath for long enough to do anything, to say anything. What would he even say, or even better, what can he say without having the whole management of McLaren coming down on him in ways neither he nor Mark can counter?

Fuck you, he can say. I won before you, in my rookie season, he could say. I'm better than you, another option. I wouldn't have fucked up in Sochi, that's a good one. You should be calmer when you drive, maybe you could win something then, that one would hurt.

He looks at Lando properly, looks at the way his hair falls on his face, his curls sweat-stained, making waves that somehow suit him. Oscar thought it was funny when Lando shaved his head that once but he thinks it looks much better now. He looks at the smile that Lando keeps on, tries to see if there's a strain there anywhere. Tries to see if there's somewhere he can press, because that's not fair, he drove the race of his life and he won, and what the fuck does it matter it's a sprint? Why does it matter?

He doesn't ask himself why Lando isn't happy for him. He isn't even sure Lando isn't happy for him, but they're racers and all the want, all they fight for is to win, and the first rule is always that you have to be better than your teammate. Oscar always was, he was always better than his teammates, and objectively, he knows people say he's better than Lando. He knows there's whispers and there's tweets and posts and questions. He knows Mark said You can beat him, but he also knows Mark looks at him and doesn't see Oscar sometimes. He knows Mark looks at Lando and sees someone else.

He looks at Lando and sees a thousand ways he can push. He sees a thousand different conversations and he sees a thousand different paths they can take. Well, maybe not thousands. Three at least. He looks at Lando drinking the water and the way he closes his eyes and the way his chest moves. He looks at the way his neck bobs as he swallows, sweaty and wet, and the way his eyes are tightly shut.

He can't see what Lando is thinking. He never can. Lando changes tactics like he changes clothes, like everything is fleeting in this life and like nothing can ever hold his attention for long enough to become meaningful. Streaming, DJ-ing, music genres, teammates, roommates, friends, girlfriends... none of it stays.

He smiles one moment and frowns the next and he means both of those. He's nice to Oscar and he's funny and makes Oscar laugh, or as close as Oscar ever comes to it and he ignores Oscar's texts most of the time, except when Oscar wakes up to 25+ messages, most of them memes and random thoughts. He bickers with Alex and George and then spends weekends with them. He doesn't speak a word to Carlos in the paddock and the next day there's pictures of them golfing together. He ignores Daniel and then spends an hour on the phone laughing with him. He shit-talkes Charles and then plays PS for nights on end with him.

The only thing that's solid in the flitting, fluid fluttering of Lando's existence is the fact that Lando is locked in with McLaren for years.

Oscar doesn't really care about much in his life. Everything he has, he got, maybe not completely easily, but with ease at least. He's a very good driver. He's driving for a team that won championships and will definitely win them again. He's good looking, and rich, and he has a girlfriend and he has a good manager who knows how to play the game and he has his parents and it's all good. He just won a sprint race, their car is improving, everything is going according to plan. He doesn't really have to care about much.

He cares about the hair that's falling into Lando's eyes, sticking to his brow.

"You have - let me," he says, reaching out before he can think about it. Lando freezes and doesn't move as Oscar pushes his curls back. His eyes are narrowed and whn he laughs, it's not right - it's wrong.

"Thanks," he says. "Congratulations, though. Good points to the team."

Lando grins and Oscar wants to scream. There's traces of Lando's sweat on his fingers cooling down in the air. He wants to lick them.

"Yeah," he says stupidly, staring into Lando's eyes and seeing so much it ends up amounting to nothing. "Time to think about tomorrow, right?"

He isn't sure why he's asking. Lando barks a laugh.

"Sure," he says, and Oscar can't read anything in his voice. "There's always tomorrow."

#i have no idea what this is #twinklaren #effervescentdragonwrites #my writing #f1 rpf #c tag <3 #landoscar

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flatoutin-eaurouge · 7 months

Text

Brighter than the sun

Very much inspired by this and this 🥵

Pairing: Mika Häkkinen x Michael Schumacher

Michael wiped his forehead in the blazing Brazilian sun as beads of sweat dribbled down his face. It wasn't even that warm in Interlagos. It was just that the sun had so much power that is evaporated the liquids straight out of your pores.

The waves of heat rose off the tarmac like flames above a grill, making the air above the track sizzle as it expanded and fought the colder air on its way above. The rays of ultraviolet were so strong that Michael put on the darkest sunglasses he could find. The techinical briefing was over - Thank God - because so was his will to stay in the garage any longer. He wanted nothing more than that to spent some alone-time on the Interlagos roof terrace, where he could turn his chagrin about working in the heat into resignation, becoming at peace with relaxing in the heat. Maybe have a Mojito or two, since he had finished driving for the day.

To be honest, the Brazilian sun made him a bit restless. It were on sunny days like this one when he missed Corinna most. He just wanted to relieve some tension after testing. He needed that tension, currently coiling in his stomach, to be freed from its cage before tomorrow's race, or else his Finnish opponent might run off with his trophy.

Mika... the man was in fact his favourite opponent. He never had any trouble with Mika. Mika was fun to share the podium with. Mika was kind and gratious. Mika this, Mika that... Mika occupied his mind way too often the last couple of years.

When he arrived on the roof terrace, he quickly took refuge underneath a large parasol. Here, on the tiled roof terrace it seemed even hotter than down at the paddock. The mercury in the thermometer almost burst from its glass casing. Michael really could do with a cold drink. To his dissapointment however the bar was closed.

While his eyes had been scanning the roof terrace for the opening sign of the bar, he had noticed he was not alone. He stared at the alluring sight for a moment and grinned. Nevermind a cold drink... he needed a cold shower.

Michael always thought Finns didn't enjoy the sun, seeing as they come from boreal areas. Although they did like saunas, which made Michael change his mind in an instant. Mika was sitting there with his eyes shut, race suit unzipped and draped around his waist, looking like Helios. His skin more tan than Michael thought the cool Finn would ever be able to pull off, his long blonde hair weaving in the wind, looking even more golden in the sunlight. Michael sighed in appreciation and was glad for the sunglasses, because they were dark enough to hide the way he was staring so blatantly.

He stood up and took a seat closer to Mika. He wondered if he too should unzip his race suit, but his fireproofs were still underneath and he didn't want to give his rival a show... or maybe... oh well let's see how this pans out. For now he just sat there being way too hot and bothered.

Mika still hadn't noticed him. Michael watched beads of sweat trickling from Mika's hair down his broad chest and ignored the heat pooling in his stomach.

It was only seconds later that Mika noticed him. "Hey, Michael." The Finn looked around the terrace for a moment, then smiled at him. "Isn't it crazy how - apart from the two of us - empty this terrace is? On such a beautiful day."

Michael swallowed. Yes, just the two of us. Like all the time. It was always the two of them... on the podium... wielding champagne. "Yes, Mika. A good place to unwind after testing."

Mika nodded. "How did your testing go?"

Michael grinned. He wondered whether Mika genuinely wanted to know or if he wanted to pry out some information on the Ferrari F300. "Wouldn't you like to know," he teased.

Mika smirked. "Ah you're not giving me anything! Are you scared of me, Michael?"

Michael looked into the blonde's ocean-blue eyes and swallowed. I am not scared of you. I am distracted by you! How dare you sit like that! With all that skin on display! "Scared of you? No, scared of Jean and Ross. They will give me hell if I give away the secrets of the F300."

Mika chuckled. "I wasn't asking about the F300. I mean just driving in general, Michael. Lots of tyre deg I am sure. It's so warm out here!" He noticed Michael sweating in his race suit and wondered what was stopping him from undoing it the way all drivers did in the heat. "But you seem to be coping well with the heat?"

Michael blushed. He was glad the afternoon heat gave him reason to be red-faced. "Yes, I have never had any trouble with high temperatures. I do quite enjoy it to be honest."

Mika nodded. "Yeah me too. And like this it's very easy to cope with it."

Like this. Michael saw it as an invitation to look Mika up an down as the Finn was definitely talking about his state of dress. He swallowed audibly as his mouth went dry. Michael knew Mika was broad-shouldered, but the sturdy McLaren silver racing suit never gave anything away when it came to the contours of his muscled upper body.

He looked like this only six months after his near-fatal accident. How? He remembered Mika being all skin and bone after leaving the hospital. What did they give him for breakfast?

Michael nodded. "Yeah, probably." He noticed the skin on Mika's shoulders was slightly starting to turn red. "Uhm... did you?" he stammered. "Did you put on sunscreen?"

Mika blushed. "Yeah, I brought it with me but I couldn't reach everywhere." He searched his skin for the sun burns that had probably caught Michael's eyes, but couldn't find any. He reached into the plastic bag he brought along and grabbed his bottle of sunscreen.

"You know..." Michael bit his lip. "I don't mind putting it on you." He laughed nervously. "I will have your back..."

Mika smirked his crooked smile at Michael's little joke, partly because he thought it was funny and partly to loosen the tension between the two. Surely there shouldn't be any tension. Having someone else put sunscreen on your back was a necessity, right?

Michael blushed as he reached for the bottle Mika was offering him. He squeezed quite a good amount of the white moisture on his hand and walked to Mika, who was now standing in his shirtless glory.

As soon as his hand made contact wit Mika's skin the Finn jumped.

"Perkele, ko on kylma! That's cold!"

Michael grinned mischievously. He started slow, light touches gently massaging the sunscreen into Mika's skin. His natural instinct took over, and next thing he knew, he was working out the knots in his upper back. Digging his thumbs in Mika's back muscles, Michael started to knead the flesh between his fingers. He pretty much had to remind himself that he was putting sunscreen on Mika instead of lotion.

"Oh Michael, that's very kind of you! I think my physiotherapist missed a few knots."

Michael's face turned impossibly red. He was caught in the action. Luckily he was facing Mika's back side, so the Finn couldn't see his flustered face. He continued without lingering his hands on his skin for too long, but Mika's skin was so smooth and alluring.

He swiped those luscious long blonde locks to the side to rub his hands over his neck and broad shoulders. Then let his index finger run down Mika's spine, making the Finn shudder in delight.

Fuck. Michael forced himself to think about Corinna, in order to make whatever he was doing with Mika feel as platonic as possible.

Michael regretted the job was finished when the moisture on his hands started to dry up, but he didn't dare to squeeze another bit of sunscreen from the bottle.

When he handed back Mika his sunscreen, the Finn grabbed his wrist instead.

"I don't mind returning the favour."

Michael felt goosebumps appear on his skin. God, yes please. He swallowed and schooled his glee behind an impassive mask, trying to appear aloof.

"Well, why not?"

Michael started to work on his Ferrari red overalls with nimble fingers. Slowly unzipping the garment, giving his rival the show he was very hesitant about giving fifteen minutes earlier. His fireproofs were next and landed on the ground between them.

And just like he'd with Mika, the Finn was eating him up with his eyes, staring at his huge pecs. Look at them! Carefully picking out possibilities to touch one another like a well played-out game of chess. So this is what they end up like on a warm brilliant day in Brazil without their respective girlfriends around?

Michael felt tense in his shoulders, flustered with the way he knew Mika was staring. A heat crept up to his neck which was definitely not from the sun. His fingers were like butter as he dropped the bottle of sunscreen.

Mika picked it up from the ground and uncapped the bottle.

Michael watched as the handsome Finn squeezed the sunscreen in his hands and started lathering them with the stuff.

"To make sure it's not cold on your skin. You didn't think of that with me, so actually I shouldn't be doing this." He grinned. "But unlike you, I am very thoughtful."

Michael shivered in anticipation and gasped when he felt Mika's large hands on his skin. His hands felt robust unlike Corinna's. An entire different but very welcome sensation.

Thoughtful as he was, Mika made sure to touch every square inch of skin within his reach. Swerving his hands over the dips and hills between his muscles... just to make sure he wouldn't burn right? His own hands had been lingering on Mika's skin to make sure he wouldn't burn right?

Michael bit his lip when Mika smoothed the cream all over his exposed skin, the sensation sparking a warmth in his core. He could feel Mika's close proximity and he "accidently" arched his back into the Finn, reveling in the sudden skin contact.

In a reflex, Mika grabbed him by the hips to steady him. Holding him there for a moment, while eyeing the German's shimmering shoulders, until he noticed the stains of white on Michael's red overalls.

"Oh vittu! I got sunscreen on your race suit."

Mika let go off him and walked to his plastic bag to look for a handkerchief. He rummaged through his things and walked back to Michael with the cleaning cloth of his sunglasses.

"Let me get that for you."

Michael mourned the fact that Mika's attention was now on his clothing instead of on his skin. He didn't hesitate and grabbed his rival's wrist, squeezing softly. Emerald greens staring at saphire blues.

"Leave it. It's okay."

And at that moment they were so close they could kiss. It came up in Michael's mind for a fraction of a second. To grab Mika by his blonde locks and yank him into a kiss. To hold him and touch his delectable body.

But before he knew it, the moment was over. Both of them creating a distance with flustered faces. Had they been thinking of the same thing?

"Thank you. We are well protected now," Mika coughed nervously with pink-tinged cheeks.

A nod from an equally flustered face.

A crooked smile.

Michael walked back to his chair with a white sunscreen stain the size of Mika's hand on his red overalls at hip height.

#makkinen #mika häkkinen #michael schumacher #mika hakkinen #f1 fanfic #f1 fic #f1 #formula 1 #formula one #flatoutin-eaurouge #f1fanfic

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brights-place · 10 months

Note

hii!! Can i request general headcanons with Laughing Jack and Candy Pop? (Creepypasta) thank you <33

Never ever safe when with us!

Pairings: Laughing Jack, and Candy Pop

A/N: OMG OMG THANK YOU I LOVE THOSE TWO SO MUCHHHH one of my top 3 (*´ー｀*)

Laughing Jack

- He allows Sally to paint his claws sometimes but gets rid of them before a kill.

- He tries to act sweet with the creepypasta kids but due to his experience with Issac he seems to be creepy. Took the kids awhile to try get to know him more.

- Thrives on pranks

- Bipolar

- gets into some arguments with Kageko on who’s the better dressed in Black and white…

- Jill and ChessMaster always glance at eachother before recording the scene.

- He likes to watch Some creepypasta sleep since He dosen’t need to He finds it weird.

- When you came to the mansion he started to poke you whenever you where sleeping

- LJ takes particular interest to befriend most of the children of the slender mansion trying his best but when it comes to his victims it’s a whole diffrent story.

- like to talk about his victims and how he kills them.

- Very Childish

- He dosen’t understand emotions that well.

- When he’s angered He’s either very creepy or he flips onto the floor and throws a tantrum like a child due to the fact he had been surrounded by kids his whole existence

- These temper tantrums is how he thinks how people should be upset Lora do people get hurt though.

- about 7’3-8’0 Mans Lanky

- Hates being left alone, forgotten or ignored he would throw a huge fit.

- Slender created a rule to never touch the music box until it changes spots.

- LJ use to find it comfortable to be in the box at first when entering the mansion and rarely would come out unless he went out to do his little Adventures.

- Likes to dress up

- He smacks the shit out of anybody who comments on why he wore a dress around the place.

- “You Ugly Brat I look fashionable”

- He dosen’t swear much he uses words such as ‘Butt hole’ and ‘Poop Brain’ as insults unless he’s really pissed then he’s going to start cussing like there’s no tomorrow.

- Enjoy Listening to Classics music or HyperPop music he’s open to any.

- Very sharp teeth

- He has poisoned sweets in his left pocket and Non-poisoned in his right

- He dosen’t know his lefts and rights so sometimes he gives Somebody a poisoned one by accident.

- Doctor smiley hates LJ for the amount of times he gave Toby, Sally, and Zero poisoned candy by accident.

- purposely trips over Candypop once for stealing his sweets.

- Likes to mimic the personality of his new “owners” (aka his victims)

- Very stretchable and can jump super high

- He Likes to Hum to pop goes the weasel multiple times

- You Can Hear him from a mile away because of his humming of the song.

Candy Pop

- Best friends with Nathan the Nobody

- Gossiping King He knows everything going on.

- Likes to torment his victims

- He’s an Incubus, once a genyr before possessed by Night Terrors

- Man’s in his 6000’s

- Loves pranks like LJ but takes them very far

- He Likes to make bets with his sister and Nathan

- Him and Candy Cane like to switch up their outfits sometimes giving each-other little tips.

- Nightmares Whenever

- Cocky Asshole

- Can’t be in the human world physically for a very long time

- Loves every genre of music

- He has 3000 kids yet He dosen’t Care for them though (MF HAS CHILDREN 😭)

- Loves to fuck around with Night Terror

- Loves draining the energy and torturing his victims

- Most do his victims have mental illnesses cause he finds it funny to see their reactions and thinks it’s much easier to toy with them.

- master manipulator

- doesn’t kill the victims himself drives them off the edge if you know what I mean

- Likes to try different styles of clown makeup but always sticks to his usual look

- Has step by step guide for his hair

- he is kind of similar to Slender-man and puppeteer though if he gets enough energy to use in this reality it will bring chaos.

- uses his hammer when he REALLY needs it or deems it Useful for his situation

- found a child too annoying he claimed that “The child had something on him I had to smack it with something!”

- His laughs are psychotic

- Friends with laughing Jack due to the fact both of them could of been created by the same guardian.

- Demi-Boy

- Likes to hangout with Jason sometimes.

- gets pissed very easily

- Can Kill you in dreams or In real life You are not safe.

- He Acts like your bestfriend before it gets too much for you to drive you into madness.

- He pierced his ears.

- On his activities He dosen’t have allies nor help he works alone.

- His candy is filled with Melatonin so his victims sleep quicker

- When you arrived in the mansion he tried to kill you in your sleep… you guys made bracelets in your dream instead.

- Damages anything in his path whenever he is angered

- Large mood swings

- Night Terror always has some problems and he likes to move night terror somewhere else just to Piss him off which always works.

- People in the mansion where informed to never be vulnerable around Candypop.

- dosen’t like to admit that he is amazing at cooking and sewing.

- likes to show off his tricks

- The bells on his collar are loud along with the bells on his wrists and shoes but he can quiet them down in a second when he wants to.

- Get Jump-scared whenever he is around cause he will pop up anywhere anytime

#fluff #gore lover #x reader #creepypasta #creepypasta lj #creepypasta candy pop #creepypasta headcannons #headcannons #slenderman #HeadcannonsYayy #What am I doing with my life?#creepypasta CandyCane #clowns #Jesters

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bisamwilson · 10 months

Note

Hi! Sambucky + #6, pretty please?

thanks for the ask <3 #6: things you said under the stars and in the grass (from this list)

There's a firefly within reaching distance, so it shouldn't be any surprise to Bucky that Sam automatically reaches up towards it.

He doesn't catch it like Bucky expects him to, like Bucky'd seen him do with Cass and AJ on warm summer nights down in Delacroix, but just lets his hands hover a few inches away until it blinks off outward into the night. Sam's arms fall back down to his stomach.

"You know how a lot of people get seasick when they're lying out on a boat?" Sam asks, a tinge of melancholy in his voice that doesn't match the lazy haze of the night. He doesn't look over to see if Bucky nods, but he does anyway. "Sometimes I think I've got the opposite of that. Watching the stars from solid ground feels wrong in a way I can't really explain."

They'd been in upstate New York for entirely too long, training some of the new kids at the compound to teach them how to work as a team, along with Sam training Joaquín on some of the more advanced techniques with the wings. Bucky's even starting to feel a little homesick for Delacroix, for the allure of Sarah's living room couch, so he can't imagine how much Sam must miss it.

"I heard Cass won his little league game last night," Bucky says, knowing both that talking about his nephews tends to take Sam's mind off of things and that the reminder that Bucky texts Sarah on occasion now might be enough to playful irritate the melancholy away for a while.

Sam huffs a laugh out of his nose and turns his head to look at Bucky, his eyebrow raised. "Man, what did I tell you about talking to my sister?"

Bucky makes an exaggerated show of putting his hands behind his head and getting comfortable, keeping his gaze fixed on the sky above him. "No flirting involved, I swear," he says in a cheeky voice that implies the exact opposite. He's fully aware Sam knows any amount of flirting with Sarah is playful by now, a fun way for both of them to tease Sam considering how obvious it is to everyone around that Bucky's got it bad for Sam himself.

They haven't really crossed any lines on that front yet, even though Bucky's almost positive it's mutual, but they both know they're driving towards it at a pretty steady pace.

Sam reaches over and pushes him gently, and Bucky makes an even bigger show of lurching to the side. "Ignoring the fact that you were absolutely flirting with my sister, yeah, Cass did win his little league game last night. They're going to some kind of tournament in NOLA next week, and he spent like an hour on FaceTime with me last night telling me about all of the stuff he's planning to pack and all of the places he wants to go visit while they're already in town."

Sam smiles to himself with that soft, sweet smile that always makes Bucky's heart flutter in his chest before his grin drops just enough to notice if you're looking.

Bucky's always looking.

"He asked me if I could go watch him and I told him I'd try, but it feels like just about every day there's something new to teach the kids or some new urgent mission to fly out to. Sarah said she'd tape the whole thing for me, but it's still not the same, you know?"

Perhaps bringing up the baseball game wasn't Bucky's best move, he thinks.

Sam sighs and rolls back over on his back for just a moment before pushing himself upright and standing up, lightly brushing off his shorts. "We should probably head inside. Gettin' kinda late, and we have kids to teach tomorrow."

There's a grumpy retort about having to teach these new overpowered children on the tip of Bucky's tongue, but he holds it back and just shakes his head. "You go ahead. I'll catch up soon."

Sam's eyebrows knit together, but he doesn't press. "Night, Buck. Sleep tight."

"Night, Sammy," he replies softly, when Sam's a little too far away to hear.

He fishes his phone out of his pocket and notes the late hour, but he figures Sharon's probably still up, so he dials her number anyways.

"You know business hours don't extend till eleven PM, right, Bucky?" she asks in lieu of a hello.

He thinks about teasing her about her time running a nightclub in the midst of a stolen art selling operation that definitely stayed open past normal business hours, but he decides against it. "Hey, Sharon? Any way that Sam could get this weekend off? Cass has a baseball game."

She hums. "You willing to tag in if the world catches fire?"

Bucky looks off in the direction that Sam had walked off in. "For Sam? Always."

#i am from the south so i say lightning bugs instead of fireflies by the way #but bucky is not so firefly it is no matter how much it pained me to write it #anyways here's a bit of homesick sam and bucky takes care of sam for your wednesday #thanks for the ask!!#sam wilson #bucky barnes #sambucky #otp: i’m coming with you #onlysambucky #only sambucky #buckysam #sam wilson x bucky barnes #bucky barnes x sam wilson #winterfalcon #mak writes #ask #funsized-loser #marvel

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t-0ne25 · 4 months

Text

"You can turn me on with just a touch." — Option B1.3: Obsidian

[Make sure to please read Chapter 25 of Red Lights first, before you continue.]

Reaching for the obsidian, you take a closer look at the deep black colour—utmost darkness that reflects the lights inside the store. You get lost in the sight of it. Heading towards the cash desk, you place the jewellery on top of the surface.

“Good choice,” Lia says, when she puts the necklace into a small paper bag to protect it.

“It’s really pretty,” you reply, while fishing out your wallet and paying for the gemstone. The store owner ignores what she assumes to be a wedding dress, keeping a soft smile on her face.

“Have fun with that one,” Lia adds, before the two of you say your goodbyes and you leave your favourite shop again. You decide to have a quick stop at some fashion store that sells cheap gym wear. Once you’ve got everything you need, you take the underground, waiting for your station of destination.

You know where you’ll find him. Despite still wearing a stupid wedding dress, you enter the gym that you know he still goes to. He used to spend hours on end here when his best friend and you were still a couple. You head towards the dressing room, changing into your athletic outfit and putting your hair into some comfortable style, so it doesn’t disturb you.

Going back into the main room of the gym, you notice the man you’ve been looking for, currently waiting for his turn for bench pressing. He’s deep in his thoughts—until he spots you.

“Y/N,” he says, walking towards you.

“Binnie, hey,” you greet him.

“Are you… back already? Weren’t you supposed to get back to Seoul tomorrow?”

He looks a little startled, seeing you here was the least he expected.

“I quit the show during the finale,” you admit.

Changbin’s eyes widen, “Oh… how come?”

“I didn’t see any use in finishing it if I made the mistake to make the right guy leave,” you confess.

“What do you mean?”

You tilt your head, getting a little closer to him.

“Someone once told me that if I find the right guy, I shouldn’t let him go.”

His mouth falls agape, as he tries to process the words that have just made it past your lips.

“Do you… do you mean…”

“You’ve been the right guy all along, Binnie,” you giggle.

“Wait– God– I–“

Nervousness spreads over your face, “I mean, as long as you still want me.”

“Yeah, fuck, absolutely! Of course.” He starts laughing along then, not quite grasping his luck yet. “How about we get dinner together?”

“Sounds good.”

💻

Changbin picks you up at your place an hour later, giving you the opportunity to change into some clothes that fit for the event. Fortunately, you didn’t run into Hyunjin when you were home for half an hour.

You get inside his car, before Changbin starts driving, bringing the two of you to one of your favourite restaurants. You’re baffled about the fact that he remembered this—you only mentioned it once in some random conversation years ago. But Changbin has wanted to go there with you since then.

The food is immaculate, it always is here. You spend hours talking, truly catching up on everything. Throughout the whole night—it really is pretty late already—he can’t keep his eyes off you. Not when you’re wearing this beautiful black dress, similar to the one he would have chosen for you if he made it to the finale, matching with the stunning jewellery around your neck.

Changbin pays for the food a little later, helping you into your coat before he holds the door open for you. You reach for his hand, fingers getting intertwined, as you walk back towards his car. Since you were the last guests here, no one else is at the parking lot anymore.

Just when he is about to open the car for you, you’re already standing next to him, giving him a soft smile.

“What’s on your mind?”

“Thank you for this evening,” you say.

He turns around, totally forgetting about what he wanted to do, getting near you. Changbin grabs your face, closing the distance between you, when he places a gentle kiss on your lips. You stay like this for a while, before the movements change, increasing in heat and passion. A small whimper makes it past your lips, when he’s kissing you like this. It feels as if you’re floating over the stars that are decorating the night sky right now.

His tongue slips in, pushing away all the thoughts of how complicated this thing between you might get. He’s never cared about it before, he’s always wanted you, so Changbin would be stupid to not give in when you seem to finally feel the same for him.

Grunts are slipping out of his mouth, when he pulls you closer by the waist. You swear he’s gotten even more buff than he used to be a year ago. When you saw him in a tank top at the gym earlier, you feared you were gonna faint at the sight.

“Binnie,” you whisper in between kisses.

“Yeah?”

You look at him with hopeful eyes, “Backseat?”

Unable to form a whole sentence, your plea is quiet but absolutely eager. Changbin smirks, despite the second guesses that are still plaguing him.

“Are you sure? What happens after that?”

“We’re gonna find a solution to be together… I just need you close right now… we can discuss everything else later, yeah?”

“Alright, angel,” is all he says before he opens the door for the both of you. He gets inside first, pulling you into his lap right after it. It’s a full deja-vu again, but without Minho and his manipulative games this time. You’re only Changbin’s right now and hopefully forever.

You’re kissing him again—so passionately, as if he’s your oxygen. His hands are on your hips, keeping you stabilised once you start grinding over his crotch. You’re both so desperate and eager for one another, you can tell by the grunts and whimpers that fill Changbin’s car.

Bringing your hand down to his covered bulge, you start palming him through his pants, gaining a little moan from him. You keep stroking him, as your mouth stays attached to his.

“Can I take these off?” you softly ask between kisses, catching your lower lip between your teeth.

“Please, angel,” he says with a nod.

You start fumbling with his belt then, opening it, before you slide down his pants and underwear at once. You’re impatient and so is he—the heavy pants echoing through the vehicle tell you the exact same.

Changbin is busy pulling your dress upwards, revealing your thighs and panties to him. He sneaks one hand right between your legs, brushing over your pussy. When his fingertips collide with your laces, he feels how drenched you are for him. The mischievous smirk is decorating his pretty face, letting heat creep up to your own.

“Binnie… I need you inside of me,” you tell him.

He hastily nods, before a realisation kicks in, “Fuck– the condoms are in the glove compartment. But I can get up and–“

“I’m fine without one. I’m on birth control,” you interrupt him.

“Okay, angel, that’s more than fine for me, too,” Changbin says.

You pull your panties to the side, before you slide down on his cock. The stretch stings a little in the beginning but Changbin’s reassuring words help you to get used to the sensation. Once the feeling turns into pleasure, you start working yourself up and down on his cock, making the both of you feel good.

The windows inside his car become foggy quite soon, while you turn him—and yourself—into a moaning mess underneath you. You catch his lips in a heated kiss, as you keep bouncing on his dick, driving the two of you closer to your highs. Changbin’s hand wanders to where your bodies meet, when he finds your clit with two of his fingers, drawing circles around it.

The pleasure increases, you’re sure it won’t take the both of you that long until you reach your orgasms. And when Changbin grabs you by the chin, bringing your face closer to his own to kiss you again, you trip over the edge, letting the feeling fully take over you. Ecstasy takes over your body, when you keep riding him.

“You’re so good for me, angel,” Changbin whispers.

Your movements don’t stop, when your pussy walls clench around him. You beg him to not pull out and he does exactly that, when he cums deep inside of you, his juices seeping into your cunt, mixing together with your own liquids.

The two of you stay in this position, once Changbin comes down from his high. You start lazily making out with him, giggling in between kisses.

“Please get up, angel, so I can get the both of us cleaned, hm?”

⬅️ GO BACK TO LEAVE FEEDBACK

#RL options — 💻#option B1.3: obsidian 🖤

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loverontheleft · 2 months

Text

Finally (revised)

Original request: Could we just get a separate imagine or whatever, where Brendon is just super protective of the reader. she has been his best friend for so long and he doesn’t like when anyone treats her like she isn’t worth a thing. She wants to thank him for standing up for her and it just leads to some very sexual things. i even maybe during the sexual things it comes out that he has loved her since high school? i would forever be grateful Cece. 💜

Brendon x reader

Warnings: drinking, dirty talk and language, oral (both), rough sex, spanking, arguable exhibition, and I think that’s everything.

Word count: 5.1k➡️8.4k

-||-

Brendon leans against the bar, facing you and making the most appalled faces. “No. No way,” he mouths over Darren’s shoulder, who is standing in between the two of you. You ignore him and focus on Darren. Brendon’s finally successful in getting your attention when he says your name; your head snaps up, and he emphatically mouths, “This guy sucks. Walk away.” You roll your eyes.

“So I was hoping I could take you out tomorrow night,” Darren murmurs as he reaches for your hand, and you feel a rush of excitement wash over you. “And I’ll take care of your drinks tonight,” he says casually, turning to the bartender, who looks between the two of you and nods disinterestedly.

Brendon protests from behind Darren. “She’s already on my tab.”

“It’s fine, Brendon,” you say, raising your eyebrows trying to give him a look to chill out. You turn back to Darren. “Thank you. And I’d love to do something tomorrow night.”

Brendon throws his hands in the air in exasperation before turning to face the bar fully and downing the rest of his beer. Darren dips his head toward yours to murmur that Brendon’s being weird, and you laugh, touching Darren’s arm. “He’s just sulking; don’t mind him.”

And with that, Brendon walks away. You do feel a little bad; you did come here with Brendon after all. But, in your defense, he’s your best friend and this is your regular Friday meeting point for all of your friends. Brendon just happened to offer to drive you. You didn’t know Darren, the new guy at your office, would be here. He’s cute, funny, and generous; you’re not going to turn down a date with him if he’s interested.

Brendon can get over it, you think to yourself. It’s been twelve years of friendship, and you’ve pretty much given up on anything happening between the two of you, no matter how much you want it. He’s not interested, but Darren apparently is.

-||-

The rest of the night passes in a blur. Darren is by your side and replacing your drink often; Brendon is with your other friends, and they’re all sending Darren dirty looks from across the bar. “You okay?” Darren is peering in your eyes, and you giggle, gripping his arm.

“Yeah. I don’t normally drink this much—Brendon usually makes sure I don’t get carried away. I get tipsy but I don’t get drunk. That’s the rule. Tipsy, not drunk.” Darren nods slowly, taking your empty glass as he passes you a new vodka and cranberry juice.

“Are you drunk?”

You nod vigorously, hiccuping a little. “B would never let me have—is this my fifth drink? Sixth?”

Instead of answering your question, he studies the ceiling. “Brendon is pretty controlling, isn’t he?” Darren finally muses aloud, and you glance at him, ready to defend your best friend. Darren seems to realize he’s crossed some line, and he backtracks. “I just mean that he doesn’t seem to like you spending time with me, and he doesn’t let you drink…and he’s still staring at us…” he trails off.

“I never thought about it that way,” you say. Sure enough, Brendon’s eyes are on the two of you, and he’s not making any effort to hide the fact that he’s looking. A warm feeling spreads through your body as you watch Brendon watch you. You love that he seems jealous, even though you know that’s not mature.

You attempt to distract Darren and, admittedly, yourself; you gesture to the drink in your hand. “This is really good.” If Darren heard the slight slur of your words, he doesn’t say anything; he just smiles and holds out his hand to you when you exclaim a moment later, “I fucking love this song!”

No one ever dances in this bar—the music is for ambience. But sure enough, Darren is leading you to an open spot on the floor, and you’re faithfully following when your vision tilts. Before you can fully process what’s happening and grab onto one of the cocktail tables, you stumble, laughing when you hit the floor. There’s broken glass all around you, and your cranberry-tinted vodka is spreading across the floor, soaking into your jeans. Darren’s reaching a hand down to you, but Brendon swoops in, brushing his hand aside.

“And this is my cue,” Brendon says, lifting you from the floor. He murmurs your name as his arms circle your waist, and you lean against his chest as you find stable footing. “You’ve had enough. Let’s get you home.”

Darren protests that he was going to take you home later, and you’re trying to tell Brendon this too, but Brendon silences you with a look. You like when he’s assertive like this; it’s reassuring and, if you’re being honest, pretty sexy. You slump against him, stroking the soft cotton of his shirt and closing your eyes. All of your lighthearted, flirty energy is gone; you’re drained. He turns his attention to Darren as he holds you close. “Y/n is very drunk; she needs to go home, and she’s not leaving with a guy she barely knows. She’ll call you tomorrow.”

“I think going home is her call to make, not yours, dude. If she wants to go home with me, that’s her choice,” Darren says casually, and you open your eyes now to see Darren staring between you and Brendon. Darren does make a good point about it being your choice, you think, but you’re not sure you want to go home with him, back to his house.

You hadn’t realized that’s what he meant, but hearing it now, you’re sure you don’t want that. It is your choice after all, so you’d like to choose Brendon’s house. You’re about to say this, when Darren keeps talking. “You’re not her keeper, bro.”

Brendon stiffens, and his arm around your waist tightens. Oh. That feels good. You’ve always known that Brendon’s protective, and you love when you become the focus of his protective instincts. It’s as close as you’ve ever been to feeling like he wants you, and you try to savor it every time. Now, you stare up at him happily through your vodka haze.

“Okay, first of all, I’m not your ‘bro.’ Second, I’m not her ‘keeper’ either,” Brendon agrees in a tight voice, “but I am her best friend. We take care of each other, and I know her far better than you do. She needs to go home.” He looks down at you softly, tenderly, while his fingers stroke your hip, making you melt into him more. “Hey, Y/n. I think you’ve had a bit too much to drink. You ready to go home?”

“Yes, please,” you groan, wrapping your other arm around Brendon. “Drank too much. Need to go home.”

“We can go home. I can make that happen for you. You want me to take you to your place?”

You’re crashing hard, and home sounds good. You nod sleepily, then look up at him intently when you process the question he just asked. “Wait. No. Not my house. Take me to your house, B. Not my house. Want to go to your house with you.” You drop your head on his shoulder again. He has nice shoulders. You tell him this, and he chuckles, shaking his head in amusement before turning to give Darren a triumphant smirk.

“Right. You’ll need to excuse us, because she’s chosen for me to take her back to my house.”

-||-

“Oh fucking fuck,” you groan, and Brendon rubs your back soothingly, kneeling beside you in his bathroom. “Oh god, I’m gonna—” you cut yourself off with a retching noise, and Brendon scoops your hair up, wrapping it around his hand while the other moves in circles over your back.

“You’re okay,” he whispers. “Just let it come. You’ll feel better.” You shake your head, moaning before throwing up again and apologizing, and Brendon tells you not to worry about it. This is a reversal of roles; you’re never the drunk, irresponsible one. Granted, he thinks, you don’t have to hold his hair back, but you do always lean in the doorway, telling him encouraging things and holding a plate of saltines and a Gatorade. Speaking of which. “Y/n, I’m out of Gatorade, but I have Pedialyte. Is that okay?”

You nod and wipe a hand across the back of your mouth, cursing as you try to stand up. “Okay, hang on, don’t try to stand just yet. Let me think. I really don’t want to leave you here unsupervised; don’t want you to bash your head against the toilet or floor. Hang on one sec.” You groan, listening as Brendon rummages around his bathroom closet. “Got it. Extra trash can. Here we go, Y/n. Take this trash can, okay?” You grip the plastic tightly, whining when Brendon lifts you up. “Can’t leave you alone, but I don’t want you to try to walk when you don’t feel good. We’re going to go grab the Pedialyte and then we’ll get you to bed, yeah?”

You moan your agreement, resting your head on his shoulder. “Hang tight,” he says softly, moving slowly to the kitchen. “You’re doing so good.”

When he gets to the kitchen, he carefully places you on the floor, letting you lean against the oven while he searches his fridge. “Here we are,” Brendon murmurs, cracking open the cold bottle of Pedialyte and passing it to you. “Small sips.” You drink from it hesitantly, grimacing at the salty, fruit-adjacent taste but drink steadily anyway. You know it’ll help.

Brendon settles himself on the floor opposite you, and he thinks from the way you’re leaning toward him that you desperately want to curl up against him. He definitely wouldn’t mind, and he extends a hand. “Come here, Y/n.”

You crawl over and drop your head down onto his thigh. “Don’t mind you getting comfy, but you’ve gotta keep drinking,” he murmurs, stroking your hair. You groan, and he smiles, stretching a hand over his head to the drawer where he keeps the straws. “Here we go.” He places the bottle of Pedialyte between his knees, slides a silicone straw into it, and angles the straw toward your mouth. “Now you can have both.”

“You’re the best,” you mumble, sucking diligently at the straw.

“Oh yeah?” Brendon pauses, internally debating his next question. “Better than Darren?”

“Much,” you tell him, yawning. “You’re my favorite.”

Brendon leans back against his kitchen island, grinning to himself as his fingers play with your hair. He knows it’s not a huge victory because you’re still drunk, but he’ll take what he can get. And there’s also the fact that you wanted to go home with him, so he’s feeling pretty good. Being able to take care of you like this almost makes up for the fact that his plan to confess how he feels about you was ruined by Darren and his never-ending supply of vodka and cranberry juice.

When you yawn again, Brendon glances down at you and sees you’ve finished more than half the bottle. “Good girl. That should help with the nausea and hopefully avoid a bad hangover. Ready for bed?” When you nod, he carefully maneuvers himself out from under you so he can stand and lift you back into his arms.

“I can walk,” you mumble, going limp against him anyway.

“You can,” Brendon agrees. “But as previously determined, you don’t feel good, so I’m gonna carry you.” You bury your face in the curve of his neck, and his fingers flex against the underside of your thighs. Your sleepy breaths are soft against his skin, and he can feel how your lips have parted, practically caressing his neck—these things are more arousing than they should be right now, and Brendon knows he’s got to stay on task. You’re very drunk, and he’s now remembering that you tend to get promiscuous when you’ve had even a little bit too much. He needs to get you into his bed and then give you space, because he knows there’s a very real chance he will not be able to resist you.

Still, Brendon knows he absolutely has to resist you. You’re drunk, and you’re not fully aware of what’s going on; he wants and needs you to be completely coherent when he tells you how he feels. Now is decidedly not the time to make any kind of move or confession if he wants something real, something lasting with you—and he desperately does.

Brendon places you on his bed once back in his bedroom, and he studies your cranberry- and vodka-spattered clothes. You’re in skin-tight jeans and a shirt with a plunging neckline. He’s been trying not to look all night, but you’ve got a significant amount of cleavage showing. That, Brendon realizes, probably means you’re in a push-up bra of some kind.

He closes his eyes, trying not to visualize you in said bra. He’d planned on you sleeping in his bed while he took the couch, but he hadn’t considered what you’d actually wear to sleep. Clearly you can’t sleep in what you’ve got on. Not comfortably, anyway.

“Do you want a t-shirt or something? You know, for pajamas?” He makes the offer casually, though he’s trying not to get turned on by the mental image of you in his clothes, tangled in his bedsheets. You yawn and nod, stretching your arms and blinking hard.

“Do you have a t-shirt preference?” You shake your head, slumping over on his bed, and he grabs one at random to pass to you. “You gonna be able to get changed?”

“Uh huh. I’m really good at getting undressed,” you mumble, setting the Pedialyte on his bedside table, and Brendon laughs, shaking his head in amusement. “No really,” you protest with a small hiccup, “I’m so good at taking my clothes off.” You meet his eyes. “It’s the putting clothes on part—anyway, I’m real good at getting them off, watch.”

Brendon presses a hand to his face; every word out of your mouth is teasing explicit thoughts out of his subconscious. He’s got to get out of here if he’s going to avoid kissing you.

“Okay, well I’m gonna go crash on the couch; you yell if you need any help. Keep drinking the Pedialyte. Don’t fall off this bed,” Brendon warns, and you shake your head seriously.

“Stay.” He falters in the doorway, and you point to the space beside you. “Stay. It’s your bed.” He looks unsure, and you pat the bed. “You always make me stay in bed with you when you get super drunk and crash at my place in my bed,” you point out, sounding strangely sober for a moment. “Stay.” You stand on shaky legs and start pushing at your jeans. “Help me get my pants off and stay,” you order.

“Thought you were good at taking your clothes off,” Brendon murmurs, leaning against the door and turning his head to not look at you. He can’t help but wonder if you’ve been reading into him requesting you stay in your bed when he’s drunk at your house; that answer determines if he should read into you demanding he stay in his bed with you tonight. “You’re a bit bossy when you’re drunk, huh?”

“Shut up. I am good at getting undressed. But I need help. So come help me, and then get in bed.” He doesn’t move, and you pout. “Brendonnnnn, take my clothes off.”

“Fuck, Y/n, you’re really drunk.” Brendon can hear the defeat in his voice, and he crosses the room. Standing in front of you, his eyes on yours, not looking down, he unbuttons your jeans and unzips them. “Better?”

You nod and shove your jeans down. Brendon groans softly, his eyes on his ceiling fan. “I’m trying so hard to be respectful,” he says aloud. “You’re killing me.” He offers you a pair of sweatpants from his dresser now, still making a pointed effort to not look at you in your underwear.

“No sweatpants,” you tell him, hiccuping again. Brendon sighs and crosses to the other side of the bed with the sweatpants still in his hand. “You’re staying, right?”

“I’m staying,” Brendon says. “Against my better judgment, I’m staying.” He kicks off his own jeans and pulls the sweatpants on.

Meanwhile, you’ve fallen onto the bed trying to wiggle out of your jeans, and, finally successful, you strip your shirt and bra off before tugging on the t-shirt Brendon handed you. You work your way under the pile of blankets, rest your head on the pillow and sigh, curling into the fetal position.

“Come to bed, B,” you murmur as you stretch out a hand, and he’s once again struck by how sober you sound at this moment. He’s also trying not to imagine those exact words from you in a sexual context, but when you’re in his bed, reaching for him, stripped down to nothing but a pair of panties and one of his shirts, it’s hard.

Speaking of hard, he thinks to himself, with a small groan. His hand falls just below his waistline, willing himself to not get any harder than he already is. Your voice startles him. “Get comfy, Bren. You never sleep with your shirt on at my place. Take it off, or I’ll take it off for you.”

He hesitates, and you groan and shift onto your knees on the bed. You’re a little unsteady, and you reach for him. You both inhale sharply when your hands make contact with his stomach; you slip your hands under his shirt and start sliding it up. You can’t help it; you rotate your hands slightly to caress the warmth of his body. You can both feel him tense under your touch; you whine a little and stare at him.

“I’ll do it; fuck, I’ll do it,” Brendon chokes out, stumbling back from you. “I’m—I’ll—you don’t need to—”

You’re still staring at him, and he’s only half-aware of the apology slipping from your mouth; he’s distracted by the sensation of your fingers tracing his stomach. So much for not getting any harder, he thinks to himself.

Shirt off and abandoned, Brendon sighs and crawls into bed: he’s making a conscious choice to stay close to the edge. Right now you’re too drunk and he’s too tired, but he can very easily see himself reaching for you in the night.

“Wake me up if you need anything,” Brendon murmurs as he faces away from you, and you promise. You squirm, sighing a little and then moaning as you stretch out your legs. A soft whimper slips free when your head finds a good place on the pillow.

A minute ticks by. Two. Three. Brendon’s laying beside you and counting silently, because he knows there’s no way he’ll actually get good rest when you’re practically naked in his bed making those sounds. Even with his choice to lay near the edge of the bed, he’s still deeply aware of your presence.

All Brendon can think about is rolling on top of you and silencing you with a deep kiss before coaxing louder whimpers from you with his fingers, then his mouth, and maybe even his cock. He feels his dick twitch, and he rolls onto his stomach, pressing his face into his pillow. He wants you so badly, but he wants you to be hyper-aware of your circumstances and know exactly who’s bringing you to the edge of ecstasy and driving you wild. The cool softness of his pillowcase rubs against his cheeks as he presses his face into the pillow more firmly; he can’t help but imagine the same cool softness of your inner thighs as he presses his face to—you reach out and touch his shoulder, giggling when he flinches.

“Bren, I’m cold,” you whisper. There’s a beat of silence between you as Brendon debates what the right answer is here. He’s in a lust fog, and he would love to take you in his arms and keep you warm, which means that’s exactly what he shouldn’t do—so he starts to get up to get another blanket. “Nooooo, you donhave to do that,” you say, tripping over your words in your rush. “Will you just hold me?”

Brendon turns to look at you, wondering briefly if you can read minds. “Are you sure you don’t just want another blanket?” You shake your head and smile at him innocently. He sighs and crawls back into bed, facing you this time. He looks at you carefully, trying to prepare himself. Fuck, he thinks. You look so damn good in his t-shirt, and now he’s going to have you in his arms.

You scoot over, and he holds out an arm; even with the invitation, he’s still surprised when you press yourself flush against him. “Y/n, you are so drunk,” he sighs, feeling the swell of your breasts through the shirt and your bare legs brushing against his sweatpants before you hitch a leg over his waist to press even closer. The smooth skin of your inner thigh slides against his hip, and he groans inwardly, almost choking on his tongue when you rub against him with a low, satisfied sound. Your underwear is so thin; he swears he can feel the heat of your body radiating through the fabric. He wants to die and kiss you and shove his face between your thighs all at the same time. He knows he can’t do any of that.

“Goodnigh’ Bren; I love you,” you mumble, eyes closing as his arm tightens around you; he wills himself to fall asleep after telling you he loves you too. You doze off quickly, but Brendon lays there with you in his arms, replaying the moment you told him you loved him. He knows you meant it in a best friend sort of way, but that knowledge isn’t transmitting fully to his body.

You sigh in your sleep against his bare chest and stroke a hand down his stomach, and Brendon wonders briefly if you can feel his erection pressing against your inner thigh, given the way you've got your leg draped over his waist. He doesn’t know what to do with his hands. Instinct tells him to let one rest on your thigh, but a voice in the back of his head tells him not to open that can of temptation. It’s going to be a long night, and if your hand wanders any lower, it’s all over for him. He knows it.

-||-

“Ugh,” you groan, burying your face in Brendon’s chest, trying to block out the light. “Too bright.”

“I’ll tell the sun to knock it off,” Brendon murmurs, fatigue evident in his voice, and you laugh. “Any other requests?” You’re about to request bacon, when his fingers trace little circles on the small of your back before dancing idly up and back down your spine. You’ve watched him play guitar, and you’ve always fantasized about what his hands would be like moving over you in a similar fashion. Now you know that his touch is absolutely electrifying.

You’re lost in the ecstasy of his stroking fingertips when it hits you: there’s nothing between his fingers and your back. He’s caressing your bare skin.

You look down—you didn’t really think you were naked, but you’re still relieved to see clothes. Then, you process the fact that you’re in a pair of panties and one of his very thin t-shirts, which his hand is currently under. That, plus you can feel that you’re not wearing a bra, all means you’re deeply aware of how you’re pressed to him. “Fuck, sorry,” you blurt, scooting away from him and rolling onto your back.

“No, I’m sor—I shouldn’t have touched—” Brendon falters, and you shake your head, repeating your apology for clinging to him. “It’s okay,” he soothes. “I intended to sleep on the couch but…you were really drunk and determined to keep me in bed.”

“That does sound on brand for drunk me. Shit, I’m sorry, Bren,” you moan, and he shakes his head. “God, did I—what else did drunk me get me into last night? Did I do anything stupid?”

Knowing yourself, you probably tried to make out with him. Or—fuck, you think, did you try to blow him? Your mind is racing. You can’t trust your drunk persona, which is a large reason why you’re so glad Brendon keeps you in the tipsy zone. You want him so badly. You’d drop to your knees for him if he ever asked, and if you’ve got too much alcohol in your system, you know you’d do it even if he didn’t ask. You wonder briefly if it’s still slut-shaming if you’re talking about yourself, but Brendon brings you back to the present.

“Nothing stupid, besides agreeing to go out with Darren.” You freeze. Brendon looks like he almost regrets it for a moment before he sits up and crosses his arms, defiant.

“Considering I wasn’t drunk when I agreed, I’m going to say that doesn’t actually count as a stupid decision.”

“It’s the mother of all your stupid decisions last night,” Brendon scoffs. “You let him get you drunk, and then he almost wouldn’t let me take you home. He didn’t give a shit about you or how you felt; he just wanted you there to fuck with. Y/n, you cannot go out with him.”

“Wanted me there to fuck with?” You repeat in a low voice, your head pounding. “Is it so hard to believe that he might actually, genuinely like me and want to spend time with me?” You stand on shaking legs and stalk out of the room, not even caring about your state of undress.

Brendon follows you into the living room. “It is hard to believe when he was getting you wasted! He didn’t want to spend time with you—he wanted to get you drunk and away from your friends.”

“Maybe because my friends hover and try to control me! All of you spent last night just watching us. You need to get a life, Brendon; Darren was exactly right—you’re too busy trying to control me!” You wince; you didn’t mean to shout. Brendon’s eyes narrow, and you almost feel bad.

“Yeah, we were all watching. To make sure the guy you hardly knew who was getting you drunk didn’t pull any shit or try to take advantage of you. But sure, it was about control. So, if I was trying to control you by picking you up off the floor when you were too drunk to stand, I’m sorry. If me telling him he absolutely wasn’t about to take you back to his place was trying to control you, I’m sorry. If I was trying to control you by taking you here and making sure you were safe like you requested, I’m sorry.”

You can feel the flush of shame through your whole body; you know he’s right. You’re about to apologize, but Brendon keeps talking. “If I was trying to control you when I held your hair back while you threw up, I’m sorry. If I was trying to control you when I brought you Pedialyte to make sure you were hydrated, I’m so sorry. If I was trying to control you when I held you all night while you slept because you were cold, I’m really fucking sorry, Y/n.”

He’s pissed; you feel sick, and it isn’t hangover-related. You protest that that isn’t what you meant but— “No? Well let’s be perfectly clear: here’s me trying to control you—I don’t want you seeing him again.” You can feel the tension roiling off of his body, and you understand. He’s not pissed; he’s furious. Still, you can’t let his last comment go without an answer.

“I don’t think that’s your choice to make, or your place to voice an opinion,” you snap, and Brendon laughs.

“Really? You really don’t think I get to give my opinion on who you date?”

“No Brendon, I don’t think you do! You’re not my dad!” You’re yelling now, and you know you’ve already lost this argument if you’ve resorted to ‘you’re not my dad’—especially since your dad doesn’t get a vote either. Your head hurts; you just want to go back to his bed and start over. It was so good waking up in his arms, feeling his fingers trace your body. You want to go back to that moment and live in it a bit longer.

Brendon’s eyes are wild, and he tugs at his hair. “You’re goddamn right I’m not your dad. I’m your—” and he stops.

You know exactly what he’s going to say, and it makes you so angry. The anger is coming from so many different places, and you know each is a little irrational, but each is real nonetheless. You’re angry he doesn’t want you the way you want him, you’re angry he makes you feel like he does and then slips back into ‘best friend’ mode, you’re angry that he’s right in this moment, and you’re angry at yourself for letting Darren get so close to taking advantage of you.

“You’re my what?” You lob the words at him like a challenge. “Best friend?” You laugh bitterly. That’s all he’ll ever see himself as in your life. You’ve accepted that, but you don’t have to be happy about it. “Sure. My best friend. But you don’t get to decide who I date! You don’t get to make those calls! Now, if you were actually interested in m—” and you freeze. You’ve gone too far, said too much, and Brendon’s staring at you with wide eyes and a heaving chest.

“If I was—? Y/n, you seriously don’t know that I’m—goddamnit!” He’s collapsed on his couch, his head in his hands, and you’re actually a bit concerned.

“What? What’s wrong?” Your head is spinning and you need to lie down, but you don’t see that happening any time soon. “Brendon, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. You’re my best friend, and I’m so sorry. We’re both tired and—fuck, can we just go back to sleep and—” Brendon looks up at you, and the look in his eyes silences you. You feel pinned to the spot under his gaze, and you remember how he silenced you with one look last night too; you can’t stop the flood of arousal moving through your body. Wordlessly, he stands, crosses the room, and delves a hand into your hair; subconsciously you know what’s coming, so you tilt your head up to meet his rough embrace. You think your brain is going to explode, either with shock or joy—or both.

“What are you—” you manage, even though it’s pretty obvious what he’s doing.

“Shut up,” he tells you in a hoarse voice, the hand not in your hair moving down your back to press you against him. You moan into his mouth, and his fingers flex against your ass, making you rock your hips forward. You gasp his name, wrenching your mouth away from his. You never want to stop, but you also need to hear him say it. You meet his eyes, silently begging.

Brendon is staring at you, breathing hard. “I’m your best friend, but fuck, Y/n, I have loved you since freshman year. Since goddamn freshman orientation at that stupid hellhole of a high school, you’ve been the only woman for me; I love you. I love you so damn much.”

Finally. Fucking finally.

But—his voice is anguished, he’s backing away, and he can barely meet your eyes now. “I’m sorry, I’m so fucki—”

You can’t let him be sorry for this. Can’t let this devolve any further. “Shut up,” you command, crushing your mouth back over his. “Just shut up.” You pull his hair hard, and he grabs your waist, lifting your legs as your tongue tangles with his. “I love you, Brendon. God, I fucking love you too. I want you. Take me back to bed? Please?”

He nods desperately, kissing you deeply. He’s just holding you, and as much as you’re enjoying it, you need him to walk, to get you to bed. “Bed, Brendon,” you plead, and he groans, carrying you back to his bedroom. Once in there, Brendon places you gently on his bed and crawls over you, kissing your lips briefly before working his way down your neck. You’re squirming under him, and he lays flush on top of you, holding you in place with his body weight. He groans your name, and you give his hair a sharp tug. “Have wanted you for so long. Kiss me,” you say softly, wrapping your legs around his waist and bucking up against him. He’s shirtless and in a pair of light gray sweatpants; you can feel his erection straining against the thick material. You’re not sure how far this is about to go, but your whole body is tense with need. “Fuck, Bren—you’re this hard for me?”

He nods, eyes closed and face flushed as his lips move back over yours. You can’t help it; you rock up against him, seeking more pressure. Once your hips move, he takes it as permission for him to move too, and then he’s grinding into you, moaning and gasping against your mouth. His hand in your hair is tugging steadily while his other is squeezing your ass, making you rub back against him. “So fucking hard for you,” Brendon groans in your ear, and you whimper happily. “Y/n, I gotta—I need to ge—I’m sorry—I need like five minutes—God, not even that many probably, and I’ll go to the bathroom—I’ve just wanted you for so long too, and—fuck, you were in my bed last night pressed against me all over me; I couldn’t stop thinking about you—I’m so fucking hard for you, and I don’t want to—while we’re kis—god, I’m so damn into you. Just give me a few minutes; I’ll be right back, I promise.”

“Wait, wait, hang on,” you pant, your head resting in his hand against the pillow. You try to catch your breath while you process everything he just said. You need to be sure you’re understanding him before you make your offer. “Are you asking to go to your bathroom to jerk off, so you don’t come in your pants while we’re making out?”

Brendon stares at you. “That about sums it up, yeah,” he says finally. “God, when you say it like that, I sound like such a—”

“B. You don’t have to go masturbate in your bathroom,” you tell him with a small smile. “I’d actually prefer you didn’t. Since you need to come, I can think of much more enjoyable ways that involve me.”

He looks at you blankly, and you reach down to grab his erection through his sweatpants. “I’ve wanted to suck your cock for the longest time,” you admit. His mouth falls open, and you giggle, pushing on his shoulder to get him flat on his back. “Is that okay? I can blow you, can’t I, Bren?” You pause to evaluate. You’re sober. Hungover, but sober. This isn’t Drunk Y/n just trying to get some dick. This is you and Brendon, finally. Finally.

“Jesus,” he groans and nods, his eyes closing as you curl up between his legs and yank his sweatpants down. “God, yeah, you can—oh shit,” he gasps when you give the tip of his cock a soft kiss before licking over your palm sloppily and wrapping your hand around him. You give him a few short strokes and slide him into your mouth, suckling at the head. “Y/n,” he whispers, stroking your hair. “You’re so damn sexy; your mouth feels so good—”

“You taste good,” you tell him, kissing over his thighs and lower stomach, dragging your tongue along the defined V you’ve always tried to ignore on pool days but usually failed. “I knew you’d taste good.” He groans helplessly and bucks into your hand, whispering about how wonderful you are for doing this for him. “I am pretty wonderful, and I trust you’ll reciprocate at some point,” you tell him, and his eyes flutter closed as he moans happily and nods, already mumbling about how badly he wants to get his tongue in you, how he would’ve started there if he’d thought he’d be able to make you come without losing control and coming too.

“I can be patient,” you tease. “Besides, I’ve got your dick to keep me occupied while I wait. You’ve got such a great cock, Brendon. You’re the perfect length; I can tell you’re gonna fill my cunt just right, and you’re so nice and thick—fuck, it’s gonna feel so good for you when my lips are stretched around you, working hard to get you to come in my mouth.” You keep stroking him before licking up his length and taking the head in your mouth again, sucking eagerly at the slit to collect his pre-cum.

“I should warn you,” you gasp after a moment. “I’m greedy. I want to get all of your cock in my mouth and I want to swallow for you. I don’t like being called a cock or cumslut, but…” you shrug helplessly with a small grin. “I’ve wanted this—you—for so long.”

Brendon groans and promises he would never call you either name and fists your hair, not forcing you down but just holding on for dear life.

You grin to yourself and slide your lips down to take him fully, moaning because you know it’ll feel good for him, but also because his cock in your mouth is so nice. He really is the perfect length; the heavy weight of his cock pressing on your tongue is satisfying as your lips stretch around him. He grunts when you moan around him again, and his hand curls in your hair as he praises you.

You pull back and then take him deeper, gagging a little before breathing carefully, adjusting. The tightening of your throat when you gagged must have felt good, because you can tell he’s fighting hard to not thrust into your mouth. You don’t mind at all if that’s what he needs; you just need to change positions. You let his cock fall from your mouth, and you scramble off of the bed, kneeling beside the edge. “Come here,” you beckon, and he shifts, feet settling on the floor. “Fuck my mouth,” you tell him, hands sliding over his thighs. “I know you want to. Tangle your hands in my hair, slide your cock across my tongue, and fuck my mouth until you come. I’ll swallow, don’t worry.” He groans and you stroke him tenderly, sliding him back between your lips.

He’s reluctant, murmuring something about not wanting to be rough, and you realize you’re going to need to convince him. You meet his eyes and give him your most desperate look; you grip his thighs as you start rocking your head back and forth, relaxing so that when he hits the back of your throat, you don’t gag and the tip of his cock can slip down. “Holy fuck,” Brendon moans, his hips starting to move in short thrusts. Finally.

“Baby, your mouth, your fucking mouth—” he picks up his pace, and you let one of your hands slip down between your legs to rub at your clit. You love knowing he’s getting off on the feeling of your mouth, the sight of you begging for more with your eyes. “Gonna come,” he whispers helplessly after what feels like no time at all, biting his lip briefly. “Wanted this for so long, you’re so fucking hot, I’m gonna come—oh fuck—now, now—fuck! Yes! God!”

And he comes, warm and salty, down your throat. There’s so much of it, and you’re swallowing hard to keep up with him; he’s moaning and fucking your mouth with deep, desperate thrusts through his climax, watching in amazement as his slick cock slides effortlessly between your lips. You’re moaning too—you love how he’s lost control—and gripping his thighs, pressing closer, with your lips at the base of his cock and your nose pressed to his pelvis. You’re trying to focus on swallowing, not gagging or coughing—you don’t want to waste any of his cum, but you can feel smears of it on your chin and around your mouth. When his hips go still and his cock slips from your mouth, he stares down at you in awe.

“Fuck, Y/n,” he says quietly, running a hand through his hair. “You’re incredible.” You’re both breathing hard, and he looks down at you, nipples visibly hard through his t-shirt, your panties dark at your core, hair messy, eyes fully dilated, and his spent cock twitches again. “My god, you are fucking incredible,” he mumbles, falling back on the bed. “Come up here, please, baby.”

You scramble up on the bed and you straddle him, gasping in pleasure as his cock presses against you through your soaked panties. He doesn’t even need to be hard for it to feel good; you could come just from grinding against him like this. “All the way up,” he urges softly. “Gotta get hard again. Need to get you off. I know a way to do both.” You cock your head, curious and hopeful, and he smiles.

“Come sit on my face.”

Fucking finally. You’ve brought yourself to a screaming orgasm by imagining those very words too many times to count. But now, it won’t be your fingers rubbing your clit, your mind piecing together what those words would sound like from him. It’ll just be him. Finally.

“Oh fuck,” you moan, crawling up over him and settling on your knees above him. “Let me take these off,” you murmur, standing on his bed a bit unsteadily as you shove your panties down your legs and kick them off the bed.

“Shit, baby, you are so damn gorgeous. Come here, come sit right on my face,” Brendon groans from under you. He’s already wrapping a hand around his cock, stroking and squeezing. You know he’s not hard again—not yet, not after coming like that—but you love that he’s so desperate to fuck you that he’s trying to get himself to full hardness so quickly. The knowledge sends a pulse of heat through your body; you whimper and feel yourself get even wetter. You need him; you realize he’s staring up at you expectantly.

“Love hearing you call me ‘baby,’” you whisper. “But you know we’ve got to talk about this—about us, right?” You ask, dropping back to your knees as his hands grab your ass.

“We do. But right now, my mouth has a far more important job,” he tells you, licking over you and smiling to himself when you let out a soft moan and settle down onto his tongue. “Ride my tongue,” he says, and it’s a bit muffled, but you do as he says, rocking back and forth, whimpering when he snakes two fingers up inside you and adjusts so his tongue is over your clit. You’re gasping and panting and you tug at your—his—shirt to get it off, hands flying to your nipples as you pinch, squeeze, and roll them between your fingers.

“Fuck, Brendon,” you whine, rocking harder. He nods, tongue rubbing gently over your clit while his fingers inside you curl and press and rub. “Oh fuck,” you groan, hips shifting from small circles to rapid back and forth thrusts. “Oh fuck, fuck, fuck—now! Holy shit, now! Fucking—coming! Yes!”

His fingers press firmly as his tongue works over your entrance; you know he’s tasting you from the way he’s moaning and closing his eyes. After a moment, he drops his head back so he can lick his lips and look up at you with longing. “That’s right, play with your tits, tease your nipples, let me watch you drive yourself crazy as you rub your hot, wet cunt all over your man’s face. Come for me again; let me taste you, please,” Brendon practically begs, and you whimper, one hand leaving your chest so you can reach back and grasp his cock. “Shit,” Brendon grunts. “Your hand feels so good, Y/n. Feel how hard I am for you already? Fuck,” he whispers helplessly. “I want you.”

“Make me come once more like this. I’ve wanted you so badly, still want you—want your cock, but need your mouth once more,” you beg, “and then I’ll slide back and ride you until neither of us can take it.” Brendon groans, murmuring how much he loves you and how much he loves you on his face, and then his mouth is moving over you again, fingers thrusting rapidly and tongue lapping insistently.

“Oh Christ,” you whimper. “Oh dear God in heaven; I love you, I love you so much and I’m gonna come from your mouth. Fuck, Brendon, hearing you call yourself my man—finally, fucking finally—makes me fucking wild; fuck yes, lick my clit, eat my pussy, that’s it—eat it, eat it!” You spread your legs wider over his face and rock back and forth; you’re so close.

He flicks his tongue against your clit and spanks you firmly with his free hand; you shriek, your eyes rolling back. You fall apart, bucking over his mouth, and his hands encircle your waist to hold you in place while he licks you over and over again, moaning in pleasure.

“Okay, baby,” he finally sighs, licking his lips. “I’m rock hard for you; if you still want it, you can sink this hot cunt down on my cock.” He gives your ass another sharp slap, and you cry out happily, crawling backwards to sink down onto his length. Finally.

“Oh,” you gasp, shifting to adjust. “I want it. Want you. You feel so good.” You lean forward and kiss him longingly, moaning when you taste yourself on his slick lips. “You’re—god, you feel huge,” you whimper, gripping his shoulders as your hips roll to help your body accommodate him. “Fuck, this is so good; I’m stretched so full from your cock,” you whisper, kissing him again, whimpering a little. Brendon looks worried, and he asks if you’re okay; he’s throbbing inside you, and you just want to ride him hard.

“I’m great,” you say with a breathless laugh. “Fuck, your cock is perfect. I’ve wanted this for so long. Feels so good to just have you inside me. Fucking finally.” You raise your hips and sink back down on his length slowly, both of you moaning. He grabs your hair and pulls your mouth down to his so he can kiss you roughly as your hips rock. “You’re—damn, Brendon, I can feel every inch of you.”

“Yeah? Your pussy is so hot and wet and slick and tight, Y/n, I may not last long.”

“I’m gonna make sure you do,” you counter with a smile. “We’re gonna make this first time last.” You concentrate on the pulsing of his cock inside you, and you find a good rhythm, sliding up gently before grinding down. His breath catches, and his hands fly to your waist; you grin, pausing in your upwards movement, so just the tip of his cock is in you. “Don’t come,” you tell him breathlessly. “Do not come.”

He nods, shuddering in pleasure under you, and you hold your breath to stay still. His breathing evens out, and you sink back down onto him firmly. “That’s my man, not coming in me yet,” you murmur, and he groans, grabbing your ass. You repeat this torture several times, watching him longingly. “Hang on for me. Don’t come. I haven’t come yet either, but I promise I’ll let you come in me,” you tell him, and he nods, reaching up to touch your breasts.

“So beautiful,” he sighs, and you feel his dick throb inside you. You smack his hand away lightly, grinning when he groans. “I wasn’t gonna come yet,” he protests, and you shrug.

“Just making sure,” you say softly, grinding slowly. “We’re getting close though, I can tell. We’re both gonna need to come soon, yeah?” Brendon moans his agreement, watching you roll in his lap on his cock. You’re both lost in the other’s eyes, panting and praising each other, when your phone rings. Brendon gropes for it on the bedside table and passes it to you.

You’re about to tell him to ignore it when you glance at the caller ID. “It’s Darren,” you manage, passing the phone back to him, and Brendon’s eyes light up.

“I’m gonna answer,” Brendon groans. “Is that okay?” You laugh and shrug, because you assume he’s kidding. However, no sooner have you shrugged than Brendon’s thumb is sliding across the phone screen to pick up. “Good morning Darren,” Brendon says in a rough, obviously sex-fueled voice. “Yeah, she spent the night. How is Y/n feeling?” He repeats the question for your benefit as his hips snap up and press the head of his cock right to your G-spot.

“Brendon,” you hiss, a little horrified but mostly amused. You know you could tell him to hang up and he would, but you’re actually interested in seeing how this will play out. You have always loved when he’s protective and possessive of you. So, instead of telling him to hang up, you cry out in pleasure while Brendon, with his free hand, rubs at your clit. “Oh Brendon, yes, touch me right there,” you whine; you’ve realized suddenly that you don’t care if Darren hears. There’s actually a part of you that wants him to hear, just so he’ll fully understand that you’re not even a little bit available.

“She feels…tight and hot and wet and slick and fucking perfect on my cock,” Brendon says clearly into the phone. “But I knew she had a phenomenal cunt even before I got my dick in her; you see, I ate this perfect woman’s gorgeous pussy for breakfast earlier. I got her coming all over my face and tongue, and she tastes so damn sweet.”

You moan and ride him harder, gripping his shoulders and bouncing urgently. You want to come all over him while Darren listens. You’ve never been into exhibitionism before, but something about Brendon’s cock deep in you and the way he’s bragging about how good you feel on him and how much he loved tasting you makes you want to show off even more.

“But that’s just physically,” Brendon manages. Oh, I shouldn’t forget—her mouth is phenomenal too; it was so damn good, seeing her perfect mouth full of my cock, having her fucking beg to swallow for me—But if her whimpering of my name or the way she keeps kissing me now is any indication, she’s feeling emotionally pretty good too.” Hell yes you are, and you groan this in the background. Brendon laughs breathlessly; he hangs up and drops your phone off to his side.

“That was not nice,” you say with a short laugh, gripping his shoulders and riding him harder. “Hilarious, and unexpectedly hot as hell, having you brag about the ways we’re fucking, but not nice. What if he calls back?”

“Let him,” Brendon counters. “What will we let him hear next? He thinks I try to control you? Maybe we let him hear me fuck you hard from behind. Would you like that?” You nod desperately, and Brendon groans. “Let’s make him understand what happens when I’m really in control. I’ll get you on your hands and knees, pull you back so I can fill you up with my thick cock and fuck you hard; I’ll pull your hair, smack your ass, and rub your clit til you’re screaming my name, begging me to take you even harder, begging me to let you come on my cock. Let him call back; I want him to hear us—want him to hear the moment we fucking ruin these sheets.”

“Oh fuck,” you whimper, biting at his shoulder. “God, that sounds so good.” Brendon chuckles and tugs at your hair playfully.

“Which part? Stupid Darren hearing me fuck you, or how I plan to fuck you?”

“Mostly your plan, but both, honestly,” you tell him, blushing. “Want people to hear us. Want people to know I’m yours.”

“God, Y/n,” Brendon says breathlessly, “you are mine, aren’t you?” You grin and shrug, biting your lip. “Don’t fucking tease me,” he warns with a small smile, and you giggle. “Okay, you asked for it.”

He lifts you off of him and flips you over with ease, crawling behind you and smacking your ass hard as he rocks into you. “Oh fuck yes!” You yelp, and he bites your shoulder and pulls your hair; he dips his head down to ask if this is okay, if you want to be fucked like this. “Brendon, yes—shit, just like this, fuck me like this; oh god!”

“Whose are you?” His voice is low and tight and his hips are slamming into you from behind. “Say it. Say my name.”

“I’m yours,” you moan loudly, dropping your face into the pillow. He grabs your hair and guides your head up, telling you to let him hear you. “I’m yours, I’m yours, Brendon; fuck, I’m all yours,” you chant, rocking back against him.

“Damn right,” he says with a short laugh. “Mine. Say my name.”

“Brendon,” you moan. “Oh god, Brendon, fuck me, fuck my pussy, fuck my wet cunt; I’m all yours.”

You’re beginning to think Darren’s not going to call back, but you do want him to hear this—so you decide to take matters into your own hands. You reach for your phone as Brendon fucks you desperately, clicking Darren’s name on the call list and letting the phone drop next to your pillow. “I’m yours, Brendon, I’m all yours.”

He glances down, sees the call connect, and laughs appreciatively. You’re moaning and whimpering and thrusting back against him hard, gasping as his cock fills you. “Mine, finally,” he murmurs, pulling your hair.

“Yours,” you agree. “Fuck, Brendon, I’m finally yours. Fuck me good, take me from behind, make me come. You’re gonna make me come all over your thick cock; shit, I’m gonna lose control, can’t take it, gotta—oh fuck, Brendon!” He grunts in your ear that you’re going to come, and you let out a shrill moan when his two fingers find your clit. “Yes,” you shriek, hips spasming as you come hard. “Yes, play with my clit, fuck me! Brendon, yes, yes, yes!”

“You feel so good on my cock,” Brendon manages. “I’m gonna come. Can I come in you? Know you said I could, but need to hear it—can I come in you, give you all my cum?”

“Please,” you moan, fingers tangled in his sheets as he pounds into you relentlessly. “Please, claim me, take me, come in me, come in my hot, wet cunt. Give me your cum; I want it all.”

He comes with a sharp moan, his hips losing their rhythm as his cock throbs and pulses inside of you. “Oh fuck,” Brendon groans when he thrusts toward once more. “God, I fucking love coming in you.”

He pulls out of you and falls onto his back, reaching for you. “Come here, my love.” You roll over, squeezing your thighs together, and burrow your face in his chest. He pulls you firmly against him and kisses the top of your head. “So…you know you can’t go on a date with Darren tonight, right?” He grins at you as you both brush the other’s sweat-dampened hair out of each other’s eyes.

“Yeah,” you agree, giggling.

“And why is that?” Brendon asks, raising an eyebrow.

You’re still laughing when you pull him in for a long kiss. “Because,” you murmur against his lips, “my super controlling boyfriend that I’m wildly in love with said so.” You grin, and he smacks your ass, laughing. “Because I’m fucking finally yours.”

“Damn right. Finally.” His lips capture yours again and you fumble with the phone, hanging up.

#brendon urie #brendon urie smut #brendon urie imagine #brendon x reader #my work #fanfic #he could fuck me any way he wanted #imagine #brendon urie fanfiction #panic! at the disco

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