#it took me like ten minutes to make this and that’s on talent

[shrimpin-aint-easy]

This is my 15 year old pupper his name is Burton Guster the 4th and he has two (2) teeth

ALL HAIL LORD SIR BURTON GUSTER THE 4RD

#mpreg-jesuschrist #asks #not shrimp related #doggy #bless him.. #it took me like ten minutes to make this and that’s on talent

[houseofceline]

My Pretty Girl - T.N.

Bitter Burns and Glowy Skin

Pairing: Ravenclaw and sort of ditzy but talented Reader x Slytherin notorious playboy Theodore Nott

Warnings: None (yet ;))

Summary: You need to stop being so easily persuaded.

Author's Note: Long awaited chapter! Sorry about the wait, college is beating my ass right now but almost winter break! Also someone tell me what a taglist is and how to make one?

< 5

__________________

“Come on please,” Lorenzo begged, turning fully around in his seat to face you. 

You hesitated. Parties weren’t really your thing. They were loud, exhausting, scary, sweaty, and so many more unpleasant adjectives. 

There was only ten minutes left of class which meant only ten more minutes of Lorenzo and Mattheo trying to convince you to go to a hufflepuff house party. 

You weren’t stupid you knew what went on at hufflepuff parties. There was a link between them being prodigies at herbology and Cho coming back to the dorms giggling and wobbling. 

“It’s going to be so fun though,” Lorenzo clasped his hands together and pleaded. 

“Your boyfriend’s also going to be there,” Mattheo added, wiggling his eyebrows. 

You felt your face heat up and tried shushing the loud boy in case anyone was eavesdropping. 

“Why would it matter if Theo’s going or not,” you murmured quietly as you glanced around the classroom, paranoid. 

Mattheo smirked, “I never said Nott. So you want him to be your boyfriend?” 

Shoot. You avoided eye contact with both boys but made sure to shake your head no, not allowing them the chance to assume anything. 

“No, bu-” saved by the bell. You reminded yourself to give Dumbledore a giant kiss on his cheek. 

You grabbed your backpack and ran away from the two slytherins who bursted out in laughter. 

You spotted Cho and Cedric in the hallways and ran to them knowing that the two boys probably wouldn’t follow. 

“Hey y/n!” Cedric greeted as he spotted you before Cho did. 

“Y/n!” Cho exclaimed, hooking her free arm, the one that wasn’t linked onto Cedric’s, to yours. 

“How was class?” Cho asked while you looked behind you, sighing when you didn’t see them lingering behind you. 

“As interesting as the history of magic gets,” you rolled your eyes while Cedric laughed. 

“It’ll get better, trust me,” Cedric assured while Cho shook her head. 

“Don’t listen to him, he said the same thing about potions,” Cho objected while you groaned in response. 

Well to be honest it wasn’t that bad anymore. With Theo’s help your grades were getting better and you no longer dreaded the class. At least not as much as before, plus the study dates were also fun. 

“You coming to the party tonight?” Cedric asked while Cho pulled your intertwined arms up to smack her head. 

“Shoot! That’s what I forgot to ask you last night,” she exclaimed before looking over at you with pleading eyes, one that you were all too familiar with regarding this subject. 

“No…” you answered quietly but it seemed like that was the wrong answer when Cho abruptly stopped the three of you from walking. 

“Please, it’s a Friday night. What else are you going to do in our dorm alone?” She let go of Cedric’s arm and turned to you, grabbing your arm with both of her hands. 

“I want to work on my dress,” you answered while Cho groaned and pretended to cry while Cedric laughed at his girlfriend. 

“Please please please please please,” Cho chanted while you tried shaking her grasp away. 

“Okay okay!” You exclaimed as she cheered. 

“We need to go get ready!” Cho squealed as she let go of your hand and took your hand instead. 

“Wait,” she stopped the two of you from running off before running back to kiss Cedric goodbye on the cheek. 

“Let’s go look even hotter!” 

_________________

You wanted to vomit, you really did. You had arrived with Cho but you felt bad for making her babysit you all night therefore you encouraged her to go find Cedric. But obviously that was a big mistake now that you found yourself alone and wanting to leave, if you could even find the door at this point. It felt like the whole school was here. 

“Oh look who decided to show up!” Lorenzo yelled as soon as he saw you. And wherever Lorenzo was, you knew Mattheo was near. 

“Nott’s not here yet,” Mattheo raised both of his eyebrows as he eyed your dress choice of the night. You had gone with a black lace dress and Mattheo had to murmur an apology to Theo before complimenting your outfit. 

“I’m not here for Theo,” you tried to convince them even though you had hoped to have already seen him around. 

“Yeah sure, keep telling yourself that,” Lorenzo snickered as he passed you a drink. 

You weren’t a big drinker, mostly because of the fact that you were a lightweight. You took a sip and automatically your face scrunched up as you felt the bitter burn in your throat.  

“You came here alone?” Mattheo frowned, “We could’ve went and got you.”

You waved them off, “I arrived with Cho don’t worry I’m okay.” 

“Well what are you doing standing around for? Let’s go dance!” Lorenzo exclaimed as he pulled you onto the dance with Mattheo following behind. 

“I can’t dance!” You exclaimed, not wanting to embarrass yourself with your lousy dance moves. 

“It’s easy, just move to the beat!” Lorenzo shrugged like it was that easy. 

You took a few more sips of your drink, hoping that it would suppress some nerves. After all, it is easier to do “embarrassing” things when you don’t realize you’re doing them. 

“See, natural dancer,” Mattheo praised as he threw an arm around you and Lorenzo. 

Suddenly Lorenzo tensed up causing you and Mattheo to look over. 

“What’s wrong?” You asked following his gaze across the room. Lorenzo tried to stop you from turning around, but it was too late. 

If it was possible, Mattheo would’ve tried to catch and save your falling, shattering heart. 

Mattheo cursed under his breath as you tried to push the lump that was forming down your throat. 

You didn’t think much of anything when you hung out with Theo. You enjoyed his presence, but maybe it never occurred to you that you were not the only one who had it. 

Maybe it was the alcohol, or maybe it was the stabbing feeling in your chest, but you felt like the longer you watched Theo kiss the pretty blonde girl the stronger your stomach churned. 

You had no right to be so upset. The two of you were just friends. 

You were happy for your friend. She looked really pretty from where you stood. Long wavy blonde hair contrasting your dark straight black strands. She was thin and tall, like the model bodies you drew in your sketchbook for your designs.  

You were happy for him, happy that he had someone who seemed nice and pretty. But maybe you were overthinking it. Maybe she means nothing to him. But that would mean you didn’t mean enough for him to not kiss a stranger. 

“Something’s stuck in my throat,” you bitterly chuckled as you turned away from them and chugged your drink. 

Lorenzo looked at you and felt his own heart break at your dejected expression. Your face resembled the image of a small child in time out. 

“He doesn’t know what he’s missing,” Mattheo sighed and patted your back and you feigned a shocked expression. 

“Huh? What do you mean?” You played dumb as if you never saw them. But the boys knew better when they saw your eyes starting to tear up.  Eyes don't lie.

You started to dance again, grabbing Lorenzo’s cup and chugged. Maybe being lightweight wasn’t a bad thing. You couldn’t even feel the hole in your chest as you danced with tears rolling down your face. When the disco lights hit your face, your face shined and glistened with tears. Maybe you looked gorgeous, like an angel with your glowy face. But maybe you looked like a miserable mess, perhaps the reason he wasn’t here with you right now.

#theodore nott x you #theo nott x reader #theodore nott imagine #draco malfoy x reader #hogwarts oc #hogwarts au #harry potter #slytherin #ravenclaw #slytherin boys #draco malfoy #blaise zabini #theodore nott #mattheo riddle #lorenzo berkshire #hp fandom #hp fanfic

[mypoisonedvine]

tommy with a housewife kink, please??? I love your writing so much!!!

me? writing FLUFF??? inconceivable. ... still made it horny tho

warnings: SMUT 18+ only, fingering, housewife kink (duh), messy kitchen shenanigans

You'd almost forgotten about the weight of his stare on you, you were so focused on your work. Rolling out the dough as evenly as possible, you wiped a bit of sweat off your brow with the back of your hand-- since your fingers were still covered in flour.

"I think I could watch you do this forever," Tommy said suddenly, breaking you out of your concentration, and you laughed self-consciously through your nose when you saw the proud smirk on his full lips.

"What, baking?"

"That too," he said as he got up from the chair and walked closer to you. "But I meant all of it-- cooking, cleaning, homemaking..."

He smiled wider as he reached for you and rubbed your arms soothingly as you took a moment to relax during all the work of baking.

"Just generally doing all the things you do to be Mrs. Shelby," he added, making you bite your lip and blink up at him.

"How about you help your wife then, Mr. Shelby?" you suggested just before he tilted your chin back and gave you a slow, soft kiss.

You'd forgotten the question already when he answered it, a gentle mumble against your lips: "Alright."

Pulling back, he turned to the amorphous shape of rolled-out dough on the counter, beginning to roll up his sleeves.

"How can I help, then?" he asked.

"Well, maybe you could help me spread the butter?" you offered.

"I think I can manage that," he announced smugly-- but he ended up giving in less than ten minutes later, groaning as he stepped back from the counter. "I'm not much good at this," he noticed with a frown.

"No, Tommy, you're doing great," you promised, "I like having the help..."

"But look how pretty yours are," he laughed, "and look at mine. Fucked up little things--"

"Tommy, they look fine," you insisted, but you were laughing too-- and yes, the rolls he'd made were... less uniform than yours... and more than a bit lopsided. But you just appreciated that he was trying!

"I think I have other talents to help my wife," he decided as he wiped his hands; and before you could ask what he meant, he stepped up behind you while you were still working, holding your waist as he started to kiss your neck. You hummed and shut your eyes. "Like helping her relax when she works so hard..."

"Tommy," you gasped as his hands started to lift your dress and apron, "at least let me put these in the oven first..."

"Shh, you can keep going," he offered, reaching under the layers of fabric to pet your legs with a low purr, "I just need to touch you-- just need to make Mrs. Shelby feel good, can I do that?"

You whimpered as his hand slipped around in front of your hips, cupping you where you needed him most.

"Think it's my right, isn't it?" he continued, reaching into your panties to carefully rub your clit; your thighs clenched together, and you accidentally almost squished the roll in your hand as it flexed into a sudden fist. "Think it's my responsibility, no? Shouldn't a husband pleasure his wife?"

"You do," you hummed, "oh, Tommy-- you do, you make me feel so good..."

He slipped two fingers inside you suddenly, making you reach back with a little yelp of joy to grab instinctively at Tommy's shirt-- only to let go when you remembered your hands were covered in flour and butter. "O-oh, dear-- let me wash that before it stains--"

"Shh," he cooed, grinning as he shook his head while he buried it in the crook of your neck. "Doesn't matter, love-- you need to stop worrying so much."

But you knew just as well as he did that he adored the way you worried-- the way you took care of everything, most of all him. So, even though the back of your mind raced with all your wifely anxieties about getting these rolls in the oven and washing his shirt and all the other chores that needed to be done tonight, you relaxed back into Tommy's arms with a sigh, deciding to let your husband take care of you in return.

#tommy shelby x reader #tommy shelby smut #cillian murphy x reader #cillian murphy smut

[mattslutt]

first time

m.sturniolo

contains: smut, sexual content, pet names, partying, mentions of alcohol, dom!matt, fem!reader

short summary: when mr. "used to be a player" meets ms. "hasn't had her first kiss yet"

I walk into my first college party.

I could feel the music in my chest as I made my way to the kitchen to grab a drink. The drink in my hand is my confidence for the night. As I walked through the house I sat down with a group of people playing spin the bottle and clearly it was a dirtier version judging by the looks of people’s faces.

When I sat on the floor my eyes met the hottest, most known, most popular, most smartest, most talented guy in the whole collage: Matt Sturniolo. He was known for being a hockey captain of his team and a player, I’m not sure if he is still now but I wouldn’t be surprised if he still was, every girl in college is on her knees for this man but he’s very picky.

His younger brother Chris Sturniolo was sitting there too. He was popular too, popular as much as a Matt and girls were down bad for him too. He had his hook up sessions too but mostly with the same girl cuz he wasn’t such a slut like Matt was.

Matt smirked at me as it was his turn to spin the bottle. He span the bottle around and it turned over to some random college chick and by the looks on her face she was dying waiting for this moment, Matt stood up, took her by the hand and led her into the closet room.

“I’m not sure I’m following the rules”, I suddenly blurt out.

“Oh yeah, we’re making this game more fun by adding our own rules. It’s pretty simple. The person the bottle lands on, you have to make out with him or her until we tell you to stop. So for example Matt is in the room right now with Stacey, they can’t stop until we tell them to”.

I wasn’t planing on making out with anyone tonight because I didn’t even have my first kiss yet but the confidence that was growing on me told me to not care, go for it.

Ten minutes has passed and the guys started yelling at Matt to get out of the room. Both of them walked out and Stacey’s makeup was smudged, Matt had a huge grin on his face as he sat down.

“Your turn new girl”, Matt urged me. I looked at Matt for a few seconds and gave in. I span the bottle and it landed on Chris. I looked at Chris and he had a smirk on his face, he got up and took my hand and led us into the closet room, I turned to look at Matt for a few seconds and his eyes were on me. His face seemed filled with jealousy.

As the door closed behind us Chris whispered

“We don’t have to do this if you don’t want to. I know it can we be weird so I’m not gonna force you if you don’t want to.”

It was nice knowing that Chris wasn’t a douche bag but this was my one and only chance to make out with Chris Sturniolo so I took it.

“No it’s fine”.

Chris smiled at me before leaning in to kiss me. The kiss grew stronger each second, our tongues colliding together, him winning with his dominance. His hands were around my waist, pulling me in closer. I whimpered into the kiss as he quietly groaned so I teased his jeans loops with my fingers.

“If you’re gonna keep doing that, we won’t be leaving this room”, Chris whispered into my ear. He was needy. And so was I.

“Times off”, we ear yelling at shouting through the door.

“Well that was quick”.

“Tell me about it. I’ll see you around”.

I opened the door and everyone was starting at me and Chris. We slowly walked out of the room and sat on the floor, apart from each other. Matt didn’t take his eyes off of me. But he did whisper something to Chris, so I watched their conversation. Matt was smirking, so was Chris. They gave each other their typical handshake and Matt’s eyes met mine. Why was he making me so nervous?

After a while the game was over, I was standing next to the bar, talking with some random girls, we were all laughing and giggling until one of them mentioned.

“Hey, you were playing the famous truth or dare game right?”

“Yeah. Why?”.

“Who did you make out with?”

“Chris Sturniolo”.

“Shut up!”, both of them gasped and squeaked in excitement.

“Why are you asking?”, I giggled with them.

“Oh he has to be such a good kisser, and his whimpers are probably so sexy”.

“Yeah, they are. He was pretty much that desperate that he wanted more but the time was over so.”

“Oh my god? You are so lucky.”, the girls continued giggling as they were absolutely excited to hear you talking about what happened with Chris.

“Did anything else happen?”

I zoned out for a minute because I caught Matt staring at me, I looked back at him and he was standing next to the stairs, he signalled me that he’s going upstairs and that he wants me there.

“Hello????”.

I snap back to reality realising I’m in the middle of construction.

“Soo??”

“I guess Matt is jealous that I made out with Chris and he wants me upstairs right now with him”.

The girls made eye contact while smiling and then looked at me.

“Girl you’re living the dream. What are you waiting for? Go upstairs. You might even get the chance to fuck him!.”

“Oh c’mon. Doesn’t he have the reputation of being a player and a slut?”

“Yeah, but I would still take it.”

I groan in frustration as I begin walking upstairs. As I walked up I saw a door that’s opened, so I’m guessing Matt’s waiting for me there. I walked inside the room and there was a shadow behind the ceiling as Matt popped out of no where.

“Jesus fucking Christ. You scared the shit out of me”.

“Sorry.”, he said as he grabbed the drink from my hand and placed it on the table.

“So… why do you want me here?”.

“Why do I want you here? C’mon angel, isn’t it obvious?”, he spoke seductively as he walked closer to me, brushing his fingers through my hair.

Shivers were sent down my spine, my breathe hitched as his fingers trailed down around my shoulders and played with my dress straps.

“Matt…”, I whispered.

“Yeah?”, he whispered back closing the door behind us and locking it.

“Why are you doing this?”, I asked him as I turned to look at him, making eye contact with him. He walked closer to me, I could feel his warm breath on my skin.

“Why am I doing this?”, he whispered seductively.

“Can you answer my questions without repeating them?”, i whispered.

“Maybe. Maybe not”, he leaned down to place a kiss on my neck. He was way taller than me. I had to look up to see him and he had to look down a bit to see me. This was the height difference I always wanted but not sure if I wanted this with Matt.

“I’m not sure if we should be doing this.”

“Why? Because I’m such a slut? You still think i mess with girls and have sex with them constantly?”

My heart dropped, how did he know what I said about him. He got much more closer to me, we just stared at each other. He put his hands around my waist and his lips were teasing me, around my neck. I breathed softly not wanting to show him how actually vulnerable I am for him.

“You want this, pretty?”, Matt whispered as he looked into my eyes and pressed his thumb onto my chin.

“Maybe”, i whispered.

“I know you do angel”, Matt whispered into my ear as he took me into his arms and softly placed me onto the bed. At this point I was done and gave up playing hard to get.

I grabbed Matt by the arm and leaned in to kiss him, desperately. I was kissing him deeply because I was needy. I softly moaned into the kiss as he whimpered into the kiss, his arms trailing down around my body.

While kissing him I took off his shirt, my hands trailing down around his abs. He was fit.

“So needy huh?”, Matt whispered.

“Yes”, i whispered back.

Matt began kissing my neck, leaving hickeys all around. I just threw my head back and closed my eyes..

“May I take your dress off?”.

I nod in approval.

Matt took off my dress leaving me in my bra and thong.

“You’re so beautiful”.

He positioned himself between my thighs, taking off my thong and burying himself into my pussy. His tongue worked magic as I was a moaning mess. My nails dig into his fluffy hair, my legs were shaking but he squeezed them and held them so I wouldn’t be able to move them.

“Fuuuuck, Matt”, I breathed out with a shaky voice.

He was not stopping, he kept going. I felt my climax and I couldn’t hold it anymore.

“Matt I’m gonna cum”.

“Cum on my face angel”, Matt breathed out.

As I released all over his face he kept going. He kept eating me out like he’s never gonna be doing this again.

Tears were forming in my eyes as I suddenly gasped, feeling him adding his two fingers into me. He was sliding then deeply inside me as his tongue added even more pressure. I was a crying and a moaning mess. My hips buckled, legs shaking as Matt is still absolutely devouring my pussy.

“You taste so fucking good angel, I could eat you out for days”.

His praising made me whimper. I threw my head back and breathed heavily.

“Matt?”, I breathed out.

“Yes angel?”, he looked up at me.

“Come here”, I pointed the bed.

“Round two?”

“No.”, I whispered as I brushed my nose against his.

“You taste too good angel”.

“C’mon”.

Matt groaned in disappointment as he hopped into the bed next to me leaning in to kiss me.

As we were kissing my fingers played with his jeans loops, he groaned into the kiss. I began unzipping his pants, he pulled away from the kiss, and looked down, then looked at me. He put his palm on my cheek and kissed me again.

As I took off his jeans and boxers his cock sprung out hitting his stomach. It was huge and already leaking with pre-cum. I wasn’t sure if it will even fit but I couldn’t care less. I smirked at Matt and began stroking him. He threw his head back and closed his eyes.

“Your mouth, please angel”.

Him calling me angel made me weak in the knees so I immediately wrapped my mouth around his cock, a whimper leaving his mouth. He wrapped his hand around my hair, making me go further, take more of him into my mouth.

“Fuck”, Matt breathed out.

I bobbed my head up and down while also squeezing his balls, making him moan loudly which gave me a sign to continue. I continued sucking him off, his hand let go off my hair. The room was just filled with breathing, moaning and whimpering noises.

“Ride me”, Matt whispered.

“What?”.

“I want you to ride me”, Matt whispered as he took my hands and held them in his. I leaned in to kiss him as I adjusted myself on him, I moaned into the kiss because he was so big.

“Fuck. You’re so tight”, Matt breathed out.

Matt began thrusting his hips into me as I bounced on him. We were making eye contact the whole time.

“Don’t close your eyes or I’ll stop”.

I nodded my head, trying my best not to squeeze my eyes. He purposely started to thrust into me faster and I bounced on him faster. The room was filled with our moans.

“I’m close Matt”, I whispered, not being able to handle the overstimulation I rested my head onto Matt’s shoulder.

“I’m close too angel”, Matt breathed out as with his one last final thrust we reached our releases.

We were both breathing heavily as we looked into each others eyes.

“So this was your deal with Chris? Make me hook up with you when you probably made out with tons of girls today?”, I teased Matt.

“You’re kinda a player yourself. Making out with one brother then having sex with another one”, Matt teased back.

“Oh well, there’s a first time for everything”.

Matt smiled at me as he leaned in to kiss me again.

____________________________________________

i have a love hate relationship with this fic but anyways i actually still love it. hope you guys like it!! love you all and thank you for the constant support💗.

taglist. @sturncrazy @sturnsblunt @plasticferal @sturniolosstar @hoesformatt @gamermattsgf @westwiing13 @mbbsgf

#matt sturniolo fanfic #matthew sturniolo x reader #matt sturniolo x you #matt x reader #matt sturniolo x reader #matthew sturniolo #matt sturniolo #sturniolo triplets #fanfiction #fanfic #smutty smut smut #smut #viralpost #mattslutt

[sugrhigh]

BACKSTAGE - ( m.s )

REQUESTED**

summary- your best friend caught the eye of the bass player in a band local to boston, your hometown, so you’re invited to the second to last stop of their US tour. they can definitely put on a show, and all of them are very welcoming when you meet them backstage. then there’s the asshole grumpy drummer with the inflated ego, who can’t seem to stop staring.

warnings- cursing, smoking, drinking, ???

band au (triplets are in their mid 20s)

drummer!matt x fem!reader (this song ^^ inspired me and it’s good af so i’m including it)

a/n: this has been brewing for a while and i kinda forking love this concept, i hope i brought it to life well! hope u enjoy and as always my inbox is open for whateva #kisses ****part 2 to come

@fawnchives @55sturn @teapartyprincess4two @l9vesick @sturnlova @cupidsword @junnniiieee07 @mattnchrisworld @cherrypostsposts

“are you sure you want to do this?” you ask her as you two linger by the bar at the back of the venue.

people are clearing out, all happily chattering after an incredible concert. you have to admit that it was a great performance, and the sold out crowd helped.

they’re a pretty talented band. and the bass player really wants your best friend.

all it took to get him interested was a single comment on one of his recent posts. adelaide is undeniably gorgeous, and she’s also built a decent following through her recent modeling jobs.

she stands out in any comment section and in crowds like these, so it makes sense that he hit her up. that’s why you’re here anyways.

mister bass player had invited you guys to the first of two sold out shows in this place. it’s the last stop on the band’s US leg, in their hometown, which happens to be where you and adelaide live.

“yes dude, for the hundredth time, im sure. and he’s waiting on us, so stop stalling. i know you have more balls than that.” adelaide gives you a pointed look.

you can’t help but roll your eyes. “i promise you i don’t care enough about what these guys think to be scared.”

“now that sounds more like you.” she teases as she pulls her phone out of her back pocket.

the light from the screen illuminates her face, and you watch as she taps something out quickly.

“chris said someone is gonna come get us.”

“can’t wait.” you smile sarcastically as you respond.

addy doesn’t even get the chance to yell at you about your attitude before a big buff guy dressed in all black approaches the two of you, dark hair slicked against his skull. SECURITY is printed across his jacket in bold yellow letters.

“you ladies enjoy the show?” his voice is deep, which matches his huge stature perfectly.

“oh, it was amazing! i’m assuming you’re jason?” adelaide beams at him, pushing her dark curls out of her face.

he nods once. “that’s me. you guys ready to head backstage?”

“yup, just lead the way.”

the two of you follow jason back down toward the front of the stage, around the protective barricade to a door that almost blends right in with the venue’s dark walls.

he knocks on it three times. another tall man opens it for him and ushers the two of you inside before people start to pay too much attention.

“dressing rooms this way.” the new guy leads you through the backstage area, down a narrow hallway until he stops in front of one of the doors. there’s a little placard with their band name on it, which is cute.

this time nobody thinks to knock, because it’s already pretty loud. once the door swings open the sound is even more overwhelming.

you count seven people, all sitting around on the couches and vanity seats in the dim lighting. three of them are nearly identical, which surprises you. you thought there were only two brothers in the band.

several bottles of champagne crowd the coffee table already, and they’ve only been off the stage for ten minutes.

all of them are watching the two of you now, and it makes you want to crawl out of your skin.

“look who it is.” one of the twins (or apparently triplets) that’s sitting on the couch sets his glass down and gets up to greet you.

his brown hair is long, longer than the others, hidden slightly by a black boston hat. he’s dressed in a celtics jersey and baggy jeans, clearly happy to be representing his city tonight.

“good to see you, chris.” adelaide smiles into his chest as he pulls her into a tight embrace that lasts for a few seconds too long.

“i promise it’s better to see you.” he smirks as he finally pulls away, not even trying to hide his gaze as he admires the way her outfit hugs her body.

then he turns to you, and you suddenly feel like a spotlight is shining directly in your face.

“it’s nice to meet you too, y/n. addy tells me you’re even cooler than she is.” chris says, wrapping his arm around your friends shoulder lazily.

“can’t argue with that.” you shrug with a grin, impressed that he remembered your name without having to ask.

he looks around and clears his throat, and the others stop chatting. “everyone, this is adelaide and y/n. introduce yourselves.”

one of the clones that was sitting beside chris speaks up now. “shouldn’t they know who we are?”

he looks directly at you with an uninterested gaze that’s somehow still so intense you almost lose your breath. he’s in all black, fluffy hair styled a bit shorter than chris’s.

his harley davidson muscle tee is cut off right above his black pants, revealing just the smallest sliver of his stomach as he leans back against the cushions casually. so many tattoos, so many rings.

it’s annoying that you notice this, even despite how pissed off you are at his stupid question.

“i hate to burst your bubble, but i wouldn’t be able to guess your name even if someone put a gun to my head.” you bite back without thinking, and laughter erupts around you.

“that’s exactly what you deserve for a dickhead comment like that, matt.” another currently-unnamed guy says.

he’s on the other sofa with the last of the carbon-copy brothers, arm around the waist of the beautiful girl that’s perched on his lap. the couple smile at you and adelaide.

“feel free to ignore him. i’m nathan, lead guitar.” he introduces himself.

“i’m his girlfriend jen.” the dark-haired woman chimes in, offering you a friendly wave.

“im nick,” the triplet sitting next to them finally reveals his name, “i’m not in the band, i’m just their tour photographer. my brothers got the musical talent.”

“kids a genius with a camera though.” chris adds, still sidled up against adelaide.

“names sam. i’m the singer.” a blonde boy with hair cropped close to his skull says with a nod.

he’s sitting on one of the vanity chairs that’ve been set up in a half circle, tipping the rest of his champagne back after he speaks.

“and i’m just his older sister gabby.” the girl beside him sticks her hand out, and you take a step forward to shake it.

“dont say just. and i love your necklace.” you compliment the barbed wire chain around her throat, and she waves her free hand at you, flushing slightly.

“you’re sweet.”

“it’s nice to meet you all. the show was fantastic, we had a blast.” adelaide addresses everyone with that award-winning grin you know and love.

chris leads her over to the couch and they sit down, pressed against each other like they’re attached at the hip. you have to admit it’s a little cute. you take the open chair next to gabby, opting to avoid sitting next to matt just to be near your friend.

“are you both from boston too?” sam asks, reaching to refill his drink.

jen gets up from nate’s lap to grab two more glasses from one of the cabinets, which is a kind gesture that you weren’t really expecting.

“yeah. we met in college and ended up staying in the city together.” you answer as he moves to pour your champagne next.

“that makes you what, 22? i am about to serve you alcohol.”

you can’t help but laugh, so adelaide answers instead. “we’re 25, but i’ll take that as a compliment.”

he puts his hands up in apology as you grab your glass. “so not recent graduates then, my bad.”

you can still feel matt staring at you, and when you meet his gaze over the rim of your drink he doesn’t shy away. your own eyes narrow slightly, because you dont understand why he won’t fucking quit it.

“what do you do for work?” nathan questions, and you finally break out of your trance to look over.

“i was in publishing for a bit, but i mainly model now.” addy responds first.

chris’s hand goes to grip her thigh endearingly as she sips her champagne. “can’t you tell?”

“stop it.” she nudges him slightly, though you can see a faint blush appear beneath her bronzed skin.

nate rolls his eyes before looking your way. “and you?”

“i’m a media manager for a few different brands.”

“really? like who?”

it’s matt speaking, you know even before you turn your head to meet his cold eyes once more. he’s challenging you, inked arms crossed over his chest defensively as he waits for an answer.

“well for one, those pants you’re wearing? i work with that company.” you reply bluntly.

you’d recognize those cargos anywhere, the faded star patches are a dead giveaway. matt’s face drops in surprise, and nick snorts, giving you a nod of approval that doesn’t go unnoticed.

“i can’t believe you work for vamped. we all get like, half of our wardrobe from there.” he admits.

“raiding her closet is a real treat, trust me.” adelaide makes it sound like a joke, but she actually does love to come over and steal all your favorite pieces.

it would be annoying if you didn’t love her so much.

jen smiles, cuddled back up on her boyfriend’s knee as she looks between the two of you. “i like you girls already.”

“yeah, and i respect anyone who can humble matt that quickly.” sam nods along in agreement, and you recognize that he’s talking about you in particular.

“oh, so i take it he’s like this all the time then?” your question is directed at sam, but you’re looking at the subject himself as you ask it.

“pretty much.” chris nudges matt with a silly grin, and he scowls in return, though he’s still watching you.

you can’t decipher what he’s feeling, what he’s thinking, and you don’t like it one bit. to be fair, you don’t know him at all yet, but you know the type.

you’ve met enough high profile people through vamped to understand that this kid thinks he’s some kind of god, probably because his friends tell him so.

but you’re not his friend, and you don’t owe him any politeness if he can’t bother to reciprocate it. you keep your eyes on him as sam redirects the conversation away from the two of you, another challenge of your own, and he finally looks away a moment later.

you take it as a win.

a few rounds of drinks later you can feel the heat creeping up your cheeks, blissfully tipsy as you continue to swap stories about anything and everything with the rest of the group.

chris and adelaide are in their own little world, whispering shit back and forth to each other like school girls.

matt hasn’t said a single word to you since you name-dropped your highest paying client just to embarrass him. he watches the rest of you interact, though that burning gaze of his always seems to meet yours anyways.

its driving you crazy, and you’re itching for a quick pause from the socialization, as nice as (almost) everyone has been.

“i’m gonna go for a smoke.” you address the group, mainly adelaide, and you’re met with a couple nods.

“same.” matt replies gruffly, and your heart falters.

of fucking course.

he pushes himself to a standing position before you can protest, or say anything really. his shirt is even more cropped now that he’s stretched to his full height, and you’re staring straight at his exposed happy trail and v-line. you’re pretty sure you see the top of a small tattoo by his hip.

your mouth goes dry, and you busy yourself grabbing your little purse from the floor.

“hurry back, i wanna hear more about this PR box fiasco.” gabby points a finger at you as you get up next, and you smile even though you know it’s a weak attempt.

“i’ll be quick.” you promise her.

adelaide gives you a little wave goodbye, which doesn’t quell your nerves as you turn to follow matt, who doesn’t wait for you to catch up.

he just throws the dressing room door open carelessly, letting it swing back so you have to stop it with your hand before it hits you. you glare at the back of his head, though you follow him in silence because you don’t know the way outside.

another security guard stands in the hall, and matt greets him with a quick nod as he heads outside, once again neglecting to hold it for you.

you mutter a quick hello to the man before stepping onto the little back patio. it’s the end of summer, edging toward fall now, so there’s just a slight chill in the air.

he’s already leaned up against the brick wall, situated on one of the steps down to the gated parking lot. for the first time tonight, he’s actually not looking at you, and it’s somewhat of a relief.

you dig around in your bag to retrieve your crinkled carton of cigarettes, flipping the lid open to pull one out and stick it between your lips. you’re about to put them away when matt clears his throat.

“can i bum one?” he asks softly.

it’s the least aggressive he’s been all night, and it throws you so off guard you can’t find anything to say back so him. so you just nod slowly, grabbing another cigarette for him and passing it over.

“thanks.”

“you got a light? couldn’t bring mine in.” you mutter, though your words slur because of the cig that’s between your teeth.

matt nods, ruffling his hair with one hand as the other slips into his back pocket. he pulls out a red disposable lighter and ignites it in one swift motion.

he holds it up to your mouth, burning the end of the thin roll of tobacco. he’s staring at your lips, thinking about how soft they look wrapped around that filter paper.

matt doesn’t want to be wondering what it would be like to feel them against his own, because you embarrassed him. he hates being embarrassed, especially by someone who walked right into his dressing room like she owned it.

you’re unlike any girl he’s ever met, and he’s fucking entranced.

you inhale, glancing to meet his blue eyes as the smoke fill your lungs, completely unaware of his thoughts. it’s familiar, and it calms you down a little bit.

you pull it from your mouth to exhale, watching as he lights his own before slipping the plastic device back into his pocket. he slumps back up against the wall, kicking one leg up to steady himself.

it’s silent again for a moment while you both enjoy the brief hits of nicotine, letting the clouds swirl up into the night. you both go to ash at the same time, and he breaks the tension first.

“so, what did you think of the show, sweetheart? your friend spoke for you, but i’m sure you have your own opinion.” he says, one side of his mouth tilted up.

you weigh up his statement, rewinding to an hour ago. you guys were in the upper wing, right by the stage in the front row. the view was great, and the energy was definitely there.

you remember matt, sweaty and focused as he banged on those fucking drums like his life depended on it. your eyes were drawn to him for a lot of the performance, to the intensity he brought to the stage.

that was before you knew about his superiority complex, though you should have been expecting it. he is, after all, a rising rock star.

“it was good.” you reply bluntly, shrugging as you bring your cigarette back to your lips.

he fully smiles now, though it’s not a warm one. then he follows your lead and takes another drag as well, his tattoos shifting as his muscles flex and relax due to the movement.

“don’t fucking humor me.” matt finally says seriously, and you narrow your eyes.

“i wasn’t, but it doesn’t matter either way. you think you’re the shit regardless.” you snap back.

matt softens a bit at your tone, but he’s also backed into a corner. you confuse him, because you’re impossible to read. that’s never happened to him before, and it’s annoyingly enticing.

“you don’t know a damn thing about me.”

“i know your type.” you argue sourly, sucking in another mouthful of smoke.

he turns his full attention to you now, shifting so he can look you right in the eyes. you wish it didn’t intimidate you so much, but the way he’s been leering at you all night makes you sweat.

“and what type would that be, hm?” matt goads.

you nudge at the concrete with the toe of your sneaker, pausing briefly to compose your answer.

“you’re arrogant, which either comes from the fame or the praise, or most likely both. in fact, you’re so cocky that you probably can’t be around anyone without patronizing them. i bet they all tell you how talented and badass you are, but you wanna know what i think?” you ask him, taking a hit of your cigarette for dramatic effect.

and it works. matt is hanging onto every word, waiting for you to deliver the final punch as you take a step closer, blowing the vapor toward him.

“i think that the whole time, they’re just waiting for you to shut the fuck up.”

for a second the world is still, and neither of you move an inch. he’s just studying you, eyes skipping across your face like he’s trying to commit it to memory.

“you want to know what i think?” he questions you quietly, and you can’t help but watch his lips as they move.

so pretty and pink, and you know he would taste like tobacco and sweat. you want to give in, but you won’t. one thing about you is that you’re stubborn, and you refuse to make the first move for this asshole.

“i think you like it.” matt finishes, so close to your lips now that he’s practically whispering his words against them.

just as you think he’s about to kiss you, to give you the power you crave, he tosses his cigarette to the ground and snuffs it out before stepping around you.

the only reminder that the moment was real is the door slamming shut behind him.

#matt sturniolo #matthew sturniolo #sturniolo triplets #drummer!matt #fanfic #matt sturniolo smut #band au #matthew sturniolo x reader #Spotify

[valkyrieromanoff]

PEDRO PASCAL X ACTRESS! READER

Summary: When a question during an interview makes you uncomfortable, Pedro comforts you.

Tags: no romance just hinting, can be read in a platonic way or not, a little bit of angst but with comfort.

I don't know why it took me so long to finish, and in the end I didn't even like it. But anyway, I hope you enjoy it! Sorry for the grammar mistakes.

"That will be the last interview, then you are cleared for lunch." Your manager was notified as she checked the schedules one more time. "Can I call the next interviewer, or do you need a few minutes to prepare?" 

Pedro put his cell phone away in his pants pocket as he stared at you finished your cup of coffee. "I think the sooner we start, the sooner we can have lunch." He suggested it, and you nodded in agreement. Your manager went to notify production.

"Good morning, I'm John, and I thought about asking a few questions and then playing a little game; is that okay with you guys?" He asked, when you nodded, he signaled to the cameraman and started recording.

"Today I'm joined by the lead actors of the new Netflix movie 'Caught Eye', the talented actor known for roles in series like The Mandalorian and Narcos, Pedro Pascal." John spoke, Pedro smiled, and made the peace sign with his hands. "And the actress making her debut, Y/N Y/LN. How are you guys doing?" You smiled with your mouth closed and waved to the camera.

"Always excited to share that film with the public." Your co-star said smiling.

"I heard that you guys recorded on an island where the ferry only came twice a day, is that true?" The interviewer asked, curious.

"Oh, yes, that's true. The production kept reminding us that we had to pay attention because the ferry only made two trips, one at seven in the morning and the other at ten at night. So we couldn't miss it because it wouldn't arrive until the next day; it was something about the tide." Pedro explained, moving his hands as if to exemplify what he was saying.

“Tell me, have you guys ever been late? And miss the ferry?" John asked.

You and Pedro exchanged glances before giggling. He placed his head on your shoulder as you struggled to hold back your laughter.

"Can someone explain to me what I'm missing?" The interviewer asked, after you stopped laughing.

"We missed the ferry only once." You stated, settling into your chair. 

"It was on the last day of recording." Pedro added.

"And for a silly reason." You finished laughing.

"And what would that reason be? If you guys can tell?" John questioned curiously.

"There was a store that sold a variety of tropical fruit liqueurs, and I mentioned during one of the breaks in the recordings that I wanted to try the guava liqueur. But since the tapings ended late, the store was always closed." You commented. “The last day of recording, though, we were given an early release. We went to the store, but there was a long line, so I gave up and went to wait for the ferry. But in the end we ran to the stand when it was ten minutes before it arrived."

"What could go wrong." The interviewer joked.

"Yeah, what could go wrong? It was a very smart choice to go to a huge line to buy a bottle of liquor." Pedro joked, ironizing the situation. "We thought time was just like in Star Wars, that ten minutes is half an hour."

"After we paid for everything, we came back, and obviously the ferry had left." You concluded, rolling your eyes.

"When I went to check my cell phone, it was full of missed calls from the director and production asking, "Where the hell are we?" He said, imitating the director's voice.

"At least the liquor was good?" The interviewer asked.

"No." You spoke, laughing.

"It was horrible." Pedro complemented, making an exaggerated reaction of false sadness.Then the interview continued with more questions about the movie, the characters, the filming, and asking for some spoilers.

"So, Y/N, do you think the fact that you're acting with such a talented actor like Pedro Pascal in your first role made you nervous? Aware that maybe you would be overshadow?" The interviewer asked. "Or perhaps you were out of place because you didn't have the same level of acting?"

"Oh" You sighed anxiously. Pedro stared at you out of the corner of his eye. Your voice tone let him know that you were upset with the comment.

"Hey, that was rude and unnecessary of you to say." He caught the interviewer's eye. "Every member of the cast is equally talented; no one overshadows anyone. But if I were to pick someone, I would say that in certain scenes I may have been overshadowed by Y/N's brilliant talent. She delivered her all in every performance." You murmured a thank you to him as Pedro gently rested his hand on your leg, squeezing gently.

"I think it's normal for me to be nervous; as you emphasized yourself it's my first film. And a lot of the people in the cast I grew up watching, so it's a privilege to have this opportunity." You spoke up, trying to disguise your discomfort. "And I am very proud of the end result of our work.”

The rest of the interview passed like a blur; you shut down completely, only answering when questions were directed at you. When the interviewer left, you allowed yourself to release the tension. Well, Pedro had warned you that reporters can be too much.

"There aren't many varieties of food here; I think the best thing to do is to go for the classic pepperoni pizza, which you don't have..." Pedro interrupted his suggestion when he noticed you covering your face with your hands. “Hey, what's going on? What makes you feel this way?" He asked, standing next to you.

"Nothing, I'm fine." You insisted, using the back of your hand to dry your tears.

"Look, I'm not going to force you to tell me what's going on, but I want you to know that everything that interviewer said is not true; you're as talented as any actor in that movie." When placing his hand on your shoulder, Pedro spoke. “Of course, as time goes on, you'll get better at acting; you'll change and inspire other people.”He went on while rubbing your shoulder. “But right now, what matters is that you gave it your best effort; fame will come in due course.Many actors, myself included, take years to build up a career, and that's alright.”

You lifted your gaze to face him, your face a little more relaxed. "Can I hug you?" 

“Come here.” Pedro spoke, pulling you into his arms. He held you up to him, and as he caressed your hair, you laid your head on the arc of his neck. You have no idea how long you stayed there, cuddled against one another. You thought he would have the best hugs, and you were right.

"You know, I think I'll have that pizza you recommended." You said, pulling away from the hug.

Pedro smiled.  "As you wish." He said, entangling your arm in his while you looked for the pizza place. Every now and then, Pedro would crack a joke and look away to make sure you were okay. At the end of the day, you reflected on the events, and as uncomfortable as some moments were, you got through them together, and that was enough to put you to sleep with a smile.

#pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal imagine #pedro pascal x actress reader #pedro pascal

[xoxoavenger]

Try Me

pairing: Matt Murdock x Fem!Reader

summary: Y/N has powers that can heal any illness or wound through her cooking, which comes in handy when Matt gets hurt.

word count: 2279

warnings: small mention of wounds but not graphic

part 2

12 Days of Christmas masterlist main masterlist

"Matt, oh my God." Y/N said as she walked into the office to see Matt all bruised, a cut above his eye. "What happened?" She asked, walking closer to see it closer. He looked away, but she was already sitting on his desk, moving his glasses away.

"I, uh, I fell down the stairs." He told her, but she just shook her head and clucked her tongue. She reached into her bag to grab the pastry she packed that day. She always packed one everyday just in case, but she didn't think she would have to use it this early.

"Did you eat breakfast?" She asked, trying to keep herself from running a hand through his hair. Because of course she had to fall for him, her coworker.

"No, but I-"

"Come on, Matt." She smiled as she got off the desk, pulling her skirt down. "I can practically hear your stomach growling from here." With that she walked to her own front desk, Karen's old one. Y/N had taken over the blonde's position of secretary, and she was good at it.

"Good morning you beautiful people!" Foggy practically yelled as he walked through the door. The man had way too much energy for eight thirty in the morning. "Y/N, here's your coffee." He grabbed a cup out of the cup holder and placed it on her desk before winking at her.

"And here's your breakfast." She handed him a pastry, because she always gave one to him even though she knew it wouldn't do anything.

The truth was, Y/N had a power. It wasn't one she flaunted, hell, she hardly ever used it, but she practiced it just incase. She could heal people with her food; how, she wasn't sure, and she had only found it out ten years prior, when she made food for her friend. A couple minutes later, the small cat scratch on her friend's cheek was miraculously gone. After that, she continued to test her theory until there was no doubt in her mind that she had powers.

Just like the Avengers.

But she didn't want fame. She didn't want to be in an elite team of super heroes. She wanted the life she had, working with Foggy and Matt and Karen when she was in the office. It was a fine life.

Plus, she was totally in love with Matt Murdock.

"You're telling me I'm not the only one you make breakfast for?" Matt asked, causing Y/N to smile. She looked over to see Matt eating, which made her happy. She was glad he would be healing, and her heart was hurting slightly at the fact that Matt had to live all alone. Obviously he could take care of himself, but she wanted to be able to take care of him, to heal him when he did things like fall down the stairs.

"Fine, from now on, I'll make breakfast for both of you." She smiled as she looked between the two boys.

"That isn't fair! I bring you coffee, which means Matt has to bring you something too. You cannot just give your baking talents out like that!" Foggy complained, making Y/N roll her eyes.

"I'm sure I'll think of something. Until I do, just keep track." Matt smiled at her before going to his work, grabbing his glasses and putting them back on. Y/N stared for a few seconds before going to work filing and sorting.

~

"Matt," Y/N said in surprise when she walked in the next day. It wasn't surprise of his presence, he had often been in the office first now. Foggy told Y/N that he used to never come in, that Nelson and Murdock had once been done for because Matt never showed up, but he was obviously over it now. No, she was gasping because she was so in shock at his state. He didn't look any better from her pastry - in fact, he almost looked like he'd fallen again.

"Y/N," Matt smiled, but she could tell it was strained.

"Matthew, what did you do this time?" She sat on his desk once more, giving him the pastry. She took his glasses off before he could protest, and looked at his wounds.

"What do you mean?" He chuckled, shying slightly away from her. "I fell down the stairs."

"Twice?" She wiped her finger over some of the dried blood off his face.

"No, I fell the night before yesterday." He told her, wincing as she touched a fresh cut.

"No," She fought back, frowning. "That's fresh blood." She wanted to say that she knew it was new because the pastry should have accelerated his healing enough that he shouldn't be bruising this bad.

"Must've reopened a cut." Matt shrugged, but he made no move to move her hand. She rubbed her fingers over his bruises, hoping the pastry she brought today was enough to help him.

"I'm fine, Y/N. Don't worry about me." He waved her off and she stood, not wanting to annoy him.

"Have you figured out a way to repay me for the pastries every morning?" She asked, trying to find a topic he'd be comfortable talking about.

"Not yet. But, I promise I will." He looked in her general direction, eyes unfocused. She stared, not out of confusion or disgust, but out of wonder. Why would he hide his eyes? They expressed so much emotion, and they were beautiful. He must have sensed her staring, because he quickly felt around for glasses before putting them back on.

"Well, keep me updated." She said as she went to her desk.

"Morning!" Foggy was opening the door a couple seconds later, which put Y/N back in a good mood.

"Good morning, you beautiful person!" She said, referring to his greeting the day before.

"The usual, my fair lady." He said in a strange accent, and she tipped her imaginary hat to him.

"Thank you, kind sir. Whatever would I do without you?" She smiled as he went to his own desk.

"So, Matt figure out what to pay you with?" Foggy asked, bringing out his computer out of his bag.

"Not yet." Y/N shook her head, looking through the company emails.

"I know what he could pay you with." Foggy looked up and smirked at Matt, who began to talk at the same time of Y/N.

"What?"

"Shut it, Fog." Matt had temporarily paused his work, but he got back to it when the conversation dropped. Y/N looked between the two, but Foggy only smirked at her before going to do his own thing.

"Did you forget my pastry?" He asked, making her eyes widen. She had forgotten, and she felt slightly guilty. She reached into her bag to get Foggy's pastry, standing and bringing it to his desk.

"So sorry, sir." She joked, bowing and going back to her work. She couldn't help but sneak glances at Matt all day however, watching his bruise start to fade.

She smiled to herself when she left and his cut was almost fully healed.

~

She still made Matt pastries every morning, however he hadn't come in with any injuries that she could see.

Until he didn't come in a week later.

The door wasn't open, and even after she tried knocking she didn't hear any movement. So she tried calling him.

No answer.

"Hey Matt, I'm at the office and apparently you're not here, because you didn't answer the door, so if you could just let me know if this is a holiday or something?" She chuckled at the end, but her heart was beginning to pound. She called Foggy next.

"The time hasn't magically warped forward, has it?" He joked as he answered the phone.

"Where's Matt?" She felt bad but she needed to get down to business.

"He's not there?" Foggy began to get worried now as well.

"No, and he's not answering his phone." She told Foggy quickly. "Ya know what, I'm just going to check on him." She said, walking back out of the hallway and going down the stairs.

"Don't worry about it! I'm almost there anyway." He rushed out, but Y/N shook her head.

"I'm coming too." She wanted to help if she could, wanted to be there incase he happened to be injured. Foggy was quiet for a moment.

"Fine. I'll meet you there. He may be sick."

"He's not sick." She said. He had been eating her pastries every day, and she knew that was all someone needed of her cooking and baking to keep away from the common cold or viruses.

"He could be." Foggy pointed out, but Y/N shook her head as she walked down the street. Matt didn't live super far away, so it didn't take long for her to make it. Luckily, Foggy was also pretty close.

"I'll be there soon. Wait outside - the doorman is a stickler. He won't let you in alone." He told her, so Y/N confirmed and hung up. Foggy was there a minute later, and the two walked into the building together, hearts racing.

"He does this all the time." Foggy assured her, but she could tell he was freaking out, even if it was slightly less than her. "He probably just overslept." His voice seemed to give away more than his actual words.

"Right." She nodded as they began to climb the stairs. They got to Matt's floor and walked quickly to his apartment, Y/N banging on the door as soon as she could.

"Matt?" Foggy called out from her side, both of them going quiet to try and listen to what was going on.

"Matt, are you okay?" Y/N yelled, heart getting lodged in her throat as she couldn't hear anything.

"That's it," Foggy reached into his pocket to grab his keys, picking through them to find a key that Y/N assumed was Matt's. She stood back to let him open the door, and the two walked in, their worries for their friend outweighing the fact that they had just actually broken into Matt's apartment.

"Matt? Matt are you alright?" Y/N yelled, following Foggy in. She heard a groan from the living room and rushed with Foggy through the small hallway to see Matt on the couch, only in his underwear. She was about to look away when she noticed that he was covered in cuts and bruises, the blood wet around the cuts but drying down his body. There were at least four thick, deep cuts and dark, almost black bruises.

"Shit," Foggy muttered. He thought that Matt would be bruised from his after work activities, but he was hoping it wasn't this bad. He didn't want Y/N to come with him, but he couldn't exactly tell her no.

"Oh my God," Y/N made her way to his side, assessing the damage.

"I was hoping you'd find me." He muttered as he opened his eyes slightly. "I need your help." He grabbed her hand, shifting with a groan.

"With what? I can't stitch you up! I don't know the first thing about medical aid." She muttered, instinctively reaching up to push his hair out of his face.

"Maybe not," Matt chuckled but then ended up coughing, causing Y/N and Foggy to wince. "But you do know a thing or two about healing." Y/N froze, her heart stuttering. How did he know?

"What?" She whispered, but Matt squeezed her hand. "How did this happen? This is worse than falling down the stairs." She tried to change the subject, but Matt moved in pain again.

"I notice things." He said, as if that would explain everything. Before Y/N could answer, he was speaking again. "Could you make something while Foggy helps me clean up?" All she could do was nod and look in her bag, taking the two pastries she always brought for the boys out.

"If you can get these down, it'll help, but I'll make some soup." She smiled at him and got up, squeezing his hand before letting it go.

"What is going on?" Foggy whispered to Matt, making him chuckle slightly.

"Let's just say Y/N's soup is special." Matt closes his eyes and tries to ignore the pain while Y/N works. Foggy looks between them quickly.

"What the fuck does that mean?" He cries, making Y/N chuckle.

"It's alright, Foggy." Matt has a tired smile, one that worries his friend.

"You need medical attention." Foggy tries to convince Matt, who just shakes his head.

"Try to eat the pastries!" Y/N calls from the kitchen.

"What the fuck are pastries gonna do?" Foggy screams, wanting to rip out his own hair.

"Foggy, how many times have you gotten sick in the past six months?" Matt asks softly.

"That has absolutely nothing to do with you dying on the couch." Foggy gets up to grab a cloth to wipe at the blood on his face.

"I am not dying." Matt mutters with the roll of his eyes. Foggy returns and gets him to shut up by wiping at his mouth.

"The soup just has to heat up." Y/N comes out of the kitchen and kneels next to Matt. "Foggy, can you run to the store to grab some bandages?" She asks, taking the cloth.

"When I get back, you guys are telling me what I'm missing." He says very seriously before he walks out the door.

"How did you figure it out?" Y/N whispers, wiping his blood away with one hand and his hair out of his face with the other. "How did this happen?" She changes her question while shaking her head.

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you." He muttered, causing Y/N to scoff.

"The food I make can heal people. Try me." She smiles.

"Well, you know Daredevil?" 

//

tags: @avada-kedavra-bitch-187 @one-sweet-gubler @thefandomplace @punzoquack @mcueveryday @icequeen1371

#matt murdock x reader #matt murdock imagine #daredevil x reader #daredevil imagine

[tinydeskwriter]

Hi! Can you write something with Carlos? After yesterday's events... I need to read something to cope, idk☹️☹️

You're Carlos Fucking Sainz

A/n: this is just a little something, a domestic moment after the bombastic news, Y/n trying to be there for her man. I was so sad for Carlos, I think this is the cuntiest Ferrari move ever, it's sure to make things unconfortable this season. It's not something particulartly big or elaborate, because I wasn't sure what you wanted, but I hope you like.

“Amore,” the Spaniard is surprised to hear the soft voice calling him, blocking his cell phone screen and placing it on the coffee table, turning to his girlfriend standing in the doorway.

Y/n arrived in Madrid three hours after the news was posted and a fifteen-minute call with her boyfriend left her heartbroken. She was lucky to have an extensive network and such a competent PA who managed to get her on a flight back home in record time—even if that meant she had to travel coach from Milan.

“Carinõ, what are you doing here?" The man got up and approached his girlfriend, kissing her lightly before pulling away to look at her, “I thought you weren't coming back from Milan until tomorrow."

“Aren't you happy to see me?" She tilts her head slightly and wrinkles her nose in the way she knows Carlos finds her irresistibly adorable.

“I'm always happy to see you." The words are genuine, but the smile is forced.

“I told the girls that my extremely hot and talented boyfriend needed me more than they did." Y/n wraps her arms around the older man's muscular neck.

“Not so talented apparently…” The woman's smile disappears when she sees his crestfallen expression and deprecatory tone when talking about himself. “They warned me ten minutes before the announcement went up.”

Y/n took her boyfriend's face in her hand, forcing him to look at her. Determination evident in her eyes.

“Carlos, bebé, you are amazing, never think otherwise, you are no less than Charles," she says seriously, “it's their loss, go after what you want my love, any team would be lucky to have you, Ferrari you've only been building tractors for years, you did your best, Hamilton will have the most disappointing end to his career there, and half the experts doubt that Charles will win the title racing for Ferrari."

“I'm going to be without a team in 2025..." the Spaniard says, moving away from his girlfriend, towards the large couch they choose together months before—his house was a true bachelor pad before she moved in, and it took some effort and gentle persuasion for her to convince her very headstrong man to allow her to change around.

Sitting on the huge, velvety blue sofa, with his arms crossed and beaked, his head thrown on the back and his eyes closed, he would look downright pathetic if he weren't so handsome—and if she didn’t love him so much.

At least for today, she wants to make him feel better, tomorrow and beyond, they take it one day at a time. Y/n sighs. She hates when Carlos is hard on himself, especially over a situation he has little to no control.

She takes off her own dress, leaving it pooling down the living room floor, in only a white lace G-string she sits on the man's lap, uncrossing his arms and placing his big hands on her ass. She laughs when Carlos immediately opens his eyes, staring at the pair of breasts in front of him with desire—she knows it's a low blow, but she just wants to see him a little more himself, sex won’t solve anything, but it will definitely take him out of his shell.

“Bebé, you are Carlos fucking Sainz,” she tangles her fingers through his dark strands, “fuck Ferrari, fuck Fred, fuck Charles and fuck Hamilton, show them all who you are, be your cuntiest self, ignore their bullshit strategy and their fucking favouritism, race for you, follow your instincts and get out of that tractor factory with a bang.” She kisses him deeply, biting his lips.

#f1 imagine #carlos sainz jr #carlos sainz imagine #carlos sainz x you #carlos sainz x reader #cs55 imagine #cs55 x reader

[floressokaap]

"What Was I Made For?"

Pairing: John Dory x Reader

Content Warning: none! Enjoy! :)

A/N: Hello! The majority of my fics will be AFAB w/pronouns unless specified/requested! Thank you!<3

Photo credit: etherealfeature on Instagram!

John Dory. You really didn't know exactly how to describe him. Many people describe him as somebody with narcissistic tendencies, and absolutely selfish. And, they were right. But what a lot of trolls didn't realize was the fact that you are in love with him, and he unfortunately stays trapped inside his mind for so long that he doesn't quite realize how good he has it right now.

After saving Floyd, everyone that parted ways started their recovery process due to their own talents getting slowly sucked out from them by ex superstars Velvet and Veneer. Floyd stayed with Branch in his underground bunker, Clay went back to the mini golf course with Viva to situate her reunion with King Peppy after the last Bergen attack, and Bruce went back to Vacay Island to be with his kids and Brandy. What did that leave you to do? The only thing you ever thought to do; To take care of John Dory and help him recover in Rhonda, wherever the roads took you both.

"JD, what are you doing?" Your ears perked at the sound of blankets rustling against the couch cushions. There was silence before a response was heard.

"I'm not doing anything, I'm resting like you're wanting me to."

You put a magazine down on the table and glanced over at him. He was slowly reaching for his jacket and goggles, and seemed restless. "We need food-" "JD, we already have food here for the both of us." He clenches his jaw slightly. He knew you were going to be hard to get through. "I need to check Rhonda's oil." He quickly sat up, and threw his fur coat on, slapping his goggles into position against his forehead. "You need to rest-" "I don't need to, I can't just NOT do anything, I'm the leader, I HAVE to be productive and do my part to make sure everything's perfect."

"John Dory, we're not doing this again."

He continued standing up and walking towards the side door. He looked down at the door handle, contemplating on your concerns before brushing them off his shoulders and walked out on you. You furrowed your brows and sighed in frustration.

You couldn't count how many times John Dory would have his perfection episodes, and pushed himself over the limits. Every time you call him out on those moments and try to calm him down, he refuses, and shuts himself out. You let him have about ten minutes of alone time outside before you eventually stood up from your seat and walked out Rhonda's side door. You expected him to be near her, but he was nowhere to be found. "C'mon JD.." you shook your head to yourself as you slowly walked around the forest where you were camping at. You started to worry before you found him sitting on a fallen tree log lying against the ground. He had his head lowered, and his forearms against his legs, staring at the earth beneath him.

You smiled in relief, because he didn't go very far as you knew deep down, and you slowly made your way to the seat right next to him. His shoulders fell more when he snapped out from his train of thought, and glanced over to look at you. You could see the pain in his eyes. His eyes were dry, and the crows feet near his eyes were more prominent and defined. "JD, are you.. alright?"

"Yeah, of course I'm alright!" He put on his photogenic leader and big brother smile on his face. Why couldn't he open up to you.

"JD, I know you're not alright, something is really bothering you. Why do you feel like you need to be perfect all the time? Even when your body doesn't even have the strength to begin with?" His jaw slacked a little at your forwardness, but he then clenched his jaw and darted his eyes away from yours. "Please, don't shut me out like this. You do this every time." He squeezed his eyes shut. He hated being confronted like that. He knew you, and he knew you would keep trying for an answer. He didn't have an escape from you. He let out a very shaky and slow sigh. There was no going back for him.

"My brothers, they all said I never changed. I mean, we almost didn't even save Floyd because of it." He shook his head disappointedly to himself and balled his hands into fists. "I'm the oldest brother, the leader, it was predetermined for me to be this way! And everybody has something to say about me! Why! They can't see the work I put into everything I do to be perfect! My brothers can't see that either." He frowned a lot, and his ears drooped downwards in disappointment, vulnerability, and freight. "I have to be this way, for everybody's sake. My own sake. This is what John Dory is. This is what I was made for. I was made to carry the responsibility. What else could I have been possibly brought here for?"

You immediately reached over and put your hand on top of his before he could even mutter another word out from his lips.

"JD, you.. you are so smart, strong, talented, and it kills me that you can't see that in yourself. So what if your brothers are right? There's nothing wrong with that. It's something different when you don't feel like you deserve that kind of commitment from people, even your own brothers, because you're too good for it. They say those things, and bring up a lot of the past because they care for you, and they really do love you. You can't change the choices you made when you were a teenager, but you can decide how that will build your character in this moment." John Dory stared at your hand slowly intertwining with his, you could see the tears in his glistening eyes. You could see the vulnerable, younger, and even current John Dory in his eyes. You could feel the fear, worry, responsibilities, and faults he made; and how much it absolutely eats him up and keeps him hostage in his own mind.

"(Y/N), where is this all coming from? Why?-"

"I've always felt this way, JD. When I got to know you and your brothers while we were journeying to Mount Rageous, I realized that.. nobody really hardly ever gives you enough credit for the things you deal with alone. Your brothers' own experiences with you are valid, but, I see the work you're putting into making sure you're still needed here, as a big brother, and.. as the man I'm in love with." You feel your heart shoot itself into your throat before sinking straight down to your stomach.

John Dory's eyes immediately widened, as his shoulders and back tensed up. You could sense the change of mood in him, and there was no way he was going to run away from his problems now like this. You tightened your grip on his hand and leaned towards him, putting your lips against his tense ones. It felt like time had completely frozen, but the world was still spinning as you felt John Dory's lips move and lean into the kiss more and his calloused gloved hand cup your cheek shakily. He then pulled you as close as he humanly possibly could with his arms wrapped around your waist. You could feel the passion behind his lips, and body language, along with the tears going down his tired cheeks. He pulled away from your lips slowly, and immediately slid his goggles off his face, tossing them aside to the ground and starts pressing his forehead against yours, letting the tears fall down from his cheeks.

"(Y/N).. thank you. Thank you so much."

"You don't need to thank me for that, JD. It's true. Everything that I said was and is true. I will stand behind it every single second of every day. I promise you that." His eyes stared at you lovingly as a soft smile spread across his face showing the slight wrinkles and crows feet that peek from his eyes and mouth.

"Oh, uh, here, you must be cold." He took off his fur coat and wrapped it around your figure. "We've been out here for a while now." You nodded and proceeded to stand up from the log, holding your hand out. "Let's go warm up inside Rhonda." John Dory nodded as he took your delicate hand in his rather large and tough hand. He smiled lovingly at you as he guided you back to Rhonda, who still kept her engine on and the inside very warm for you two.

You adjusted the couch cushions and made room for you and John Dory to spoon together, him being the little spoon tonight while you wrapped your arms around his torso.

"I love you, (Y/N)" You smiled lovingly to yourself as you squeezed him softly. "I've waited a long time to hear those words from you, John Dory." "Oops, sorry." He laughed playfully and nervously as he rubbed and massaged your knuckles with his thumb.

You pressed the side of your head against John Dory's shoulders, listening to the calmness and relaxation of his body. This may have been the only time he's ever been this way, for anybody, even himself.

But who knew that with the cards he was dealt with in life would be the turnaround point of his character, and even your own freshly started relationship with him; And you would be there every step of the way. That meant through the days he is the happiest with himself for being a good leader, and through the days where he would question his entire purpose with trying to maintain the perfect harmony, the perfect family and if that was really all there was in this world.

He knows now that's not true, and he can once in his life relax and be comfortable with himself, regardless of the past life he made.

He can finally start living his new life, with you and his real, true, full family.

#Spotify #john dory #john dory trolls #john dory trolls 3 #trolls x reader #brozone x reader #brozone #trolls band together #trolls 3 #john dory x reader #trolls x self insert

[elliesbelle]

nobody compares to you

chapter 5

pairing: ellie x reader

synopsis: you're in your junior year of college and at a party, you run into the girl who broke your heart: ellie williams. despite the time it took to reset your life, will you risk a broken heart again for her?

content warnings: modern college au, cursing, angst, slight slut-shaming, brief mention of death, minors do not interact

word count: 2.3k

chapters: one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen

series masterlist

my masterlist

i have a ko-fi if you like my work so much that you feel compelled to tip me ♡︎

the "nobody compares to you" spotify playlist

featuring the isa song “sometimes you lose your soulmates”

Present Day 

Though you didn’t exactly enjoy Mondays, it was at least the one day of the week when you got to wake up naturally instead of at the crack of dawn. Your first class isn't until noon, so when you wake up at 9:30 in the morning, you decide to get your day started early. 

You weren’t always the type of person to completely do themselves up just to go to class. Maybe in freshman year for the first few weeks, but you were a seasoned vet now. Most of the time, some leggings and a simple shirt or sweater sufficed. But after such a shitty weekend, you figure you could at least make yourself feel good by looking good. 

After half an hour of getting ready, you look yourself over in the bathroom mirror. You smile, fairly satisfied with your appearance. Despite the cold breezes of Saturday night, the forecast called for a rare warm day. As a result, you allowed yourself a floral sundress, decorated with a puffy knitted, button-up jacket on top of it in case the season’s true weather decided to show. A pair of simple white sneakers finished your outfit; not the most stylish, but practically, you still had to walk around campus. 

Your lips shine from the bit of lip gloss you’d applied. You’d only applied some light mascara on today (you figured that your Literature and Sexuality class did not warrant your bold, false eyelashes). You’d lightly painted your eyes with colours that complemented those of your sundress, blending them seamlessly onto your eyelids. As you did this, that one memory that was prodding you two days ago became clearer. 

“I have no idea how you do that so naturally, dude.” Ellie’d said, watching you in awe from the foot of your bed. 

Her ocean green eyes watched the meticulous strokes of your makeup brush applying eyeshadow to your lids. It was early on in your “friendship” and it was still a couple more weeks of her calling you “dude” before you became “babe” and “baby.” 

“It’s not that hard, honestly. Just takes some practice.” You’d said, trying to keep your hand steady as you grew nervous under Ellie’s watchful gaze. 

“Nah, it’s natural talent. You’re an artist.” She’d replied. 

You’d scoffed, saying, “Ellie, all I’m doing is my makeup. You’re the actual artist, remember?” 

“No,” She’d shaken her head. “I just draw. You’re the artist here.” She’d said decidedly, eyes full of admiration as she continued to stare. 

You’d blushed furiously then, and you would continuously do so when you’d replay that memory the months following after. 

But it was two years later and now, the memory instead has you staring at your reflection tight-lipped and frowning. 

Why is she still everywhere? 

It was roughly a fifteen to twenty-minute walk from your apartment to the university. You lived in an off-campus apartment complex that was in a decent location from both the school and a downtown area nearby. It was less convenient than living on campus like several of your friends still did, and this certainly wasn’t what you’d had in mind when you were planning out your social college experience. But after the freshman year events of Rafael’s death and Ellie’s abandonment, you were far more comfortable where you were. 

You liked walking anyway. You found solace in the strolls you took, accompanied only by your thoughts and headphones. 

About five minutes into your trek to campus, you pull out your phone to text your friend Tara. 

A couple of minutes later, you were just officially entering the campus when Tara texts you back. 

You continue walking as you frown down at your phone. Dina had spent most of the previous day at your place, cheering you up and taking your mind off Ellie. Your group chat with your other friends was blowing up and by the end of the night when Dina had left, you were overwhelmed by the amount of unread texts you had. The group chat remained unopened until right now. 

The chat consisted of your friends Tara, Sidney, Astrid, Rebecca, Kristen, and Mina. You’d met them all in freshman year. Tara was your assigned roommate and Astrid was Dina’s. They were all initially casual friends, ones that you saw on a usual basis and got along well with, but they weren’t necessarily very close. You were better friends with the gang from Jackson. But after you came back to campus for sophomore year, you detached yourself slightly from Dina and Jesse, knowing full well that Ellie had them first. They both tried to remain closer to you; but they remained inseparable from their childhood best friend, not fully knowing what events led to what “broke up” you two. It wasn’t the same and it was a much different dynamic with this other friend group, but the girls were there for you all the same. 

Reluctantly, you click on the group chat named “Wilson Crew ❤️‍🔥” (Wilson Valley had been the name of the freshman dorm building most of you had resided in the first year). Scrolling up to where you’d left off, you scan the messages your friends had left the previous day. Your eyes grow wider and wider the more you read. 

The previous day, Tara, who worked at a campus coffee shop called Ruston Coffee, was tasked to train a new girl. To her, your other friends’, and now your shock, the new girl Tara was training was Freshman Girl. The same Freshman Girl who stayed glued to Ellie’s side for most of Saturday night. The same Freshman Girl who drooled over Ellie’s every word and move. The same Freshman Girl that mistook your Ellie’s signature lavender-laced joints as lilac. The same Freshman Girl who wore Ellie’s old motorcycle jacket the entire night. 

It turned out Freshman Girl did have a name: Daniela. Your friends had sent messages with different levels of shock and horror. Kristen called her a whore, to which Sidney agreed, to which Astrid reprimanded and told them both to be nice. Mina sent memes as a response. Tara also texted that Daniela would be working with her again today. 

You look up. Ruston Coffee is just down the way. You don't have to go in. You can skip coffee for today and hide out in the library instead. 

“I’m not expecting you and Ellie to magically make up. I won’t try to get into the middle of it because I know that’s between you two. But you definitely need to figure out this out, babe. This doesn’t seem like something that should remain unresolved.” Dina’d said.

“But don’t also let it affect all the other parts of your life, okay?" She continued. "She shouldn’t be stopping you from hanging out with me and Jess more often or going out to parties we’re at or anything that involves Ellie in some way. Don’t let her stop you from enjoying your life.” 

And Ellie certainly shouldn’t stop you from getting coffee. If you want to get a coffee and relax before class, Ellie should not be getting in the way of that. 

You take a deep breath and march towards the coffee shop, fingers gripping tightly onto the straps of your backpack and feet stomping in rhythm to good 4 u by Olivia Rodrigo blasting loudly through your headphones. 

A bell above the door tinkles as you enter Ruston Coffee. The shop was a little busy, most seats taken up by other students sitting with their laptops or biding time before class. There's a line of people by the register and you begin approaching it until you hear your name being called. 

Your friend Tara waves you over by the counter where orders are usually dropped off. In one of her hands is a straw and your ready-made mocha frappe. 

“You’re the literal best, Tara.” You sigh, pulling your headphones off and walking up to her. 

She hands you your coffee order. 

“No problem.” She says, smiling. “You know that I don’t mind.”

“Thank you for indulging in my caffeine addiction,” You say, whipping out your phone and sending her $6. 

Tara frowns and says, “You better not have given me a $3 tip this time.” 

You sip from your straw. 

“Dude!” Tara reprimands, laughing. 

“$2 tip!” You say, defensively. 

“Just for a $4 coffee.” She chides, shaking her head. 

You shrug. 

“So uh,” Tara begins, her voice lowered slightly. “Did you see what I said in the group chat yesterday? Cause you weren’t responding.” 

You gulp. 

“Uhh. Yeah, I did, just now. Sorry, Dina was at my place yesterday, so I was busy—” 

“Nah nah, it’s cool, man. But like. You saw what I said about that girl, right?” 

“Is she here?” You ask, chewing the inside of your cheek. 

“Not yet. But—” Tara checks her watch. “—she’s supposed to be here in less than five minutes or so.” 

Fuck. 

“Oh, okay.” You gulp, your heart rate increasing. 

“Are you okay, dude?” Tara asks. 

“No, yeah, I’m fine.” You lie. “How did training her yesterday go?” 

Tara crosses her arms and rolls her eyes. 

“Literally the worst. She kept on looking at her phone instead of listening, she left one AirPod in her ear the whole time, she kept asking when we were gonna be done. And now I have to go through it all again once she gets here.” 

You give Tara a sympathetic look. 

“I hate that,” You say, sucking on your teeth. “Can’t you just, I don’t know, not hire her?” 

“We’re short-staffed as fuck, so we don’t have much of a choice.” Tara sigh. 

One of Tara’s co-workers comes up behind her and attempts to elbow her ribs which she dodges easily. 

“Get back to work, Maclay.” He says, putting down two cups of coffee next to her before heading back towards the register. 

“Fuck off, Khanh!” She replies, shooting a middle finger to his back. 

“Should I let you get back to work?” You ask. 

“Nah,” Tara reassures. “I wanna shit talk this Daniela girl first before I have to deal with her this morning.” 

“Do you know how often she’s gonna be working with you?” You inquire. 

“I’m not sure yet, but if Bonnie thinks she’s gonna stick me with a lazy new girl this early in the year—” 

You hear the bell above the door tinkle as someone enters the coffee shop. Both you and Tara look instinctively at the new arrival. Tara groans silently and your throat goes dry. 

Freshman Girl Daniela walks in. Wearing Ellie’s jacket once again. 

Fuck, fuck, fuck. 

“Crap, I gotta go now, I guess.” Tara whines begrudgingly. 

“Y-yeah…” You say, unable to take your eyes off of that same jacket that used to often adorn your shoulders back in your freshman year. You hate that it looked good on Daniela. 

“I’ll see you later, dude.” Tara says, wrenching her elbows off the counter and walking towards the register. 

“Good luck.” You reply. 

You aren't exactly subtle with your stare, but thankfully Daniela doesn't seem to notice. It's a little different seeing her now in the daytime. She was very pretty, you have to admit to yourself. She has a short, pixie cut that complements her sharp bone structure. She's wearing a bright yellow tank top below Ellie’s jacket that clings to her lean figure, making her stand out slightly. The light makeup she has on looks so simple and natural. 

Daniela wasn’t Ellie’s first conquest since you ended things with her. She didn’t waste much time dating around after you all came back for your sophomore year. You’d avoided her as much as possible so you wouldn't have to come face-to-face with the girls she’d get involved with. You still heard about them, of course, and you were sure there were even more than the ones you’d known about. 

But Daniela was the first you were forced to encounter. You weren’t prepared to be thrust right into Ellie’s love life once more. But here you are, staring at the most recent fling of the girl who you were once so desperately in love with. 

As Daniela lazily makes her way through the shop towards the back, you eventually tear your eyes off her and head straight for the exit. 

♫ Maybe she’ll come through / If he waits some more 

But she doesn’t / No, she doesn’t ♫ 

You're leaning against one of the trees in the quad, backpack laid next to you and headphones back on your ears. Your next class is in the building right behind you, but you still have a while until it started. 

♫ It’s not like the movies / Like you dream it’ll be 

Sometimes you lose your soulmates / And sometimes they leave ♫

Your journal and pen are laid out on your lap but abandoned as your fingers pick at the grass around you. Your mostly empty coffee cup sits next to you, condensation dripping into the soil. Your eyes are completely glazed over, watching the clouds in the sky. 

♫ She’s not a girl you forget / She’ll run through your head 

With all of the moments / You loved but now dread 

To remember / Burning like—♫ 

Your hands and voice react quicker than your mind does. Your sudden movements cause your headphones to fall onto your neck. After a second, you realize that you had shrieked and that your hands had flown up to your face to catch something. As you bring the object down to look at it, you realize it was a football. 

“Shit! I’m so sorry!” 

You look up to see a tall girl in a dark t-shirt and grey sweatpants jogging towards you, a dirty blonde braid bouncing behind her. 

“Abby?”

author's notes:

sorry for the delay in uploading this! i'm back from my brief vacation, and after i settled in after getting home, i almost immediately plopped down in front of my laptop to finalize this ldksfjsdlkds

not very chockful of ellie in this chapter, i know, i'm sorry! y'all got plenty last chapter! but don't worry, more will be coming up soon. i just enjoy keeping y'all in suspense.

i just wanna mention that most (if not all) of the names that i use in this fic are picked out people in the games themselves. also tara's last name is maclay as an homage to my lesbian queen tara maclay from buffy the vampire slayer. she's not the same character obvi, but i just enjoy putting in the reference :)

freshman girl aka daniela may have been named after and based on some whore girl that my ex left me for and that i'm still bitter about it oops

i hope y'all enjoyed the surprise guest appearance at the end of this chapter! she will be integrated further into the story from this point on, so stayed tuned :)

taglist: @lonelyfooryouonly, @elliesinterlude, @sawaagyapong, @peppesgirl, @iconsoft, @maybeidohaveadhd, @ellieswifee, @valiantllamapersonpony-blog, @nil-eena, @echostinn, @uraesthete, @softbunlvr, @cherriessxinthespring, @amitycat, @chrissyfishywissy, @yevheniiaaa, @machetegirl109, @bertandfearnie, @ximtiredx, @efam, @elliesnoviecita, @oatmilkchaii, @tayyyystan, @emothurman, @livvy-2000, @abigaillovestoread, @gold-dustwomxn, @liabadoobee, @yuckyfucky

#nobody compares to you series #ellie williams #dealer!ellie #ellie x reader #ellie x you #ellie x y/n #the last of us #tlou #the last of us part 2 #tlou2 #ellie fanfiction #Spotify #audio #belle speaks #v #belle writes

[undercoverbastard]

Judging a Derek by His Cover

“Seriously? You have to ask?” Stiles asked, in a bit of a disbelieving tone. “I mean I-... have you seen you? Resisting you sounds impossible, Derek, I mean seriously. I don’t think anyone in their right mind would tell you no if you gave them even a second look that’s- that’s impossible, you’re-”

Derek had already begun to tune out, a sick feeling crawling from the pit of his stomach upwards. He had grabbed for his shoes, fumbling slightly as he slid them on, in the middle of Stiles’ rambling. Before the other could continue, Derek waved away the rest with a nod.

“Right, right - you’re not… blind,” Derek interrupted. Stiles seemed a bit stunned at the overly neutral tone. Moving past Stiles without looking him properly in the eye, Derek mumbled about needing to get ready. Stiles attempted to stop him, his voice going low once the door opened, but it was of no use.

+.+.+

OR: a fic from the vaults, inspired by modern-day royalty au, derek’s penchant for being sought after just for his looks, and im not sure what else was going on in my brain at the time tbh

Word Count: 4387

———

“I have to get ready,” Derek said, pushing himself up and out of the bed. He sighed, sitting on the edge, staring at his hands a bit blankly. He wished he could freeze time - stay in moments like these. These moments are stolen in between chores and tasks, family and staff. He didn’t want to have to leave.

“Oh?” Stiles asked, stretching out lazily, tucking his hands behind his head. “What’s on the agenda today, sir prince?”

The tone was teasing but it made Derek cringe. Another reminder. He didn’t hate his position or his family or his people or any of it - he loved Beacon and his family was amazing and he adored being able to be a part of what made all of it. But, his position - his title - came with limitations. Expectations.

“Some gathering,” Derek mumbled, ducking his head a bit lower, “my mom says it’s in celebration of the peace treaties - ten years this week. But…”

“But…?” Stiles prompted, moving to curl behind Derek, his chin resting on a pillow as he gazed up at the other’s face. Derek cut his eyes to the side, letting the slightest of smiles curve across his lips before it fell off again. That was another one of Stiles’ talents - his ability to make Derek laugh and smile, no matter the day or its events.

“But,” Derek gathered a deep breath, “she’s been hinting at… socializing, at dating. She keeps bringing up names and countries and heirs and… I don’t know. She keeps mentioning Braeden and just…”

Stiles moved away, crawling up to a sitting position himself. Derek cast a look back at the other, waiting for some sort of response. It took a minute, Stiles facing away from him and seemingly fiddling with his shirt and hair. When he turned back he had a wide grin, cheeky and teasing.

“Oh you’ll do fine, Der, who could ever resist you? Huh?” Stiles said, giving him a nod of appreciation. It made Derek’s throat dry up, a reminder creeping in.

“Resist me…” Derek repeated a bit dumbly, staring now to the side of Stiles’ head, looking unseeingly out the window on the opposite side of the room. He heard Stiles give a huff of laughter, saw the shaking of his head from his peripheral.

“Obviously,” Stiles scoffed, “they’d have to be blind!” And that’s when Derek’s blood ran a bit cold, color draining from his face ever so slightly. “Anyways, I should - uh- get going. Let you get ready for the party and all that.”

Stiles stood up, fingers carding through his hair before tugging at and smoothing down his shirt. They’d laid lazily in the spare room for hours, taking turns carding fingers through one another’s hair, biting lingering kisses into one another’s lips, straddling each other’s laps as they got lost in the quietness disturbed only by soft groans and gasps. It had been bliss, those couple hours together. It was one of the only times Derek didn’t feel like he was on display or out of place to some degree. It felt right. Comfortable.

Staying quiet, Derek watched as Stiles stood up, slipping his shoes back on and fretting over his clothes again. He was always busy, mind and body in constant motion even if it didn’t make sense. It used to infuriate Derek when Stiles first began working in the library - he could never focus with the other’s mumbles and murmurs and humming and moving. It was chaotic in the smallest of ways. Now, though, he felt restless if Stiles didn’t move - his skin felt prickled if the younger man stayed still too long, a wrongness about it.

Before Stiles could open the door and sneak a look outside before he darted out, Derek asked, “Why didn’t you?”

Stiles paused, looking at the other in confusion and a half tilt of his head. “Why… why didn’t you resist me or - turn me down? Why?” Derek elaborated. His voice held steady and sounded normal but his heart was lodged in his throat and the tips of his fingers felt numb.

The question at least gave Stiles pause. He stepped back closer in the room, an incredulous look on his face once his mind seemed to catch up. He began waving, hands exaggeratedly emphasizing the length of Derek’s form still sitting on the bed before he gave an answering huff.

“Seriously? You have to ask?” Stiles asked, in a bit of a disbelieving tone. “I mean I-... have you seen you? Resisting you sounds impossible, Derek, I mean seriously. I don’t think anyone in their right mind would tell you no if you gave them even a second look that’s- that’s impossible, you’re-”

Derek had already begun to tune out, a sick feeling crawling from the pit of his stomach upwards. He had grabbed for his shoes, fumbling slightly as he slid them on, in the middle of Stiles’ rambling. Before the other could continue, Derek waved away the rest with a nod.

“Right, right - you’re not… blind,” Derek interrupted. Stiles seemed a bit stunned at the overly neutral tone. Derek always spoke in an even manner, known for being a bit brasher in his tone than others but fairly neutral and even overall - it was a mark of the Hale family, after all. To be balanced in all ways. He couldn’t risk being too nice or too rude. He may toe the line of overly curt and brash but he was never outright cold with his words. But even he could hear it - the change in his voice. It was exceptionally vague - not a hint of brashness. He was as even as his mother in her political discussions - unreadable.

Moving past Stiles without looking him properly in the eye, Derek mumbled about needing to get ready. Stiles attempted to stop him, his voice going low once the door opened, but it was of no use. Even the soft touch to Derek’s shoulder as he stepped out slid off with just a single step, allowing the steadily growing wall between them to commence.

Derek tried not to think about it. Shoved the thoughts out of his mind as he left the mostly empty hall and trailed back to his own room. He shouldn’t have thought Stiles would be interested in anything else besides his looks. It was, after all, his saving grace. After Kate’s stunt years back, most people averted their eyes - unable to meet Derek’s. It lingered with some, but it only took a year or two at most before he was once more a display.

Giggling visitors from other countries bashfully complimented him on how handsome he was, eyes raking up and down his body at parties and celebrations. Tabloids posted dozens of photos whenever he left the palace - endless remarks of his looks and how well clothes fit him and how others were sure the good looks didn’t stop at just his face pouring from every media outlet in the country and even in others.

He was used to it. He smiled his practiced smile, knew when to bow his head and murmur thanks. He was used to the squeezes to his bicep when being requested to dance and the lingering eyes of his partners. But that was it. Even Kate had said so when she still played the part of smitten girlfriend.

She’d tease him for his quiet nature and his lack of ability to feed into normal conversations. He could talk policy as needed and he had a plethora of books surrounding philosophers, history, and even art at his disposal - but they were drab topics outside of negotiations and proper business. And even if the analysis of Picasso’s The Old Guitarist was one Derek found interesting and showed the necessity of the arts and their value to civilizations old and new, Kate didn’t want to hear about it. Besides, even with his most impassioned topics on the table he still was a man of few words. Part of that came from being the son of the reigning Queen of Beacon, another part came from Kate’s backhanded nature.

Either way, it didn’t matter. Derek earned his keep with his looks. He was a nice face to look at and a figure that harnessed desire. Either no one cared what else he might be able to offer or his lack of personality drove them back to their distanced gazes. Just because Stiles could quote at least one line from every book Derek has ever picked up since he started working in the library and just because Stiles had enough words for five people let alone a conversation of two didn’t mean he wouldn’t be the same.

It was to be expected.

+.+.+

Several hours later found Derek in one of his more casual attires but one fit for a prince nonetheless. The party and celebration were not one for hosting political affairs - they were for rejoicing. Sure, it was shared amongst several other visiting countries, and the sprawling room and subsequent halls were filled with faces far and wide, but none of them came to talk about further negotiations, treaties, or trade options. They all came to eat, dance, and laugh - embracing the decade’s worth of peace since King Christopher took his father’s place in Silvenia and ended the wars and trade blocks.

Derek stood off to the side, doing his best to obscure himself as much as possible in the throng of people. He’d eaten, he’d talked to his family, and he’d even danced with several people. He had done his share, he thought. This was meant to be enjoyed, and he enjoyed being alone.

He couldn’t, however, forever hide from Braeden. He’d seen his mother walking with her, laughing. His mother’s eyes seemed to search the crowd, trying to find him, and he did his best to slink away before she caught a whiff of his location. He’d done a good job so far, but he knew it was a fruitless endeavor to try and avoid her all night. It had only been two hours and the celebration would more than likely go well into the night. His mother would find him eventually.

Musing the odds of success if he were to try and slink away to his room or possibly to the gardens for a couple of hours to avoid detection a bit longer, Derek zoned out momentarily - unaware of his surroundings. He acknowledged the movement of others, the change in music, but it was all background noise in his mind. Which is why it was the perfect time for him to be found.

Just not by his mother, it seemed.

“Derek?” Stiles asked, gently laying a hand on his arm, eyebrows scrunched up in concern. “You okay?”

Shaking himself out of his clouded thoughts, Derek nodded and went to pull away from Stiles’ touch - planning to test out his garden escape. He should’ve been looking out for the man. After all, Stiles has been a regular attendee of nearly all the Hale family’s gatherings and parties for over 10 years. His father was now the Head of Palace Guards and his mother had once overseen the library he now worked in. Stiles’ presence was all but guaranteed between his two parents both working in the palace on a daily basis. Derek had just distantly hoped he wouldn’t approach him here - similar to all previous events.

“Then you wouldn’t mind me asking for a dance, would you?” Stiles asked, his eyebrows now unscrunched, one raised in question as he held out his hand. Derek stared for a moment, bewildered.

In all the years Stiles had attended these gatherings, he’d never once asked to dance with Derek - he rarely spoke to him. He’d danced with Cora once or twice, the two having been closer as kids since they were the same age and Cora deciding Stiles was the perfect partner for her scheming ploys. But even now in recent times, since Derek and Stiles had begun their… whatever it was between them, he had never asked. It had been nearly a year of sneaking into hidden library corners, empty guest rooms, and ducking into stable stalls - stealing kisses, fingers unbuttoning shirts, hands roaming skin. In that same time over a handful of parties, political events, and other such gatherings had come to pass of all different magnitudes and Stiles had all but avoided Derek.

Cautiously, Derek put down the drink in his hand and laid the other in Stiles’ open palm. He let the other pull him seamlessly into the throng of moving bodies. The music wasn’t slow enough for proper dance steps but it wasn’t fast enough to deter other couples from swaying and moving across the floor together. Blessedly, Stiles moved into the crowd and guided one of Derek’s hands to his waist, clasping the other in his hand while Stiles laid his second hand on Derek’s shoulder.

No one really led in this dance, but Stiles letting him control the speed and direction was a godsend as he was sure to stumble if he had to follow. Derek was sure he had Cora to thank for that, as he recalled his younger sister demanding to be the lead and making a young, 11-year-old Stiles learn to follow in all their dance numbers. He recalls hiding smirks and laughs behind his hand and drinks, watching the two kids stumble about when Stiles accidentally went to lead them and Cora stubbornly refused to follow.

He pushed those memories aside, trying to remove the fond film he’s learned to lay over all the memories with Stiles in them. He doesn’t know when he’d begun to do it, but it was harder than he’d expected to try and stop it.

“You left kinda fast earlier,” Stiles finally murmured, voice low as his eyes danced around the room. They got a couple of second glances, those who knew of Stiles’ position a bit surprised to find the two dancing together. Sure, he danced with Cora over the years, but that was largely when they were kids and it was cute - something for the adults to coo over and take pictures of.

“Yes,” Derek answered simply. He didn’t know what Stiles wanted and he preferred to keep his cards close to his chest. Stiles huffed at the minimal response, a fond eye roll following it shortly after.

“Okay, thanks for that,” Stiles teased, “what I meant is why? Did- did I say something to upset you? Did something happen - are you okay?”

Even in shorter sentences, Stiles still somehow rambled. His tempo was a bit too fast, his tone of voice wavering and pitching in odd places, teeth biting at his lips as he came up with a dozen more thoughts - his face mirroring his reaction to each one in live action. Derek quelled the amusement he found in the mannerisms.

“Just wanted to leave.”

At this, Stiles seemed to stutter in movement, feet delayed and causing the two to stumble momentarily. Both of Derek’s hands moved to hold him at the waist, righting him before he could fall while Stiles’ hands both gripped Derek’s shoulders to help anchor himself. They found themselves closer together, the stance becoming a bit more personal and intimate than before.

“Leave… me?” Stiles whispered quietly, looking over Derek’s shoulder. Derek stayed quiet, unsure how to answer without giving too much away. “Is it because of what I said? That I’m attracted to you? Did that upset you?” It was Derek’s turn to bring a stutter to their movements, going rigid. He thankfully composed himself much quicker, only setting them off by a step at most that was easily regained.

“I don’t have an issue with you finding me attractive, Stiles,” Derek sighed, “like you said, who isn’t.”

It wasn’t a question. But he couldn’t control the bite that came out with the last two words, a bit of a sarcastic drawl underlining his words. At this, Stiles snapped his eyes to the side, looking questioningly at his dance partner. Derek didn’t explain any further, instead avoiding direct eye contact as best he could while still dancing.

“Is that…” Stiles’ words faltered, dying off. Even without looking at his face, Derek could see his thoughts play out. He swear he could hear the gears grinding in his head as he raced through all possible questions, answers, scenarios, and each of their meanings in a span of a few seconds. It would never cease to impress and exasperate Derek how Stiles thought just as quickly as he spoke - often one blending into the other without filter or regard for how his words came out.

“Der,” Stiles said, his voice suddenly a bit louder and demanding. Derek just raised his eyebrows in response, gaze still not meeting Stiles’. The younger boy huffed, hides sliding up from Derek’s shoulders to grip either side of his face and force Derek to look at him before he continued speaking. “What I said was true. I don’t know any sane person who would turn you down, but - that’s not the only reason I’m attracted to you. You know that, right? You have to know that.”

Derek swallowed the lump in his throat, giving a partial shrug to try and show his indifference on the matter. It seemed to be the wrong response, however, when Stiles growled out low in frustration, his fingers digging in a bit more into Derek’s skin and demanding his attention.

“You have to know,” he said, incredulous. “You think - what? All this time I just wanted some casual… fling? That I just saw a pretty face and that was all it took? A pretty face and I spend hours sneaking away from my work, hiding from my dad, skirting around guards?”

Stiles paused, but not long enough for Derek to actually respond. He shook his head as if in disbelief before continuing, “Is that it? You thought I just wanted to fuck around with you? Jesus Christ, how shallow do you think I am? Better yet! How stupid?! If I just wanted someone for their looks why would I go after a prince? A prince, Derek. I know we’re evolved and all but I’m sure your mom would still approve a hanging or beheading or some other medieval offing of me, fuck.”

Derek couldn’t help but crack a wry grin at Stiles’ vomit of words, head ducking down slightly as he tamped down on his laughter. The idea of his mother not only approving but requesting a beheading seemed comical - the woman was terse and poised, levelheaded beyond compare, but she was also the same woman who cried over Animal Planet at 9 PM on a Tuesday after seeing a crocodile eat a baby zebra. She blubbered about ‘the poor baby’ for half an hour, squeezing Cora into a smushed hug against her chest and all but breaking Derek’s bones as she held his hand. It was a hilarious thought, all things considered.

Stiles’ noise of exasperation broke him from his daddling thoughts, surprising Derek. Another thing Stiles was good at; even without trying, he got Derek lost in his own rambling thoughts - Stiles’ jabber and ranting offering endless avenues of thought and consideration, even if absurd. It was a nice change of pace, having something to ponder and get lost in. Something that was entertaining and not all too important that demanded his full focus or response all at once.

“Derek, I am about to make a damn fool of myself and if someone overhears this and then sees you walk away from me I think I’ll be forced to exile myself but, Jesus fuck , here it goes,” Stiles let out a long breath, eyes closing briefly before reopening and settling on Derek as if he were a target. “I am in-fucking-love with you. I love how you speak with your eyebrows and eye rolls better than any person can with words. I love how you obsessively read fucking historical books and pour over goddamn poetry and art journals. I love how you get spaced out when we talk about centuries-old plays and hundred-year-old paintings as if you can’t comprehend what they mean and are stunned by their mere existence. I love how you talk and sound like you’re thinking of murdering me and then just- laugh! And god, your laugh - I still can’t figure out if it’s your smile or your laugh that’s my favorite. And, fuck- I just… I can’t think of a single thing I don’t obsessively think about when it comes to you. And of course, of course, you’re fucking beautiful - work of art, walking god, all the usuals - but I… I just love being with you.”

They stopped dancing, coming to a halt in the middle of the mass of people. Derek is sure the song changed, people who still lingered a bit further away now going through similar steps and movements he couldn’t be bothered to recall or put a name to. He also knew they were being watched - hell, he’s sure half a dozen people caught at least half of that spiel, with Stiles’ voice raising in tone and pitch and volume like crazy throughout as if he couldn’t control it.

He felt a bit punch drunk, in a way. He didn’t know if he should be embarrassed that Stiles caught him wistfully zoning out over paintings or if he should laugh at the fact that Stiles has somehow done what not even his family has by being able to read and understand his responses just by facial expressions alone. It felt like a weight had been removed from his shoulders but his stomach felt heavy, stirring with nerves.

“You love me?” he finally asked. Stiles groaned, smacking his head against the curve of his own arm that rested against Derek’s shoulder. He was muttering and cursing quietly.

“I only repeated it about a hundred times but, yes. Yes - I love you. I am in love with you, I will figure out all the euphemisms to say it and learn it in as many languages as I can. Hell, I’ll do it old school - find a fucking boombox and sta-”

Stiles’ remaining rant cut off as Derek pulled his chin up, pressing a harsh kiss against the other’s lips. It wasn’t soft or biting, just… hard. Solid. Reassuring. Stiles helped quell the bruising press of lips by softly dragging a thumb over Derek’s cheek, the gesture making the kiss soften until they both were pulling away. Stiles looked awestruck, eyes dancing and sliding side to side to take in the room before ultimately landing once more on Derek’s face, a pleased grin taking over his face as their eyes met.

“I’ve been stupidly in love with you ever since you began singing that awful song when I tried to explain what a Blue Period was and then I kept humming it all week because it was stuck in my head,” Derek offered as an explanation for his actions. Stiles paused, eyebrows pulled together in consideration for a second before he broke out into loud laughter, probably remembering the exact scene from two years prior. If no one saw them before they surely had garnered enough people’s attention by now.

“I think I’ve been in love with you since you told Harris off for making me cry during the Polka,” Stiles grinned. It was Derek’s turn to bark out a laugh, louder than he had laughed in a while. He remembered that, it was 8 years ago - when Stiles and Cora were still learning various dances. Cora had to learn for the sake of her title and appearance, Stiles was just the poor culprit she wrangled into the mess and who could barely keep time with the three-step beat, leading to lots of stumbling and Harris berating him before Derek growled out a retort about being so pathetic to bully a child.

Derek remembered it as a scarring experience, Stiles refusing to dance for two weeks after. Stiles, however, decided it was the moment in which he’d fall in love with a then-angry, overly private 16-year-old that barely even spoke to him. Derek wasn’t sure which moment of realization was more absurd between them.

“You were thirteen !”

“And I was in love!”

It got quiet between the two, both of them just grinning at the other. Neither bothered to realize just how quiet it had gotten, or how much space had been carved out around them during their conversation. They were lost in their own world, ignorant to the rest of the room around them.

It wasn’t until a minute or two passed when a cleared throat caught their attention, making them realize the quieter atmosphere and their center stage set up among the crowd. Talia - Queen Talia - stood beside them, a knowing smirk on her face as she regarded them with a raised eyebrow, hands clasped in front of her.

Stiles gave a half-choked squawk in realization while Derek bowed his head, his cheeks heating in embarrassment. They separated abruptly, standing side by side to face Talia head-on.

“So,” Talia broke the silence, “I don’t think I’ll be introducing you to Braeden anytime soon. Seeing as you already have a boyfriend, hm?”

Stiles choked again, some mangled word dying in his throat, while Derek simply looked up at his mom with a deer-in-the-headlights look. When she gave a pointed tilt of her head, eyes shooting to Stiles as the younger man seemed paralyzed on the spot, Derek knew she was encouraging him to confirm. To say something .

“Yes,” he finally managed to pull out, his hand reaching out to grasp Stiles’ and squeezing it in question. When he got an immediate squeeze in response, he gave his mother a wide, genuine smile. “I’m dating Stiles.”

With that, Talia seemed pleased. She clapped her hands, announced that further celebration was to commence, and then left them as they were. It was oddly anti-climatic, the room returning to its usual activity and volume as before - only sneaky side glances were thrown their way in curiosity. It was easy for Derek to pull Stiles back to the outskirts of the room, however, the two of them were unable to stop glancing at each other and sharing smiles.

#ao3 #ao3fic #derek hale #stiles stilinski #sterek #royalty au #modern royalty au #alive hale family #fluff and angst #derek hale x stiles stilinski #stiles x derek #derek x stiles #teen wolf stiles #stiles stilinksi fanfiction #derek hale fanfiction #teen wolf fanfiction #teen wolf fic #sterek fics #ao3 fic #sterek fic rec #my fic #teen wolf #teen wolf derek hale #oneshot

[orchidniins]

anything for arthur hill 😭😭 maybe with a musician partner? no pressure take your time!! <3

Heartstrings | Arthur Hill

Summary: Y/N is a musician on her first solo tour. All she wanted was her boyfriend to be there to support her, but conflicting schedules might make for a bittersweet reunion. Pairings: Arthur Hill x Musician! afab!Reader Warnings: Angst, Fluff, Smut Word Count: 6.8k A/N: Thanks anon for the request! There needs to be more on tumblr for our talented king!!! This fic took a very different turn than what I had intended it to have. I also had planned to have this done like 2 weeks ago, but then I got rejected from the grad program of my dreams and have just been down in the dumps about it for a while so I didn't have the motivation to write for a bit. But I'm back and feeling better now, so I'm going to start writing more regularly.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

Surrounded by the buzzing energy backstage, you stand in a dimly lit corridor. Staff scurry around, with headsets and clipboards, finalizing last-minute details, the hum of voices and hurried footsteps echoing off the walls. Amidst all the organized chaos, the only thing you can hear is the pounding of your heart and the muffled thump of the bass from the stage. As always, a flurry of excited nerves bubble in your stomach right before your cue.

You exhale deeply in an attempt to calm your nerves as your makeup artist puts the finishing touches on your makeup, ensuring it's flawless and accentuates your features perfectly. Simultaneously, your stylist adjusts your top from behind, the outfit meticulously chosen to embody the concept of your album.

Tonight marked the final show of your first solo tour, a moment that once felt like an unattainable dream. And you had relished every moment of the past two months on the road. From the electric energy of the stage to the bone-deep exhaustion of late nights and early mornings, and you loved every single second of it. Yet, amidst the overwhelming excitement, a different emotion began to surface—a subtle pang of disappointment that tugged at your heart.

You made your way toward the stage entrance, still out of view of the audience. Their murmured conversations intertwined with the ambient music playing in the venue. With just ten minutes until your set time, you peered into the crowd, scanning the sea of faces and you searched for one person in particular: your boyfriend, Arthur.

Arthur had been one of your biggest supporters since long before you two became a couple. Being a musician himself, he understood and empathized with all that you had gone through to get where you are today: the late nights, the hours of hard work, the busy schedules, and the stress and fears that came with all of it. When you had broke the news of your first solo tour, he was easily the happiest person in the room.

-------⋆✧⋆-------

The pair of you were cozied up on the couch in your apartment, your legs draped over his lap as you snuggled close, halfway through a movie that you couldn’t even remember anymore when you received a call from your manager.

As you made a move to get up and answer your phone, Arthur’s arm wrapped around you, a playful pout formed on his lips. "No, don't go," he murmured softly, his hand tightened on your thigh to keep you in place. 

“I’ll be right back…it’s just, it could be important,” you said softly, offering him a gentle smile before planting a tender kiss on his nose. "Just give me a minute," you reassured him, feeling his grip on you loosen as he gave you a small nod. With a resigned sigh, you peeled yourself out of his comforting embrace, slipping away to take the call. 

You paced around the living room, absorbed in conversation with your manager, while Arthur rested his chin on the back of the sofa. His gaze followed you intently, furrowing his eyebrows in an attempt to decipher the conversation from your expressions and strings of “okays” and “uh-huhs”. After a few minutes, you ended your call, spinning on your heels to face him, disbelief etched on your face.

You pause for a moment, dumbfounded, the words caught in your throat. Arthur looked at you expectantly and finally he broke the silence, "So? Everything ok?"

"I'm going on tour!", you screamed out, your voice filled with excitement as you jumped up and down in sheer joy.

He sprung off the couch, reaching you in an instant with his arms wide open.You jumped into his arms, overwhelmed with pure joy. He wrapped you in a tight embrace, lifting you slightly off the floor in one swift move. His wide smile mirrored yours, reflecting the genuine happiness he felt for you and you felt so lucky to have him by your side, celebrating this moment with you.

Gently, he set you back down on the ground, and as you faced each other, his hands found their place on your waist while yours naturally rested on his forearms. "I knew you were gonna make it big," he whispered, his eyes sparkling with admiration.

You playfully teased him back, a grin tugging at your lips. "Look who's talking," you quipped, your tone light and teasing.

He lightly chuckled, his lips met yours in a soft and sweet kiss. As he pulled away, a hand caressed your cheek, his gaze filled with pride. "I'm so proud of you," he whispered, his voice laced with sincerity.

Arthur knew the dedication you poured into your music, especially your most recent album. His acknowledgment of your talent and his unwavering faith in you meant more than words could express. "It was only a matter of time until the whole world saw what I saw," he said, his voice filled with conviction. "How talented you are." Tears welled up in your eyes as you felt overwhelmed by his words.

"Baby, why the tears?" Arthur gently wiped them away, his expression softening as he saw the conflicting emotions in your face.

"I-I don't know what to feel," you whispered, your voice came out shaky, as he wrapped you in another comforting hug. You buried your head into the crook of his neck, and the two of you stood in silence for a moment. “I’m kinda scared babe,” you finally spoke up, your voice barely above a whisper, your vulnerability coming through in the trembling of your words.

You pulled away slightly, your eyes falling to your feet. Arthur, sensing your apprehension, bent down slightly to have a look at your face. "Hey, hey, listen to me," he said gently, his hands lifting your chin to meet his eyes. 

He smiled at you warmly, "I, of all people, know how hard you've worked for this."

"And I know you are going to do great,” he continued, his smile growing wider. "And best believe I'm going to be at every single show to support you. You're going to kill it out there, babe."

-------⋆✧⋆-------

Your thoughts are abruptly interrupted by the backstage manager's announcement: "Five minutes to go." her voice snaps you back to reality.

The reality was that two months had passed, and Arthur hadn’t been able to make it to a single one of your headline shows. Usually, before either of your shows, you’d atleast video call each other, finding solace in seeing his face and hearing his voice over the phone. But this time, you chose to forgo it, not wanting to set yourself up for disappointment again.

You let go of any hope that he might appear for this one and focus on trying to hyping yourself up instead. 

But you didn't blame Arthur for not being there, he was currently on tour as well. While he had offered to rearrange a few dates to work around yours, you declined the idea instantly, not wanting to inconvenience him or his fans. So in the end, you two recognized that the two of you just had to make it work, and moving around either of your tour dates was impractical.

Most of your show dates overlapped or were in different cities altogether, making it logistically challenging for Arthur to be there at your shows. Despite this, you managed to catch a few of his shows over the past few months, even flying out to Glasgow the week before, only to have him whisked away to another city shortly after. 

He was always extremely apologetic about it, but you couldn't help but feel slightly upset each time. You felt selfish for feeling the way you did; after all, this situation was out of his hands. And dwelling on it only added unnecessary stress. It’s not like it made you love him any less. You were incredibly proud of the success Arthur had garnered and knew how hard he had worked for it. But at the end of the day, you were finding it difficult to shake off the disappointment of him not being able to witness perform live.

So you made a conscious effort to push aside those feelings of disappointment and focus on your performance. You shook out your shoulders and your hands, trying to calm your nerves, trying to get yourself in the right headspace to deliver your finale show. Then, once both your tours ended, you looked forward to having your boyfriend's undivided attention once again.

As you finally step onto stage, highlighted under the spotlight, you are welcomed by the roar of the crowd. You let the booming sounds drown out whatever you were feeling previously and you felt the nerves melt away as you started to sing your music. You pour all you have into your set, feeding off of the electric energy of the crowd. 

As your final song begins to fade into the air, you take a moment to catch your breath, taking a little bow. "Thank you London!" you scream, your voice ringing with sincerity. "You have been amazing tonight. I love you all so much!" Tears well up in your eyes as you bid your final goodbyes to the cheering crowd. With a final wave, you make your exit from the stage, the adrenaline still coursing through your veins.

As you pull out your ear monitor and hand it, along with your mic, to one of the staff members, they swiftly assist you in removing your mic pack. You take a moment to express your gratitude to them and exchange thanks with everyone who passes by at that moment. Left alone for just about a minute, you take a deep breath, allowing yourself to calm down and soak in the moment. A sense of accomplishment washed over you, disbelief as you realized that you had just completed your first headline tour. 

Amidst the bustling backstage atmosphere of people packing up, your manager approaches you, enveloping you in a warm hug. "You were absolutely incredible out there," she says, her voice filled with pride. 

"Thank you so much," you reply gratefully. "I couldn't have done any of this without you." 

As she pulls away, she mentions with a warm smile, "Nonsense, you worked so incredibly hard for this."

You flash her a smile, as she continues, "I've got to head out soon, tuck my kid into bed. You’ll be okay if I leave first?”

You nod understandingly, "Of course. Don't worry, I'll be fine. I’ve got your assistant to keep me company."

She smiles appreciatively, giving you a final hug before bidding you farewell, "Take care, and go celebrate with the band tonight! Use the company card!"

As she heads off, you chuckle at her parting words. Her assistant approaches, congratulating you, "Great show, Y/N. You absolutely killed it out there."

You exchange a hug with him, expressing your gratitude. He then hands you a towel and a bottle of water.

You take the bottle from him with a small smile, engaging in light conversation as you sip on it. As you hand back the half-empty bottle, your gaze catches a familiar head of messy hair entering the backstage area through the stage exit.

Your heart skips a beat as you realize it's Arthur, standing there with a proud smile on his face. It feels almost surreal seeing him at one of your shows in the flesh. You couldn't believe it. Having given up hopes of seeing him at your show, the moment felt too good to be true, as if you're caught in a dream. Especially considering he had his own show tonight as well, the fact that he'd made it felt nothing short of a miracle.

You are pulled out of your thoughts when you hear someone clearing their throat. You look back to your manager's assistant, who shifts awkwardly before speaking up. "Well, I'm gonna go be someplace else," he says, his tone a tad awkward. 

"Yeah, sure," you respond quickly, offering a polite smile. "Just call me if you need anything," he adds hurriedly. "I have some things to wrap up." You nod in acknowledgment and offer a quick thanks as he swiftly exits the backstage area.

Now that the two of you were alone, Arthur walks up to you. Despite feeling happy to see him, you couldn't shake off the lingering sense of disappointment. All you wanted was for him to be there, to watch you perform, and the frustration of his absence during your shows still weighed heavily on you. And your facial expression reflected how you were feeling. When he finally reaches you, you make no effort to move.

Arthur had always been able to read you like an open book, and he had noticed the slightly annoyed, tight-lipped expression on your face. Rather than trying to coax you into a better mood with words, he instead pulls you into an embrace. Despite your attempt to appear upset, your body betrays you as your arms instinctively wrap around him, drawing him closer. As he holds you, you can't help but melt into his touch, your tummy doing a little flip as you take in his familiar scent. His presence has a calming effect, momentarily pushing aside the frustration you were feeling just moments ago.

You feel him smile against your hair as he feels you wrap your arms around him tighter. "Hey, you," he murmurs softly against your hair, exuding sweetness. Despite feeling comforted by his presence, you still feel slightly conflicted."Hi," you mutter, your voice coming out quieter than usual.

He then pulls away, his hands gently cupping your face as he looks into your eyes before he leans in, engulfing your lips in a soft kiss. The warmth of his lips against yours elicits a response, kissing him back, but Arthur can sense that something is amiss. "I thought you'd be happier to see me," he says, flashing you his cute heart-melting smile. You try to put on a brave face, reminding yourself to be happy now that he was finally here. "No, I'm excited to see you," you insist, placing both your hands on his chest, though your voice lacks its usual enthusiasm.

You try to force a smile, but then a realization flashes across your features. With a cocked eyebrow, you ask, "Didn't you have a show today? When did you get here?" You attempt to steer the conversation away from you. With a gentle smile, he says "I left as soon as my show ended. I caught the end of your show. You were amazing." He adds, "You did so well out there." You muster a faint, "Oh, thank you, babe," but your smile falls short of its usual brightness. Arthur lets out a sigh as he grows more concerned by the shift in your demeanor.

Arthur's expression turns serious. "Hey, what happened, baby? Tell me what's wrong," he urges gently. You hesitate for a moment before responding, "Nothing, I'm fine." He gives you a skeptical look, and you quickly add, "Seriously, I'm fine," trying to brush it off. Deep down, you feel the urge to cry, and the last thing you wanted right now was for Arthur to see you in tears.

Just then, you hear a mix of voices coming from the stage, and Arthur takes a step back from you, turning to face the direction of the noise. You see the band finally making it backstage after packing up their instruments. One of the band members waves to you as they walk by and calls out, "Hey Y/N, you coming with us for a drink?" Sniffling, you quickly wipe your eyes, determined to rid them of any tears that may threaten to spill. Gathering yourself, you reply, "Yeah, just give me a few minutes. I need to change. I'll be right there with you lot." They nod quickly before heading off to their green rooms.

You turn back to Arthur, who was still eyeing you with a concerned expression and furrowed eyebrows. "Talk to me, Y/N," he says, his hands grabbing yours, his thumbs running comfortingly over your hands. Part of you wanted to break down and tell Arthur everything, how you've hated not having him here, how upset you've been. But you know that if he sees you like this, he would feel absolutely horrible and blame everything on himself.

Swallowing hard, you remove your hands from his and respond softly, "Nothing, I'm just tired." Arthur's concern deepens, and he suggests, "Okay, then let's get you back home. I don't have to leave until the morning anyways." 

You quickly interject, "No, it's fine. I think I should go out with the band for a bit. They've worked so hard, I should celebrate with them. I won't be out long." By the look of his face you knew that he wasn't buying it, so you continued, "I'll just go change real quick, and then we'll go out. I think we both deserve a bit of a night out, yeah?" He nods with a smile, and you tell him to wait as you head off toward your dressing room, hoping to compose yourself in private.

You quickly enter your dressing room and shut the door behind you, just wanting a moment to yourself. Taking a deep breath, you stand in front of the mirror, trying to compose yourself. You look at yourself, trying to push away the feelings of frustration and letdown that were bubbling up to the surface again. You remind yourself to be okay, not wanting to start a petty fight with Arthur over something so trivial. With your tour now over you were now happy to have the time to support him. 

But, before you could stop them, tears start rolling down your face, tracing hot paths down your cheeks, smearing some of your mascara in the process. "Pull yourself together," you whisper to your reflection, your voice trembling slightly. You grab a makeup wipe from the packet on the dressing table and attempt to wipe away the tears and clean up some of the smudged makeup under your eyes, but the tears don’t stop coming. You try to calm yourself down again, but in that moment, you break down. Finally crying freely as you let your head hang and your hands coming up to cover your face, releasing the pent-up frustration that had been building over the past 2 months.

You didn’t realize that your sobs were now audible through the door until you heard a soft knock. Arthur's voice, laced with concern, seeps through the crack. "Baby, are you okay?" he asks gently. "Please open the door. Tell me what happened."

You hesitate, feeling torn between wanting to let him in and not wanting him to see you like this, afraid that your reasons might upset him as well. As you glance at the door, you hurriedly wipe your tears, attempting to regain your composure. "Everything's fine," you manage to choke out, your voice trembling slightly, "Just give me a few minutes."

Arthur's voice gets slightly louder, "Y/N, don't lie to me, please," he pleads. "I need to see that you're okay. Please just open the door, baby."

You feel a pang of guilt at his words, knowing that he genuinely cared about your well-being. Despite your reluctance, you can't bear to keep him waiting outside. Taking a deep breath, you walk over to the door and unlock it, allowing Arthur to step inside.

He instantly pulls you into another hug, drawing you close to his chest. His arms envelop you, trying to comfort you. One of his hands moves to the back of your head, gently stroking your hair soothingly as you lightly sob into his shirt. You stay there for a moment. 

Sensing your sobs beginning to subside, he gently attempts to pull away, intending to get a better look at your face. "Come on, baby, let me see you," he whispers softly. You shake your head softly, not wanting him to see your tear-streaked face, and snuggle even closer to him. He lets you stay nestled against him, resting his chin on your head and pressing a tender kiss to the top of your head.

"Do you want to tell me what happened?" he asks very softly, trying to be patient with you. He knew that when you got like this, trying to force you to talk was never the answer. He understood that if you felt pressured, you would only shut down further.

You slowly shake your head, not knowing how to even start that conversation. He mutters, "Are you sure?" and you reply with a hesitant nod, "Yes, I'm fine." Though he doesn't believe you, he lets you stay in his arms for a little while longer, sensing your reluctance to open up. After a while, he continues, "Come on, baby, let it out. You know you’ll feel better if you just talk about it." He strokes your hair soothingly, encouraging you to share your feelings.

He says softly, "We can stay like this for as long as you want, but eventually, you're gonna have to come up for air." You chuckle slightly, feeling a bit lighter after releasing all the built-up emotions. With a deep breath, you pull away from his embrace, looking up at him with puffy eyes, smeared eye makeup and tear stained cheeks. Though you'd stopped crying, looking at the tender loving look in his eyes makes tears well up in your eyes again.

He lightly cups your face, wiping away at your tears. You nod, signaling that you are about to speak. Despite the concern in his eyes, he gives you a reassuring smile, silently encouraging you to go on. 

"Okay, yeah…," you begin, your voice trembling slightly. You pause, trying to gather your thoughts before continuing, "Arthur, it's just that... Okay, now, whatever I'm about to say, you shouldn't get upset by it, alright? I’m probably just making a big deal out of nothing," His worry deepens, his brows furrowing. "Baby, just tell me. You're scaring me now," he urges softly. 

Softly chuckling, you reassure him, "It's nothing like that," as you gently guide his hands away from your face, holding onto his forearms. You finally say, "Arthur, it's just... it hasn't been the easiest not having you here," your voice shaky with emotion. "I know we’ve talked about it before, and I know I’ve repeatedly said that I’m okay with you not being here all the time and that I understand most of the time you just couldn't physically be here." Tears begin to well up in your eyes again as you continue, "But, when I imagined this whole tour thing in my head, I just imagined you at all my shows, and being able to celebrate with you backstage afterwards." You wipe away at your face, trying to compose yourself, and add, "You know what? It's stupid, just forget about it," before glancing down, feeling a lump form in your throat.

Arthur's expression softens as he listens intently to your words. "I'm sorry, Y/N" he begins, but you quickly interrupt, insisting, "You have nothing to be sorry for." Your head is still down, but he gently lifts your chin, meeting your gaze. "No, I should," he says softly, his eyes reflecting remorse. "I should have been more understanding. I absolutely loved having you supporting me at my shows, and I was just so happy whenever you were there. I am a dense idiot for not realizing that you would, of course, want the same thing. I should have tried harder to be here." He pauses, his voice filled with sincerity, "And I'm sorry for that."

"Arthur," you start saying, but he interrupts you, his voice tinged with remorse, "Even if I wasn't able to actually be here for you, I should have checked in more often with you... I feel like such a shitty boyfriend."

You quickly interject, "Hey, no! Honestly, I've been fine mostly. It's just that seeing you here today just brought everything out, that's all. I'll be okay in a bit," you assure him with a small smile.

"You don’t have to hide your feelings from me, or hide your tears. I love you and your emotional ass, so tell me everything, okay? Especially when I’ve done something to upset you, no matter how small you think it is. I don’t ever want you to feel like you can’t tell me something. And I promise you, I will never get mad at you," he reassures you, his voice filled with sincerity. "I'm here for you, always."

You look at him, at a loss for words, and he simply pulls you into a tight embrace. Your arms instinctively wrap around his neck as his encircle your waist. "I love you so much, baby," he whispers softly, pressing a kiss to your forehead. "And I’m so proud of everything you've achieved. You're not selfish at all for wanting me here. I’m the selfish one for not being here," he admits, his voice filled with remorse. "I promise I’ll be better in the future," he reassures you, holding you close.

You exhale deeply, feeling a weight lift off your shoulders. Meeting his gaze again, your foreheads gently touching, "Just having you here now means everything to me." Your voice is filled with sincerity and gratitude. "I love you too, Arthur," you whisper. As you finally manage to muster a genuine smile, he returns it warmly. "There's that smile I love so much," he remarks, pressing a gentle kiss to the side of your mouth. You can't help but let out a small giggle in response.

Feeling a lot better now, you glance at his white T-shirt and let out a little laugh. "Sorry about your shirt," you say, noticing the makeup smudges and wet tear spots on it. He chuckles in response, "No, it's fine, it adds character." Then he teases, “You know, if I sell this shirt on eBay, I can make a ton of money from it. It'll be an authentic Y/N creation." You giggle, playfully rolling your eyes and lightly swatting at his chest.

Suddenly feeling self-conscious about your appearance, you mutter, "God, I must look like such a mess right now," as you wipe at your cheeks. With a sigh, you pull away from him and walk slowly back to the dressing table. Grabbing another wipe, you clean up your messy face, taking off the remaining makeup as well.

Arthur follows you, coming up behind you and wrapping his arms around your waist, resting his chin on your shoulder as he watches you in the mirror. "Never," he murmurs softly, "you are the most beautiful woman I know, even when you cry." His words make you chuckle a little, scoffing lightly, and you see him smile with warm eyes. 

He moves your hair aside, pressing a tender kiss to the exposed skin on your shoulder. "You always look perfect to me," he adds, "And besides, you looked like an absolute angel on stage today," he compliments, his eyes filled with admiration as he gazes at you in the mirror. You can't help but smile at his words, feeling a warmth spread through you. One of your hands comes up to rest on his, your head leaning against his. In that moment, all felt right again in the world, just the two of you together.

Once you're done wiping your makeup off, you turn in his arms to face him, leaning against the edge of the table. He looks at you with a tender smile, his eyes filled with warmth and affection. You take a moment to admire his handsome features, your hand gently caressing his face, tracing the lines of his smile with your thumb. As you smile back at him, you notice the slight dark circles forming under his eyes.

"Did you manage any sleep at all today?" you ask, your voice laced with concern, your fingers lightly tracing his cheek. A slight frown forms on your lips as you await his response. He chuckles softly, shaking his head. "No, I'm just running on adrenaline," he admits with a tired smile.

You nod sympathetically, understanding the toll a busy schedule can take. "How did your show go by the way?" you ask, your voice filled with genuine interest as you gaze at him intently. He starts detailing the performance, his eyes aglow with excitement.

You listen attentively, captivated by his every word. As he talks, you can't help but feel a sense of pride and joy for him, your expression mirroring his enthusiasm. "You really are amazing, Arthur," you compliment him with a warm smile. He responds with a playful scoff, "Oh please, stop it," earning a laugh from the both of you.

"Are you feeling better now?" he asks, gently tucking your hair behind your ears. You nod, a small smile playing on your lips. “I’m sorry that I absolutely freaked out on you” you say, feeling slightly guilty but he quickly dismisses it, "You have absolutely nothing to be sorry about."

"I mean, I was expecting you to run up and jump into my arms, but maybe next time." he says playfully. "Well, go stand over there. Give me some space for a run-up,” you suggest, playing along. Chuckling, he shakes his head, his hands gently resting on your waist. "No," he replies with a grin. You lean in and plant a soft peck on his cheek, returning his smile.

"But seriously, if you ever feel like this again, about anything, just talk to me, okay?" You nod in agreement, feeling incredibly grateful to have such a supportive boyfriend. "I promise," you assure him, squeezing his hand gently.

Arthur wraps his arms tighter around your waist, pulling you closer as he gently strokes the exposed skin on your back, a playful smirk tugs at the corners of his lips. Your hand instinctively moves up to his chest, a tingle spreading down your spine at the warmth of his touch. "You know," he murmurs softly, "I missed you." You respond with a giggle, teasingly saying, "Aw, Arthur, I missed you too." He leans in to kiss you, but you tilt your face away at the last minute, laughing as he ends up planting a kiss on your cheek instead.

"Well, If you missed me so much, then you should have come to more than just this show…. I mean I’ve been to pretty much every other one of yours," you jokingly tell him, a playful twinkle in your eye as you reach up to place a kiss on his jaw. He feigns hurt, "Oh, way to kick a guy when he's down babe."

“Hey, it's not like you’re completely forgiven,” you tease, a mischievous glint in your eyes. He pouts slightly, "You're right, I’ll make it up to you somehow." he says with a little wink, leaning in closer. His warm breath tickles your skin, sending shivers down your spine as his lips inch closer to yours. Butterflies flutter in your stomach as he places his hands on the table, trapping you between his body and the table. "In fact," he adds, "I can start right away if you want."

Without another word, his hand moves to the back of your neck, closing the distance between you two. His lips meet yours in a tender kiss, and as the intensity of the moment grows, you melt into his embrace, lost in the sensation of his lips against yours. He deepens the kiss, his grip tightening at your waist, digging into the exposed flesh, sending waves of pleasure coursing through you.

Your hand begins to move from his chest and slowly makes its way towards his pants, your fingertips lightly grazing the fabric over his crotch, but Arthur gently redirects your hand, placing it next to you on the table.

You pull away from your kiss, gasping for breath, confusion evident in your eyes as you gaze into his deep brown ones. Arthur lightly shakes his head, a small laugh escaping his lips. "It's all about you today, baby" he whispers softly against your lips. You visibly swallow, and it wasn’t long before his lips trail away from yours, leaving a trail of feather-light kisses along your jaw and down to your neck. A breathy moan escapes your lips as you feel the press of his lips against your skin, your skin feeling hot under their touch.

You feel him smirking against your neck before he cups you below your ass, effortlessly lifting you up off your feet. You couldn't help but giggle as you wrap your arms around his neck, your legs instinctively wrapping around his waist. He carries you over to the couch, gently placing you down. 

You shuffle back slightly until your back touches the armrest, making room for him to join you. He places his between your legs as he leans in, capturing your lips in another deep kiss. "Think I could help you out of these clothes, baby?" he murmurs against your lips, his hand finding its place on your hip, “I'm sure they're very uncomfortable.” 

You laugh in response, placing a hand on his chest and gently pushing him back, eyeing him playfully. "You first," you tease, a smirk dancing on your lips as you nod towards him, “Go on.”

Arthur stands up, wasting no time in taking off his clothes until he's left only in his boxers as you eye him up and down taking in the sight of the gorgeous man in front of you. He’s quick to come and help you with yours, reaching for the waistband of your pants, along with your panties and sliding them off, his hands tracing over your thighs. 

As he moves to remove your top, you wince, causing him to freeze in concern. "Are you okay? Did I hurt you?" he asks, his brow furrowing with worry as he searches your face for any signs of discomfort. You can't help but laugh at his reaction. "No, no," you reassure him, shaking your head. "I just forgot I had fashion tape on to keep my top in place."

He asks again, his voice filled with concern, "Are you sure you're fine?" You nod, "Yes, Arthur, I'm fine." With a seductive smile, you pull him closer by his shoulder, your eyes dark with lust. "Now come here," you whisper, "I forgot how much I enjoyed seeing you without your shirt on."

He chuckles, as you run your hand over his chest, tracing your fingers along his tattoos. He dips his body down to kiss the skin above your breasts, tenderly placing kisses on the red marks left behind by the tape. Moving lower, he takes one of your tits into his mouth, his lips wrapping around your hard nipple while his hand caresses your other breast. A moan escapes your lips at the sensation of his tongue, and your hands instinctively move to his hair, gently tugging as he groans in response.

He trails kisses down your body, each touch sending a sensation of electricity through you. You revel in the softness of his lips as he moves lower, his kisses tracing a tantalizing path over your skin. He works his way down to reach your inner thighs, gripping one of your thighs firmly, he carefully maneuvers it over his shoulder. His kisses grow more urgent as he inches closer to your needy core. Your skin tingles under his lips, the wetness between your thighs increasing with each teasing kiss.

His fingers dip into your folds, collecting your wetness, "You're already so wet for me, baby," he murmurs in a low voice, his voice thick with desire. You stifle a moan at his words, your breath catching at the look of lust in his eyes. "Fuck, Arthur," you breathe out, your voice laced with need, as he attaches his lips to your clit. His tongue explores your wet folds with a slow, gentle pace, driving you wild.

He starts sucking a little harder, eliciting a loud moan from you, and you feel him groan against your clit, the vibrations of his voice sending waves of pleasure through you. Your moans and groans only make Arthur increase his pace, and you shut your eyes, throwing your head back. The sensation of his finger dipping into you makes you gasp. You manage to open your eyes, finding him looking back at you with hooded eyes, the intensity in his gaze sending your heart into a frenzy.

You knew that Arthur was good with his mouth, but he never failed to surprise you each time, and you could feel yourself edging closer to your high. He continues to suck and stroke your clit until you finally feel your orgasm bubble up to the surface. You scream out his name as you reach your peak, your body trembling with pleasure, cumming into his mouth. 

He cleans you up with his mouth as best he can before he pulls back, placing your leg back on the sofa. He supports his weight by placing his hands on either side of you, attaching his lips to your neck.

"I'm not done with you yet," he whispers against your neck, his eyes dark with desire as he gazes up at you. "You think you still have it in you for one more?" Your brain is still clouded from your recent high and you struggle to form coherent words, just nodding in response.

Arthur lets out a low, throaty laugh before crashing his lips against yours as you wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him closer. He starts to take off his boxers, kicking them to the side and settles in between your legs, the heat of his body pressing against yours.

After a bit, he reluctantly pulls away from you, your lips chasing his as he makes his way to where he had flung his jeans. Rummaging through them, he finds his wallet, pulling out a foil packet. He quickly rips it open and slides it onto his already hard length before swiftly returning to you.

He slowly grabs your thighs, spreading them wider as he positions himself between them. He gives you a kiss on your jaw before he lines himself up, before he finally thrusts into you. “You ok baby?” he asks. You groan in response, managing to mumble out a breathy, "Yes, Arthur... fuck," reveling in the sensation of him filling you up. The pleasure evident on Arthur's face drives you wild, causing you to melt into the couch beneath you.

Arthur grabs your waist as he quickens his pace and his mouth finds its way to your chest again.

The sensation of his hands on your skin, his mouth on your chest, and feeling him deep inside you becomes almost overwhelming and you grip onto his biceps, your nails digging into his skin.

“God, Y/N, I love you so much,” he murmurs, his words sending your heart soaring, but the intensity of the moment consumes you. The pleasure courses through your body and you feel your orgasm approaching much quicker than before. You moan and arch into him, desperate for release.

Almost as if Arthur read your mind, he breathes out, "I’m so close, baby." You respond, your voice barely above a whisper, "Me too." He furrows his eyebrows, trying to hold on longer, wanting to make the moment last, but it becomes increasingly difficult when you're a gorgeous, moaning mess under him.

He feels your walls clench around his shaft as your orgasm washes over you, and you moan his name aloud. Arthur lets a groan before he spills inside of you with one last thrust. Collapsing on top of you, both of you slightly sweaty, he rests his forehead gently on yours as you both pant against each other.

Once you both get your breathing leveled out, you look at him, feeling his hand come up to softly caress your cheek. "Am I forgiven now?" he laughs as he asks you. You smile back at him, "I think I might consider it now," you reply, laughing softly. 

"I love you, Arthur," you say softly, gazing into his eyes. A smile at you, warmth spreading over his handsome features before leaning in to place a tender kiss on your forehead.

As you're about to suggest that the two of you should go get cleaned up, you hear a knock on your door, your head whipping in the direction of the sound. "Hey, are you ready to go? We'll leave in a bit," you hear the voice of your bandmate peer through the closed door.

"Yeah, just us five more minutes, we'll meet you out front," you scream back, and you hear him reply with an "Okay" before his footsteps retreat.

Turning back to your boyfriend, you grin mischievously. "I should get mad at you more often," you tease.

But he looks at you deadpan and says, "No, please don’t,” and you both share a laugh. “I hate it when you're upset with me," he adds with a playful smirk before planting a quick peck on your lips and getting up.

He helps you to your feet and says, “Now let’s go celebrate you, baby,” before the two of you head off to get cleaned up and step out together.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

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#arthur hill #arthur hill smut #arthur hill fluff #arthur hill imagine #Arthur hill fics #arthur hill x reader #arthurtv #chrismd #george clarke #george clarkey #chaos crew

[love-holics]

open book

pairing: ten x reader

genre: fluff

word count: 727

You shut the door behind you quickly, leaning your back against it and closing your eyes in relief. You took a deep breath and stayed there for a moment, trying to ground yourself. The plastic red cup in your hand was still full. You bolted from the kitchen so quickly that you weren't even sure what was in it. You sighed and opened your eyes slowly, lifting the cup to your lips. You arm stopped midair when you locked eyes with someone else in the room.

Your eyes grew wide, not realizing you were being watched the whole time. "Oh-- Sorry. I didn't know anyone else was in here. I'll get going." You turned to leave, bracing yourself to join the party again.

"No, stay. You're good," he said, an amused smile on his face. "Besides, it looks like that's the last thing you want to do right now."

You smiled sadly. "Is it that obvious?"

"Who are you hiding from?" he asked, tucking a strand of blond hair behind his ear.

You joined him on the balcony. The music sounded muffled as you walked further away from the door. "My ex." You swallowed, feeling embarrassed of your sudden fight-or-flight response to seeing them.

"Bad breakup?"

"Not really. I'm still in that awkward phase of not knowing how to make small talk with someone you thought would be around forever, I guess." You sighed and leaned forward on the railing. "So I ran. I'm not proud of it," you said with a chuckle.

He hummed in understanding and looked up at the night sky. You couldn't help but notice his beautiful profile. "Are you hiding from something too?" you asked.

He shook his head and smiled. "Just needed a minute alone." He saw your eyes dart towards the door and guessed you were thinking about leaving again. "And no, I was not hinting that you should leave," he chuckled. "You would make a terrible poker player."

You laughed. "I know. I'm far too easy to read."

"I like that." His smile was warm. You blushed and he smiled even wider.

You sipped your drink and looked up at the stars. You knew you had to leave the room sometime, but there was something both comforting and charming about this stranger that made you want to stay. You turned to look at him again. He had beautiful tattoos adorning his arm. You wanted to trace them with your fingers while he told you the inspiration behind each one.

"Do you have any?" he asked, breaking the spell you were under. You blushed in embarrassment, not realizing you had been staring at him. He chuckled again. It was a pretty sound.

"No, but yours are gorgeous."

"Thank you. I designed them myself." He beamed with pride.

"Wow! You're very talented." You let your eyes linger on them for an extra second taking in this new information.

"I can tell you mean that," he said with a smile.

"You make me feel a lot better about wearing my heart on my sleeve," you said with a chuckle.

"I think it's something to be proud of. What's the point of anything if we're not being our most authentic selves?"

"True." You nodded in agreement. "You're very easy to talk to."

"So are you." He smiled warmly.

You locked eyes again. He was glowing in the moonlight. It felt like time had slowed down and it was just you two in the world. You didn't even know his name, but his presence was captivating. His phone lit up with a message and the spell was broken. You swallowed and forced yourself to turn your attention to the sky again.

He looked at you apologetically after reading the message. "I've got to go."

"Thanks for keeping me company." You smiled sadly, knowing you may never see him again. You felt yourself missing his warmth already.

"I'd love to do it again sometime if you need a hiding partner." He held out his phone for you to put in your number and chuckled as he watched your face perk up with excitement.

You laughed in embarrassment at your obvious reaction. "Here you go," you said, handing his phone back.

He typed out a quick message to you before leaving with his dazzling smile. "I'm Ten, by the way. It was nice to meet you."

#ten x reader #nct ten x reader #wayv ten x reader #nct ten fluff #wayv ten fluff #nct ten drabble #wayv ten drabble #nct imagines #wayv imagines #nct scenarios #wayv scenarios #nct fluff #wayv fluff #nct drabbles #wayv drabbles #ten lee x reader #ten lee fluff

[ornii]

Folie à deux

The Madness of Two,

2020, The Grammys.

Your feet pattered the limousine floor as you checked your watch, a slight panic in your face. It was the Grammys this night and with your almost meteoric rise to stardom, this is the first time you’ve felt, Anxious about it. You take a deep breath and relax, slowly letting the world fade around you. It always seems so otherworldly.

It all began with posting a few SoundCloud songs, eventually one blew up and it seems your music name began to make the rounds. Taking that opportunity, you released an album under your name and it spread like Wildfire, big Celebes we’re posting snippets on social media and overnight, you somehow took over the world.

Media deals. Record Labels, Advertisers, all were hounding for you. The next big thing, and it seems it all lead to a climax and here you were. Pulling up to the Grammys, you took a few deep breaths and waited for the door to be opened for you, as your chauffeur did, cameras flashed, cheers and screams were all over the place. You put on a smile and head inside to the main foyer, you were greeted by the obvious managers of said Grammys and was Starstruck by those inside, Multi record winning Artists, people who are considered gods. You were standing with somehow. Your awe was cut off by a voice.

“Mr (L/N)?” They ask, you turn around to a woman with a mic, not a reporter but the woman managing the seating.

“I’m glad you made it safe, if it’s okay with you, you’ll be seated next to Ortega.” She said, you raised an eyebrow slightly.

“Brian Ortega? I didnt know he liked the Grammys.” You say and she chuckles.

“No no, Miss Ortega.” She said; which Just confused you even more, you shrugged.

“Uh, Sure.” You say, you began to mingle, trying to keep up appearances as some of the most influential artists Dawned your presence. Ranging from Movie directors like Spielberg, to Multi Grammy winners like Canadas own, Aubrey Graham, better known as Drake. Ten minutes to countdown you reach your seat and relax. Everyone begins to get ready, and your train of though was on what you would say if you would, could possibly win a Grammy.

“Hey.” A Voice draws your attention and you turn to face it, and your eyes laid upon someone that made the world grind to a halt, all you could see were those beautiful eyes, soft skin and a smile that could make the darkest moments in your life shine like a supernova. and it finally dawned on you, you’re Sitting next to, Jenna Ortega. You remember when Iron Man 3 was released in Theaters, and the Vice Presidents daughter that Tony had to save, that was her! And stuck in the middle! It took moments for you to realize the impact She actually had on you.

“O-oh! Hi!” You day, your voice cracking slightly as you try not to get lost in her eyes. She offers a slight handshake and you take it, not really able to speak.

“Jenna.” She says.

“Y-yeah I’ve seen a lot of your movies I—“ you begin, but stop trying not to sound like a fanboy in front of her. She genuinely smiles at her.

“Thanks. I don’t mean to pry but you are working on more music right? With that much talent you can’t stop right?” She says and you nod.

“Anything for you.” You thought, “Shit that’s creepy why did I say that?! JUST BE COOL.” You think and nod.

“Yeah, didnt think I’d get this far, nice to meet someone my age, makes me less anxious.

“I know, feels kind heavy, doesn’t it?” She says, “All these celebs, kinda feels weird being here.” She says awkwardly. And you build up the courage to utter one sentence.

“It should, you deserve to be here.” You say, it actually catches her off guard and she can only smile and say “Thanks.”, genuinely. You two hush as the ceremony begins. It was fairly uneventful, besides You and Tyler the Creator tweeting memes at each other, before the first set of awards were given, and one of the main four was presented. Best New Artist of the Year, it was heavily contested, Alaina Castillo, Summer Walker, Normani, Giveon. You definitely wanted Giveon, Heartbreak anniversary was your jam. As Keke Palmer took the stage she has the envelope and smiles.

“Good luck.” You hear Jenna say from the side and, that boosts your confidence to levels you couldn’t imagine.

“And the Grammy for Best New Artist goes to… Your Very own! (Y/n) (L/n)!” She says and the crowd explodes, the look of shock was on your face, you rose up being congratulated by many, Jenna claps for you as you approach the stage, still stunned. You take the Grammy with a look of sheer luck and disbelief, you stand there at the Mic and just stand there for a moment.

“Uh- Sorry i had no idea I was gonna be here.” You say and they laugh, you shrug it off.

“Well, I suppose I should say something.. first thing is, well it’s been a crazy year, I went from barley making college payments to buying my parents a new house, cars, anything they could ever want and, it’s all thanks to you all.” Your anxiety was soon filled with sadness and cheers began to bellow.

“You all don’t know how much this means to me, thank you. And, god bless you all.” You raise the Grammy to a rousing applause, you return back to your seat and wipe a few tears. But a tissue was handed to you, but none other than Jenna. You two share a smile and keep the Ceremony going, but I hope you didn’t expect just one.

“Song of The Year! Album of The Year! Record of the Year!” After the third one you hear the song play as you head up with the last one and you take it, and you turn to everyone awkwardly.

“Okay i didnt expect to be up here four times.” You say to more laughter, you try to keep it short and sweet. “Seriously this is becoming a bad trend, I’m just some kid from nowhere, and you all believed in me, and I’m so glad you put your trust in me, in us. My team, my family, my fans, these are all for you.” You hold up the fourth Grammy and as usual it was arousing applause.

Nearing the End of the celebration you walk out of the Grammys with Four, FOUR; in your first appearance there. Two under your arms and to in your hands. You attempt to show them all laughing. But before you can continue you turn around to Jeanna who’s taking pictures of her own and motion her over, to take pictures with you, she rolls her eyes sarcastically as the anxiety and fear washed away to golden confidence. You both pose for the pictures and they flash so desperate for a header and they got one.

“(Y/n) (L/n) and Jenna Ortega? What could this mean for the two blossoming stars?”

#netflix #male reader #reader insert #wednesday x reader #wedensday x you #wednesday #wednesday addams x male reader #wednesday addams x reader #jenna ortega #jenna ortega x male reader #jenna ortega x you #jenna ortega x y/n #fluff #slow burn

[sednonamoris]

call off the dogs (and come home to me)

Pairing: John Price x gn!reader

Summary: You've quietly yearned after Captain John Price for a long time now, and known him even longer. With each stolen glance and interrupted moment the tension between you grows, but everything comes to a head when a mission gone wrong forces you to confront feelings that have gone unspoken for the better part of a decade.

Warnings: Canon-typical violence, strong language, alcohol mention, drunk hookup, a little bit of torture + murder, fingering, porn with plot (smut should read gender neutral but let me know if any changes will make it more inclusive!!), mild angst, mutual pining with a happy ending

Word count: 3,940

A/N: My first foray into smut inspired by the incredibly talented @yeyinde!! Expect more Hound/Price content in the future bc I’m obsessed lol

--

 “Hound,” a familiar voice startles you from the mountain of paperwork on your desk, “what are you still doing here?”

 You raise a challenging brow at your captain. “Couldn’t I ask you the same thing?”

 This exchange has become familiar in the months you’ve spent grounded. Anyone else would take a bullet to the knee as a chance to slow down - switch careers entirely if they were smart - but you’re stubborn. A dog with a bone. Two surgeries and months of rehab that still aren’t finished, frankly you’re lucky to be walking. Luckier still that they let you stay on with the 141; There was a minute there that Laswell threatened you with an honourable discharge. A timely intervention with the physical therapist got you out of it, the only stipulation being that you remain firmly planted behind a desk until the doctors clear you. Having spent the better part of a lifetime hands-on in the field, it’s been hard not to overextend to prove your worth off of it.

 So after-hours paperwork it is. At least the company is good.

 “Touché,” Price huffs a laugh through his whiskers. “Fancy a cuppa? Sounds like we’ll both be here a while yet.”

 “Have I told you lately you’re my favourite? Two sugars and--”

 “--a splash of cream,” he finishes for you. The twinkle in his eye warms you right through, and you smile after him a little bit like an idiot.

 It’s been like this ever since the domestic terrorism scare your team was called in on in Belfast what feels like a lifetime ago. He was only a lieutenant then, and you a sergeant. You were assigned to civilian extraction, but took off when you saw one of the primary suspects make a dash for it through side streets. Price saw you go for him and followed, the two of you giving chase on foot for three blocks before you managed to dive-tackle him in a back alley. It was a major success to take him alive, but your captain at the time wanted blood for the abandoned civilians. Price stood up for you in front of the entire regiment.

Took after ‘im like a bloody hellhound! he’d said. That deserves a medal, not disciplinary action.  

 Just over ten years later you’re still called Hound, and he’s still the subject of your silly, unattainable daydreams. Captain John Price is a name that means something, but to you he will always be the sergeant with fire in his eyes who stood up for you when no one else would. When he asked if you were interested in joining the 141 at its inception you didn’t even hesitate. You’d follow him anywhere.

 “One tea, two sugars, splash of cream,” Price announces when he returns from the kitchenette with two steaming mugs to distract you from your thoughts. Yours is placed ceremoniously on an ARW coaster you ‘borrowed’ from your last commanding officer. “Now I believe you owe me something…?”

 You grin and pull out your secret stash. The false bottom of the drawer is probably meant for sensitive intel, but you’ve found it’s perfect for biscuits. Three are placed in his outstretched hand, and three next to your mug.

 “You’re lucky I’ve got a man on the inside who sends me these,” you scold as he scoffs one down almost immediately.

 “Yeah, tell your granddad I said ‘thanks’.”

 “I can’t. He’d disown me if he knew I was feeding a Brit.”

 That earns you a laugh - a true belly laugh - and you can’t help but feel entirely smug about it.

 “Fuckin’ Paddies.”

 “Ah, go fuck yourself.”

 A companionable silence blankets the room after that, broken only by the sound of shuffled papers and laptop keys. Soft lamplight illuminates your reports so unlike the harsh fluorescents everywhere else on base. You’ve done your best to make the regulation desk homey; bright sticky notes and colored pens and a picture of you and the lads after a successful mission. Occasional hums and huffs and heavy sighs from your captain’s desk across the room breathe life into the space as well. You like to think your incoherent, foul-mouthed muttering does the same for him.

 The clock reads 0100 hours when you look up again. The caffeine from the tea wore off over an hour ago and you can feel yourself starting to fade. A quick peek over at Price reveals much the same.

 You open your mouth to ask if he’s ready to tuck in when he looks up and steals the breath from your lungs. His short hair is mussed where he’s been running his hands through it, that hint of premature grey turned silver at his temples in the low light. Tired eyes crinkle fondly behind the lenses of reading glasses you haven’t stopped teasing him over but can’t get enough of. It’s achingly domestic. A glimpse into a future you’ll never have - not with anyone, and certainly not with him.

 “What are you thinking about over there?” he asks softly.

 “Nothing,” you flash a tired and unconvincing smile. “I’m knackered. Shall I close up shop or will you, Cap?”

 “I’ve got it, you get some shut-eye.”

 Your eyes linger just a bit too long as you bid him goodnight, knowing very well you won’t sleep a wink.

--

 This pub is definitely one of the shittier ones, but its location is convenient enough to pretend that the wallpaper isn’t peeling and the live band of part-time musicians and full-time retirees is any good. The handful of covers they play are indistinguishable from originals sprinkled in, all with that same, washed-out sound of empty bottles and stale dreams.

 The group of hooligans crowded up at the bar sit in stark contrast of the otherwise dour patrons. Even Ghost, who’s taken the corner seat and keeps a lazy watch over the room, is loose enough to be making those terrible jokes of his. Soap and Gaz lean over one another with goofy grins and half-empty glasses before them. Price, true to form, has taken the end seat to nurse a ‘proper pint’ alongside a lit cigar the bartender can’t dispute after lighting up what looks like at least his tenth cigarette of the night behind the bar.  

 “If it isn’t the Bionic Hound!” Gaz calls when he spots you across the poorly-lit room, waving you over with a grin.

 You shake your head, wondering why you agreed to come out tonight. But the second Gaz had started with the puppy-dog eyes there was no denying him. Drinks before leave are a 141 tradition, he’d insisted.

 So here you are.

 “You’re lucky it’s a metal knee and not laser eyes or you’d be in yesterday’s papers,” you wag a finger at him as you take your seat amongst them all.

 Ghost snorts a laugh at the empty threat.

 “Oh, come off it, Hound,” Soap says. “You love us too much.”

 Price chuckles. “I wouldn’t count on that.”

 You glare and wrinkle your nose at the comment, but he just smiles back at you with that damned twinkle in his eye. Prick. Then he wordlessly slides over your usual and you have to be grateful on top of it all. Double prick. One swift gulp and half of it is gone; you’re too sober for this.

 The lads cackle over another awful joke - Soap’s, this time. Price holds his temples.

 The drinks go down easy after that.

 “Any exciting plans for your leave, Cap?” you ask. It’s almost closing time now. This place is never full, anyway, but there’s enough alcohol in your system that you almost buy into the pretense of hearing him better as you edge further and further into his space.

 You’re not sure what you want him to say, exactly. Maybe if he reveals that there’s a cute little family or some stunning girlfriend waiting back home you’ll finally be able to move past the strangled feeling in your throat every time you look at him.  

 “Hardly,” he says around the cigar. The soft glow of it lights his face, makes him look like some sharp-eyed noir detective shrouded in smoke and mystery. “Might get a bit of fishing in, head into Liverpool and catch a game or two. What about you?”

 You wave a dismissive hand. “I make a terrible civilian. After I visit my grandfather and annoy him half to death I’m not sure what I’ll do. Maybe finally get some use out of those Egyptian cotton sheets I spent a bleedin’ fortune on.”

 “Are they nice?” he laughs, leans closer.

 You hum an affirmative, dizzy at the little space between you. He smells like tobacco and wood, whiskey and gunpowder.

“Too nice.” You should stop talking now. “End up on the floor half the time, anyway.”

He doesn’t need to know that.  

 “Sleeping alone, then?”

 His breath fans your face. Yours gets quicker, and you swear you’re more drunk off this shared air than any liquor you’ve had tonight.  

 “Sometimes.” You wet your lips. “Usually.”

 Your lashes leave tender butterfly kisses on your cheekbones as you meet his blue-eyed stare that’s gone impossibly dark, dipping down to see where your lips have parted - breathless, waiting. Wanting. His hand reaches out--

 “Last call!” the bartender’s shout snaps everything back to reality.

 You jump away from one another as though you’ve been burned. It feels a lot like you have.

 Price clears his throat, mutters something about getting back. His voice is rougher than usual. Raw. You look everywhere but him as he proceeds to round up the rest of the lads before you all stumble back to base.

 Your head pounds the whole way back to Ireland the next morning, marching drums in your mind and sandpaper beneath your eyelids. The flight has never felt lonelier.

--

 The man you bring home has blue eyes and brown hair. He’s not tall enough, certainly not broad enough, but he happened to be in the right place at the right time as you drank your sorrows away in some tiny pub up the road from your flat, and you happen to be desperate enough not to care.

 At least that’s what you tell yourself as you back him against your bed.

 When you kiss him it’s relentless and controlling. Mean. You suck a dark bruise on his neck and climb in his lap before he can think to return the favor.

 “Fuck, sweetness,” he groans at the sweet feeling of friction between your bodies. The accent is wrong. So is the endearment.

 You clamp a hand over his mouth. “Shut up and fuck me.”

 It’s a quick and sloppy affair, chasing a half-drunk high like a pair of horny teenagers. When all is said and done, you stare up at the ceiling on too-soft sheets and tell him he can go. He leans over to catch your eye briefly, maybe checking to see if you’re serious. You are. There’s hurt written across his expression - a bit of shock, too - but all you can think about is how his eyes are the wrong shade of blue.

--

 The second the doctors clear you for active duty you all but sprint to Price’s desk, demanding he get you back in the field as soon as possible. He smiles up at you in that sharp way that always makes your heart stutter and promises he’s got something small in the works - perfect to shake the rust off.

 Of course he’d think of an unsanctioned, off-the-books capture of a Russian mobster as small. You’re the only two who make the trip; your Russian is miles better than anyone else’s, and more bodies will only attract attention.

 It’s easy to forget how beautiful Moscow is. You don’t come here often, but the sprawling cityscape and romantic spires speak to your soul, set something singing inside you. You try to hold on to that feeling as you and Price make your way into the chipped paint and piss-stained sector of the city. These winding side streets and twisted back alleys are far more fitting for your line of work.

 Your mark, one Mikhail Yanovich, is a low-level enforcer for a high-interest gang that has connections to Makarov. Allegedly. That’s why you’re planning this friendly little chat. Not so much catch-and-release as catch-and-stage-a-believable-accident; if he really is involved, you can’t afford for Makarov to know you’re onto him.

 It feels strange to walk around in civvies with only a thin kevlar vest underneath to protect you. Thank goodness for the cold that makes layering less conspicuous. You look every inch the lost, frozen tourist. Price does too. You don’t think the miserable face he’s pulling beneath the beanie is acting, cheeks and nose flushed raw as they are.

 “Bloody cold out,” he mutters.

 “The fuck did you expect, tropical holidays?”

 He glowers, and you shake your head to hide a smile.

 Thankfully, kidnapping Yanovich is quick work; two bickering tourists hardly seem like the type who will stick you with a needle on your way to work and drag your unconscious body to a stashed van, driving through bad, then worse neighborhoods to reach a secure location to interrogate you.

 He wakes tied to a chair in the basement of an abandoned parking garage you and Price have taken up a temporary residence in. The captain circles him like a vulture, taking in all the details a broad frame and blockish features have to offer. You sit perched on the edge of a shitty folding table set just in the shadows. Patient. Waiting. There’s a case of freshly sharpened knives beside you - the Hound’s fangs, as Ghost likes to call them. So often the glinting threat of harsh light on metal is all it takes to break a man.

 “What can you tell us about Makarov?” Price opens.

 “Go fuck yourself.”

 The blow lands harsh on Yanovich’s cheekbone. Instantly a bruise begins to form, splotchy and plum on pale skin.

 “I asked you a bloody question. I promise you’d rather answer me than Hound over there,” Price looms over him, growls in his ear. “Makarov. Tell me everything you know.”

 There’s a stubborn set to his jaw when he says, “I know nothing.”

 If he really knew nothing he either would have laughed in your face or led with open ignorance. The way he clings to resistance can only mean there’s something to resist telling. As to how much he knows? There’s another echoing crack as Price backhands him.

 You’ll soon find out.

 “Hound,” your name on your captain’s tongue is as much a command as an invitation.

 You lean forward, step into the light. Twirl one of your knives expertly between scarred fingers. Watch it flash in the whites of his eyes.

 “I’ll ask you again: Where is Makarov?” Price demands.

 “I. Don’t. Know.”

 You step between Yanovich’s legs, lean over him and gently trace your blade over his groin with a smile sharper than the knife. He lets out a harsh breath.

 “I said I don’t know. Boss tells me nothing - I’m just a guard.”

 The knife presses, insistent. Not quite hard enough to draw blood yet. A bead of sweat rolls down Yanovich’s forehead. He’s pressed himself as far back into the chair as his bonds will allow.

 “Fine! He comes to club once a month. Speaks to the boss.”

 “What about?”

 “I don’t know-- I swear!” his accent is thick with unfamiliar syllables and fear.

 “When’s he due next?”

 “You just missed him. He always comes last day of month.”

 “Location?”

 “Changes every time,” he says, licks his lips. “I told you all I know - call off your fucking dog!”

 You dig your knife in for good measure just to watch the hate and fear in his eyes before backing off at Price’s nod.

 Turning to step away and table your knife, you don’t miss the way Yanovich mutters darkly after you, “My zdes strelaem vie brodyachikh sobak, suki. Esli ya uviju tebya snova, the mertview.”

 Then a gunshot fires.

 You pull your weapon out of its holster and whip around to cover Price, only to find the smoking gun in his hand and Yanovich’s head splattered on the wall behind him. Captain John Price stands over the body, eyes blazing, chest heaving, gun still aimed. Blood and brain matter speckles his face and clothes.  

 “What the fuck was that?” you demand. “He could have told us more! And what about the cover-up? Blowing his brains six ways to fucking Sunday isn’t exactly a bleedin’ accident!”

 You expect some kind of remorse when he turns to face you, but there’s only a grim, deadly acceptance. “He said--"

 “I heard what he said, I can speak bloody Russian!” you stalk towards him and jab a finger into his chest. “We were gonna kill the cunt anyway. You should have waited.”

 Price snarls, lip curling to bare his teeth. “You didn’t see the way he looked at you.”

 Suddenly you’re hyperaware of how close the two of you are standing. “How did he look at me?”

“He wanted to kill you the slowest way he knew how,” he says, like he’s confessing a sin, “and I’d shoot his fucking face a thousand times over to make sure he never looks at you again.”

 And just like that anything you were going to say dies in your throat, comes out a pathetic whimper. He grabs a fistful of your shirt and hauls you the rest of the short distance to him.

 “Tell me you wouldn’t do the same,” he demands. “Tell me to stop.”

 His hand burns on your chest, an iron-hot brand of possession.

 “John,” you breathe, because you don’t know what else to say. The look in his eyes is magnetic, drawing you in further still with pupils blown wide with want. “Don’t stop.”

 He kisses you rough, teeth and tongue and a certain kind of desperation brought on by the still-warm corpse lying just a few feet away. When you break for air he wastes no time kissing down your neck, every inch of exposed skin branded by his lips and the rough scrape of his beard. Yanovich’s blood smears down the column of your throat.

 “Fuck, John,” you say, “just like that.”

 “Sound so fucking perfect when you say my name,” he growls and bites down on your pulse point, leaving you gasping.

 It’s enough to distract you from his true purpose, large hands cupping beneath your ass and scooping you up into his arms. You hold on tight as three purposeful strides take you across the room to the table. One sweep of his arm has everything tumbling off it before he sets you down to stare up at him with wide eyes and a kiss-swollen mouth.

 When he captures your lips again it’s searing, molten heat rushing through your veins. It pools in your stomach, that too-hot wanting, and it suddenly hits you how much you do want this. Him. Each kiss tastes like so many years of silent longing, of standing too close and staring too long and wanting too much. All suddenly real and within reach.

 You let your hands snake up his shirt, explore the broad plane of his chest and the wiry hair that curls over it. Your fingers run over scars like braille that tell stories of violence and valor. Some of these stories you helped write. There, beneath his ribs, where you had to stitch him up in the field to keep his guts from spilling into the streets of Vienna. The lump where his collarbone never healed right after taking the brunt of a nasty blow meant for you. He shivers under your touch. Then his large, calloused hands cover yours and stop them in their tracks.

 “I’m going to fuck you now,” he says, “because I don’t think I can wait any longer than I already have to feel you.” His voice is even lower and rougher than usual, accent thick with arousal. “Do you want that?”

 You nod, afraid to speak and break the spell.

 “Come on, soldier, use your words.”

 “Yes, Captain. Please.”

 His grip on your hips tightens and he lets out a growl. “That’s my perfect soldier.”

 It’s all the warning you get before he tucks his fingers under the waistband of your trousers and underwear and tugs them down to your thighs, leaving you exposed before him.

 “Fuck, just look at you,” he says under his breath, almost like you aren’t meant to hear.

 You squirm under the scrutiny. A hot flush creeps up your neck as he stares, but you’d be lying if you said you didn’t like it. He looks at you like you’re some kind of revelation, like he’s been denied salvation all his life only to find it at the apex of your thighs.

 One, two, then three fingers stretch you open for him quick and dirty. It’s too much too fast but you want it so bad, and the pleasure far outweighs any pain. When he finally unzips his trousers to free his already hard, leaking cock you think you drool a little bit. You knew he’d be big, the way he carries himself, but seeing it is something else. Your insides flutter at the thought of the tight fit. He lines up to your entrance with that same military precision you’ve always admired before pushing in slowly, slowly, slower still. When he bottoms out he does it with a deep groan, your fingernails raking down his back as you keen at the sensation. This small mercy, just a few moments to adjust with his forehead pressed to yours, is all you’re granted before he sets a brutal pace. The obscene slap of skin on skin echoes off cracked concrete. With each thrust he hits someplace deep inside you no one else has managed to find.

 Heat coils in your belly, closer and closer to fever pitch with each expert snap of his hips.

 “John,” you pant, “m’gonna… gonna cum. Feels so good.”

 He says your name like a prayer. “Cum for me, then. Want to see you make a mess of yourself on my cock.”

 Like a tidal wave breaking against a dam you cum fast and hard at his words with a broken sob. He fucks you through the high, brushing a tear from the corner of your eye with a rough thumb.

 “There you are, so good for me,” he says. “Gonna cum all over your pretty little self, make you mine.”

 “I’m yours, John,” you gasp, “all yours.”

 His thrusts turn sloppy chasing his own high, and it doesn’t take long before he pulls out and makes good on his words, covering your stomach in spend as he grinds out your name. Bent over your body, he presses a chaste kiss to the juncture of your neck before pulling back to admire his handiwork. In the afterglow you lay spread out on the table with a sheen of sweat, smeared with his cum and another man’s blood. The way his eyes darken rubbing it into your skin, and the way you shiver at the sensation, you think that you both might like it a little too much.

 “Laswell’s gonna kill us for this,” he murmurs.

 You hum your agreement. “So where shall we hide the body?”

 His eyes shine down on you with adoration and crinkle with wicked humor. “I’m sure we’ll think of something, but let’s be quick about it. The sooner we get home the better.”

 “Yes,” you hear yourself agreeing, “home.”  

 For you, it will always be at his side.

#captain john price x reader #john price x reader #fran writes #this fic came over me like a possession i have nothing to say for myself #cod x reader #cod mwii x reader

[fandoms-are-my-friends-1321]

Silly Little Love Song

So, I decided to start with the Margarette Macron x Reader because they deserve more attention in the fandom and I absolutely love how this character is portrayed. The title of the fic comes from the song by Wings (I sang it in my head trying to figure out what the actual name of the song was), and if anyone has future suggestions, feel free to let me know! Extra note - Y/D/N stands for "Your Dorm Name" to make things more inclusive!

Summary: The reader has always admired Margarette's piano playing from a distance but does not want to admit this to them. However, Margarette picks up on the reader's glances and tries to get them to open up. Will a love song that reveals the reader's hidden musical talent finally bring the two together?

Warnings: None, if I miss any please let me know!

Y/N's quill traveled smoothly across the page as they finished the last sentence of their notes for potions class. The professor completed the lecture ten minutes ago, but Y/N was in no hurry. They did not have any classes the following period, and potions was the subject that they struggled with the most, so detailed notes were a must if they were going to pass.

"You really shouldn't worry about taking notes, dear Y/N. Haven't you aced the past two exams?"

Y/N looked up and met the soft gaze of the Prefect of Orca dorm, Margarette Macron, their eyes the color of forget me not flowers that Y/N could get lost in if given the chance. Y/N shook their head and closed their notebook. "Oh, hello Margarette, I wish your statement was true, but my grades are more horrendous than some of the freshmen in this year's entrance exam..."

Margarette chuckled at the comment, and Y/N wondered how it was possible for even their voice to sound like the most beautiful serenade. Still, Margarette was a powerful magic user that was in line to be the next Divine Visionary, so how could they possibly be interested in a mediocre magic user from Y/D/N. Margarette leaned on the table and tilted their head, their industrial piercings reflecting the torch light from the room.

"Such a shame that people from Y/D/N put so much pressure on themselves, especially someone as-"

"Hey, Margarette!! Can you show us some of your magic again?!" A cluster of eager freshmen dashed up towards the table like children sprinting to a glass candy display. Each of them had bass clefs or eighth note marks that matched that of musical magic users, so it made sense why they would want to see the famous piano display that Margarette would sometimes show off. Margarette crossed to the front of the room that was free of any tables, and with a wave of their wand, their piano materialized in front of them. As they sat down on the bench, Margarette's fingers gracefully moved over the ivory keys, causing awes and oohs to fall from the dazzled freshmen, and Y/N found themselves equally entranced by the music notes that swiveled and turned among purple ribbons. Margarette, while at one with their music, took every chance they could to glance over at Y/N. Any time they looked, however, Y/N seemed to be preoccupied with their shoes or an imaginary stain on their cloak. The moment Margarette would not be paying attention, Y/N would remain fully focused on their playing or let their focus wander to take in Margarette's makeup that looked perfect in this lighting. Just stop it, Y/N muttered to themselves internally, They would never take a second look at you if some pretty magic user walked through the door right now.

As Margarette finished the last lines of their signature melody, their head shot up in hopes of finally catching Y/N watching their performance, but all they saw was Y/N leaving the room with their head facing the floor. The freshmen crowded Margarette and praised their magical abilities, but their compliments were not enough to prevent a frown of disappointment to appear on the Prefect's face. Once the freshmen left the room, some more quickly than others at the realization that they would be late for their next class, Margarette let out a sigh. Oh Y/N, why do you flee when the spotlight always shines brighter on you in my eyes...

................................................................................................

Y/N's temples throbbed as they tried to study the potions formulas in their dorm room, but none of the numbers or ingredients were adding up. If anything, they created a murky abyss in Y/N's mind that made no sign of clearing any time soon. Y/N rubbed their eyes as they shoved their chair back with a squeak, the annoying sound miniscule compared to the running thoughts that zoomed in their head.

There was only one thing that could help them at this point.

Y/N traveled down the stone hallway, their feet clicking on the slate colored walkway as the remaining tangerine rays of the sun began to dip below the protective walls of the school. They knew that it was risky to leave their dorm this close to dark since students were not allowed to roam the halls, but Y/N needed to find a way to alleviate their stress and doubt. Finally, they reached the music room, a place where magic users who did not specialize in magical spells imbued with lyrical notes could practice. Y/N could feel a weight lift from their shoulders at the sight of the piano in the middle of the room, the familiarity like a comforting hug from a close friend. They sat down on the mahogany bench and drew in a gradual inhale, their fingers positioned on the keys and waiting in anticipation.

The tune that Y/N began to play was a simple one, but it was a melody that they had learned from their childhood. Each note felt like home, and Y/N could feel themselves swaying with the beat of the song. They were so lost in the moment that they did not hear Margarette enter the room.

It was an encounter that happened merely by chance.

Margarette had just finished the first patrol round of the night, and as they began to return back to their dorm room, they heard the sounds of a piano from down the hall. The tune was simple, but the emotion that came from the music caused goosebumps to cover Margarette's arms and curiosity to sparkle in their eyes. Upon entering the room, Margarette half expected to see one of the freshmen from earlier, but seeing Y/N playing the piano with the grace of a dancer made Margarette's heart swell with pride and a surprised gasp to leave their purple tinted lips. "My, my, you never told me you played piano, Y/N."

Y/N jolted at the sound of Margarette's voice, the shock causing them to tip backwards and the bench below them to slide and topple to the floor. Instead of colliding with the jagged and ancient stones below, Y/N felt a pair of arms wrapped securely around them. The same eyes Y/N could feel themselves almost drowning in earlier were now inches from them, only this time, Y/N could not look away. Margarette assisted Y/N back to a standing position before placing the bench back upright. The prefect dusted off the bench and took a seat, patting the space beside them. "While I enjoyed the heavenly melody you were playing, may I show you a new song? It's one that I hoped to play for you one day."

Y/N could feel a blush heating up their cheeks, but to be so close to the person who inspired them so often was an offer they could not refuse. Y/N sat down next to Margarette, their scent a mixture of lavender and musk, which to Y/N's surprise made them feel relaxed and not nervous. Margarette hesitantly reached for Y/N's hand's, but they stopped themselves. "Is it alright for me to show you how to play the song?"

Y/N nodded as they rested their hands in Margarette's palms, their fingers gently intertwining as Margarette placed them on the piano keys. Margarette took things slow and allowed Y/N to sense which keys to press when and what notes would follow next in line, and unlike the usual purple ribbons that surrounded Margarette's music, the musical notes were surrounded by a pinkish hue. Once the tune was complete, Margarette let go of Y/N's hands and their chest rumbled with laughter. "You are a natural, Y/N! You should play more often and share this beauty with the world!" Margarette looked away then as a thought crossed their mind. They rubbed the back of their neck as their pale cheeks appeared more red than normal. "Then again, I would gladly cherish your beauty on my own."

Was Margarette really confessing their feelings right now? Y/N's mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water, but after seeing the brief glimpse of fear enter Margarette's eyes at the potential of being rejected, Y/N knew how to respond. Y/N leaned up and kissed Margarette on the cheek, but they retreated soon after with their arms wrapping tightly around themselves. Despite the cold temperature of the room, Y/N 's embarrassment made it feel like they had been hit by one of Dot's spells. "As long as I can admire your beauty and learn more songs by your side as well, then we have a deal..."

Margarette felt as if someone had just told them that they were the next Divine Visionary, and yet this overwhelming adoration was far greater than such an announcement. Margarette cupped Y/N's chin, their fingers light as they leaned closer. Margarette pressed their lips against Y/N's in a feather light kiss, parting away with a grin wider than before. "I would accept that deal any day, my darling."

Tags: @ansbobcar, @rainee-da, @mayurin17, @thebasicbword, @mashleverse, @xram7x

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