#and my mum fucking barges in again and yells at me for sitting in a cupboard????

[my-castles-crumbling]

hello hello,

sorry bc this is a bit long and I got a bit carried away

But basically all my life i thought my home life was super great but looking back on it, it was nice but some slightly (only slightly) questionable stuff [I want to clarify that it’s nothing physical but some of it was a little bit fucked up like I have one stand out memory but also I may have made it up bc idk sometimes I’m super sure it happened and sometimes I’m not] went down and now i notice more and more my parents making sexist/homophobic/transphobic jokes and offhand comments and then getting annoyed and yelling at me whenever I try and tell them they’re wrong. I also sort of noticed that they’re a bit too pushy and invasive of my privacy [especially my mother who loves to offload her problems onto me and has since I was pretty small and would just barge into my room at any time and tell me about them and I understand communication is important in families but I don’t think 9 is a good age for your mother to regularly be crying to you about how suicidal she feels but she always acted like it was a good thing so I assumed it was too idk] and it’s like half the time they treat me like I’m way younger than I am [late teen] and the other half of the time it’s like they expect me to be a mature adult and like I just want to be my actual age yk but I can’t and tbh I don’t even know how to go about doing that now bc I feel like I’ve sort of been stifled and the thing is I’m not sure how I should actually be feeling about the whole thing because I don’t think they’re actually really bad people [my parents] and I end up feeling guilty about the fact that I just don’t want to talk to them anymore [especially my mum] and like ik people who have way worse home lives than me and I feel like it’s being a bit selfish to complain bc sure they make problematic jokes but I don’t think they’d necessarily treat me worse if I came out [non-binary and pan] but also I don’t think they’d be that great about it like my brother came out as bi and they were like ok but then one time when he was away they were talking about ‘if he gets a girlfriend’ and I said ‘or a boyfriend bc he’s bi’ and they were like ‘yeah he’s bi but he’s only ever really shown interest in girls so we doubt he’s actually bi but I mean if he got a boyfriend we’d be fine with it’ and I was like on the one hand like it could be worse but it still didn’t sit right with me that they just casually assumed he was lying about it even tho he’d literally come out…

also I sort of don’t even want to come out atp to them I just want to sort of quietly cut ties or distance myself

so I sort of tried to do that [as much as I can yk being still a minor and living at home] but now I’ve got my mum not so subtly idk tryna guilt trip me. Like she’ll say shit about how I used to talk to her and now I never do and like there’s a fucking reason [I now actually have friends who I realised I feel way more comfortable around] but ok

Like a while back she came to my room and tried to do the usual complaining thing about how she’s v depressed and all and I tried to respectfully tell her she needs therapy and she got super upset with me and started crying and stormed out my room and then she came back later and tried again and I told her like as nicely as I could that I can’t handle this bc I am just a kid yk as nice as possible I cannot handle my shit let alone yours like my mental health is not great rn and like I want to be there for the ppl in my life not feeling good but also like she’s been doing this since I was pretty small and there’s literally no way I can really support her except spending more time with her maybe but then that’s bad for my mental health especially bc she’ll do offhand shit that she knows I don’t like [like I have sensory issues bc I’m neurodivergent and having a hand put on my shoulder for some reason I just ugh it’s the worst - and ever since she noticed that I would pull away she’s started doing it more and every time I pull away she makes jokes about how she must have ‘a disease or something’ and just UGH sorry it infuriates me]

so basically [sorry for the suuuper long ask] I’m not sure what the right thing to do is, like do I try and remedy the relationship with my parents [but especially my mum] or do I just sort of keep going like this till I’m at uni or what?

again sorry this is way too long

Hi love! First of all, I wanna give a TW to people reading:

TW: mentions of suicidal thoughts

Okay, I'm gonna take this one section at a time:

But basically all my life i thought my home life was super great but looking back on it, it was nice but some slightly (only slightly) questionable stuff [I want to clarify that it’s nothing physical but some of it was a little bit fucked up like I have one stand out memory but also I may have made it up bc idk sometimes I’m super sure it happened and sometimes I’m not]

Okay chances are you're not making it up. Thinking you're making it up is a super common symptom of guilt trips and gaslighting. If you think it happened...it probably did.

went down and now i notice more and more my parents making sexist/homophobic/transphobic jokes and offhand comments and then getting annoyed and yelling at me whenever I try and tell them they’re wrong.

This is NOT okay of them. They're being disrespectful.

I also sort of noticed that they’re a bit too pushy and invasive of my privacy [especially my mother who loves to offload her problems onto me and has since I was pretty small and would just barge into my room at any time and tell me about them and I understand communication is important in families but I don’t think 9 is a good age for your mother to regularly be crying to you about how suicidal she feels but she always acted like it was a good thing so I assumed it was too idk]

Uhm hi hello hi. NO. No no no. This is NOT okay. Parents do NOT tell their children about their suicidal feelings. Absolutely not. This is a classic example of parentification. You, even as a teenager, are the CHILD. You are NOT responsible for your parents, and you should not feel any sort of pressure to help with their wellbeing. Nope.

and it’s like half the time they treat me like I’m way younger than I am [late teen] and the other half of the time it’s like they expect me to be a mature adult and like I just want to be my actual age yk but I can’t and tbh I don’t even know how to go about doing that now bc I feel like I’ve sort of been stifled and the thing is I’m not sure how I should actually be feeling about the whole thing

yup. parentification. You've been expected to take on the role of a parent when convenient and act like a child when convenient. this is not okay and you're absolutely right to feel weird and bad and resentful about it.

because I don’t think they’re actually really bad people [my parents]

And here's the thing: that can also be true. A lot of times, parents can both love you/be good people AND unintentionally be hurtful. But in a way, that can be even more difficult because like...how do you explain to someone who thinks they're not being hurtful that they ARE?

and I end up feeling guilty about the fact that I just don’t want to talk to them anymore [especially my mum] and like ik people who have way worse home lives than me and I feel like it’s being a bit selfish to complain bc sure they make problematic jokes but I don’t think they’d necessarily treat me worse if I came out [non-binary and pan] but also I don’t think they’d be that great about it like my brother came out as bi and they were like ok but then one time when he was away they were talking about ‘if he gets a girlfriend’ and I said ‘or a boyfriend bc he’s bi’ and they were like ‘yeah he’s bi but he’s only ever really shown interest in girls so we doubt he’s actually bi but I mean if he got a boyfriend we’d be fine with it’ and I was like on the one hand like it could be worse but it still didn’t sit right with me that they just casually assumed he was lying about it even tho he’d literally come out… also I sort of don’t even want to come out atp to them I just want to sort of quietly cut ties or distance myself so I sort of tried to do that [as much as I can yk being still a minor and living at home] but now I’ve got my mum not so subtly idk tryna guilt trip me. Like she’ll say shit about how I used to talk to her and now I never do and like there’s a fucking reason [I now actually have friends who I realised I feel way more comfortable around] but ok Like a while back she came to my room and tried to do the usual complaining thing about how she’s v depressed and all and I tried to respectfully tell her she needs therapy and she got super upset with me and started crying and stormed out my room and then she came back later and tried again and I told her like as nicely as I could that I can’t handle this bc I am just a kid yk as nice as possible I cannot handle my shit let alone yours like my mental health is not great rn and like I want to be there for the ppl in my life not feeling good but also like she’s been doing this since I was pretty small and there’s literally no way I can really support her except spending more time with her maybe but then that’s bad for my mental health especially bc she’ll do offhand shit that she knows I don’t like [like I have sensory issues bc I’m neurodivergent and having a hand put on my shoulder for some reason I just ugh it’s the worst - and ever since she noticed that I would pull away she’s started doing it more and every time I pull away she makes jokes about how she must have ‘a disease or something’ and just UGH sorry it infuriates me]

This is what I'm saying: it's super difficult to convince someone they're being hurtful when they truly think they aren't. Trust me, my mother is the same way. But you aren't wrong for wanting to distance yourself. Also, don't compare yourself to other people. You have a DIFFERENT home life, not necessarily a better or worse one.

so basically [sorry for the suuuper long ask] I’m not sure what the right thing to do is, like do I try and remedy the relationship with my parents [but especially my mum] or do I just sort of keep going like this till I’m at uni or what? again sorry this is way too long

Don't be sorry! I guess the first thing I'd say is, all of your feelings are valid, and this sounds super difficult. I'm sorry you have to go through it <3. Here's the thing: You are right. There are some things going on in your house that aren't okay. But the reality is, your mom doesn't seem to be willing to hear your opinion about changing them. SO, where do you go from here?

I think the two major things I've had to learn with my (very similar) mother is:

Set boundaries and stick to them. If she's dumping on you and you can't handle it, tell her it's not okay. Keep politely telling her this. There is NOTHING WRONG with doing this, even if she tells you otherwise.

Take what you can get, but don't get your hopes up. Does she want to take you out to lunch? Great. She wants to hang out after school? Awesome. But don't...rely on her to be more than she is.

If you're able to do these two things in a healthy way, this might be your best bet until you turn of age and you're able to reevaluate if you want a long-term relationship or not. But honestly, if you're financially dependent on her, separating from her completely might not be the best idea if you are safe.

The ONLY thing that makes me nervous about this whole situation is your mention of your mom's suicidal thoughts, so I'll leave you with this:

if your mom is scaring you with the way she is talking, call the authorities. You are a minor, and you should NEVER have to deal with that on your own.

No matter what happens, no matter WHAT your mom does, no matter what you do or don't say/do or don't do, your mother's decisions are her own. Nothing she does is your fault.

If you feel comfortable, please DM me! I'm being genuine when I say our moms sound similar, and I would love to talk more <3

P.s. I just want to say that, you are SO smart, as a teenager, to realize that this behavior is not okay. Good for you <3

#ask #asks #ask cas #tw sui ideation

[g4rdenhead]

🐞

#rant tw #vent tw #dont rb #dont mind me this is nothing #cursing tw #sooo uhhh #some stuff happened last night... #i was going to the toilets at like midnight and at the same time while i was sitting up my mum just kinda barged into my room???? #and she asked me real suspiciously like. why am i getting up??? but she just said really aggressively #so i went to the toilet and she fucking took my phone??? for no reason????? #so i asked her about it and she said that she *thinks* i was using my phone at night so she just. took it #and obviously i cant argue with her so uhh yeah #so i went back to my room and i went to sit in the cupboard cause thats where i go to feel more comfortable?? #it just makes me feel safe and i was just like. kinda angry and kinda confused so i went in there so i didnt cry #and my mum fucking barges in again and yells at me for sitting in a cupboard???? #she says that its wrong and im disobedient and stuff so i end up crying anywAY cause?? she was yelling?? #then she said that shes not scolding me and she loves me and stuff like she didnt just make me cry and she tells me to stop crying ghhh #like. she always does this and makes me feel shitty #so anyway now shes going to look for a therapist for me ♡ #so i guess im going to therapy soon??

[thesolferino]

Hell On Earth

⤷ dream x f!reader.

⤷ genre: fluff

⤷ word count: 3.2k

⤷ requested: yes, by this lovely anon!

— summary: you barge into clay’s office to complain about his broken air conditioner, unaware that he’s streaming.

Florida was hell.

You liked to say it as a joke, during October when the rest of the world was freezing, during December when the insane temperatures finally went back under control, and the sun granted you its blessing of a refreshing gust of wind every now and then. You liked to say it as a joke, mostly, but God, did you mean it whenever summer would creep around the corner and you’d get reminded of why you told your boyfriend so often that the devil must’ve left hell, came down to America, and bought himself a nice penthouse in Florida.

It lived up to its title of the hottest state in the US, by far, considering the hellish temperatures that constantly made you dizzy whenever June rolled around. You had great air conditioning in your apartment, though, and as soon as the sun started burning skin, plants, water, and everything in its way, you and your college roommate would lounge at your place as the air conditioner blew cold wind and thank the lord (and the person who invented AC, bless his heart) for providing you with at least one blessing during these trying times.

So, of course that as soon as summer came about, your air conditioning conveniently broke.

Your roommate was out of the apartment within two days, flying to her family in Wisconsin, bidding you farewell as she left you to cook like a raw chicken in your shared apartment. Thankfully, you had a boyfriend - and what a boyfriend he was.

You don’t like to brag, but at these moments, you feel grateful to the universe and whoever else is looking over you for providing you with a rich boyfriend, with quite a big, echo-y house, and air conditioning made of pure heaven. As soon as your roommate packed your bags, you packed yours too, - if one backpack filled with makeup, your laptop, meds, underwear and hopes that he’d let you steal all of his clothes could count as “bags” - locked the apartment and left, ready to leave the AC on snowman temperature for two days minimum and ignore all his complaints.

Bad luck seemed to follow you everywhere, though, because you were there for merely three days when the air conditioning started stuttering.

You were sprawled on the cold sheets of his bed, listening to the low hum of the AC as you scrolled through your phone, his white T-shirt sticking to your back, the cold air cooling the sheen of sweat that covered your body, leaving goosebumps all over. One of your fingers started lazily petting Patches’ stomach, and you could faintly hear Clay talking in the background, the sounds coming from his office.

“Thank you for the gifted subs! Um, yeah, it’s really hot here, I can barely, like, breathe in here. I have the AC on at highest, but all it’s doing is giving me a headache. Even-even my water bottle is completely hot.” You heard him rant and chuckled, turning on your side and continuing to scroll through random videos.

You sort of tuned out his talking, knowing he’d most likely be cooped up in that office for hours before your shared dinner, and started watching random YouTube videos, ignoring your surroundings as you shoved your earbuds in your ears. 

The longer the videos lasted, the more you felt like you were suffocating. The heat crawled up on you slowly, sneakily, almost unnoticeable yet undeniably there, hand made up of pure fire gripping at your throat tighter and tighter. It started off seamlessly, with you rolling around, trying to find a new cold spot on the sheets, to pulling at the shirt, trying to create cold air to soothe you, to wiping the sweat that basically covered your entire forehead, when your eyes finally peeled away from your phone and you realised you were basically choking in the heat, feeling like you’re breathing fire. 

You lift your head off the bed way too quickly, head pounding, and look at the one thing meant to save you from this madness - just to see it leaking water down the wall, barely coughing out any air. Your head miserably falls back down on the bed, hands rubbing at your face, dangerously close to both crying and screaming in distress. After a few moments of self-wallowing, you get up and make your way over to your boyfriend’s office, being met with nothing but silence as you walked to it, happy he ended the stream so you could complain and wail to him, possibly cool down using the AC in his office. 

You slam the door open, seeing him hunched over in his gaming chair, Minecraft open as usual, and as soon as he takes one headphone off, turns around and sends a surprised but oddly panicked gaze your way, you start ranting.

“Babe, you won’t believe what just happened.” you said, rubbing a hand over your face again, eyes closing as you feel the coldness - in comparison to the living hell that was his bedroom right now - of the room wash over you. You don’t even let him speak before you continue.

“The fucking AC in your bedroom just broke. It’s leaking right now.”

Clay looks like he wants to say fifteen words at once, and the first one that comes out is: “What?”

“I swear. I was watching something on my phone, and I realised it’s crazy hot, so I looked up and realised it’s broken. Why does this happen to me!” you complained, and he tried pulling his headphones off for a second but instead pulled the cord out of the computer entirely, letting you hear everything that goes on in his headphones.

It’s silent for a second or two, before you hear a familiar voice.

“Dream.” you hear a British man with an awfully posh accent speak, and your eyes meet Clay’s in pure horror and realisation, when you slap a hand over your mouth. He looks as equally terrified as you, but also disappointed, because oh, that’s why he looked so panicked when you stormed in.

Then you hear another voice, equally British, but higher pitched. They laugh. “Is that Drista?”

Clay seems to snap back into reality, turning around towards the computer and adjusting his mic before speaking. “No- it’s- Tommy she said babe, why would Drista call me babe?”

“You’re so stupid, he was trying to help you.” You hear his long-time friend, Sapnap, deadpan, and you can practically feel all of them freaking out, while you stand in the doorway in horror, cheeks heating up despite the fully working AC.

Another laugh. “No, I wasn’t, I was genuinely asking. Why- Sapnap, why would I be helping Dream?” 

“Dream, you are so stupid.” you hear George laugh into his mic and your boyfriend immediately starts stuttering, trying to defend himself.

“How-how am I stupid?! She’s the one who walked in, what was I supposed to do?” you lean against the doorway as he defends himself, head buried in one of your hands.

“Mute!” you hear Sapnap borderline yell, almost mad. 

“Wait- I don’t get what’s going on- Does Big D have a girlfriend?” you hear the British boy, Tommy, ask, and all of them go silent for a few seconds before a loud, screeching laugh breaks out through the speakers, and when Clay turns around to look at you, all you can do is mouth an apology as you almost break out into laughter at how ridiculous the whole thing is.

“Oh my God, chat is going crazy right now.” George says while Tommy is laughing his lungs out in the background, still.

“Did you actually- did she actually- oh my GOD, Dream has a girlfriend! I can’t believe this!” Tommy keeps on laughing, coughing between sentences. “Dream stans, I am so sorry, this must be just a terrible, terrible day for you all.” 

“You’re probably already trending on Twitter, dude.” Sapnap adds, sounding more worried than your own boyfriend did at the moment.

“It was bound to happen at some point, I guess.” he huffs out, turning around to look at you every so often, gesturing for you to close the door and come in, which you did, guilt weighing you down as you moved.

“Are you serious? Can I- Can I speak to your girlfriend, Dream?” you can practically hear the grin in the boy’s voice and Clay doesn’t even turn to you before replying.

“No, you can’t.” 

“Oh, come on! You let me speak to your mum but not your girlfriend? Just for a little bit, please? I just- I just wanna see which lucky woman managed to get the attention of the Minecraft God, Dream himself. That’s it.” Tommy asks and you don’t even have it in you to laugh because of the anxiety that eats away at you, but then Clay sighs. 

“...Fine, I guess.” he looks up at you. “D’you wanna speak to Tommy?” 

You’re not quite sure what the expected answer is, but you shrug, gaze darting from his eyes to the computer, and then back to him. “Um… I don’t mind, I guess.” 

You hear him sigh and plug the headphones back into the computer, handing them to you. “Alright, she said yes. Here you go.” he stands up out of the chair and lets you sit, placing the way too big headphones on your head as your heart races, standing closely by your side as you roll the chair further towards the desk and microphone.

“Um… hello?” you shyly speak, and you hear something like groans of mixed annoyance, confusion and nervousness coming from George and Sapnap as Tommy starts laughing immediately, greeting you loudly. 

“HELLO, DREAM’S GIRLFRIEND!” you hear him yell in response as your shaky hands land on the keyboard, moving his character left and right. 

“Is the AC really broken?” Sapnap asks and you hear George laugh in response, considering how unimportant that information is right now. You know both of them, obviously - you’ve talked to them more than a few times, joining in on their jokes when Clay talks to them on speaker, growing as close as one can with their boyfriend’s friends.

“Yeah, it is. The AC in here is really good, though. Maybe I should stay and just take over the Dream channel.” You joke and they laugh.

“Yeah, I mean it would probably be better. A woman owning the Dream channel would make it so much better. The views would skyrocket.” Tommy says and you see his character walk up to you before he randomly laughs again.

“I can’t believe- I can’t believe Dream actually has a girlfriend. Is he, like, paying you to do this, or are you really…” he trails off and you giggle at his question, switching tools in the hotbar as you try to figure out how to play the game again.

“No, he’s not. We are dating, yes.” you confirm with a nod, and you feel Clay’s elbow sink into the chair, almost trying to listen.

“Say 1 if he’s keeping you hostage.” he says and you laugh again, shaking your head.

“No, he’s not- he’s not keeping me hostage.” you reply and you hear Clay go “WHAT?” right behind you.

“Well, of course, of course, I mean, who could ever pass up dating the great Dream. With all those subscribers, and Twitch primes, and Minecraft skills. Did- did his Minecraft skills get you?” Tommy asked, but before you could even respond, Sapnap jumped into the conversation.

“Oh yes, absolutely. She loves it. Yes, Dream, speedrun faster!” he sarcastically replies and for a few moments the whole call is blown into loud laughter, screeching and yells before it quiets down.

“Yes, what Sapnap said. I was so impressed, he just blew me away, with um… with his, um, Manhunt skills? I dunno, I don’t play Minecraft.” you hear him laugh at “Manhunt skills” behind you as the rest of the boys start laughing too.

“Dream’s girlfriend doesn’t play Minecraft?! What?! Dream- how could he allow this, seriously…” Tommy argued dramatically, his character staring at yours - or rather Clay’s.

“I can’t imagine if we were both Minecraft players, that would be a nightmare.” you replied.

“Why?” you heard George laugh through the headphones.

“Who do you think peels him away from the damn computer? If I was just like him we would never get out of the house, probably.” you argued.

“Dreamfriend, what is Dream like, you know, in real life?” Tommy spoke up and you heard George giggle again.

“Dreamfriend?” you repeated, a grin forming on your face at his stupidity, finally deciding to move the character around and switch back to the sword in the hotbar.

“Yes! Dream’s girlfriend, Dreamfriend, Dreamgirl, Girldream, whatever you like.” Tommy said and you laughed.

“Dream girl… if I wanted to get clout off Dream I’d use that, that’s genius.” 

“Thanks, I know I’m a genius, everyone tells me so.” Tommy claims and you shake your head, checking your boyfriend’s inventory to see if there’s anything interesting in there.

“Alright, I’m gonna check on the AC, I’ll be back in a second.” Clay says to you, before lowering himself to the mic so the boys could hear him. “Tommy, don’t do anything stupid, okay?”

“Oh you know it, big man! I’d never!” Tommy yells back, despite Clay being unable to hear him, and he leaves the office with one last, quick kiss to your temple.

“Is he gone?” Tommy asks, and you nod and hum, despite him not being able to see you.

“Okay, so you don’t play Minecraft, right?” he asks.

“No, I don’t.” you reply.

“So there’s this really cool thing, right. If you just go in and type /op tommyinnit, there’s this thing that’s gonna-” Tommy doesn’t get to finish his sentence before he’s cut off by Sapnap, whose character suddenly appears in front of you.

“No, no, no, no, don’t trust him, you should-” Sapnap cuts in, but Tommy still loudly protests in the background.

“BE NICE TO OUR GUEST, SAPNAP! Let her do what she wants! She is Dream’s girlfriend after all, the most powerful woman.” Tommy claims and you laugh, sort of blushing from all the attention. You don’t even dare to check the chat or the donations that come in from Twitch, because it must be blowing up by now. As if he can hear your thoughts, George speaks too.

“Oh my God, Dream’s already trending on, like, five different spots on Twitter.” he says, and you instinctively grab your phone to check, before you can even think about it.

“What?” you and Sapnap both say in sync.

“Yeah, ‘Dream’ is trending #2 worldwide, and ‘Dream girlfriend’ is #4.” he lets out a shocked laugh.

“Oh my God…” you mutter out in both excitement, nervousness and dread as you open Twitter and confirm that George is indeed correct. You don’t even dare to press on either of the trends, simply turning off your phone with a sigh and moving back to stream.

“Wow, you’re famous now! How does it feel?” Tommy asks and you let out a quite dry laugh.

“Amazing. I can feel my value as a person increasing as we speak.” you respond sarcastically and hear George quietly laugh in the background.

Just then, you hear the door to the office opening again, but you ignore it because Tommy starts speaking.

“Okay, well, I’m sure that must be very fun and exciting for you, but I really will need you to type in /op tommyinn-” 

“No! I’m not listening to you, Tommy! I’m not about to type in some stupid command and get yelled at!” you cut in, but he keeps on whining.

“Come on, we know Big D would never yell at his… beloved girlfriend! Listen, just do it, I promise he will not be mad.” he argues.

“What does /op even mean?” you ask out loud, and suddenly Clay is yelling behind you. 

“Who is asking you to op them? Give me the headset!” he says, one hand already tugging at the headphones as you laugh while Tommy panics.

“Well, it was fun talking to you guys, but I have to go. Bye!” you bid them farewell and heard George and Sapnap say goodbye as well while Tommy yelled, and you took off the headphones and passed them to Clay who immediately put them on and adjusted them, plopping back into the chair. You left, moving to the living room to process everything that happened and abandon your phone for the next few hours because you were not ready for that type of attention in the slightest.

You laid in front of the TV, watching random shows on Netflix and grabbing a few snacks from the kitchen while you could still clearly hear him yelling and streaming, wondering how he’s still going as if nothing happened. The temptation to check what people were saying was overwhelming to the point your hands were itching to grab your phone and open all social media - before you even realised it, you were on the trending page again, thumb tapping on the “Dream girlfriend” tab. 

You braced yourself for the worst, but that’s not what came at you - sure, there were a couple of tweets telling people to lay off you, and delusional shippers getting ratioed, but they were mostly positive, lighthearted jokes, from single people making jokes about how a Minecraft YouTuber can get bitches but they can’t, to people calling you cute/funny. One hate comment obviously stings more than a million positive comments make you happy, but they were mostly misogynists calling you annoying for the roughly five sentences you spoke on stream or shippers disappointed that their favorite YouTuber isn’t gay, so you didn’t really let it get to you. 

When the house finally quieted down the sun was lowering itself into darkness and melting into a pot of blinding orange and golden honey, and you heard Clay’s footsteps when he finally turned off the stream, stepping into the living room a few seconds after you heard him. He sat down on the couch next to you, wrapping an arm around your shoulders and pulling you close to him, sitting there in silence with you.

“So… that was something.” he finally broke the silence and you nodded.

“It really was.” 

Another beat of silence passes.

“I’m sorry, baby, but I really need you to stop breaking all these ACs.”

“I’M NOT THE ONE BREAKING THEM-”

“Sorry, but I’m noticing a pattern here.” he wheezed, obviously just trying to get you riled up as you pulled away so his hand gets ripped off your shoulder.

“Shut up. You better have called someone to repair that damn thing, cause there is no way we’re sleeping in there without an AC.” you huffed, and he shuffled closer to you, arm wrapping itself around your shoulders once again.

“I did, they’re coming by tomorrow.” he assured.

“Tomorrow?” you asked, looking at him in disbelief. “How are we gonna sleep tonight?”

“Who says we have to sleep?” the glint in his eye and the stupid grin plastered on his face tells you everything you need to know, and you roll your eyes.

“If we fuck, I’ll actually die of overheating. Absolutely not.”

“Well in that case, I need to get that AC fixed as soon as possible.”

#dream x reader #dreamwastaken x reader #dream imagine #dream fluff #dreamwastaken imagine #dreamwastaken fluff #dream x y/n #dreamwastaken x y/n #dream x you #dreamwastaken x you #mcyt x reader #mcyt imagine #mcyt fluff

[theshelbyclan]

Childhood Sweethearts

Summary: You and Finn had been together for a while now and it was all going great. The only problem was, all of the brothers didn’t know yet

A/N: Requested by a lovely anon: hey can i request a Finnxreader where Finn got her pregnant and her brothers come in the Garrison with guns and all and are like "We dont care who you. That you're a shelby, but you got her pregnant and you're gonna marry her" and than Finn has to explain to his bros that he is kinda dating her for a year and some fluff please??? I got so many requests for my baby Finn and I’m ignoring how they changed him in season 5. Hope you like it!

Words: 2605

***

When you’d first met Finn, he’d been boxing. You had only been fourteen at the time and he was only thirteen, but he was a Shelby, so there were expectations. “Call yourself a Shelby?” the owner had kept on shouting out at him. And you could see Finn was really trying, but he just wasn’t that type of Shelby. 

Your brothers were at the gym as well, which is why you were there. Women weren’t allowed, no exceptions. Well, except little sisters. You were let in when you came to pick them up and the youngest Shelby sister couldn’t be kept away, but apart from that, no women allowed.

And then it’d happened. Arthur went feral, everyone went crazy and Finn reacted like no one else could. And you watched him, calmly, but with interest. Afterwards, you handed him a towel. He suddenly looked young, not at all like he had seemed while fighting, and he’d said: “No women allowed.” You had smirked and replied, “Then go.” *** And so the two of you had become friends. First it had just been talking on the streets about brothers and life in general. Because if there was one thing the two of you had in common, it was the burden of having too many older brothers. While the Shelby’s had big plans with young Finn, yours seemed to want to keep you ‘sweet and innocent’ for as long as possible. Neither fit the pair of you really.

“What would you do?” Finn asked you one day, “You know, if you could do anything.” “Hmm…” you thought out loud, while trying to balance on some forgotten piece of scrap, “I could open a salon, or make ice-cream all day, or I could fly a hot-air balloon to Paris!” You were always the one making up stories and Finn would just sit there and listen. He was definitely the quiet one. In his world of chaos and violence, he could do with a bit of imagining. “I could buy a camel!” you laughed out loud, “Go to Egypt dressed as a man and raid one of the pyramids. I’d become the richest woman alive and no one would ever even know that it was all stolen, including my fake name.”

Finn grinned, “You’d probably get away with it too…” “Or, I could steal some expensive jewels and seduce the man guarding them,” you spun around a lantern post feigning seducing it, “I’d kiss him when he’d catch me and tell him I’ll split the profit with him. I��d say to meet me in Paris at midnight, but never show up. Then, years later, after I’ve come back from Mexico…” “Mexico?” Finn called out, enjoying this story way too much. “Mexico, obviously, where I’ve been hiding?” you replied with a face like it was obvious, “After Mexico, I’d go back to find this man and tell him to follow me. He would, of course, and I’d tell him to meet me in London. Then, and this is the best bit, I go back to Paris to get the jewels and blame it on him!” Finn grabbed your hand and spun you around, both laughing, “Y/N? Ever thought of becoming a Peaky Blinder?” “That!” you joked, “If I could do anything, I’d take over the Peaky Blinders and…” “Move to Mexico,” he finished. “Move to Mexico,” you said softly, because the two of you were suddenly no longer dancing. Standing closely, noses almost touching, you were, for the first time, lost for words. “Ask me,” Finn practically whispered. You raised your eyebrows slightly in question. “Ask me, Y/N,” he repeated, “What I would do if I could do anything.”

You indulged, “What would you do, Finn?” “I’d marry you.” “But we’re only fourteen,” you blushed a little. He was completely serious however. The two of you were always laughing and playing, but his eyes were no longer sparkling with childhood joy. Something else had settled in there, “Then I’ll wait, for now.” After that one evening, the two of you became inseparable. ***

Sneaking out at night was easy, especially after the two of you just watched how Ada did it. As you got older, your games of truth or dare became more and more dangerous. Late at night, you met in dangerous places and together, you grew up at midnight. Making love under the bridge, kissing quickly in the Garrison when no saw and holding hands under the table, it was all still a game to you. But the love, that was real, and it only kept on growing. How no one found out about it was a miracle and a tragedy at the same time. You’d grown up with five older brothers and a part of you now wondered if they even acknowledged your existence. Surely, you two were not that subtle? And besides, you had the horrible habit of talking too much and had often divulged a little, but they never picked up on it. Guess they were too busy with their own lives, which was just as well, because loving a Shelby was not a preferable situation. But sneaking off to secret rendezvous was easy, concealing love was also manageable, but hiding a belly with a baby inside of it? That was going to be hard. “They are literally going to kill me, Finn,” you sobbed. Why did you even sob? You never cried before. “Don’t worry,” he put his arms around you and spoke soft and lovingly, “They’ll kill me, not you.”

“That is not fucking helpful!” “I know,” he looked down, “Sorry…” The two of you were sitting in a closed Garrison. Luckily, the pub was never truly closed for a Shelby. Here you could find some peace at least and no one there to disturb you. “A baby though, Y/N,” you could see the sparkle in his eyes, “Our little baby!” You sighed deeply, “I don’t think you understand how serious this is.” “I don’t think you understand how wonderful this is!” “Finn…” “No,” he interrupted you, which he never ever did, “We made that.We did. Like, I loved you so much and you put up with me for so long and then this happened. Can you imagine? That’s amazing, isn’t it?” You couldn’t help but smile at his awkwardness and excitement, “Someone did tell you where babies come from, right?” He smiled broadly and kissed you suddenly. “Finn?” you asked, a little unsure, “I think my mum knows I’m pregnant.” “How would she know?” “She knows these things,” you shrugged, “She had seven kids.” Finn frowned, “What do we do?” “Well, if she knows, we’ll find out soon enough.” You hadn’t even finished your sentence properly, when a loud noise came from the door of the Garrison and five big men walked in. They didn’t look pleased. “On your feet, boy!” one of them bellowed. Finn had no idea what to do, so he decided it would be best to get up.

“This him?” one of your brothers now turned to you.

You nodded solemnly, “This is indeed Finn Shelby.” Another asked, “This the one that knocked you up?”

“That’s a charming way of putting it…” you protested. “Well, how do you want us to put it?” “You could ask me if I’m alright?” you suggested, “Or: is this the boy of your dreams? Or: is this the man who will take you to Mexico? Or…” “Alright, we get the fucking idea, Y/N,” your eldest brother interrupted you, “No need to get poetic about it.” From the corner of your eye, you could see Finn had sat back down again. While you and your brothers continued arguing, he started downing whiskey. Did you blame him? Not really, what else was there for him to do but wait really.

And suddenly one of your brothers turned away from you and pointed at Finn, “Right, now I know you’re a Shelby and we know how you do things!” “Do things?” Finn genuinely didn’t understand. “You’ll not be taken our sister to some fucking doctor.” “Finn wouldn’t,” you quickly said, “He’s not like that.” Finn still didn’t understand though. “You don’t even know him,” your brother said, “Just because he fucked you…” “Oi!” Finn called out suddenly, lifting one hand to his cap. But your brothers were big and annoyed, so they picked Finn up like it was nothing and simply placed him outside the pub. If you weren’t pregnant and miserable, you could’ve died of laughter.

“Okay, listen…” you started, but they didn’t let you finish. Through the door they started shouting at Finn about taking responsibility and pretty soon you decided it was no use trying to get them to listen. So you rolled your eyes, sat back and waited for the storm to be over. And then there were more voices coming from outside the pub and you sat up to try and get a look at them. An angry voice seemed to be reprimanding Finn and a calm, low voice kept on interrupting the other. Without warning, the three oldest Shelby brothers barged in. Now, this was all you needed: more brothers in the room. There were eight now, all yelling, and slowly, you could see Finn moving back in through the door. You two exchanged glances, admitting defeat and decided to just wait.

“I don’t give a fuck who you people are…” one of your brothers was now actually screaming. “Let’s not play games, eh?” Tommy replied calmly, “You know exactly who we are.” “He will do the fucking right thing!” “And he will!” “That little rat may have thought he could just have his way with her and not carry the consequences...” “WHO THE BLOODY HELL ARE YOU CALLING A RAT…” Finn crept down next to you and leaned over to whisper in your ear, “Should we tell them?” “How?” you mouthed back, “They’re kind of busy right now, wouldn’t you think?” “Let’s wait,” Finn suggested. So, the two of you got back to watching eight grown men bicker like small children.

“This was never her idea!” “Wasn’t Finn’s either, he doesn’t even know how to spell his own name, isn’t that right, Arthur!” “She’s nineteen! She’s just a child!” “She might be your sister, but she’s a grown woman.” “Okay, why the fuck are we talking about Y/N? Heis responsible and he is going to marry her.” “I agree,” Tommy suddenly said. So, Finn decided this was the best time to try again, “Actually, if you’d all listen for a second…” “I think you’ve done enough, mate,” one of your loudest brothers interrupted quickly. “But, me and Y/N…” Then Arthur was the one to push his little brother back in his seat, “Shut up Finn and let us handle this. Full of frustration, the youngest Shelby sat back down, only to stand back up again. He picked up another bottle of whiskey and started pacing the room a little. “Stay off the whiskey, Finn!” one of his brothers scolded, “Here, eat this,” and he handed him an apple. With eyes wide, he stared at the sudden piece of fruit in his hand and exclaimed, “I’m not a fucking child anymore, John.” But his brother just winked and said, “Apparently,” and went back to arguing. So Finn walked and bit his nails and paced and pondered and decided there was nothing left to do, but eat the apple and jump in the Cut.And you couldn’t help yourself. A small giggle escaped you mouth and soon after you could no longer contain yourself and burst out laughing. “What’s the matter with you?” Finn hissed. “Don’t know…” you hiccupped, “but by the time they’ve finished I’ve already given birth probably!” And out of nowhere, all the brothers fell silent. Tommy, as always, took the word, “Right, this is how we’ve decided to do it…” “You’vedecided?” you repeated angrily. “Shut up, Y/N, you’re in enough trouble as it is,” one of your brothers bit.

But the great Thomas Shelby held up a hand and silenced the room with a gesture, “We’ve decided that the two of you are getting married. Now, you might hardly now each other, but the damage is done, eh?” “Actually…” “Finn, shut up, I’m still talking. Now, don’t worry Y/N, Finn will take good care of you. And Finn, you do the deed, you pay the consequences. The marriage is in a fortnight. Congratulations.” The room went quiet again and all eyes were on the two of you. You could now actually taste blood and realised you’d been biting your lip to keep from laughing a little too hard. Finn looked like he was either going to explode or just disappear. Almost inaudible, he muttered, “In a fortnight…” “Yes,” his brother confirmed, “Gives you a chance to get to know your bride.” “I’VE KNOWN HER FOR FOUR FUCKING YEARS, TOM”

So he did explode. “EVER SINCE SHE WAS FOURTEEN AND I WAS THIRTEEN, WE’VE BEEN TOGETHER.” “Finn, babe,” you put a hand on his arm, “Calm down.” He turned to you, his eyes still hilariously wide, “Why the fuck do they never listen? Pinch me or something… can you even see me? Am I real? Am I a ghost?” So you did as any woman would and slapped him in the face, “Stop the dramatics. You’re here.” “Ask her,” one of his brothers urged him, “Ask her properly.” Finn sighed deeply and ran a hand through his hair, “I did ask her ABOUT FOUR YEARS AGO.” You nodded wisely, “He did.” “Well, what did she say?”

“That we were too young?” ‘Too fucking right!” one of your brothers shouted out. Within seconds, eight men were once again yelling without listening to each other, and the Garrison became chaos for a second time.

“Okay, wait!” you held up both hands and much to your surprise, everyone stopped talking. Guess there really was power in being pregnant, “This is good news, right? We both want to get married! Yay?” And then they all started again! New subjects for arguments were found in the fact that you’d been sneaking out, that they let their brother be with you, where the wedding would be and who with, and there seemed to be no end to it. So, Finn put the apple in his pocket and with a sudden certainty to it, grabbed you by the hand and marched you out the door of the Garrison. There, in the filthy streets of Small Heath, he kissed you long and deep. “How about it then?” he asked. You smiled back at this wonderful boy and said, “No, let me do it. You already got to do it when we were kids.” “Okay,” he agreed at once. “Finn, if you could do anything, what would you do?” “I’d marry you in a fortnight!” he almost shouted out. And you deeply into his eyes, wondering how you’d even managed to find such a soft, sweet and still strong man, and finally said, “Will you marry me?” “Yes,” he said almost before you could finish the question. After another long, long kiss he got this sudden twinkle in his eyes and suggested, “Let’s go home.” “Home?” you laughed.   “Yeah,” he pointed to the Garrison, “They’re all busy in there, right? The house is empty…” You looked down at your bulging stomach and joked, “Damage’s already done.”

Hand in hand you walked through the streets, feeling like the king and queen of Birmingham.

“Mexico then?” a small smile was tugging at his mouth now too. You nodded, feeling more in love than ever, “Mexico.”

*** Masterlist

#finn shelby #finn shelby x reader #peaky blinders #peaky blinder imagine #peaky blinders imagine #thomas shelby #tommy shelby #harry kirton #john shelby #arthur shelby #shelby sister #peaky blinder fanfiction #small heath #finnshelby #the shelby clan #peaky blinders fanfiction #thomas shelby x reader #tommy shelby x reader #cillian murphy #peaky blinders head canon #peaky blinders fluff

[maybankiara]

TELL ME, IS IT WORTH IT?

pairing: JJ Maybank x Pope Heyward

summary: Pope proposes, JJ panics, and now he’s trying to explain why he said no (and why he shouldn’t have done it.)

w/c: 3.7k

a/n: angst with a happy ending, ignore all the typos bc this is entirely unedited (i might edit in the future)

masterlist | tag list

read on archive of our own

It’s really unfair that when someone’s life falls apart, the world itself doesn’t. JJ thinks it should. It should be raining knives, hailing bullets, volcanoes should be exploding and the ground shaking shouldn’t be just his personal experience of reality. 

But it’s not even a moderately hot day. It’s breezy, it’s perfect, and it’s one of the nicest days of the fucking whole year. 

JJ hates it. 

The Chateau has only got John B and Kiara under its roof when he barges in, teeth gripping on the cap of a beer bottle. ‘Don’t ask,’ he states, then drops in the empty space between the two on the couch. His legs find their home on the coffee table and he nearly downs the bottle. Burps. Sighs, dramatically. 

He knows they’re exchanging glances, but he chooses to ignore it. 

Kie’s consoling hand lands on his shoulder. ‘What ha—’

‘Pope asked me to marry him,’ he says, ‘and I said no. And I also said I think it’s never going to happen.’

John B should’ve made a dumb comment. Kie should’ve made a sarcastic remark. But they didn’t, and they won’t, because JJ feels the gravity of the situation weighting down his lungs. (It feels like being torn up inside out, like his heart is chewing on itself out of anger, or sadness, or betrayal. It feels like the moment when your heart skips a beat and you think this is it, this is how I die, except you don’t; except you’re stuck in that moment forever.)

JJ burps. It chips at the silence, but it doesn’t break it. Kie’s hand on his shoulder is frozen and the distance between him and John B seems like an ocean. 

‘Yeah,’ says JJ. ‘I don’t think that was what he expected.’

A sigh comes from Kie, but he doesn’t look. ‘When was this?’

‘About twenty minutes ago. I drove straight here.’

‘Drunk?’ asks John B. 

‘Does it matter? I’m here now. Safe and sound.’ He lets out a dry chuckle before he can stop himself, and shakes his head. ‘Physically, anyway.’

‘You’re not drunk,’ says Kie. It sounds a little like a scoff, so JJ looks at her, but he can’t figure out what her face is saying. Tight lips scream anger, but her eyes are soft as ever, maybe a little concerned. She glances between him and John B with one of her eyebrows slightly raised. ‘He’s a heartbroken idiot, but not drunk.’

‘Ah. Understandable. Should I—’

‘You know what being a heartbroken idiot means.’ Kie pushes herself off the couch and when JJ glances at his other friend, John B’s just as confused as he is. ‘I know a thing or two about getting your heart broken for a dumb reason. You two sort that out, and I’ll make sure Pope’s okay. Let me know when you’ve knocked some sense into him.’

Before either of the boys manage to comprehend her words, she’s out the door. The Kie-shaped void on JJ’s left side feels a little odd, so he pushes himself into that side of the couch. The beer is bitter at the back of his throat; he wishes some music would be playing. 

John B calls his name, so JJ looks at him. He’s giving him the puppy eyes, trying to get him to talk, and it’s because neither of them really know how to start. (Their affection is physical, not verbal. Kie’s the one who’s good at that. Pope is—)

‘Did you panic?’ asks John B. 

JJ shakes his head. ‘Don’t think so. Not until after I’ve said it, anyway.’

‘So what happened?’

There’s a pause, JJ feels his brow furrow, and then: ‘I don’t know.’

‘…you don’t know?’

‘No.’

‘So you panicked.’

‘No, I didn’t, it’s—’ With a sigh, JJ accepts the momentary defeat. He glances over and sees John B’s signature stare full of indecipherable intent, but nothing less than pure kindness. They’ve had their bumps, but they always came out on top. It’s the pogue way. Even if John B wears that stupid bandanna around his neck well into his married life of his late twenties. ‘I knew the answer was no.’

It’s John B’s turn to frown. ‘You’ve thought about it?’

‘No, I just knew. Like you know the ocean is salty.’

‘You know that because you’ve tasted it before,’ counters John B. ‘I doubt you’ve been proposed to before.’

‘I could’ve been!’ 

All John B offers is a long stare yet that is enough. He’s older by only a few months, but he’s also married and didn’t say no to the proposal (granted, it was him proposing to Sarah, but still) and kind of has got his life together. He’s still JJ’s dumb older brother, but he knows something JJ doesn’t. 

‘How did you know you wanted to marry Sarah?’ 

‘Are you reconsidering your answer?’

‘No, I just—’ JJ sighs again and tries to wish another bottle into appearing in his hand. Doesn’t work. Probably for the better. He just leans his head back on the couch and stares at the ceiling, connecting the dots in his mind. ‘I don’t know what I’m doing. I just want you to tell me how you knew.’

He hears shuffling, and then feels John B’s feet in his lap. (He’s not going to comment on the boat shoes. There’s been enough deflecting. He’s got to listen, because Pope is threatening to burst into the forefront of his mind any second now.)

John B gives out the deep, heavy sigh that only comes with a slight aah whenever he’s about to tell a story. ‘When we were young, she made everything come alive. Everything looked brighter and clearer, and it was like I could finally breathe with the entirety of my lungs.’

JJ closes his eyes, trying not to gag. ‘Bro. I’m not listening to that.’

‘But that’s how I knew!’ He could just hear the grouch in his friend’s voice and now he’s threading the fine line between laughing and gagging. ‘Seriously, JJ, you asked. I don’t— I don’t know what to say. I don’t think you’re taking this seriously enough.’

‘I am.’

‘No, you’re not. You’re deflecting.’

‘Big word.’

‘See?’ John B scrunches his nose, shaking his head. His thumb and index finger grip the bridge of his nose. ‘I know you’re confused. And scared. I know you panicked when Pope asked, but I don’t think you understand how horrible is the thing you’ve done.’

‘It’s not like I broke his heart,’ scoffs JJ, but the words are flat and his heart skips another beat. He doesn’t need to look at John B to knows he’s got his head in his hands. ‘C’mon, it’s Pope. He’s tougher than he looks.’

‘Yes, but he proposed, JJ. He asked to spend the rest of his life with you and you said no!’

‘I didn’t say no to that!’ JJ flings himself off the couch and now he’s pacing around the living room of the Chateau, marching circles around the coffee table. His forehead is pulsating; he’s probably having a heart attack. That’d explain a lot. ‘I said no to getting married.’

‘That’s the same thing.’

‘It isn’t.’

‘It is.’

‘It really isn’t, John B,’ he spits out. Christ, he’s getting hot. Is that his blood boiling? ‘Marriage is… It’s taxes. It’s prenups. It’s joint bank accounts, it’s added tension, it’s fucked up. Half of the marriages don’t even last.’

(Pope’s always talked about getting married. When gay marriage was legalised, before they were together, before they were out of the closet, even then he was openly delighted about it. He’s been talking about the two of them getting married for a while now, or at least hinting at it. 

He should’ve expected it. It didn’t come out of the blue. He saw the signs, just ignored them, because… because…)

‘If you’re scared marriage is going to ruin your relationship, JJ, I’ll have you know you’ve already done that yourself.’ 

This is about the point where everything just… It comes crashing down. The world does end the way JJ wanted it to. 

He feels himself growing very, very still, like when he was younger and his father raised a hand. He feels his breath halting in his throat and ears tuning out all sound, repeating John B’s words over and over until the echo became the echo of itself. He could feel the ground opening beneath him despite not moving an inch. 

When gravity drags you down to earth, your rose-tinted glasses shatter like porcelain. 

He sees Pope’s face of shock, then laughter, then embarrassment and betrayal at once, once he’s realised JJ isn’t joking. He sees him get up from his knees, hands shaking as JJ fumbles over his words, unable to find an explanation or an excuse. He feels cold sweat breaking out on his forehead, blood turning to ice in his hands. He sees his mum leaving, his dad’s hand raised; he sees people arguing and JJ wants to cover his ears. He sees himself, alone, alone, alone. 

And he sees Pope turning his back to him. Quietly. He doesn’t even argue back. Just takes the no and i’m sorry, i can’t do this, it’s never going to happen, not like this and doesn’t say a word. Just walks away. 

It’d be easier if he screamed at JJ. At least he’d know how to deal with that. 

Pope’s heartbreak is the quiet kind, the one that doesn’t ask for attention, just the opposite. Usually JJ’s there to hold his hand, to sit by his side until Pope’s ready to talk about it, or be somewhere around, far enough so that Pope deals with things himself, but close enough so that he’s there if he’s needed. He’s never been the reason for the quiet. 

Fire replaces the ice. JJ feels like the sun itself is tearing him open. 

‘Shit,’ he says. ‘Fuck.’ Then raises his eyes until he meets John B’s, blurry and barely visible. ‘I fucked up.’

He doesn’t realise he’s shaking until his knees buckle under his weight and he stumbles to find his footing. John B shoots from the couch and pulls him into a hug, wrapping his arms around him so tight JJ couldn’t have escaped if he wanted to. He didn’t. He wanted to be held, even if by a friend. 

He doesn’t sob because the sob gets caught in his throat, too, but he lets out a cough that says all the same. ‘It would’ve been easier if you yelled at me.’

‘I know.’ John B pats his back, letting JJ rest his weight unto him. ‘Pope will understand. That’s why Kie went to talk to him. As long as you realise you’re hurting everyone by being an idiot, you can make it better.’

‘I thought—’ He stops, because his words get fumbled again, and now he’s pressing his eyes into his friend’s shoulder like he’s all he’s got. ‘I don’t want to hurt anyone again.’

‘You’re not going to, okay? Just… Marriage is not all taxes, and you gotta understand that. It’s about knowing that if they get hurt, you’ll be allowed to see them. That you can get a house together, that you can look after each other if something goes wrong. That what you have is there to stay. Think of it as a promise.’

JJ snorts, but he doesn’t let go. ‘I don’t do well with people promising things to me.’

‘Then promise it to yourself,’ counters John B. The way he puts it makes it sound it’s as easy as breathing – JJ wishes he could feel the same. ‘Promise to stay with him. Promise to be around if something bad happens, but if something good happens, too. That’s what marriage is.’

‘I already promised that,’ he says. ‘His future and mine are the same.’

‘Then what’s the problem? Marriage is just making it legal. Making it formal. When what you have is honest and true, it doesn’t change anything. It just makes things better.’

JJ pulls out, feeling confident he can stand on his own two feet. He still feels a little lightheaded, but the thought of Pope possibly thinking that spending the rest of their lives together is the last thing JJ would want… That is the last thing JJ would want. Pope hurting because of him. 

JJ can’t afford to be scared anymore; living a life half-way ready to run is not living. 

He checks his phone; it must’ve chimed at some point because there’s texts from Kie, telling him where she is with Pope. His heart skips another beat, and at this point he thinks he could have enough heartbeats for a whole new person just from the ones he missed. 

He’s not dying today. He’s not dying before he gets to live the future he’s almost ripped out of his own hands. 

When he looks up at John B, he feels the hint of a weary smile on his lips. ‘I think I’ve got a promise to make.’

—

It shouldn’t be a surprise JJ finds them at the Boneyard, yet it’s still quite odd to see the scenario he’s seen a million times – Kie sitting next to the sea with her feet dipped into water as her fingers splash at the waves just about reaching her, and Pope… Pope sitting on the half-dunked log that’s been here forever, with his feet bare but not quite touching the water. His head is hung low and JJ can see the strain in his shoulders even from halfway across the beach; the cap is sitting on his lap, unused, despite the sun high above their heads. 

The sight tugs at his heart and he falters in his step, but John B’s firm hand on his back encourages him forward. JJ gives a slight nod; he’s not giving up on the courage. 

It’s Pope who notices them first and he stiffens even more; JJ sees Kie pat his knee before turning around and waving at them, then saying something to Pope. JJ wishes the wind would carry her words to him – is it encouragement or telling Pope he’s better off without someone who panics and refuses the one thing they’ve always longed for?

‘Don’t.’ John B pats him on the back. ‘I see you doing your dumb thought thing.’

JJ opens his mouth to say something, but whatever it was that he meant to say, it’s gone forever. All he can do is try and keep his shoulders from slumping and hands from forming fists; he can’t allow himself to be angry at the world, or himself. 

The sand creaks underneath his feet. He hates it in this moment, because it makes him aware of every step he’s got to take to get to Pope, and the steps drag into eternity. 

Pope locks their eyes. JJ tries figuring him out, but he’s too far, and Pope’s too guarded. 

(Not against me, Pope. Please. Not against me.)

When they get there, JJ feels like fainting, but he sets his foot firmly on the ground. He’s not escaping. 

‘Hey,’ greets Kie, and John B returns the greeting. The feuded lovers stay silent, just taking each other in. 

(JJ always wished he could paint. The lines of Pope’s face are shaped as if they were meant to withstand centuries instead of being washed away with age. He wishes he could offer to Pope more than just… himself.

He’s talked about this with Pope before, though. Feeling inferior to his boyfriend was always going to be JJ’s Achilles’ heel, yet he didn’t think it would come to this. He made another promise, ages ago – to try to see himself the way Pope sees him. The way other people see him. 

To believe in himself the way he believes in other people, for once.)

The silence is heavy, but JJ forces himself to not see it that way. Instead, he looks over to Kie, to John B, and says: ‘Can you guys give us a second?’

There’s nods and then they’re off, with nothing between the couple aside from waves crashing into the shore. Pope’s head is hung and shoulders slumped, and he’s sitting on this log with one foot pulled up and resting on it, the other hanging in the water now. JJ’s fingers ache to reach across for his, but he tells himself it’s not the time. 

‘I’m sorry,’ he says. ‘Marriage scares me. I don’t know one that worked out, aside from John B and Sarah. I was raised to be on my own. Marriage means not being alone and that scared me, until I realised that… I haven’t been alone for a while now. The pogues, you… Nobody’s going anywhere. And if marriage is just a way to promise to you that I’m not going anywhere, either, and if it means so much to you, then I say let’s do it. I got scared, but never for a second did a life without you cross my mind. It’s — That’s my nightmare, Pope. Your future and mine are the same. Where you go, I follow. That’s the way things are.’

For a long time, it was JJ trying to come to terms with loving Pope – then it was Pope coming to terms with loving JJ. They’ve always loved each other, in a way, without quite saying it. It has never been the kind of love that is shouted from the rooftops – it’s the helping hand, the whispers of i got this, or you’re not alone in this, or i wish you could see yourself the way i see you. It’s the kind of love that’s etched into the air around them, existing as a part of themselves rather than something external. They’ve grown into it, shaped their lives around it.

It’s always been the beach for them. Their first kiss when they were seventeen, their first fight, their first promise to stick together through thick and thin. Every time something happened, something that mattered, etched itself into the back of JJ’s mind like the sound of his mother’s voice, it was always accompanied by the sound of waves on the shore; by the wind howling over the bay. It was always people chatting in the distance, or some music playing from a half-working speaker. It was always them, in the midst of other people’s lives. 

Pope proposed in their flat. 

When JJ drops to his knees, he doesn’t do his dumb thought thing. He doesn’t even think about it – for once, his gut isn’t telling him to run, but stay. ‘Pope Heyward.’

‘JJ—’

‘Can you let me do this?’ asks JJ. He laughs a little, shakes his head, and tries not to think about how ridiculous this looks. ‘I know I already had a monologue, but I don’t think I got my point across.’

Pope shakes his head, too; he isn’t smiling, but his eyes aren’t as strained anymore. ‘It’s okay, you don’t have to—’

‘I want to. I want this, okay? I want you to hear it.’

He can see Pope’s Adam’s apple bob, and he can see his shoulders slump in a relaxed way. The lines around his eyes soften and his lips nearly turn upwards, just a little bit. A little twitch is enough to shoot electricity to JJ’s heart. 

‘Pope, I love you. I want to spend the rest of my life saying it to you. You’re my best friend, my boyfriend, and my fiancee, if you’ll have me after the shit I pulled today. Husband, then. Father of your children, because I know it’s what you’ve always wanted, and I want it, too. Whatever you’ll be, I’ll be by your side. It’s all I want. No matter what our status is, we’re always Pope and JJ. We’re always just us. And I really haven’t thought out what I’d say next because—’

Pope’s lips crash into JJ’s, his hands grasping at JJ’s face, and world pulls itself together again. When they part their foreheads lean against one another, and he can feel Pope’s breath on his lips, and he feels his hands burning on the small of Pope’s back, and he can breathe and breathe and breathe like his lungs have never worked properly before. 

(He understands John B now. Not like he’d ever admit it to him.)

He lets out a chuckle, and then he’s kissing Pope again – a small, chaste kiss, just to feel the softness of the touch. His fingers grip the back of Pope’s flannel and he’s laughing into the kiss. 

‘You’re an idiot,’ says Pope. ‘I should break up with you.’

‘Can’t. I’m too irresistible.’

‘Shut up. You’re cheesy. That entire speech would put John B to shame.’ 

JJ shakes his head again and then his thumb is tracing the line of Pope’s jaw, eyes transfixed by his lips. He almost lost this. He almost gave up everything out of fear after promising to never doing it again. (He’s making a vow, this time. It holds more weight.) ‘You loved that speech.’

Pope rolls his eyes, in the way that tells JJ he’s right. ‘Kie told me you were freaking out at the Chateau.’

‘I was,’ admits JJ. What’s the point of holding back the truth? ‘I was freaked out of my mind. I thought I’d ruined everything.’

‘You forget how well I know you, JJ. I was hurt, but I knew you would come back. Old you would run, but Kie came and said you’re at the Chateau, and you wouldn’t have gone there if you meant to run.’

‘I couldn’t ever run from you.’

‘You better.’

JJ rolls his eyes at the teasing tone in Pope’s voice, then pulls him in for a hug. It’s not long until Pope buries his face in JJ’s shoulder, and JJ kisses the side of his head. ‘I do want to marry you, if you’ll have me.’

There’s a pause and JJ feels Pope chuckle against his neck, shivering a little. ‘What is it that you said? My future and yours are the same? That better be in your vows, John B.’

‘Shut up.’ JJ feels himself burning, neck up this time, and tries to laugh it off. ‘I get to be cheesy once.’

‘Just save it for the wedding. I’d like to hear it again.’

JJ angles his body so there’s some space between them; he doesn’t hesitate before planting another kiss on Pope’s lips, reveling in the ease of movement. This is what coming home feels like, and if this is what future has in store for him, who is he to complain?

#outer banks #obx #mayward #jjpope #mayward fic #jjpope fic #jj maybank #pope heyward #my fic #god a part of me adores this and another part hates it #if i don't post it in the first draft version i'll never post it #obx fic

[petersasteria]

Raising You - Holland!Reader

Holland!Reader || Main || Taglist

Requested? Nah. 1,941 words TW: character deaths, swear words, nothing super bad

I was supposed to post this on Mother's Day, but it wasn't ready by then and I didn't know the direction of this story. But yeah. Here it is now. Enjoy.

* * * *

“I hate you!” You screamed. “Why do you always ruin things for me?! You’re no fun at all!” Tears were streaming down your face as you ran up the stairs to go to your room.

Tom followed you and said, “Tough luck, Y/N! I love you and whether you like it or not, I’ll always meddle in your life!”

“Go away!” You shouted, went into your room, and slammed the door. Tom furiously knocked on the door and let out a frustrated sigh when he heard you lock it.

He rubbed his face and went downstairs to cool off. He walked in the living room and saw a framed picture of both of you. He smiled at the sight and immediately went to grab the picture. “When did you grow up?” He asked himself quietly.

Things were different. His life was difficult. He no longer had parents and his brothers perished in a terrible accident. All he had left was you. He could’ve followed his dreams and took his talent to Hollywood, but life was cruel. He never got a chance to do that because his family mattered more to him than any film career.

Tom couldn’t remember a time when he had a decent break. To him, he was always working and on the go just to get by. But he knew that his parents would be proud of him for stepping up at being the best brother for you.

Tonight was just different.

He got a call from your school saying that you left prom with one of the douche-y dudes. It was just fitting that Harrison was with him, so he had some help in dealing with you.

“Haz, I’m really worried. She could be anywhere!” Tom said as he paced back and forth, clutching his phone.

“Mate, calm down. We’ll find her, alright?” Harrison said calmly. “Have you called her?”

“Yes, and she didn’t answer. I left 20 fucking voicemails, Haz! Fucking 20! Still no answer. I called her friends and they said they didn’t know where she went and obviously that’s bullshit! What if she was kidnapped? O-Or killed somewhere and she’s dead in a ditch in the middle of fucking nowhere??” Tom rambled, running a hand through his hair frustratedly.

Harrison looked at his worried best friend and only said three words, “Check your wallet.”

“What?” Tom stopped pacing to look at him. Harrison shrugged, “Check your wallet.”

“We have no time to shop online right now, Harrison.” Tom said through gritted teeth, but grabbed his wallet anyway. He opened his wallet and he still didn’t know what he was supposed to look for. As if reading his mind, Harrison added, “Check your credit card or debit card or whatever fucking card you have. Check your cash.”

Tom did what he was told and groaned in frustration, “Y/N took my credit card and she took the fake ID that I confiscated from her.”

Harrison nodded and pointed to the phone, “Call the bank and ask for your recent activity.”

Tom called the bank and asked what his recent activity was. They told him that he checked into a motel about three minutes ago and gave him the address. Tom has certainly never been there and it baffled him on how you wound up in a place like that. Tom thanked the bank and hung up.

“She’s at a motel.”

Just like that, the two best friends got in Tom’s car and drove to the motel. Tom was too nervous to drive, so Harrison drove instead. Tom was looking out his window to see where the motel was and they eventually found it. Harrison parked the car and they both got out.

They went to the person in charge and asked if they'd seen you. “She was wearing a prom dress and she’s with some guy who was probably wearing a tux.” Tom explained.

“Yeah, I know those two.”

“Where are they?” Harrison asked.

“Room 2A.” The man said.

“Okay. Can we please have your spare key for that room?” Tom asked. “It’s an emergency.”

“No, sorry.” The man replied and sipped his coffee. Harrison glanced behind the man and immediately saw the key for room 2A. He walked around the desk and grabbed the man from behind. “Tom, go!” Harrison shouted as the man tried to get out of his grip.

“What are you doing?!” Tom shrieked.

“GET THE FUCKING KEY.” Harrison nodded his head toward the key and Tom’s jaw dropped in realization. Tom quickly jumped on the desk and grabbed the key for the room. When he grabbed it, he ran outside; followed by Harrison.

“Return that key!” The man shouted.

Tom and Harrison went up the stairs and walked around until they found your room. They stood in front of the door and Tom whispered, “What now?”

“You go in there and just take her. I’ll be out here for back up.” Harrison whispered back and Tom nodded.

Tom knocked on the door and said ‘housekeeping’ in a high pitched voice. Harrison slapped his arm and mouthed “what the fuck”.

“It’s improv! I can’t just barge in like a freak. I’m an actor, Haz.” Tom defended quietly, earning an eye roll from his best mate.

“We’re busy!” A male voice said which enraged Tom.

“Alright. Now, I can barge in.” Tom said as he used the key to open the door. The chain was in the way, but he managed to break it by pushing the door open.

“Y/N!” Tom shouted.

“Tom! What are you doing here? How did you find me?!” You shrieked. Your hair was messy and your dress wasn’t as neat compared to when you left the house. The guy with you was just watching the whole scene go down.

“That doesn’t matter now. Get in the car!” He yelled.

You shook your head, “No! I’m staying here with Brad!”

“Over my dead fucking body, Y/N.” Tom said before he grabbed your wrist and dragged you outside. Brad intervened and grabbed your other hand, “Let go, man!”

Tom was stronger and he was able to pull you out of Brad’s grip and told Harrison to take you to the car and give the key back to the man downstairs. You and Harrison went to the car and Tom stayed to lecture Brad.

“Chill out, man. Nothing happened!” Brad exclaimed.

“Okay and what if something did happen, hmm? What if you got her pregnant? Can you pay for child support? Do you plan on marrying my sister in the future? Are you ready to take care of a fucking baby?! I DON’T THINK SO.” Tom said angrily.

“She’s 15 and she has a great life ahead of her! I’m not going to let some boy ruin that. If you look at her or even blink at her, I will end you, Brad.” Tom threatened before leaving.

Tom sighed and put the picture back. Harrison left when you got home and that’s when your screaming match with Tom started. He walked up to your room and knocked on the door.

“Go away!” You said.

“You know, saying that will only make me knock on the door again. Just let me in. Let’s talk this out.” Tom said softly. He waited for a few seconds and he heard you unlock the door. He smiled at himself and let himself in.

He stared at you as you lay in bed with red eyes and puffy cheeks. He went further in the room and closed the door behind him before sitting down on the foot of your bed.

"I'm sorry for what happened back there, but I was doing it for your own good. You'll thank me in the future." Tom said and you rolled your eyes.

"Don't roll your eyes at me, young lady." He gave you a pointed look. "I'm serious. I guarantee that if it happened, you'll regret giving it to someone who isn't special after all. So you're welcome, I saved your ass."

"You're not the boss of me. Don't you remember what it's like to be young?!"

"Yes, I am the boss of you and of course I remember what it was like to be young. It was five years ago when I was 19!" Tom raised his voice and stood up. He paced around your room to calm down. He didn't want to fight, but you were being stubborn.

He looked at you and put his hands on his hips. “I never got to truly explore or- or experiment with different things, alright? I was robbed of my youth because I have to step up. I’m the eldest so it’s my job to take care of you; all of you.”

“Do you know how shocking it was for me?!” Tom shrieked. “I never got to grieve properly because I had to be strong for you and Paddy and Sam and Harry. It was too much for me to handle, but I forced myself to push through because I had no choice but to move forward.”

“Sam and Harry had their youth taken away too because they had to help me. When they were your age, they worked and picked up a few side jobs just to help me pay the bills. We’re lucky that we get to keep this house because it was already paid for by mum and dad before they died.”

“I had to give up everything for all four of you and you have no idea what that’s like, Y/N!” Tom yelled. He was clearly frustrated and it dawned on you that he never released those pent up feelings and you just let him shout.

“Sam and Harry were there sometimes, but they were also too busy trying to make something of themselves. Most of the time, it was me! They were working and going to school for their future and I was at home with you and Paddy because both of you were still too young. All my friends were out partying, dating, going to university. Meanwhile, I’m at home too busy being your mum and dad and brother.” He cried out of frustration, causing you to cry too.

He sat down at the edge of your bed and wiped his tears as you stared at him., not bothering to wipe your tears. “Now three of our brothers are also gone and it’s fucked. They never got to reach the finish line of their dreams and goals.” He said quietly. Tom looked at you and gave you a tight-lipped smile, “I don’t want to fight anymore, okay? It’s just you and me now and we have to be a team. We should help each other, so before you do anything stupid ask yourself if it’ll put stress on me. If the answer is yes, then don’t do it. I don’t need more stress.”

You only nodded. He got up from your bed and said, “Good night.” Before he left your room, you walked up to him and gave him a hug, “Thank you for your sacrifices and I’m sorry for being a pain in the ass.”

He chuckled lightly and hugged back, “I’m sorry for being strict, but it’s all part of the parenting thing.”

“You’ll be a great dad.” You said softly before yawning. Tom’s heart melted when you said that. “You think so?” He asked.

“I know so.” You told him. He smiled and kissed the top of your head. It may be sad that five of your family members left both of you, but it was okay. You had each other and that’s all that matters.

* * * *

𝐇𝐎𝐋𝐋𝐀𝐍𝐃!𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓: @blueleatherbag @thatforgottenangel @turtoix @runawayolives @chewymoustachio @just-here-to-escape-from-reality @alexx-stancati @rumplebutterbaby @dummiesshort @thevelvetseries @quxxnxfhxll @angelsgrxzer @dreamy-clousds @bora-world @caitsymichelle13 @wannabemobwife

𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐄𝐑𝐀𝐋 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓: @holland-styles @trustfundparker @alinastarkrovs @felicityparkers @hufflepuffprincess24 @tommysparker @justasmisunderstoodasloki @quaksonhehe @call-me-baby-gir1 @itstaskeen @theonly1outof-a-billion @lost-in-the-stars03 @justafangirlduh @piscesparker @speedymaximoff @miraclesoflove @lexirv @blairscott @getbywithasmile @pqrkerr @lavender-writer @blackbat2020 @hoodpankow @bi-lmg @emmastarz

#tom holland #harry holland #holland!reader #tom holland x holland!reader #petersasteria

[kaznejis]

Only Fools- Marco Peña x Flynn!Reader

nialler-tpwk5 said: Can we get Marco x reader but lee and Noah are her bothers and Noah gets in to a fight with him bc they kissed

A/N: Thankyou for sending in this prompt! I wrote this in a matter of hours, so hopefully there aren’t any mistakes- sorry if there is. I really enjoyed writing this; I think the scene between Marco and Noah at the football field is definitely my favourite!

Alsooo, whilst I was writing this I received a request for a ‘making out with Marco’ head canon- so I will have something similar to the opening out in the next few hours ;) 

Feel free to send in any prompts. :)

Curling the tips of your fingers into Marco’s hair, you breathed out hot puffs of breaths against his face as you moved your lips against his passionately. Marco’s hands clung to your waist as he dragged you into his lap, running his tongue against the seam of your lips as he pushed back with the same level of fervour. 

“We can’t do this for long,” You panted as Marco traced the pliant skin beneath your loose shirt, “My family will be home soon.”

Marco just smirked up at you as his hands moved further north, “You know that never stops me.”

You huffed a laugh as you dragged your lips down the base of his throat, “Yeah well, I don’t feel like watching my brothers beat you up today.”

Marco pulled back, pulling a raised eyebrow as he stared at you, “You think I can’t take them?”

“Lee, definitely,” You both broke into giggles at that, “but Noah is multiple feet taller than you with an added sprinkle of anger issues- wouldn���t exactly be a fair fight.”

“Well, that doesn’t matter because we won’t get caught,” He grinned at you as he pecked the tip of your nose softly, “The older brother will go back to college in a week and the younger one is to wrapped up in his own drama to notice anything.”

“True,” You sighed, tracing your finger along his face- the scar at his hairline, the light freckles beneath his eyes, the stray hairs that trailed the edges of his eyebrows. He really was beautiful. Despite what your siblings could ever think, you truly loved Marco- and you believed that he loved you too with the same level of compassion. The two of you were meant for each other; the sneaking around and hiding had only proved to deepen the connection that formed between the two of you. 

Though, you could tell that Marco was beginning to grow restless of this factor to your relationship. You were too- you wanted nothing more than be able to be with Marco in public and get rid of the masses of girls that flocked towards him in school. You wanted to be able to bring him home for family dinners like Noah did with Elle and Lee with Rachel; instead of having to sneak him in and out of your bedroom window as soon as the front door opens. 

To say the least, your brothers were extremely overprotective of you. Though, Noah’s protective nature was much more intense than Lee’s- he had gone to the lengths of beating up any guy who even dared to look at you, let alone touch you. Although he had softened slightly since opening his heart up to Elle, you still had no doubt that he would hunt Marco down if you were ever caught together. The thought of the two people you loved most in the world going against each other terrified you and you never wanted to be put in that situation. You just wished your brothers would lay off and stop seeing you as the timid girl you once were. 

“Are you still with me?” Marco mumbled softly, pushing a strand of hair from out of your eyes. You just smiled sadly back at him before reluctantly climbing from upon his lap. 

“You should probably get going, they’ll all be back soon.” 

Marco climbed up from your bed after you, letting out a heavy intake of breath as he listened to what you said, “Alright- but I will forever dream of spending an entire night with you here.” And at that he laughed before giving you a sloppy kiss to the cheek and swinging his legs over your balcony ledge

“Be safe!” You hollered as you leant against the door and watched as he jumped from the tree just below your balcony. 

-

The family sat around the table in comfortable silence as everyone tucked into the food your mother had prepared as usual. Though tonight there were no best friends or girlfriends that usually frequented the seat next to your siblings present tonight- meaning that it was just family. 

“Noah,” You inquired, looking up to make eye contact with your older brother, “This is completely hypothetical...but what would you do if I had a boyfriend?”

Noah paused, his fork in the midst of digging into a mound of spaghetti, “Depends,” He brought his fork up and chewed slowly as if he were deep in thought, “If your hypothetical boyfriend were to be someone I know I would beat his ass as they are all assholes.”

“Noah!” Your mum snapped, swatting at him in an attempt to weaken his use of words.

“Sorry,” He groaned, holding up his hands, “I was about to say that if he was someone I didn’t know, maybe I would give him a chance.”

“Moral of the story, don’t date anyone from our school,” Lee laughed as he and Noah high-fived, “Why are you asking that anyway?” 

“Oh, just wondering.” You smiled in what you hoped was a reassuring way, but you didn’t miss the intrigued, tilted-head look your mother gave you. 

-

Later that night as you lay on top of your bed covers mindlessly scrolling through your social media and waiting for Marco to message you, a knock sounded at your bedroom door. 

“Can I come in?” 

“Yeah,” You called as you propped yourself up against the headboard, “Hey mum.”

“Sorry to barge in, I bought you some hot chocolate.” 

“Thanks,” You grinned as you accepted it and took an elongated sip, though you noticed the look on her face as you did so, “Alright, what do you want to ask?”

“You always know when something’s up,” She laughed and gestured for you to scoot over on the bed, “Earlier at dinner- that situation wasn’t hypothetical, was it?”

“No.” You gulped, opting to stare down at the chocolate that swirled within the mug. 

“Oh, sweetheart,” She cooed, wrapping her arms around you and bringing you in to cuddle into her side, “Why didn’t you just say? I would never get mad at you for having a boyfriend.”

“I know you wouldn’t,” You sniffled, cuddling closer into her side, “It’s Noah who would.”

“Ah,” She whispered as he tightened her grip around you slightly, “I see.” 

“Yeah.” You whispered back, finding it difficult to speak through the lump that was beginning to 

rise in your throat. 

“He’ll come around, I promise,” Your mother let out a small chuckle before continuing, “He can’t really judge your relationship status when he’s dating his brother’s best friend.”

You both dissolved into light giggles at that, the situation really was bizarre, “That’s actually true.”

“So,” She spoke slowly, nudging your side, “Who’s the lucky guy?”

“Promise you won’t tell anyone?” She nodded sincerely, “Marco.” 

“Marco…” She mumbled with furrowed brows as realisation slowly set in, “Marco! Oh, he’s a cutie.” 

You laughed fondly as you entwined your fingers together in your lap, “Yeah, I would know.”

“You love him, don’t you.” It was a statement, not a question. 

You just nodded, smiling shyly as you turned to look at the woman beside you, “I wish we didn’t have to hide.”

“Your brothers will understand eventually, I promise,” and she bundled you up all snug in her arms and kissed your forehead as she spoke. 

“I hope so, I really do.”

-

A few days later, you and Marco were once again hanging out in the confines of your bedroom- though this time the interaction was much less heated as the two of you simply sat with your legs intertwined as you studied and helped each other with homework. If someone was to walk in right now you could brush it off as two friends simply hanging out. But, once again- Noah would beat up any guy who even looked at you. Any interaction could be seen as risky. 

“Hey,” Marco spoke, reaching over and rubbing his thumb over your clothed thigh, “Help me with this?” In return you smiled and leaned over to press a slow, teasing kiss to Marco’s lips- which he quickly reciprocated as he looped his arms around you.

Of course, Noah decided to walk in at that moment. 

“Hey Y/N-” You and Marco pulled away immediately and froze in place, staring at Noah who was practically steaming with anger, “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

“Noah, wait-” Though your brother completely ignored you and stormed straight up to Marco, grabbing him by the collar and slamming his back against the wall. 

“My sister? My fucking sister? You made a mistake.”

“Noah!” You screamed, running to the side of him and grabbing the arm that clung to Marco, “Let go of him, I’m fine.” Though your pleads fell upon deaf ears.

“Out of all the people in the world you decided to play my sister?” Noah spat, getting up in Marco’s face, “You’re a fucking asshole, bro.”

“I’m not playing her,” Marco choked out, kicking at Noah’s legs and sending them both to the ground, “I love-”

“Don’t even say it.” Noah practically growled, landing a solid punch onto Marco’s face as they wrestled. Gasping at the sight of blood dripping from your boyfriend’s nose, you jumped forward and grabbed onto Noah’s shoulders- digging your nails into his skin in a way to replace the lack of strength you inhabited compared to him, “What the hell Y/N, get off me!”

“Get off of Marco then, he didn’t do anything wrong!”

“Y/N,” Your brother spoke sternly, “He was touching you.”

“Yes,” You yelled back, anger fizzling through every fibre of your being, “Because he is my boyfriend!” You dug your hands into your eyes, “I’m not a child anymore Noah, I don’t need you to protect me.” 

“Well, when you’re with boys like him maybe I do.”

“Boys like me?” Marco deadpanned, taking his hand from his steadily bleeding nose as he did so, “The hell does that mean?”

“Assholes that fuck around.”

“Flynn,” Marco spoke calmly, sitting down on the bed, “I’m sorry to say it but I love your sister, more than anything. I would never do anything to hurt her.” You smiled softly at him as he spoke, he returned it once he was done. 

“How do I know you’re telling the truth?”

“Trust me, I guess?” Marco shrugged, wincing as his nose began to sting, “Did you really have to punch me in the face though?”

“Yeah.” Noah insisted, throwing an arm over your shoulder which you attempted to shrug away, “Hurt my sister though and I will fucking kill you- we clear?”

“Sir, yes, sir!” Marco saluted as he walked over to you and looped his arms around your waist, laughing as he accidentally smeared blood onto your shirt. 

Yeah, your relationship was about to become ten times better already.

-

Would anyone be interested in being added to a tag list? If so, please send me an ask or message saying that you would like to be added! 

#Marco Peña #Marco x reader #Marco peña x reader #the kissing booth #the kissing booth 2 #marco #oneshot #fanfiction #imagine #taylor zakhar perez #jacob elordi #noah flynn #noah flynn x reader #marco x yn

[futurewriter2000]

Heartless - pt. 4

A/N: Finally finished this at 1am in the morning. I can’t wait to go to bed. All the love <3

XX

Oh, you had to love James. You really had to love James, hadn’t you? 

“JAMES!” you wanted to barge into the room but they were locked, so instead you started slamming your arm against it. “OPEN UP YOU GORMLESS WANKER!” you continued to slam as James on the other side widened his eyes at Sirius who was staring at the door, then at James. 

Sirius grinned and put down his book. “What did you do?” 

“I- uh-”

“I WILL B-B-BLOODY MURDER YOU!” you continued to scream.

“Bloody hell, mate.” Sirius laughed. “She’s seriously pissed.” 

“She’s delicate on the topic-” he stopped as he heard the door knob jiggle, widening his eyes in fear as you slammed the door open with a deadly look in your eyes, darted only to James and James only, who was backing away behind his bed. “Heeey... you look......clean.” 

Your eye twitched. “I am on my bloody period! I have back pain! AND YOU LEAVE ME WITH A FREEZING COLD WATER!?!” you bellowed through the room as Sirius only continued to look at you, wrapped in a large towel and your hair up in a bun. He hadn’t seen you like this before, not only half naked in front of him but also burning red from anger and screaming so loudly. “WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU THINK YOU ARE?! DO YOU HAVE A GOLDEN COCK OR SOMETHING TO USE THE WHOLE GODDAMN HOT WATER?!”

“I was shaving...” 

“WHAT?! A GORRILA?!” 

“Hey-” he pointed his finger at you as Sirius laughed, letting out small giggles. “I like to take time- you know I’m cold a lot of times... plus I told you I’m going to shower-”

“YOU ROTTEN SPOILED CHILD- LITTLE FUCKER-” you gripped your wand and pointed it at him as he did the same.

“You know the rules, (y/n)! No wand fighting! We promised mum. She’ll kill us if we break another wand-”

“She won’t have to kill you BECAUSE I WILL!”  you threw the wand away and started chasing him around the room with your hand tightly holding up the towel. 

The chase didn’t take long as your back started to hurt again, making you let out a small whimper and then with your hand losing the grip on the towel, you just stopped chasing him in general. 

“I’m telling dad.” you said as you made your way to the door.

“NO!” James ran after you, pulling you by the arm that held on to the towel around your naked body and pulling it with him.

“JAMES! GOD!” you tried to hide your naked body as James felt confused.

“I’ve seen you naked plenty of times when we were kid- OH!” he remembered that Sirius was standing right behind him. He wrapped  the towel around you as you grabbed it away from him.

“YOU BLOODY PILLOCK!” you slapped him on the back of the head.

“YOU’RE THE ONE STORMING INTO MY ROOM HALF NAKED!” he shouted back at you. “You know Pads-” he pointed at Sirius behind him, finding him looking at your legs. “HEY!” he snapped his fingers in front of Sirius and catching his attention. “Eyes up here, mate.” 

Sirius couldn’t help himself but back away with his hands up in defeat, looking at James, then glancing up at you with a small blush under his eyes. 

That same blush caused one to appear on your own cheeks but you tried to hide it behind the anger you were feeling as well. 

And just before James could say anything else that would put Sirius into more embarrassment, you crossed your hands over your chest and cut in. “I’m telling dad, James. He has the right to know that you’re using all the hot water-”

“UUUUHHHHHHHH!” you all heard a shout from the bathroom. “BLOODY HELL!”- it was your father taking the shower and you could never see fear spread faster in James’ eyes as it did that moment. “JAMES FLEAMONT POTTER- YOU BLOODY TWAT.” 

“I think he already knows.” you smirked, backing away from his room and giving Sirius one last glance before you disappeared into your room. 

James ran to his bed and started pulling out his things- most importantly, his cloak. “If he asks, I went for a run-”

“At 11pm?” 

“YES!” James shouted before looking at the source at the footsteps that approached and covered himself with the cloak. 

Fleamont made his appearance- not wrapped in a towel like you did but in black underwear and a shirt over. His eyes were filled with murder just as yours were before- now he knows who you get that feisty anger from. 

“Where is he?!” he roared through the room. “JAMES!” he shouted through the room. “I know you’re in here and I know you’re under a cloak. You can’t leave without getting past me.” 

“Can I leave?” Sirius asked uncomfortably, rubbing the back of his head but Fleamont didn’t budge, focusing on slight movement in the room that would give James up.

Sirius slipped out and grabbed his jacket, making his way out of the house before any yelling would start. 

He hated yelling in the house- for plenty of reasons. That was why it was best to just stay out of it. So he told Euphemia that he’s going for a short walk and be back soon. She gave him a comforting smile and nodded. 

---

He was walking along the trail, leading far into the field of nothingness. He preferred the grass touching him, hugging his shoulders and brushing along his fingertips as a tender summer breeze blew placidly against his face. 

And he smiled, throwing his head back to the day the two of you were standing together, holding together so close- the closest the two of you had since the two of you had known each other. He could still smell he coconut on your skin and the fresh shampoo from your soft hair. 

‘ “If you want to win her over- let her talk about what she loves and encourage her doing it.” he whispered in Sirius ear as he passed him by, gesturing a pencil between his fingers as he let out a laugh and left the three of you at the tree. 

Sirius looked up as the last rays of sunshine washed over your skin. Your hair was let down in wonderful waves- you put effort into your hair as much as you did into your light makeup, laying there and talking to James, observing him with adoration. 

You were stunningly graceful- always had been. “This is pretty good.” ... ‘

He didn’t even know where these thoughts and feelings for you were coming from but they seemed so pleasing to him. To think of you and smile, to see you and feel his heart flutter, to hear you and make his soul dance. Oh, he knew he was in trouble when he saw your naked body and feeling the need to tear that towel off as soon as you wrapped it back around yourself. 

He sat down on the grass and started rolling himself a cigarette, his mind on you during that whole process. When he lit it up, he laid on his back and let his eyes wander on the stars. 

‘It’s sure peaceful.’ - he thought to himself, inhaling and letting it scorch his throat before letting it out slowly. ‘You know there is something in our dynamic, me an you-’ he continued to think, imagine he was talking to you as an image of you appeared in front of his eyes. ‘- to be able to be so blunt to one another and still be there because of James and I know she hates me most of the time because of it but to see that frustrated look in her eyes; to see that nose wrinkle on its bridge and the way her cheeks rise up to her eyes, flooding with redness. The way your anger would wash over you, speak all the things nobody would- with her sharp tongue, cutting my heart every time but it feels good- being hurt by her and I don’t know why. Am I crazy to think that? Or is the way she hurts me the only hurt I want in my life. With her I know what to expect- I know she won’t hold back on words to call me but sometimes just to see her talk to me, to give me attention feels good-’

“I don’t know.” he sighed outloud, covering his eyes with his arm. “We’re so toxic for one another.”

‘But what about that night when she held you? Didn’t you feel it?’ - the voice in the back of his mind started speaking. ‘She’s not bad. It proved she’s not as heartless as she pretends to be around me. She was gentle for the first time towards me that time and it’s like- I loved it. I loved the way she held me and the way she smelled. I wanted to stay in that embrace of hers forever but I can’t think like that. She doesn’t fancy me. Plus she’s James’ sister. He would never be alright with this- not that it would ever happen.’

But the way you looked at him that night couldn’t get out of his head. He thought that maybe... maybe but you couldn’t. He was imagining this. You could never... you were just being a friend, just like James. Just because you are a girl doesn’t change anything. James probably looks at him like that all the time.

...

No, Sirius. 

“Yeah, no.” he let out a laugh, grimacing a bit then thinking of James again. “I mean... no.” he stopped thinking, smoking the entire thing and shoving it into the grass. 

He stood up and started making his way back.

----

When he entered the house, he immediately looked up at the clock that told him it was almost midnight. He closed the door gently and went to hang his jacket on the hanger but as he did that, as quiet as possible, he heard some clattering in the living room. He peered in and saw you rocking on the sofa, holding over your stomach and shaking a bit. 

“Hey.” he came close to you as you shot your head to him. “Are you alright? You’re shivering.” he put his hand on your shoulder.

“Oh, yeah. It’s just cold and I’m waiting for the water to boil for my  hot-water bottle.” you smiled. 

“Hot water-bottle?” 

“It’s for my cramps. It’s really helpful.” you continued to smile, despite the fact how much your cramps were clenching you from the inside. 

He made his way to sit next to you, pulling his sweater off him and offering it to you. “You know you’re really pale from the pain?” he offered you a gentle smile as you eyed the sweater. “Oh, come off it, (y/n). It’s just a sweater.” 

“I know- it’s just. I’m not used to it. Caring Sirius, I mean. ” you took the sweater from his hands and put it on yourself, finding the long sleeves fall off your arms and making you let out a giggle. “I can totally smack you with these.” you started flopping them around, causing him to laugh. 

“What happened to James?” 

“He’s pouting in his room.” you glanced at the stairs. “Dad told him that he’s going to work with him on the garden for mum. Some hard labor.” 

“James and hard labor?” Sirius laughed. “I’ll believe it when I see it.”

“Exactly!” you let out a laugh, letting the conversation die into the silence.

“How’s your back?” he asked and you looked at him.

“Oh, fine. I didn’t take the pills today, if that makes you happy?”

“Oh, I’m quite jolly as you can see.” 

“Like you were when James pulled the towel off me?” you eyed him and saw his cheeks sunk into a pool of roses. You let out a laugh and pushed him a bit. “I’m just teasing you.” 

“Don’t.” he rubbed the back of his neck and tried to laugh it off by looking away. Before anything else could be said, the water started boiling and Sirius jumped to his feet. “I’ll get that.”

“It’s not a doorbell, you know.”

“I know!” he shouted from the kitchen and fanning his heat from his cheeks. You can’t know. It’s just embarrassing. He looked at the water and around the kitchen. “How exactly does a hot water bottle look like?” he asked, still looking around. 

“It’s like a sock with a purple owl knitted in!” you shouted from the other room.

“What?!” he exclaimed, furrowing his eyebrows and looking around the room until he saw a sock and a purple owl knitted in. “I can’t pour this into a sock- oh!” he let out a laugh, seeing as the sock was holding a bag made of silicone. “Nevermind.” he said and grabbed the sock, hearing you laugh in the other room. 

It made him smile, hearing you laugh- especially if he was the one making you laugh. It made his heart flutter like it did before. 

He was falling in love with you. This was far from good. He has to stop- stop romanticising you. 

He came back into the living room with the sock and found you curled up in the sofa, with his sweater and your hair let down, which weren’t before, he felt water get caught in his throat. 

He licked his dry lips and smiled. “Here you go, madam.” he placed it into your lap and plopped himself down on the sofa casually. 

“What a gentleman.” you smiled, placing the sock on your uterus and then looking at him. “You should serve me more. It makes being pissed at you a little harder to manage.” 

“Don’t get used to it, Potter but you’re right. We should enjoy this moment of us being normal for once.” 

“Hmm...normal...” 

“Normal, yes.”

“Wouldn’t believe we could ever manage that- if you asked me this a month or so ago. I think I’d just laugh.” 

“Yeah... it’s kind of exhausting though.”

“Yeah. We had to rest a bit.”

“We’re getting old.”

“Speak for yourself, Black.”

“You speak for yourself- you with your back in the age range of 80.” he mocked and you laughed.

“That’s because of you.” you poked his shoulder and he looked at you confused. “You threw me on the floor, you twat.” you poked him again.

“That’s why your back hurts?” Sirius tone got a bit lower and his eyes filled with guilt- guilt you didn’t see.

“Well, let’s hope it’ll stop before school starts. I really do feel like an 80 year old woman at times.” you laughed, getting on your feet with your sock. “And this grandma has to go sleep soon. You should too.” you turned to him and found him watching you there. “You alright, Sirius?” 

He twitched, getting back from his thoughts and looking at you, getting his broad smile back on. “Yeah... yeah. Goodnight, (y/n). Sleep well.” 

“You too.” you smiled, feeling your heart flutter as he smiled. “Goodnight, Sirius.” 

.

#sirius black #sirius black imagine #sirius black x reader #james potter #james potter imagine #marauders #marauders imagine #marauders imagines #marauders fanfictions #marauders x reader

[rons-hermiones]

Come Find Me

by rons-hermiones

Summary: Unplanned, Hermione is forced to spend Christmas at the Burrow due to her grandmother falling very ill. After being ignored by Hermione for weeks, Ron is determined to show her how much she means to him. Just before he gets the chance to tell her, Bellatrix Lestrange shows up with other plans for Hermione. Can Ron get to her before it's too late? (Ron/Hermione Half-Blood Prince AU)

Rating: M for language & dark themes in later chapters.

Chapter Two

Ginny slams the door to the sixth years boys dormitories, making Ron jump.

“Have you seen her? Hermione?” He questions, sounding a little broken hearted.

“Don’t do that,” she scathes, “don’t decide now to care.”

A look of hurt washes over him and for a moment the youngest Weasley wishes she could take it back.

“I’ve always cared! Don’t act like I haven’t!” His voice is growing angry.

“Alright then Ronald,” she sounds just like Molly, it makes him shiver, “if you care so much, then where were you when Lav-Lav called Hermione a fat cow last week!”

He didn’t know about that.

“Or that Hermione practically lives in the common room!”

Okay, that one he heard about. He thought it was a lie. Ron even asked Harry, who just shrugged, but in Harry’s defense, he asked while the black haired boy had been looking over the map. So in other words, Harry probably wasn’t even listening.

“Or when Cormac McLaggan groped her after Slughorn’s this weekend! Tore her dress and all!”

That one, he definitely did not know about.

Scrunching a fist, he began making a move for the door, until Ginny blocked his path.

“Move.” He spat.

“Where are you going?” She retorted.

“To kill McLaggen!” He exclaimed seriously.

She rolled her eyes, “don’t bother, Fred and George already helped out with that.”

He shrinks back, “they’re not even at Hogwarts, how’d they know?”

She scoffs, “goes to show how little you care, huh?” Ginny said nastily.

Feeling even more awful then before, if possible, Ron clambered to sit on the edge of his bed.

“I swear Gin, I didn’t know about that. If I did, I would’ve,” he began angrily

Sighing, she stepped over and sat next to him, “I know Ron. I know you care, I shouldn’t have said that.”

“It’s alright, I suppose I deserved it. I didn’t even know about that stuff, so you’re right, says a lot about me.”

Guilt was beginning to seep its way into the back of Ginny’s head. Tears stung her eyes.

“I have to tell you something.” her voice shook.

Ron looked over to her worriedly, Ginny rarely cried.

“I lied to you, that day in the hallway with Dean. I lied.” She confessed.

“What?” He feels like a dementors trying to suck his soul.

“Hermione and Viktor Krum... they never snogged.” She clarified, though Ron could sense she already knew what was coming.

He stood up, clearly ready to yell, before she stopped him, “he kissed her, but Hermione didn’t want him to.” She began.

“Did he...” Ron asked, fists clenching.

“No,” she assured quickly, “nothing like that, he went in and pecked her and she was taken off guard. When he tried again she told him she couldn’t. That there was someone else.”

“Someone else.” He repeats a surge of hope growing inside him, “me?” He dares to question. Feeling a little full of himself for it after.

This was Viktor ruddy Krum they were talking about here. Anyone who picks him, Ron Weasley, over the Bulgarian seeker must be mental.

And just like that, Ginny’s annoyed with him again, “yes Ron, you. Blokes are daft but you give a whole new meaning to the word.”

“Did she tell you that? That it was me?” He knows he sounds pathetic.

“She didn’t have to,” Ginny starts quickly, like it meant nothing, even though to her brother, it was everything, “that’s beside the point. Look, I’m telling you I’m sorry, what I did was wrong, but what you did, what you’re doing, isn’t right either.” She throws his way.

He bows his head, “yeah, your right, I didn’t mean those things about you, you know, getting around and whatnot. It’s just you’re my little sister Gin, it’s kinda hard to see you grow up, makes me feel like I have to do the same.”

Ginny offers a tight lipped smile, “thanks Ron, really, but I wasn’t talking about that.” Her voice is a little softer, “you know what I was talking about.”

He groans. Of course he knew what she really met. Part of him wanted to apologize to his little sister, but another part was avoiding the inevitable.

“I’m not saying you’re not entitled to date anyone, but we both know how wrong it is. You did it just hurt Hermione and you liked hurting her!” Her voice was growing louder.

He stood a little taller, “Oi Ginny! Don’t you ever tell me something like that again! Ever!”

She stepped closer, “it’s true isn’t it? Admit it!” The girl demanded.

“At first it felt good, I felt wanted!” He yelled before he could help himself, a look of disgust coming over his sisters face “I’m not proud of it,” Ron’s tone dropped, “I swear I only felt it for a second. Only after that snog after the match, now, now I feel like the biggest arse on the planet. I swear Ginny, I didn’t know about all that stuff, about the common room, about Lavender, McLaggen.” He barely got out.

“I know you didn’t Ron,” her tone matches his, “but that’s the problem isn’t it? Even if you didn’t feel anything like that for Hermione, she’s still supposed to be your best mate.” Ginny reminds.

He flops back onto the bed. He knows he fucked up. He known it from the moment he saw Hermione’s face that night of the Slytherin match. It was just a lot to take in because someone finally called him out on it rather than dancing around it like Harry and his roommates had been.

“I’ve gotta break up with Lavender.” He states.

Ginny let’s out a humorless laugh.

“I’ve been trying for weeks Ginny, I swear, she makes it bloody hard, can never get a word in with her.” Ron groans.

“You better. If you don’t Fred and George will take the mickey out of you all holiday.” She decides to go easy on him.

At this statement Ron feels a chill run up his spine. He thinks if he’s the center of Lavender taunts for the next few weeks he’ll have to jump off his broom.

They’re silent for a few moment, each reflecting on what just transpired.

Ron speaks first, “I know it’s wrong,” he starts with a gulp, “but I do feel that you know. I do think I lo,”

He’s cut off when the door swings open, causing the pair of siblings to jump to their feet.

“Neville!” Ginny exclaims, she forgot all about Harry’s plan for them.

He keeps over, grasping his knees, “give me a minute.” He gasps.

The red head rolls her eyes, “just tell me where to go. I can’t have you passing out, now can I?”

The brunette smiles gratefully, stepping aside for Ginny to go.

“Where is she?” She asks halfway to the door.

They glance at Ron’s awaiting eyes. The youngest Weasley leans over to Neville, beckoning him to whisper in her ear.

Once he does, she steps back, “I know my way, make sure he doesn’t go anywhere.” She tells lowly, a little worried whether if Neville will be able to contain her brother.

If either boy says anything, she doesn’t hear. Ginny’s running on the path to the potions stock closet, ducking behind a nearby tapestry she knows leads to that particular corridor.

Just as she approaches her destination, she notes the door cracked a little as voices float from it.

“I’ll just stay here. I can’t go.” She hears Hermione’s voice admit sadly.

“Can’t go where?” She asks before she can help herself, barging into the room.

The sight of Ginny makes Hermione sink further into Harry as the tears come again. It’s silly really, but part of her hoped it was Ron. The fact that he didn’t come solidifies how much has changed.

The curly haired witch doesn’t realize, but silently Harry passes over the piece of parchment as means to fill Ginny in.

She reads the letter with wide eyes. Once she takes in the last line, she can infer what Hermione meant when she first came in.

Ginny slouched to the other side of Hermione, “I’m so sorry about your grandma, you’re pretty close yeah?” She chooses to leave out the fact she knew this information from Ron.

Sadly, Hermione nods as she turns to rest her head on Ginny’s shoulder, welcoming the embrace.

After a few more minutes of crying, the brunette girls breathing slows and Ginny takes it as her opportunity to speak, “you can still come to the Burrow of course.”

“Ginny,” it’s Harry who scolds her.

Hermione lifts her head from the girls shoulder to look her in the eyes, expecting to see mischief behind them. Instead, she seems rather genuine.

“Harry,” she mocks his tone, “I am not letting Hermione stay at Hogwarts for holiday, alright?” The ginger turns back to her friend, “Hermione it seems as if everyone’s forgotten,” her eyes flick to Harry, “but the Burrow is just as much my house as it is Ron’s and you’re just as much my friend as you are his.”

Probably even more so as of late.

She sucks in a jittery breath and shakes her head, “I can’t impose really, they wouldn’t even be expecting me.” Hermione tries, not particularly wanting to bring him into it.

“I never told Mum you weren’t coming. It didn’t feel like my place, Merlin knows Ron doesn’t write home, so as far as they know you’re coming. They’re more excited to see you than Phlegm anyway.”

She manages a small chuckle at this before asking what everyone else is surely thinking, “but what about Ron?” She’s avoided speaking his name for weeks, it feels foreign on her tongue.

“I’ll talk to Ron.” They’re both surprised that it’s Harry who says it.

“I reckon he’ll be happy about it anyway. Maybe you two can finally talk.” Ginny comments what she hopes is casually. After her talk with her brother today, she knows not all hope is lost.

At this Hermione let’s out a small scoff in between hiccups.

“Just trust me Hermione,” The ginger says, “anyway, I don’t know about you, but I don’t fancy being caught and accused of stealing something in here.” She says standing.

Holding out her hands, Hermione takes them as she helps her up, Harry doing the same with a hand firmly pressed to her back.

They all begin to leave, ushering Hermione as they go. Ginny still holds one of her hands, Harry’s resting between her shoulders.

Then she stops.

“Is,” she can’t even get it out, “is Lavender going to be there?”

Ginny looks horrified and makes a noise of disgust, “Merlin no! I’d rather spend Christmas with the Malfoy’s!” She exclaims making gagging noises.

This illicits a small laugh from both Harry and Hermione.

They all fall into pace again, “you can use Hedwig to owl your parents Hermione, I’ll talk to Ron and find you after. Common room, yeah?” He asks as they near the portrait hole.

She nods solemnly as they part ways.

...

“Is she alright? Is everything okay?” Ron jumps from where he was sitting on his bed as Harry swings the door open.

He looks startled, the chosen one didn’t even have a moment to breathe before being bombarded with questions.

“I reckon I have the same questions mate.” Neville calls from where he's reading on his bed.

“She’s not hurt I guess, not psychically.” Harry shrugs lamely.

Neville places his book down. Ron looks as if he’s about to explode.

“It’s her grandma she’s ill, Hermione’s parents have sent word they’re going to France to make sure she’s comfortable, you know if...” he starts sadly.

Neville’s chest tightens for Hermione. He can’t imagine if that was his Gran.

Ron’s heart also breaks a little. He knows how close the two of them are.

“They also told her they didn’t want her to come, to see her like that, so some arrangements have been made.” He begins, bracing himself for what’s to come.

“Arrangements?” Ron asks eagerly.

Harry nods, “yeah, she’s uh, well she’s going to spend holiday at the Burrow.” He says it quickly.

Neville let’s his book roll to the ground with a thud, as he scrambles from his bed. “I’m just gonna go check on Hermione.” He squeaks, hurrying from the room.

“Ron.” Harry turns to face him tentatively.

“Brilliant.” Ron says.

Harry’s shocked to find no sarcasm in his tone. Instead, he’s wearing a lopsided grin.

“What?” The Boy-Who-Lived asks confused.

Ron stands happily, “well it’s brilliant! We’re sure to get all sorted if we’re gonna be in the same house for weeks. No library to run to. No lessons to go to. And bonus, the stairs at the Burrow won’t move if I try to get into her room.”

“I’m sorry, what?” Harry says again, taking in this information

“I don’t really get what’s so confusing mate.”

Harry looks like he wants to say something but doesn’t know how. Ron encourages him with a wave of his hand.

“It’s just that, look, I don’t wanna be the one to say it, but somebodies got to! I don’t think that, well, the thing is,” he doesn’t even know what he’s saying. He’s been doing his best to not interfere with whatever Ron does for weeks, “Lavender!” He settles for out of breath.

Surprisingly, Ron let’s out a chuckle at his friends word vomit, “you’re a little late to that one mate. I’m gonna chuck Lavender before we leave.”

“We leave tomorrow.” Harry reminds.

He cringes, he forgot about that, “right, well, I’ve been trying to do it for weeks, honest, but Ginny’s really made me realize what an arse I’ve been.” Ron drops his voice down, tone turning serious, “why didn’t you tell me about McLaggen?” His tones hurt.

Harry sighs, fiddling uncomfortably with the end of his shirt, “she didn’t want anyone to know. Neville was the one who found her and Ginny, Luna, and I had already been looking.” He informed.

“Come on Harry, I had a right, didn’t I?” He needed the reassurance. Part of him was unsure whether he still had the right to know.

Harry shrugs, “McLaggen’s been dealt with, you should be more worried about Lavender. Hermione’s taken to sleeping in the common room, she’s been awful to her.”

Doing his best not get angry, he responds, “I asked you if that were true two weeks ago, you shrugged.”

The chosen one looks apologetic, “I’m sorry Ron, I don’t remember that, honest.”

Weasley nods, he knew Harry wasn’t paying attention when he asked, and Ron never bothered bringing it up again, “what has Lavender been saying?”

This is the second time someone’s brought it to his attention. Not to mention, before he was running away from the blonde, she’d often mercilessly tease Hermione, which he’d always got upset at her for.

“I don’t think it’s my place to say. I’ve heard a few of my own though, in the halls, in class, in the common room.” Potter says.

“Can you at least tell me what you’ve heard?” He hopes he doesn’t sound as desperate as he feels.

“Hermione Stranger, that’s a favorite,” Ron cringes, he knows that’s a taunt she got before she came to Hogwarts, “it’s usually about how she looks, how she’s weird, or about,” he stops.

“About what?” He probes.

“About how you don’t want her. How you never would, Lavender tells her she’s too ugly, too strange.”

“Rubbish!” He exclaims.

“I know,” Harry soothes, “but it doesn’t really look that way, does it?” He points out.

Falling onto his bed in frustration for the umpteenth time that day, Ron groans.

“Ginny lied, did you know?” He started, “about Krum.”

Harry has witnessed the fight. He knew just how ugly the words and accusations were.

“What?” He asked shocked, he knew that row was what started this whole Lavender business. He wasn’t that daft.

“Yeah, turns out that git tried to kiss her at the ball, she told him there was someone else though.”

“Oh, wow.” Harry says, sounding winded. He knew as well as Ron that this changes everything.

“Right tosser aren’t I? Mione had some self control at the ripe age fourteen,” it felt nice to let the nickname slip after so long, “I’m gonna be seventeen soon and I can’t even break up with my,” the word girlfriend felt wrong at the moment, “with Lavender.”

“Ron,” Harry begins, a little unsure of what he’s gonna say, until like before, Neville intrudes on the moment.

“How is she?” Ron asks sitting up.

“She’s upset Ginny took her to Pomfrey. She’ll have a sleeping draught and a bed to sleep in. It’ll be a nice change from the couch,” he catches himself, “uh I mean, her couch bed, yeah, you know how she uh, talks about her bed, like a couch. Just an expression you know.”

“He knows Neville.” Harry interjects.

“Oh.”

Ron still feels horrible about it.

“Alright.” Is all Ron says, getting up to wipe his trousers and heading for the door.

“Where are you going?” Neville questions as Seamus and Dean saunter in.

“To break up with Lavender.” He states like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

“Someone finally realized they broke Granger’s heart.” Seamus comments.

Now that Ron’s mentioned it, it’s like the floodgates have opened.

Dean elbows him in the ribs, making the irish wizard yelp.

“No can do Ron, it’ll have to wait till tomorrow. It’s curfew.” Dean points out.

“I’m a prefect.” He retorts.

Dean shakes his head again, as much as he wanted Ron to break it off, he couldn’t right now, it wasn’t possible. “I don’t think the staircase cares that you’re a prefect.” He claps him on the shoulder with a sympathetic smile.

“Bloody effing stairs.” Ron curses. He’s also pissed he couldn’t go to the common room and at least apologize to Hermione about her grandma.

“Wait so he does care about something!” Seamus exclaims with mock excitement.

“Shut up Seamus.” Ron bites.

“Well everyone in here knows I’m right? You’ve been walking around for weeks caring less if dear old Hermione was miserable. And there’s no way you didn’t know! Even the Creevey’s picked up on it.” He bellowed.

Ron was getting annoyed, everyone kept insisting he could care less about Hermione when that was far from the truth.

He walked over to Seamus before Dean stood in between them, “let’s just all go to bed yeah?”

The ginger and the shorter brunette stared each other down for a few moments before both admitted defeat.

“Goodnight.” Neville called out as the lights dimmed, enveloping the room into black.

“Night.” Harry called, shoveling under his blankets to cast a ‘lumos’ and watch the map.

Ron and Dean chorused a goodnight, the latter sounding more cheery than the former.

“Goodnight boys,” he paused, “goodnight Hermione.” He said with a drawl.

Ron threw his sheets back before taking a deep breath and calming himself down. By tomorrow he would be on the right path to fix this.

By tomorrow him and Lavender would be done.

#romione #romione fanfic #ron x hermione #hermione granger #ron weasley #6th year #ron and hermione #rons hermiones come find me

[ayeitsjustmee]

Accident’s Happen- E.C

Ethan x Reader

So it was around 4 weeks ago when you and Ethan decided to spend the night together. Not that either of you were fit to make any decisions whatsoever, but that didn’t stop you at all. You were both under the influence of alcohol and had witnessed quite a lot of things the week running up to it.

You’ve known Ethan for years, literally since school and you’ve been there to support him all throughout his success with shameless and did your best to help him with schooling too which he adored you for. It was hard juggling both, but he saw that as the norm. You knew he could do well at school though so made sure he would prove your hypothesis there. You two were inseparable in the beginning but got used to spending time apart once he started filming for shameless and that has always been fine for the two of you because once you’re reunited, it’s like nobody ever left.

You were due to host a family BBQ at your house for your mother’s birthday and the Cutkosky clan were due to attend. You hadn’t really seen much of Ethan these past 2 weeks and any time you’d seen him since you two shagged has just been slightly awkward. Maybe that’s because you’re wanting to talk about what happened but not wanting to be the one to start the conversation. I don’t know. But either way, it’s been awkward and you’re anxious about tonight. Anxious about seeing his face. The face that you always miss, more than you’ve missed anyone else’s before.

You put on a dainty little button-up white dress and curl the ends of your hair, putting half of it up, out of your face. You add a thin eyeliner flick to your look and put on your mascara. Once this is done you place your Dr Marten’s sandals on with your dress and head downstairs. Greeting people as you pass, trying to find your way to your dad, knowing that his face will calm the nerves in your body. He has always been able to soothe your anxiety and talk you into feeling okay and calm. You’ve been feeling nauseous most of the week because of this. Finally, you find him at the barbecue and smile, heading over to him. You embrace him in a big hug. He’s been working since 8pm last night, on a night shift.

“Hey, you okay?” He asks as you embrace him. You just nod and he sighs empathetically before putting his hand on your shoulder and saying “It’s gonna be okay Y/N, everyone is family.” And you nod in agreement, taking a deep breath.

Just then, you hear a familiar female voice. The voice of Mrs Cutkosky greeting you and your dad. You turn around and smile in her direction enthusiastically and your dad does the same.

“Y/N, so nice to see you again! How are you?” She says sweetly holding her arms open for a hug which you gladly accept. “I’ve been good, just busy at work taking every possible shift I can get.” You giggle awkwardly as you reply to her question and she grins widely. Just behind her you see Ethan standing there with an unknown look on his face. Maybe he’s wondering why you’ve made yourself so unavailable.

“Aw bless, you’re a hard working Y/N! You deserve the best of the best.” She says and removes a piece of hair from your face. She’s always so friendly to you and you love her for that.

“Aw thank you so much, only time will tell ay.” You respond and she smirks before heading to talk to your dad, leaving you with Ethan, who has his hands in his pockets awkwardly smiling. You smirk and roll your eyes playfully moving closer towards him.

“Pull yourself together boy, are you trying to make it obvious to our families that something happened between us.” You say with a smirk as you remove his hands from his pocket and straighten up his jacket, causing his cheeky to flush red.

“You don’t beat around the bush, do you Y/N. Be quiet jeez, there could be paparazzi here godddd.” He laughs and hits your shoulder playfully before looking around and pretending to hide.

You just roll your eyes and laugh at his response before saying “Cocky much?” And raising and eyebrow.

“I don’t think I need to answer that question for you. Cause like, you would know wouldn’t you.” He bites his lip holding in a smirk. Your mouth gapes open in response and his composure bursts. The laugher comes and you just cannot contain your laughter either.

“God sake Ethan, go and say happy birthday to my mother. I can’t deal with you right now.” You respond an check smirks before turning around and heading towards your mum. Obeying orders for once. As he reaches your mum, he turns around and winks at you.

Why does he do this to you? Dead.

****

You spend most of the evening talking to all of your family, playing board games with the kids and attempting to whoop their asses on just dance. That’s until you get the urge to throw up and have to run to the toilet to let it out. Ugh, you hate being sick. Despise it, fear it, don’t like it at all, nah-ah. Nope. Then, you decide to go outside and sit yourself on the swing’s whilst sipping at your water to gargle the sicky taste away.

It gets you thinking about Ethan. He’s very confusing, that is the first time he has even mentioned the night you spent together since it happened and he made it seem like it wasn’t a big deal at all. So if he can joke about it why can’t he talk about it?

“Hey little one.” Speak of the devil. He’s always called you little one, it’s just his nickname for you because you’re smaller than him and it makes him feel better. You look over to him and smile. He sits on the swing next to you and there’s about a minute of silence before he speaks.

“Are you okay? What happened inside?” He asks nervously, licking his lips.

“Oh I had to throw up. My anxiety has taken it’s toll on me.” You reply nervously and his eyebrows raise.

“Oh no, that’s not good. Why’s it been bad?” He asks innocently, just curious.

“Well, you make me anxious.” You state and he seems surprised.

“Me? Why? You don’t need to be anxious around me at all Y/N. We are Ethan and Y/N, unstoppable and nothing scares us.” He says with a smile holding your hand. You look down at your hands and sigh. He can be so casual and it’s so agravating when you feel so many emotions right now.

“Because, you won’t talk about it.” You reply and look to the ground.

“Oh.” He says and you stay quiet without looking to him.

“I don’t know what to say Y/N. I thought you’d regretted it, so I felt ashamed and embarrassed. Then you’ve made yourself work so much these last 2 weeks that I thought you were avoiding me. It’s okay, I get it, mistakes happen.” He blurts out. Word vomit much.

Just then, you have the urge again and run to the downstairs toilet, Ethan hot on his feet behind you. He walks into the toilet with you and grabs your hair out of the way before you end up with sick on it. He takes a band off your wrist and ties your hair up in a messy bun before sitting on the floor next to you.

“Thank you, E.” You say as you wipe your mouth with tissue. He nods, and again, bites his lip nervously. Then, his eyebrows raise and he sighs before standing up and pacing. Then he stops and looks at you.

“I’m going somewhere, I’ll be back real soon. Please don’t move.” He orders and you nod. Seconds later he leaves and you put the toilet lid down, get a towel and lean your head on it before quickly nodding off.

***

“Y/N.” Ethan’s voice hums, nudging you awake. You rub your eyes and yawn.

“Here.” He says and hands you a bag. He’d been to the shops. You look inside the bad and your eyes go huge. Your mouth gapes open and you stare at Ethan who shifts uncomfortably with his hands back in his pockets. Your heart aches a bit and your stomach drops. No one emotional can describe the way you feel at the realisation of what he thinks is going on. Especially when it makes so much sense. Your eyes start to well up.

“Are you fucking insane?!” You yell and stand up, shoving the bag into his arms.

You go to leave the bathroom but he places his hand against the door, stopping it from swinging open. He then locks it and barges you out of the way. You start to cry and try to shove him out of the way by hitting his arms and chest. He grabs your wrists gently, but firm enough to stop you, trying his best not to hurt you and locates you to sit on the toilet seat. You bring your legs up to your chest and bury your face into your knees and start to sob.

“Please Y/N, you need to know.” He begs, desperation in his tone and tears were threatening to fall from his eyes.

“Why me?” You cry and Ethan just rubs your back sympathetically. You stand up, go to the bag and open up the box getting out a digital pregnancy test. You go back to the toilet, lift the lid up and sit down. Peeing on the stick, right in front of Ethan, carelessly. He sits in the on the floor, head in hands and waits with you for the results.

“You know you’re not the only potential father right?” You say and he nods.

You don’t look, you pee on the stick, wipe and place the stick on the side upside down and set an alarm. You wash you hands and as you go to dry them, you knock the pregnancy test on the floor, making Ethan look up from his hands. As you pick it up you see the results, already clear as day, in just a minute. Pregnant. 4 weeks. You then drop it next to Ethan.

“Fuck.” He mumbles and ruffles his hair in worry. You feel numb but hazy. As if you were going to pass out any minute now.

“I’m going to bed.” You state coldly and begin walking through the crowded house and head towards the stairs. Barging past relatives, no idea what they’re saying to you. Ethan follows after cleaning up everything in the bathroom and bringing it with him discreetly and explaining to people that you’re going to sleep because of you being poorly.

“Go away Ethan, I don’t need to be babied.” You say, being a total bitch. He rolls his eyes.

“Get over yourself Y/N and accept care when you fucking need it. Stop acting like you don’t give a shit!” He yells and you jump back, shocked at his anger. But then you smile, proud that he defended himself since you were in fact being a bitch.

You just sigh and take off your dress, causing Ethan to become awkward seeing you in just your thong and no bra. You get an oversized t-shirt out and get in bed.

“You coming or not?” You ask and he quickly strips into only his boxers and joins you in bed. He goes to speak about it and you shush him, snuggling into him.

“We can talk about it tomorrow. I’m not ready right now.” You say and he nods, kissing your forehead.

—————

A/N- hey! So I plan on making this a series, but I’m not too sure yet. Let me know what you guys think I should do?? I know it’s long, I do apologise but there was a lot I needed to have in if just in case I don’t make it a series. Anyway, enjoy! Also, feel free to send me imagine requests etc!

UPDATEEEE

I have now turned this into a fan fiction on Wattpad, but I’m not going to make it one on here. So I’ll put the link below if anyone is interested in a full story, and if not you’ve got your one shot on here still!❤️

Wattpad

#ethan cutkosky #ethan #cutkosky #ekat #ethan cutkosky imagine #ethan cutkosky x reader #carl gallagher x reader #carl gallagher imagine #carl #gallagher #shameless imagine #shameless #ethan x reader #carl x reader #gallaghers #shameless usa #lip gallagher #ian gallagher #fiona gallagher #debbie gallagher #carl gallagher smut #ethan cutkosky smut #ek smut #ek imagine #ek x reader

[extremelyblackandwhite]

i wanna know what love is - 16

Pairing: rockstar! sebastian stan x writer!reader

Warnings: sexual themes

A/N: i’m sorry it’s quite small, i’m a bit overwhealmed with uni work but i still wanted to deliver something for you guys to thank you for all your incredible support and feedback. i’m so happy and proud to be writing for all of you xx 💕💕

Last Chapter // Next Chapter

Y/N had heard it from her friends before. They called it the “moment”. She remembered her friend Sam describing that before you kiss someone there’s that moment where time and sound stops, all you can hear is each others breathing, all you could feel were your lovers hands on yours. She’d never felt it before, in all honesty she had gotten quite upset when it didn’t happen with her ex-boyfriend but with Sebastian, with Sebastian it was different. She wasn’t embarrassed to have her gaze locked with his.

   - You’re so beautiful. - he pushed a lock of her hair that had escaped from her headband behind her ear. - I don’t think I’ve ever met someone like you.

  - You shouldn’t be saying that, you have someone. - her hands were rested upon his arm. 

  - You shouldn’t have said you wanted to kiss me then. - he smirked at her, his thumb caressing her cheek. - I’m afraid this is all your fault.

  - I’m in my twenties, I get to make mistakes. - Sebastian didn’t believe Y/N could ever do a mistake, at least on purpose. She was one of those girls who knew where she was heading and had a plan for each year of her lifetime. Noticing him lost within his thoughts, she leaned in, locking her lips with his. He felt like he was dreaming again but this was real life, he wasn’t dreaming, no matter how much of a dream it felt like. She was the first to lean away, a light flush settling in her cheeks. 

His mouth was slightly opened as he stared at her and her slightly agape plumped mouth. His hands went to her waist, pushing her towards him as he kissed her much more messily than before. Right now neither of them were thinking straight, in their mind they were the only people in the world which was a rather ridiculous statement as they were standing in the top of a very packed hotel. But it didn’t matter, for Sebastian the only girl in the world right now was Y/N. 

  - I should tell you something. - Sebastian said as they parted to breathe. Her eyes followed his as he found the strength to tell her what he really wanted to tell her. - Y/N, I ...

 - Great, all over my new dress. - Mary barged into the room coming face to face with a very close Y/N and Sebastian who pushed apart as Fred and the others came into the room. Noticing the brewing fight if she left Y/N and Sebastian in the same room as Melody, she took action. - Come help me, Y/N. 

 - Alright. - she took her hand away from Sebastian’s who felt like his whole world had slipped away. Mary grabbed her and took her into the bathroom, locking the door behind them just in case. - What happened to your dress?

 - What are you two doing? - she berated her, walking to the sink and wetting one of the towels before starting to blot her dress. - I can’t believe that I leave you alone and I come back and you’re almost about to have sex. 

 - You’re being overdramatic, Mary. - Y/N sat on the edge of the bath tube, looking like a child whose mother just yelled at her. Mary sighed, sitting next to her, still trying to remove the stain of her dress. 

 - He has a girlfriend, Y/N. What are you doing? I thought you were the rational one. - Mary wanted to scream at both of them for sneaking around like a couple of teenagers but there wasn’t much she could do, specially when she looked so guilty which meant she probably knew what she had been doing. 

 - I know it’s wrong but I ... - Y/N sighed. - You know when I had my first kiss I was crying over everyone ignoring me in university and I felt nothing. Nothing. No fire, no spark, nothing. I loved him and I still but felt nothing, it was almost like kissing a wall. With Sebastian it just feels write. When I kiss him, I wanna kiss him more.

 - That’s because he’s dating someone, Y/N. It’s adrenaline. 

 - I’ve kissed him before, before her and it still felt the same. Besides, I don’t need you to tell me what to do, I already know its wrong. 

 - Well ... - Mary walked to one of the drawers, grabbing something from it and returning to where Y/N was. She showed her a pregnancy test, a positive pregnancy test. - I guess we’re both screwed, uh. 

 - You’re pregnant? - she looked straight at the spill in her dress, somewhat guessing of what it was. - Congratulations. Does Fred know?

 - No. He’s all about rebranding the band when Sebastian leaves, he doesn’t have time for a kid. Heck, I don’t even have time for a baby, can’t even crack a egg much less care for a kid. 

 - You’re right, your problem is bigger than mine. - Mary giggled at her, making Y/N giggle too. - I’m sure you’re gonna be a great mum. 

 - And I’m sure you’re gonna fuck him by the end of the week. 

 - No, I don’t think I will. - Y/N got up from her sitting spot, only wanting to go to her room and take a nice very long nap. - I’m a virgin.

 - What? - Mary followed her out of the bathroom and into her bedroom, where she laid down. She had a surprised look on her face as she sat next to her, poking her on her arm. - You’re not a virgin.

 - Well, I think I’d know if I wasn’t. - Y/N smirked at her. - Don’t worry, I didn’t tell Sebastian.

 - And you’re not gonna tell Sebastian, if he’s already having wet dreams about you imagine if you told him you’re a virgin.

 - Excuse me? - she furrowed her eyebrows at the statement. She wondered if the lack of sleep was making her hear things or if it was her mind playing tricks on her. Yet again Mary was a filterless woman and would barely contain herself when it came to secrets. - How do you even know that?

 - Caught him in the pool taking a nap, heard your name, saw a hard-on. It’s pretty self-explanatory, Y/N. 

#sebastian stan #sebastian stan x reader #sebastian stan/reader #sebastian stan imagine #sebastian stan fanfic #seb stan #bucky imagine #bucky fanfic

[kalypsichor]

embraceable you [ringo starr x reader]

summary: Ringo kisses you, soft and sweet, taking his time exploring your mouth. Your hand comes up to rake through his fluffy hair and it’s innocent, really, until you drag your nails slightly over the nape of his neck and he shudders—and before you can react, Ringo’s got you underneath him.

prompt: Hi! Can I request a ringo smut where reader and ringo are at Ringo’s childhood home visiting his family and they sleep in Ringo’s old room and they share his tiny bed lol and he’s all like “it’s crazy to have the girl I’ve always dreamed of as a boy in my childhood room, in my bed” lol and they try to keep it quiet as they have slow passionate sex 💕💕💕😭 warnings: 2.5k words of sweet, sweet love makin’, so much foreplay, S E X, ringo being hung af (don’t lie you know it’s true)

masterlist

so... this got out of hand. dear anon, your request made me feel things. to my lovely beta @spaceyantique , thanks for helping with the birds and the bees.  here’s this fic’s song inspo (Embraceable You). Ringo’s stepdad was the one to introduce him to Vaughan’s music and a few decades later, she would cover the Beatles’ songs! ugggh that’s just too cute

Ringo’s room is a bit like him. Small, unassuming, and filled with the distinctive warmth of loving and being loved. Grammar and maths books line the bookshelves, remnants of his years of home tutoring. On the lowest shelf, some biscuit tins and sticks—you smile to yourself at these, which Ringo had told you were his very first drums.

It’s cozy. It must have been, you muse, since he spent so much of his childhood ill and at home. You feel a twinge of sadness at the thought of Ringo at seven years old, sitting in his room while all the other boys went to school and played about in the streets.

Tucked into the corner is an old turntable atop a shelf stuffed full of vinyls; your fingertips trail across them and choose one at random. Sarah Vaughan’s sweet murmur fills the room and you close your eyes, letting the music fill your chest. It gently pulls at you—well, who are you to refuse?—and soon you find yourself swaying to the tempo.

There’s a large area that’s been cleared in front of the turntable, no doubt for when Ringo’s mum, Elsie, passed onto him a love of dance. For a brief moment, it’s your space and you lose yourself to the crooning melodies. When you open your eyes again, Ringo is leaned against the doorframe, toothbrush in hand forgotten and something funny twinkling in his gaze. He doesn’t speak, just stands there, watching you.

“What?”

He shakes his head and smiles. “Nothing.” Then, after a pause, “You look like you belong here.”

You suddenly, desperately want to kiss him. But he’s sure to be minty, so you cross the room instead and, leaning in, wipe away the bit of toothpaste making its way down the corner of his mouth.

“Go finish brushing,” you say, and he turns with a smile and trots off to the bathroom.

You’re still examining his vinyls when Ringo returns and flicks off the light. He’s changed into a pair of flannel bottoms with nothing on top. Before you can admire his shirtlessness, though, he flops onto the bed, wiggles, and is completely still.

Smirking, you kneel beside Ringo’s prone form, propping your elbows on the edge of the mattress.

“Ringo...”

No reply.

“Ringooooo?”

An exaggerated snore. He buries his face even deeper into the pillow.

You sigh loudly, then move to get up. “I suppose I’ll put my shirt back on then...”

Ringo’s eyes shoot open and dart to your very much clothed chest. Quick as a whip, he grabs you by the wrists and pulls you onto the bed.  

“False advertisement!” he yells over your shrieks of laughter. For a moment, it’s elbows and feet and muffled curses before suddenly—WHUMP! Ringo’s rolled right off the edge of the very small bed with you in tow. When you land smack onto him, he makes a half-strangled noise.

“Jesus, my dick—”

Naturally, that’s when Elsie opens the door.

“Everything alright in here?”

You freeze. Ringo freezes. You realize two things at once: one, that Ringo is still very shirtless, and two, that you’re straddling him on the ground.

Oh, and a third thing—

“It’s not what it looks like,” you and Ringo blurt out.

Elsie purses her lips, holding in what looks like a giggle. “You’ll be needing a bigger bed, is what it looks like.” Then, ignoring the mortified look on your face, “Goodnight!”

She leaves. You collapse onto Ringo and thump your forehead against his chest (which is very firm, but now is not the time).

“Stupid, stupid, stupid.” (These are each accentuated with an additional head thump against said firm chest.)

“Well, don’t take it out on me.”

“Of all the things for your mum to walk in on!”

“She’s seen worse—”

“Do you hear yourself, Ritchie?” You groan and slump forward, pressed completely to Ringo’s front. “The minute she has to think of worse things... then it’s all over!”

Ringo clears his throat underneath you.

“... is this a bad time to tell you I’m getting kind of turned on?”

This makes you sit back up in a flash. He does look a little flushed and he’s got some of that messy sex hair already.

“Huh. Thought that was a drumstick digging into my leg.”

The beginnings of a retort (probably that was funny the first time) don’t make it past Ringo’s lips because you take that exact moment to lean back on your heels—and right onto his hard-on.

Ringo’s hands fly to your waist with a whispered “fuck.”

“Not on your floor, I won’t.” You wriggle out of his grasp and back onto the bed, and before you can even say come hither Ringo’s scrambled on after you. The bed is narrow and his bounce almost sends you off the other edge again. Ringo grabs you just in time. After a moment, you two burst into giggles, facing each other on your sides and holding on for dear life.

“Fun sleepover,” you whisper when the laughing dies down. There’s still a grin on your face.

“Dunno what kind of sleepovers you were having as a kid,” he replies, moving in to capture your mouth with his, “but mine were never like this.”

Ringo kisses you, soft and sweet, taking his time exploring your mouth. Your hand comes up to rake through his fluffy hair and it’s innocent, really, until you drag your nails slightly over the nape of his neck and he shudders—and before you can react, Ringo’s got you underneath him.

“I see how it is,” he mutters, and when Ringo kisses you this time it’s with a fervent heat. Gasping, you arch into the hand that’s slipped under your shirt.

“Normally I’d love the pretty sounds you make-” he nips at your collarbone and draws another one from your lips—“but you’re gonna have to keep quiet this time. Can you do that for me?”

“Yeah, I- oh- I don’t want Elsie barging in again.”

Ringo draws away for a moment, frowning. “Can you not mention my mum when we’re having sex?”

You giggle and pull him back to your lips. “Let’s get to the sex bit first, then.”

A calloused hand trails down your chest, rings nipping shivers of chill across your skin that are quickly soothed by gentle fingers. By the time Ringo reaches your underwear, you’re already slick with arousal. He finds the damp spot and runs his middle finger over it, feather-light. The friction of the fabric against your folds toes the lines between too rough and not enough and, really, he’s just being

“-such a tease,” you gasp, squirming under his touch.

He huffs and the action tickles your ear. “How am I supposed to give you what you want if you don’t tell me, baby?”

“Ritchie...” you whine. God, how he loves the way his name sounds from your lips. It’s enough to bring Ringo to his knees—but for now, he acquiesces to your plea and slips two thick fingers into your cunt.

On their own, your hips raise to meet his thrust and the angle sinks his digits in just a little deeper, setting alight a dull buzz in your core. Then he curls them upwards and finds the familiar sweet spot and the buzz becomes arcs of electricity that pulse slow, steady waves of heat through your body. The feeling laps from your navel to your fingers, hardening your nipples to peaks before retreating to your core and then sweeping through again with each thrust.

“You ready, love?”

Nodding, you reach down and stroke the hard length that’s been jutting against your thigh. Ringo groans into your shoulder, hips jerking forward in your grip.

“Are you?” you tease.

“Didn’t know this was a competition.”

“It’s not.” You thumb over his tip and he hisses. “But whoever finishes first loses!”

“Very funny,” he deadpans and leans in to kiss you again, biting down gently on your lower lip. That shuts you up. Without pulling away, Ringo manages to shuck his trousers off—which is pretty impressive considering that he’s still knuckle-deep in your cunt with the other hand. He helps you wriggle out of your panties and you whine as he pulls out to do so. Finally, the two of you are naked. A year ago, you would have blushed at how Ringo gazes at your form under his. By now, you’re both as comfortable with each other like this as you’d be fully clothed and fighting over what to see at the movies. The thought makes you smile—and then groan, thumping your head against the pillow.

“Ugh, god damn it!”

Ringo furrows his eyebrows, concerned. “What- what? Did you come already?”

“No, you idiot.” You let go of his dick, much to his chagrin, and drag your hand down your face exasperatedly. “We forgot to bring condoms!”

Ringo looks at you for a moment and then turns, almost falling off the bed again as he reaches for something. There’s the sound of a zipper, some fumbling, and when Ringo scrambles back between your legs he’s triumphantly brandishing a familiar square of foil.

Despite the steady ache of arousal between your legs, you let out a disbelieving chuckle.

“... did you think you were gonna get laid at your parents' house?”

“Is that not what’s about to happen?”

You roll your eyes and snatch it from his fingers. “You’re a dirty, dirty boy, Mr. Starkey.”

“Jesus, don’t call me that.” His breath catches for a moment as you roll the condom onto his cock and then continues, “That’s my dad. You gonna bring my whole family into this?”

“And the father, the son, and the holy spirit, amen.”

“You’re lucky I love you,” he grumbles, but a sappy grin makes its way onto Ringo’s face nonetheless. Giggling, you wrap your fingers around his length and guide it forward. Just the feeling of his blunt tip pressing against your entrance is enough to make your walls clench in anticipation.

He’s about to enter you when he just… stops. Looks at you. Swoops in, unexpectedly, and this kiss is nothing more than a brush of the lips, a lingering touch, but when he pulls away you’re unspeakably dizzy.

“What… what was that for?”

“I just can’t believe you’re my girl. In my bed. I never thought I’d see it.”

“Oh, Ritchie—”

His name trails off into a gasp as he sinks into you, stretching you inch by inch until he’s buried to the hilt. There’s no other way to describe it except that you feel full. The two of you stay like that for a while, just soaking in the closeness. Ringo brings a hand to your cheek and smooths away some flyaway hair.

Then he pulls out so, so slowly you almost cry, the drag of his cock inside you setting fire to your nerves. That familiar ache starts building in your core. When he’s almost all the way out, he sinks back in again and sets an almost painfully slow pace.

The otherwise quiet room fills with your whimpers as Ringo fucks you into the bed. You have half a mind to comment on his rhythmic skills, something he’s rolled his eyes at a thousand times before—but then he wraps one of your legs around his waist and his next thrust hits you there and the only thing that spills from your lips is his name.

“Fuck,” Ringo groans through his teeth. Your cunt is so tight and warm around him. He can feel himself spiraling towards release, every breathy moan of yours edging him closer. “You’re so- so beautiful.”

And you are, with your hair wreathed around your face, eyelashes fluttering against your cheek, lips pink and parted around the pretty noises you’re making. You can’t help thinking the same thing. Even in the dim lighting of the bedroom, Ringo’s eyes are a liquid blue that send different kinds of shivers down your spine. The pressure below your stomach coils tighter and tighter with every thrust of his cock against your sensitive spot.

“Look who’s talking,” you gasp out. “Ritchie, ‘m close-”

Your breasts are bouncing from the force of him moving in and out of you. Ringo palms one, rolls your hardened peak between his fingers, and drags his hand down to your clit. Two rough fingers circle around the sensitive nub and he snaps his hips forward, cock burying deeper than before, and then you’re coming. It’s long and drawn out and you feel it move through your body in waves. Ringo follows you over the edge soon after, hips stuttering at the feeling of your walls clenching around him.

When Ringo pulls out you sigh at the empty feeling.

“You’re gonna have to carry me home tomorrow.”

“Think I can manage that.” Ringo smiles adoringly at you beneath him. He presses a kiss to your nose and swings his legs off the side of the bed. “Be back in a mo’,” he says, slipping off the condom. He stands and stretches and you let your eyes wander over his naked form. When you whistle appreciatively—the only thing small about this boy is his stature—Ringo winks at you before turning and trotting off to the bathroom.

You don’t even get the chance to half doze off when he runs back into the room, eyes wide and panicky as he shuts the door behind him.

“What the hell happened?” you ask as Ringo practically dives under the covers with you. He’s breathing hard and it takes him a second to respond.

“... Elsie was still up.” Before you know it you’re falling into a fit of giggles that shakes your entire body against his. Ringo looks at you, unimpressed. “‘S not funny, you know!”

“I’m s- I’m sorry, Ringo, really.” Your attempt at sobering up is ruined with a particularly hard snicker. “But I’m sure she’s seen worse.”

He snorts and wraps an arm around you, pulling you so that your head is nestled into the curve of his shoulder. You place a hand on his chest and, for a while, you just feel the rise and fall of his chest beneath your hand. It’s not long before your breath matches Ringo’s, deep and slow. Your favorite rhythm. When he speaks, his voice is already mellowed with the onset of sleep, vowels slipping clumsily into slurred consonants, chest rumbling like a purring cat.

“’m glad you’re here.”

His heart beats under your hand. Ringo’s own little drum solo, you think with a smile. “Me too.”

“No, but like-” Ringo shifts on the pillow and you crane your neck to look at him. “I still can’t believe it. That you’re here with me. But at the same time, I don’t have to be here to feel at home when I’m with you. You’re… a different kind of home.”

Something inside you swells like a balloon and you feel as though you could float to the ceiling, maybe even out the window and up, up, up to the stars. You want to say so much—that’s cheesy, and you make me feel like flying, and I want to stay like this forever, can we just lay here until we die? But what comes out is

“I love you.”

And he knows exactly what you mean.

“Love you more,” he says. You’d argue about it, because I love you more, but you’re already floating, floating, floating into sleep in his embrace.

#ringo starr x reader #ringo starr fanfic #ringo starr x reader smut #the beatles x reader #beatles x reader smut #ringo starr #kalwrites #fluff #sexy times #HOLY SHIT IT'S SO LONG #kinda proud of it doe #ringo is my love my life my everything

[glitterbootsharry]

chapter four.

taglist

Harry jerked awake at the sound of Pink Floyd booming through his apartment. His arm was half-asleep due to Amelia laying on it after last night’s activities. Her curly brown hair stretches across his sheets and pillow as she soundly purrs in her sleep. He hadn’t meant for her to sleep over, but after letting his frustrations fly, Amelia was in no shape to leave.

Harry groaned as he slipped out from under Amelia. He rolled his bare shoulders and popped his neck, hoping the stiffness left him. He pulled his black briefs on and threw on his white float shirt he wore the day before. Opening the door, the drums of the band hit him with an abruptness as of the closed door was holding the water back from a sinking ship. He wipes sleep away from his red eyes before closing his bedroom door behind him.

“Daphne?” Harry’s voice cracks, hoarse under the spell of sleep when he walks into an empty room with only him filling it. The tea kettle whistles startling him when Daphne opens his bedroom door. “It’s quite loud.”

“What?” Daphne yells, cupping her ear as she points to the ceiling speakers, “can’t hear you.”

“TURN THE FUCKING SONG OFF DAPHNE. IT’S TOO LOUD,” Harry screams as Daphne lowers the volume causing Harry to become self-aware of how loud he was. “Sorry.”

“Should be. After hearing you all night, I figured I’d return the favor,” Daphne pours the hot water into her tea cup before she struts back to her room to get ready for the day.

“Wait, you were listening?” Harry’s face furrows as his face becomes hot. How dare she listen to him?

“Couldn’t help it. Wanted to see if you were a good shag as you said you are,” Daphne calls back, laughing. “Smashed it ‘arry!”

“Harry?” Amelia pulls the sheet around her body tighter as she stands in the doorway. “Is everything alright?”

“Fantastic,” Harry smiles when turning to his date. “it’s bloody fantastic.” His head was spinning with a million thoughts on why Daphne would do such a thing and how he could repay her with such niceties.

☕︎︎

Saturday night called for hangouts, rather Eliza came over and Harry’s friends did too. Daphne had seen the chemistry between her friend and Harry’s shaggy haired friend named Mitch. It only took a couple of drinks before they would sneak behind closed doors.

“Where’s Mitch?” Harry asks, sipping on a mixed drink. “I swore he was just here.”

“Dunno,” Daphne’s brown eyes sparkle with mischief as she rocks on her heels. “Cat’s got me tongue.”

“That’s a first.”

Harry dodges another decorative pillow, laughing. “Liza and him... we’re making bedroom eyes, and I being the good friend that I am sent them on their merry way in hopes of them building a lasting relationship for years to come.”

“Mhm, and you did this from the kindness of your heart?”

“Of course. I’m not an animal,” Daphne laughs, leaning into Harry’s shoulder. Her head was spinning and her body felt like lead. She swore she saw Harry lick his lips when she leaned in, but that must have been her imagination. “Where’s what her face? Didn’t scare her off, did I?”

Daphne thinks back to her first interaction with Amelia.

“He’s got massive back acne. Terrible. Tell him every day to go get checked out and he won’t. And he’s got this smell to him that lingers and he says he’s got it under control, but you can’t cover up the rotten egg smell if I do say so myself. Anyways where did you say you worked at?” Daphne smiled sweetly as she leaned over the island counter trying to keep the awkward silence to a minimum as Harry finished getting ready.

“I-I didn’t? Um, I work at a law firm in Sussex. Known Harry for a few months now, and he...” Daphne was nodding as Amelia explained her relationship with Harry. They met just last year at a Christmas party and had been talking ever since. “When he said he had gotten a mate to go halves on, I didn’t expect a...”

“Girl? Woman? Female?”

“Yes...” Amelia blushes.

“Which is why you threw your heel at me when I barged in asking if you all wanted tea. I get it,” Daphne rubbed the sore spot that the stiletto had hit her. “Don’t be jealous. I’m not into Harry.”

“He said you just broke up with your boyfriend of two years. I know a guy...”

“No thanks, I think I’ll stick to warding off Harry’s massive ego for right now.”

“Yeah...” Amelia was short with her. Daphne half believed the lie she told the girl standing in front of her. Of course, she was into Harry, but she was into him like that. That would preposterous. 

“Also Harry was a thing for middle aged men porn.”

☕︎︎

“You most definitely ran her off,” Harry laughed as he raked his fingers through his hair. He was quite confused when Amelia asked about his back acne and porn obsession when walking her down to her car. “She ran so far that I’m seeing her again tomorrow.”

“Oh,” was all Daphne could say. “After they leave, want to watch a movie?”

Harry thinks it over for a moment before asking, “Are we in a rom com mood or horror?”

“No rom com’s. I don’t want to cry.”

“Horror it is. Are you going to sleep in my room, again?” Harry cocks a brow as he side eyes his roommate. His smirk is growing as Daphne rolls her eyes.

“If I so like. I hate sleeping alone after watching scary movies. Gives me the heebie geebies,” Daphne’s eyes grow wide as she takes a sip of her drink. “‘S a problem?”

Harry runs the nape of his neck. Of Daphne sleeps in his room that would mean he would have two girls in his bed in less than twenty four hours. Thank God Amelia left. “Not at all. As long as you don’t hog the covers like last time.”

Mitch and Eliza finally emerged from their private party and left together. Soon after, the numbers dwindled down to just the flatmates as they curled up against one another watching The Exorcist in the dark. Daphne was wrapped up in her queen size blanket as she curled her arms around Harry’s, her head leaning on his shoulder. It wasn’t until the end credits rolled that either of them moved.

Daphne straightened herself up and watched as Harry yawned, stretching, and got up to go to his bedroom. He had changed into his boxers when he sighed and called for Daphne. “Come on, you big baby.”

Daphne quickly walked into Harry’s room and lunged for the bed. Her heart was racing from the slightest crack in the floorboards. “I forgot my blanket.”

Harry sighs, throwing the covers off him, and leaves to grab the blue fuzzy blanket. He walks into the kitchen, draping the enormous blanket over his shoulders, to make Daphne a cup of tea. He waits for the kettle to whistle all the while hearing for Daphne to call out to him.

“Harry? Is that you?” Daphne’s voice sounds worried, as if the characters in the movie were real and coming to get them.

“Bringing you some tea, darling,” He puts two lumps of sugar with a splash of milk in the dark liquid, like she likes before headed to the bedroom.

“You look like an idiot,” Daphne sits up, thanking God above that Harry left the nightstand lamp on. The shadows of night would loom over her and prey on her soul.

“I quite like this blanket. It fits me,” Harry hands Daphne the white cup. “Don’t know if I want to give it back.”

“It’s made for a queen, which you are not,” Daphne sips the drink, the hot liquid running down her throat soothes her anxiety and she relieves herself of being tense.

“Then I exceed the capacity.”

“Not bloody likely,” Daphne smiles as Harry spreads the blanket across Daphne’s body. He climbs into bed, shifting his weight as he gets comfortable before slipping his body under the clean sheets.

“You know,” Harry says trying to get Daphne’s mind from running with the make believe movie. “I never asked where you’re from.”

“Manchester.” Daphne eyes the coat on the doorknob. Is that really a coat or...something else?

“What was it like?” Harry takes Daphne’s dee hand and holds it in his, his thumb running circles on her skin.

“Mum and dad always worked so it was just me and my sister, Josie, for a while. She was great. You would have loved her.” Daphne prolongs her sip, even though the hot tea is burning her mouth. The one conversation beside talking about the movie that she wants to avoid is talking about her sister.

“Is she as chatty as you?” Harry smiles. Daphne’s hair falls in her face when she sighs looking down into her lap. Tears were brimming over her eyes- sniffling, she tries everything to not weep in front of Harry, but the memories are fresh, too raw, to not feel something.

“She was...until she died,” Tears stain her face as she silently sobs. Harry shifts closer to her. He forces Daphne to set down the mug, not caring anything about a bloody saucer on the wood. They both slid down into the bed and Harry holds Daphne until she drifts off into sleep, still clutching Harry’s hand.

####

taglist: @starboyhaz

#harry styles #harry styles au #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fic #harry styles imagine #harry 1d #harry styles 1d #1dff #harry styles ofc #to be so lonely

[calumcest]

i took a walk with my fame down memory lane (i never did find my way back) - chapter two

[ao3]

here we are...look at me posting on a regular schedule who ever said i was chaotic! 

@tirednotflirting i will not stop thanking you on every single chapter get ready to get incredibly bored of hearing me thank you and say how nice it is to have you on the doc because i’m saying it twice for every chapter once here and once on ao3 which actually has just reminded me to put the ao3 link on this chapter see it’s actually super useful. ao3 link inserted i love you i adore you and i cannot thank you enough for the amount of bullshit you put up with from me both generally and regarding this fic especially 

me posting this fic is just please enjoy my downwards spiral (and listen to britpop)

Predictably, Noel doesn’t piss himself. He also doesn’t aim a punch at Calum when he finds out about the bet, though, which is his way of saying hope you’re alright. Instead, he just cuffs Liam upside the head, calls all of them pricks, and announces he’s going to bed. Liam rolls his eyes and calls him a boring cunt, which earns him another clip around the ear, but not two minutes after Noel and Bonehead have filed out of the room, Liam’s yawning and saying that he might turn in too. Calum, not wanting to be left in the living room on his own during a comedown, follows him out, listening to Liam mutter something about Tony and firing him because he’s almost as much of a boring cunt as Noel all the way up to their room.

Liam crashes almost as soon as they get in, passing out fully-clothed on his bed, and, as Calum’s trying to carefully pick his way through the debris littering the floor from his bed to the ensuite to brush his teeth, he trips over something that makes him stub his toe against the wardrobe and swear under his breath. He winces, gripping his toe as he looks for the offending object on the floor to give it an angry kick, and finds-

The magazine. 

The magazine. The one he’d nicked from the dental surgery, the one Liam had nearly got in a fight over, all because of one tiny, glossy picture of Michael Clifford. He hasn’t looked at it since that day, too sober and too busy being yelled at every single minute of the day by Noel for playing too rough, or playing too clean, or playing at all. He hasn’t wanted to, either, hasn’t wanted to be confronted with the evidence that Michael’s carried on living without him, that he’s not that same seventeen year old boy that Calum had left behind in Sydney Airport half a decade ago. 

That’s not to say he’s forgotten about it, though. Far from it - even in his pretty-much-permanently inebriated state, the little picture of Michael, stubble and all, has been playing around in the background of most of his thoughts. It’s easier to ignore when he’s with the others, when Noel’s snapping at him or screaming at Liam, when Bonehead’s rolling his eyes and passing him another joint, when Tony’s muttering about how Noel expects far too much of him, when Mark’s chivvying all of them to get up and get in the fucking studio, don’t they know they’re paying two thousand quid a day for this shit? It’s easier to focus on snapping at Noel, on stepping back from the brothers and leaving them to it, on taking a long toke from the joint, on ignoring Tony while whole-heartedly agreeing with him, on rolling his eyes as he shuffles into the live room and picks up his bass. He doesn’t have to think too hard, then, doesn’t have to let his thoughts stray from the here and now back to being seventeen and sun-kissed and in love. 

Now, though, on his own, teetering on the brink of a comedown but still pleasantly drunk, Liam passed out and snoring gently on the bed a few feet away, Calum’s got nothing tying him down. There’s nothing for him to ground himself in, no stern, suspiciously-Noel-sounding voice in his mind telling him to stay fucking focused, or he’ll get a clip round the ear. 

So, before he’s even really thought about it, Calum leans down and picks the magazine up, flipping straight to the page with the little picture of Michael on. 

Even though he’s prepared this time, even though he knows he’s going to see Michael, older and broader and taller, his stomach still starts its best impersonation of a fucking Olympics tryout when his eyes find Michael at the bottom of the page. Christ. It’s like looking at someone Calum had seen every day for years at a train station, or maybe in a dream; he’s instantly recognisable but doesn’t quite match up to the mental image Calum’s got of him, lips a little plumper and eyes a little darker than Calum had expected. He looks like a mixture of someone so fucking familiar to Calum - the way he’s got his hands tucked in his pockets and his head tilted back a little - and someone Calum’s never met before, with the way his eyes are dark and almost hungry, the way his lashes are lowered slightly, the way he’s holding himself with such an air of confidence. 

Calum sits down on the edge of his bed, disgusting taste in his mouth forgotten as he flips back to the first page of the article and starts to read. Mike, the singer calls him. Mike Clifford. It’s fucking ridiculous. Michael had always hated being called Mike, would always use his last vestiges of energy to lift his head from the toilet and protest weakly whenever Calum called him Mikey. The only time Calum had ever actually got away with calling him Mikey was when he was stroking his hair and Michael was crying into his chest, drunk and stoned and fucking miserable about Calum moving to the UK. 

Mike’s our secret weapon, the singer (Damon, as Calum’s reminded) says, with an ‘air of confidence’, apparently. Calum briefly wonders what he means by that as his eyes flit to the next paragraph, mind lagging a few seconds behind. What kind of a war does he think they’re fighting? 

Of course we’re a British band, Damon comments later on. We sing about British life, British experiences. Mike’s not penning songs about kangaroos and shrimps on barbies, is he? And anyway, he can outdrink the lot of us, which is what really matters. Are these really the best questions NME can come up with? Calum can’t help the way his lips twitch at that. That, at least, sounds like Michael. 

It was serendipity, I think, Damon ‘muses’ a few paragraphs later, according to the journalist. We were looking for a second guitarist, and Mike had just moved over. He was living with Graham - he knew him through a friend from Sydney - and when Graham mentioned that he thought his band might need a second guitarist, Mike mentioned he could play. 

It never came up in conversation before? the journalist asks, and Damon apparently ‘smiles wryly’. 

That’s Mike for you, he allegedly says, with a shrug, and Calum feels a strange, hollow tug at his heart. Yeah. That is Michael. Anyway, he came along to a practice session and gelled perfectly with the rest of us. In fact, he brought some new ideas, a breath of fresh air that I think we needed. You know, the rest of us are four lads from the south who all grew up in similar circumstances and listened to similar music. I think we needed the different perspective. 

That’s all Damon says about Michael. It leaves a sort of sour taste in Calum’s mouth - although, in fairness, that might just be the aftertaste of vomit - because this ‘Mike’ doesn’t sound like Michael, doesn’t feel like Calum’s- well. Whatever Michael ever was to him. 

They’d never actually spoken about it. There had never been a conversation, an are you my boyfriend now, then, or what? They’d just both known - I’m yours, and you’re mine, and that’s all that matters. It had made it easier, Calum thinks, for him to justify it to himself when he got caught up in his new life, when Liam’s bright blue eyes started swimming in front of Michael’s sea-green ones, when harsh cackles were dubbed over soft laughter, when loud and brash northern accents started taking up more of his thoughts than gentle Australian twangs. We weren’t actually together, he’d told himself, every time he saw a letter in the post and his stomach twisted with guilt. You don’t owe him anything. 

In fairness, it hadn’t just been him. Michael’s letters had stopped coming once a week, started coming once a fortnight, and then once a month. But it was Calum’s responses that got ever shorter, from pages and pages to a few half-hearted sentences, because Liam would often barge in halfway through and demand he comes down to the Boardwalk with him right fucking now, and it got harder and harder to justify to himself why he was giving up spending time with one of his best mates to write letters to a boy whose middle name he’d already started to forget. And it was Calum who had seen one last letter from Michael, tossed it on his desk to read later, and then forgotten about it until it was too late and his mum had already thrown it out. He’d barely cared, at the time, because Liam had crashed into his room, Calum’s mum tutting loudly at him from downstairs, and announced that he’d joined a band and they were the best band in the fucking world, and Calum should fucking join, and when Noel got back from tour he’d definitely join too, and they’d be the fucking second coming of the Beatles. 

The guy staring at him from the picture, older and more confident, doesn’t seem like the same guy who’d sent Calum all those letters, telling him I miss you. I’m saving up to fly over to the UK. We’ll be together again, in a year or two. Don’t forget about me. It feels like there are two of him - Calum’s version, Michael, the boy who’d blink at Calum through dark, inky lashes and press soft kisses along his jawline, and this Blur version, Mike, the guy who stares back at Calum almost defiantly, like he’s daring him to keep looking. 

Calum’s not sure whether it’s the drink or the drugs or whether it really is Michael, five years older and having grown into himself and built up a life without Calum, that’s making his stomach twist and turn and his heart sink like this. Or maybe it’s the guilt, all the love and regrets that Calum’s pushed down over the years and paved over with bricks of Liam and Noel and music, that’s stopping him from being able to tear his gaze away from the little Michael on the page, looking like he knows Calum’s eyes are glued to him. 

Calum shifts, and in the near-silence of the room he hears something crinkle in his back pocket, and he frowns, lifting his hips up and fishing a messily-folded piece of paper out. He unfolds it, wondering whether he’s left a receipt or something in there, and finds two scrawled lines of text. 

Noel’s lyrics. 

It was serendipity, I think, the singer had said in the article, and Calum finds himself thinking the same thing as he stares down at the mostly-empty sheet of paper. Maybe this is supposed to mean something, he thinks. Probably just that his jeans are in desperate need of a wash.

There’s a guitar propped up next to Liam’s bed, one he’s been messing around on in what he says is boredom but Calum knows is an attempt to write something that Noel will throw a kind word or two at, and Calum’s grabbing it and setting it on his lap before he’s even really thought about it. He’s not a songwriter, never has been - he’s always wondered how the fuck Noel can retreat into a back room and come out half an hour later with a song like Supersonic - but right now, lyrics on one thigh, picture of Michael on the other, the words and the notes feel like they’re bursting to get out of his mind and down on paper. 

Not for the first time, Calum’s glad Liam’s a deep sleeper, so he doesn’t have to lock himself in the too-big, too-empty living room to write. There’s something comforting about Liam’s presence, something that reminds Calum that he’s not alone, his deep breathing the thin line that ties Calum’s old life to his new life. Calum breathes along with him for a moment, a little drunkenly, like he’s trying to let as much of Liam as possible seep into his veins, maybe hoping he can absorb Liam’s don’t-give-a-fuck attitude and brash courage enough to get the words out without buckling under their weight.

There’s a pen on his bedside table, and he reaches over for it, uncaps it, holds it in his teeth, and starts to strum, humming along to the melody he’s had in his head since reading Noel’s lyrics. It only takes him a few minutes to find the right chord sequence, shifting into a key he knows Liam’ll be able to sing, because Calum knows he won’t be able to sing this himself. It needs a layer of removal, something that Calum can place between himself and the song and look at without having to look any further. 

There we were now here we are All this confusion nothing’s the same to me There we were now here we are All this confusion nothing’s the same to me 

I can’t tell you the way I feel Because the way I feel is oh so new to me I can’t sell you the way I feel Because the way I feel is oh so new to me What I heard is not what I hear I can see the signs but they’re not very clear What I heard is not what I hear I can see the signs but they’re not very clear

So I can’t tell you the way I feel Because the way I feel is oh so new to me I can’t sell you the way I feel Because the way I feel is oh so new to me

This is confusion, am I confusing you? This is confusion, am I confusing you? This is confusion, we don’t want to feel you This is confusion, we don’t want to feel you

The words almost seem to write themselves, ink on the page before Calum’s inebriated mind has even had time to think. Noel’s words slot in flawlessly as a chorus, the perfect contrast to Calum’s muddled, drunken musings, and it only takes about twenty minutes before the whole song’s done, every chord written, every word penned. And, to Calum’s surprise, it sounds really fucking good. 

He sits back, fingers stilling on the strings, and stares down at the sheet of paper. The words look hasty, rushed, a little crooked, and Noel’s going to have questions about the shakiness of the letters, but that’s a problem for a later Calum. 

He reads over it again while he’s still drunk enough to allow himself to, knowing he’ll hate it in the morning, and then puts the pen down to the paper again to write a title. 

Confusion. No, that doesn’t sound right. It’s too vague, too impersonal. New to me. No, that’s a cop-out. Then and Now. No, that won’t be obvious enough. 

And that’s it, Calum thinks, swallowing thickly. He wants it to be obvious. He wants Michael, and only Michael, to know that it’s about him, for him. 

(“How will you know it’s me?” Calum remembers asking urgently one night, standing in the hallway on the phone to Michael, who had just called to mutter that he’s grounded, not allowed out, Calum needs to sneak in and make sure he makes it obvious that it’s him and not Luke or Ashton or else Michael won’t open his window. Apparently Luke, the sly little bastard, has taken to telling Michael it's Calum so Michael opens up for him.

“Say it’s- um-” Michael’s breaking up, and Calum clutches the phone closer to his ear like it’s going to make him any more audible.

“Say what?” 

“Column-” 

“Say it’s Column?” Calum’s incensed. “Michael, d’you fucking know how to pronounce my name?” 

“Fucking- Columbia,” he makes out, and then the line goes dead.) 

Calum only hesitates for a split second, enough for the tiny scrap of him that’s still sober tell him this is a terrible idea, and then the alcohol in his blood barges in, shouldering the remnant of his rational side out of the way and telling him do it, what the fuck have you got to lose? It’s a fucking great idea. 

Yeah, Calum thinks wildly, as his pen touches the paper again. Fuck it. Michael probably won’t hear it, anyway. 

Columbia.

 -------

 Calum plans to keep the song to himself, to sit on it and tell himself he’s agonising over whether or not to show Noel when he knows full well he’s got absolutely no intention of doing so, but, as though he can read Calum’s fucking mind, Noel corners him at lunchtime the next day. 

“So,” he says, blocking Calum’s path out of the kitchen as Liam trails after Tony in the direction of the live room, complaining loudly that if he has to eat one more fucking ham and cheese sandwich he’s going to burn the fucking kitchen down. “That song. What’d you do to it?” 

“What song?” Calum says, momentarily stumped. They’ve just been recording Slide Away, and Calum’s pretty sure he hasn’t fucked anything up so far. In fact, he’s absolutely fucking certain he hasn’t, because if Noel’s stopping them mid-recording to shout at Tony to tighten his floor tom then he’d definitely have thrown a fit over Calum playing a wrong note, or a fraction of a second too fast, or whatever. 

“You know,” Noel says. “The one. From the other night.” He’s acting a little sketchy about it, a little guarded, and that’s what makes it click - oh. That song. The one Noel had been writing on his own in the kitchen at fucking five in the morning, and Calum had finished off at about three last night, drunk out of his mind.

“Oh,” Calum says, and he feels his expression shift into something just as evasive as Noel’s. “Uh. Yeah. I wrote something.” 

“Well, let’s fucking hear it, then,” Noel says. Calum hesitates. 

“Not in front of everyone else,” he says, because he knows the guitars are all in the live room, and by the time it’s cleared out Noel might have forgotten about the song altogether. Noel raises an eyebrow, but nods. 

“My room,” he says. 

“Now?” Calum says, looking down at his sandwich. “Can’t I fucking eat?” 

“Now,” Noel confirms. “We’re on a tight fucking schedule, Cal.” 

“Didn’t stop you spending half of Tuesday fucking off your head,” Calum shoots back. Noel just flips him off, like that’s a fucking answer, and walks out of the kitchen, presumably to fetch a guitar. Calum sighs, stomach sinking, because he hasn’t looked at the lyrics since he wrote them but he has a slightly hazy memory of knowing he’d hate them sober. He’s far too fucking hungover to stomach the fight that’s going to ensue if he refuses to play it to Noel, though, so he just sighs again, deep and resigned, shoves half the sandwich in his mouth and heads up to his room to pick up the sheet of paper with the lyrics and chords on.

Noel’s already in his room when Calum pushes the door open a little too roughly, perched on the edge of his bed, and he holds out his second-favourite acoustic guitar by the neck for Calum to take. Calum does, yanks it out of his hands to tell him I don’t fucking like that you’re making me do this without having to say it - not that Noel will care either way - and sits down on Bonehead’s bed, pulling the guitar into his lap and smoothing the sheet of paper in front of him so he won’t have to look at Noel.

“Right,” he says, and he can hear the nervousness in his own voice. “Don’t fucking laugh.” 

“Won’t if it’s not worth laughing at,” Noel promises, which is as good as Calum’s going to get from him. He swallows, positions his fingers, and starts to play. 

It sounds horrible, he thinks, as he’s playing. He has to try not to wince, because his voice cracks on the words as they drip with the kind of raw honesty that only a song written about his sort-of ex at three in the fucking morning, drunk and halfway between a high and a comedown, can summon. It’s too much for him, hearing his own voice sing the words that he doesn’t want to admit that he means, overwhelms him with the way it makes his heart clench in his chest to hear himself say nothing’s the same to me, and he has to stop before he can reach the end, stilling the strings and shrugging at Noel a little tensely. 

“You get the gist,” he says. Noel blinks at him. He’s not laughing. 

“That’s going on the album,” he says. Calum stares at him. 

“You’re taking the piss,” he says flatly. 

“D’you think I’d fucking take the piss about kicking one of my songs off the album to make room for yours? ” Noel says, and, yeah, that’s a good point. 

“Well, I’m not singing it,” Calum says, before Noel gets any ideas. He’s not putting that out there, him singing a fucking half-love song for Michael. He'd have to be on every drug in the world to even get all the way through it. 

“Why not?” Noel says. 

“Can’t.” 

“You fucking can. Just did.” 

“I’m not fucking singing it, Noel.” Noel purses his lips, looking like he’s weighing up starting a fight with both Calum, who’s very clearly chosen this hill to die on, and Liam, who can’t stand feeling like a spare part, versus relenting and getting something he might not like as much musically but won’t potentially end in a trip to the hospital.

“It won’t sound as good,” he says, sounding annoyed, but that’s a concession from him. 

“I’m arsed,” Calum says. Noel looks at him for a moment, hard, eyes flitting across every crevice of Calum’s face like he’s trying to find the weak link, and then he leans back with a sigh. 

“You sound dead fucking British,” is all he says, a little too calmly for the conversation they've just had, and Calum feels like there’s something more to it that he should be able to pick out but can’t quite discern from the careful guardedness that fronts it. 

“Been here five years, haven’t I?” he shoots back, feeling like he’s on the back foot, somehow. 

“Wouldn’t even know you were Australian if you weren’t such a lightweight,” Noel says, and Calum rolls his eyes. 

“Fuck off,” he says. “I could outdrink all five-two of you any day, Irish blood and all.” Noel flips him off, but his eyes still look far too calculating for Calum’s liking. 

“You know Blur have an Australian guitarist?” he says, and Calum can see from the shrewd look in Noel’s eyes that that’s it, that’s what he’s been leading up to, and Calum’s stomach bottoms out.  

“Oh?” he says, trying to straddle the line between interested enough and uninterested enough. There’s no way Noel can know, he tells himself, as his heart rate picks up. Calum’s never mentioned any of his mates back home to Noel before, let alone mentioned Michael. And even if he did, there’s no reason to make that assumption. Noel doesn’t even know Calum dates guys, and only knows he fucks them because of one night three years ago that neither of them speak about. 

“Mm,” Noel hums. “He’s from Sydney.” He doesn’t say anything else, states it like it’s just an interesting tidbit of information, but the implication is clear. Maybe you know him. A challenge, or maybe a test. 

“So’s a quarter of Australia,” Calum says, pleased with how cool and collected he sounds. Noel cocks his head.

“Weird, though, isn’t it?” he says. “What’re the odds?”

“Since when are you all fucking superstitious?” Calum asks. Noel shrugs. 

“Just think it’s a strange coincidence,” he says lightly. “Two British bands with Australian members, fighting to be number one.” 

“Who’s fighting to be number one?” Calum says. “We haven’t even released a single.”

“Yeah, but anything we release’ll be better than their shite,” Noel says derisively, eyes narrowing, and Calum exhales quietly, because it means the moment’s passed. “Girls who like boys who do boys, or whatever. Fucking shite.” Calum rolls his eyes. 

“Yeah, like ‘I’m feeling supersonic, give me gin and tonic’ is any better,” he says, and Noel scowls and kicks at Calum’s shin. 

“Just you fucking wait,” Noel says, and it sounds like a fucking threat, like Calum’s going to be held personally responsible if Supersonic doesn’t go to number one. Which, knowing Noel, is a distinct possibility. 

“I’ll fucking wait,” Calum tells him, setting the guitar aside. 

“Eeyar, what d’you think you’re doing with that?” Noel says, nodding at the guitar. “If you don’t want to sing it, you’ll have to play it to our kid.” The thought makes Calum’s stomach clench. He never wants to sing the fucking song ever again. In fact, he wishes he'd never sung it to Noel in the first place, wishes he'd just dealt with the taunts and jeers that would have come from Noel if he'd thought Calum hadn't been able to get a song down. It'd still be more bearable than having to listen to his own drunken, honest thoughts spilling from his sober lips. 

“You really want to put it on the fucking album?” he says, and he can’t help the note of doubt that creeps into his tone. It's a good song, yeah - really fucking good, actually - but is it as good as Noel's?

“It’s good,” Noel says, which, from Noel, might as well be a declaration that it belonged on the White Album. 

“Not as good as yours,” Calum says. Noel fixes him with a stare, a really, don’t you fucking dare make me say it’s better than one of mine kind of stare, and Calum sighs. It is a good song - it’s definitely better than Cloudburst, might even be better than Sad Song - but he’s not sure he can go through playing it to Liam, Bonehead and Tony. Playing it to Noel was fucking bad enough. 

“Play it to our kid,” Noel says again, like he can read the exact thoughts behind Calum’s stricken expression. “I’ll sort out parts for Tony and Bonehead.” 

Calum loves him.

 -------

 (Liam frowns at him when he trails off halfway through the bridge. 

“That’s fucking mega, that is,” he says, but his tone doesn’t match his words. 

“Cheers,” Calum says, and swallows thickly. Liam doesn’t say anything else, even though Calum can tell from the way his fingers are twitching that he wants to, just hesitates and then sighs and pulls Calum into a tight hug.) 

 -------

 They finish recording the album in mid-March. It’s their second attempt, and it still sounds wrong, so their record label, in one last-ditch attempt to save it, send it off to Owen Morris for mixing. 

Noel’s progressed beyond irate and lashing out at any and all of them for fucking up his precious album to complete despondence, retreating into himself, sitting staring silently out of the car window as they get driven back up to Manchester, not even rising to the bait when Bonehead threatens to steal his Sergeant Pepper vinyl. In the strange, symbiotic way that the brothers have - or maybe just because they’d shared a room for sixteen years and Liam had been at the receiving end of enough of Noel’s tantrums to know how to cope with them - Liam seems to know exactly what Noel needs. He sits close to him, throws an arm around him, pulls him in so Noel’s head is resting on Liam’s shoulder, but doesn’t say anything, carries on normal conversation with the rest of them with a slight edge to his tone, like he’s challenging any of them to fucking comment on the state Noel’s in. They all know better than that, of course. Anyone who’s spent more than thirty seconds in either of the Gallaghers’ presence would know better than that. 

When they get back to Manchester, predictably dull and drizzling slightly, they all head off in their separate directions; Liam and Noel to Noel’s flat, Bonehead to the flat he shares with his girlfriend, Tony back to his parents’ house. Calum, too, heads back to the boring little two-up two-down he’s spent the past five years in.

“You look a state,” is how his mum greets him when he drags his bags out of the car and up the garden path. She holds her arms out for a hug and Calum hesitates for a moment - he knows he reeks of last night’s alcohol with maybe a pinch of stale weed added to the mix - but she gives him a stern look and he relents, wrapping his arms around her and inhaling the familiar scent of home-cooking and books. 

“You smell terrible,” she says disapprovingly, when he pulls away. Calum shrugs. 

“I’ll shower when I get in,” he says. 

“You’ll fix the wall first,” she says, and Calum sighs. Not the fucking wall. 

“Not the fucking wall,” he mutters, and his mum tuts at him, but steps aside to let him into the house. 

“Your dad’s outside already,” she says, as Calum drops his bags next to the stairs. 

“He’s not tried to do anything to the wall, has he?” Calum says, because if his dad’s had anything to do with it, Calum’s going to have his work cut out for him. 

“He said he was just going to take a look,” his mum says, and Calum swears under his breath and heads for the back door. His dad has never quite grasped that ‘just taking a look’ doesn’t require prodding and poking and, on one memorable occasion, a blowtorch. 

As Calum had expected, his dad is frowning at a section of collapsed wall, a mortar board piled high with badly-mixed mortar in one hand and a brick trowel in the other. 

“Fucking hell, dad,” Calum says, jogging up and snatching the mortar board out of his hands, making his dad whip around in surprise.

“Hello to you too,” he says mildly. “How was Cornwall?” 

“Great,” Calum says, and takes a step back so his dad won’t smell the booze on him. “What the fuck are you doing to the wall?” 

“I saved the bricks that fell out,” his dad, gesturing at a haphazard pile a few metres away. “I was going to use those to fix it.” 

“Not with this, you weren’t,” Calum says, brandishing the mortar. “I’ll mix some more tomorrow. And you can’t be laying bricks in the rain.” His dad looks up at the sky. 

“It’s just drizzle,” he says.

“It’s enough,” Calum says. His dad looks at him for a moment, wavering between son, if I say the wall needs fixing the wall needs fixing and you do actually know what you’re doing, before sighing and holding his hands up in defeat. 

“Fine,” he says. “But your mum will have my balls if it’s not done first thing tomorrow.” 

“She’ll have your balls if you do it in the rain and it falls apart again in three weeks, too,” Calum tells him.

“At least I’ll get three extra weeks with my balls, then,” his dad says as they make their way back inside, and Calum snorts.  

“That was quick,” he hears his mum shout from the kitchen, a little reprovingly, as Calum sets the mortar board down on the table. He’ll deal with it later. 

“It’s raining,” Calum shouts back. 

“It’s what?” his mum calls, turning down the upbeat, almost disco song playing on the radio.

“It’s raining,” Calum repeats. “Can’t lay bricks in the rain.” 

“It’s only drizzling.” 

“D’you want to go and fucking do it, then?” Calum says, exasperated, and his mum pops her head out of the kitchen with a frown. 

“Calum,” she reprimands, and he sighs. He needs to fucking shower, and then sleep for about seven years until his liver’s had a chance to process at least half of the shit he’s ingested over the past few weeks. 

“Sorry,” he says, and he means it. “I’m going to go and shower.” His mum nods, and her head disappears again, and he hears the radio turn up again. The song’s finishing up, something about how it always should be someone you really love, and Calum finds himself nodding along as he heads for the stairs and picks up his bags. It’s catchy, he thinks, and not like anything he’s heard in a while. Maybe he should recommend it to Noel; he could do with nicking ideas off someone other than Paul McCartney once in a while. 

“And that was Blur, with Girls and Boys,” the radio host announces as the song starts to fade out, and Calum’s fingers slip in the handle of the bag in his right hand, causing it to fall on his foot. He curses under his breath, trying to think about the pain rather than the way his heart’s skipped a beat. 

“Calum?” his mum calls from the kitchen. “Are you alright?” 

“Yeah, mum, sorry,” he shouts back, wincing and flexing his foot, steadying himself on the banister with his now-free hand as he tries to listen to the radio over the pounding in his ears. Another song’s started now, though, and Calum shakes himself out of it, picking up the bag and heading up the stairs to have an excuse for his racing heart and heavy breathing. 

It feels fucking weird, he thinks, dumping his bags on the floor of his room and throwing himself down on the bed, to have heard Michael without hearing him. He would have paid more attention to the song if he’d known he was listening to Michael’s fingers pick out those notes. He can still hear the riff in his mind, bouncing around as it tries to find its way out but enclosed in a bubble of Michael like a good portion of Calum’s thoughts have been for the past few weeks. It doesn’t feel quite right, though, Michael’s guitar playing on Calum’s radio in Manchester. It feels like Mike, not Michael, and the thought makes him feel a little queasy. 

He rolls over, staring at the blank wall in front of him as he waits for his heart to slow down. Always should be someone you really love, the guy - what was it, Damon? - had sung. It feels like a fucking joke, now, leaves a bitter taste in Calum’s mouth that that line is the first he’s heard of Michael in five fucking years. It’s like the universe is just having its way with him and laughing about it. 

(It was serendipity, I think, Damon had said in the article, but Calum tries not to let the idea cross his mind.) 

 -------

 Supersonic is, in fact, as Liam and Noel crow at least five times a day, fucking mega. 

The single comes out in early April, when they’re in Middlesbrough, or maybe Stoke, or maybe Leeds - somewhere northern, cold, wet, and miserable. It’s played on the radio a few times, and it makes something warm spread from Calum’s heart to his toes every time he can pick out his own bass, every time he hears Noel’s lazy solo, Liam’s gravelly drawl, Bonehead’s overdriven chords. Even Tony’s drumming makes him grin, giddy on the high that’s him, them, him and his three best mates (and Tony) coming together to create something that, fuck whatever the charts say, sounds fucking good. It’s raw and it’s rough around the edges and it’s melodic and it’s dirty, and it’s ‘fucking rock ‘n’ roll’ if Liam ever gets half a second to comment on it, but, more than all of that, it’s them and Calum loves it. 

It doesn’t do amazingly, but none of them even care, because they know it’s good. Noel’s already busy arguing with Marcus at the record label about whether Shakermaker or Live Forever should be the next single, shouting at him on the phone whenever they get somewhere with a payphone. The tour’s going well, too; there’s not been a venue they haven’t sold out yet, and the crowd actually know all the songs, now, screaming out the words whenever Liam takes a break for a swig of beer. 

They’re playing Glastonbury in June, which Noel seems to think is the fucking be all and end all of their entire career despite the fact that they’ve released one album. He’s taken it upon himself to ensure that every waking minute that they’re not playing shows or off their heads on whatever substances they’ve been able to put up their noses is spent with him telling them in minute detail exactly how he’s going to skin them alive if they miss one more beat or hit the wrong string one more time. Even Liam isn’t safe, despite his lack of a proper instrument, after missing one of the higher notes in Supersonic one night in Liverpool. Calum’s never believed in God, but he thinks the fact that he was rooming with Tony and the brothers were rooming with each other that night, screaming at each other out of Calum's earshot, might be evidence of divine intervention. 

Further potential evidence for the existence of God comes in the form of an invitation to an awards show to be held in early June, which is the only thing that could possibly have appeased Noel. It doesn’t stop him shouting at Liam for fucking breathing, or whatever it happens to be that hour, but it placates him enough to keep the band together, which is what matters. He starts writing like crazy, and by late May already has six songs that he claims are good enough for their second album, and Calum’s floored when Noel rips the curtain to his bunk open one night and shoves an unfinished song at him with a look on his face that says if you fucking tell anyone about this, I’ll have your balls. I’ll fucking have them. 

(“D’you think me growing up in Australia brings a different perspective to the band?” Calum had asked the previous day, thinking of the interview he’d read with Damon, and Noel had snorted, not even looking up from his guitar. 

“Do I fuck,” he’d said. “I’m the fucking genius here. Why, ‘s someone been telling you you’re important? Do I need to remind you that you barely even play an instrument?” Calum rolls his eyes and flips him off, but it settles his stomach a little to know that Noel's not giving him the songs because of some abstract musical perspective, but because of his talent. And, maybe, because Noel might just be a little fond of him.) 

The awards show isn’t anything huge, not NME or anyone that Liam thinks matters, but Noel tells them that it’s the principle, that the fact that they’re being nominated for awards is what counts, and that they’ll fucking well show up. Liam still looks like he’s going to argue about it, probably just because his instinct to do the opposite of whatever Noel tells him overrides even his survival instinct, but he grudgingly agrees to go when Calum reminds him about all the free alcohol that’s sure to be there. 

The ceremony’s much bigger than Calum had expected, held in a theatre that’s had the stalls cleared out to make room for tables for artists and their teams to sit at. They’re shown to a table on the far right of the room, and Calum sees names like Elastica and Björk on the tables they pass on their way, which makes him think that this might actually be a bigger deal than they’d thought it was. Their table is tucked away in a corner, which Calum thinks probably isn’t a good sign, but can’t bring himself to care that much about when he sees the three bottles of champagne waiting for them. 

They’re tipsy before the show’s even begun, barely even noticing the room filling behind them as they call for more champagne, grinning and yelling at each other across the table as they all think fuck me, we’re really doing this, then? Even Noel somehow manages to dislodge the stick from his arse and laugh along when Liam starts heckling every single act that wins an award. It’s just fucking fun, Calum thinks, watching Noel and Liam put their arms around each other and yell the lyrics to Creep as Radiohead win an award, changing out half of the words for increasingly creative variants of words for certain parts of the male anatomy. It’s just a good fucking time with his best mates. 

Liam’s so caught up in the heckling, yelling rubbish! Fucking rubbish! before the winners have even been announced, and they’re all so caught up in laughing at him that they don’t even realise they’ve won an award until Marcus glares at them pointedly, and they realise that the reason they suddenly can’t see properly is because there’s a spotlight on them.

“Best live act!” Noel shouts, grinning, and Calum shoots up and out of his seat and is hugging Noel and Bonehead, jumping up and down, before he can even think about it. Best live act, fucking hell. 

“Rubbish!” Liam’s yelling, sounding absolutely irate. “Fucking rubbi- oh, that’s us.” He stands up calmly, flashing Marcus a winning smile as he walks past on his way to the stage, and the rest of them follow in his wake. 

“Best fucking live act,” Noel repeats, like he can’t quite believe it. Their first fucking award. "That's all me, that is." 

“You wanker, you’re rubbish,” Liam tells him, as they jog up the stairs onto the stage. “You can’t even play the guitar.” Noel cuffs him upside the head, but he’s still grinning, and Liam grins back at him as they walk over to accept their awards, shake a lot of sweaty hands, and make their acceptance speech.

“Right, then, who’s first then?” Liam says, leaning into the microphone and pulling his sunglasses down to survey the crowd. “It’s gotta be you there with that weird haircut. How many haircuts you got there, four?” He leans back as the crowd laughs, looking deadpan, but Calum can see the way his lips twitch as he soaks up the laughter and smattering of applause. Calum shakes his head, grinning, and looks out at the sea of faces looking back at him, trying to really absorb the moment, anchor himself so he’ll remember it tomorrow despite the champagne. There are a few people he recognises, which feels fucking insane - that’s fucking Robbie Williams, over there, presumably sat with the rest of the blokes from Take That whose names he doesn’t know, and he thinks he can make out the singer of Radiohead in the corner, and there’s the frontwoman of Elastica, and next to her is that Damon guy from Blur, and-

Oh, fuck.

Noel’s moved on to speaking now, a little more seriously than Liam - which isn’t saying much given that he’s currently in the middle of thanking himself for being such a genius and writing such impeccable songs - but the words are washing over Calum as his eyes flit to Damon’s left, taking in the moody-looking dark-haired guy and the ginger guy, and then to his right, a dark-haired guy in glasses and- 

And Michael. 

Calum thinks his legs might fucking give out. Staring back at him, eyes wide and jaw clenched, is Michael. Michael Clifford. His Michael. Fucking hell. 

In the bright lights, Calum can see the tension in Michael’s shoulders, the way he’s sort of hunched into himself, sort of sat up straight, like he’s ready for a fight. He can see the shock on Michael’s face, the underlying hurt and pain in the twist of his lips, the way his fist is clenched on the table. He looks nothing like Calum had ever envisioned when imagining them reuniting, no carefree laughter and bright, joyful eyes. Calum’s sure he doesn’t look much better, lips slightly parted in surprise, pure horror written all over his face, but he can’t bring himself to care when Michael’s right there, in front of him, five years older and five years prettier, making Calum’s heart skip and race like it’s singlehandedly trying to win the fucking World Acrobatics Championship of 1994.

Liam’s taken the mic back off Noel to add a quick thank you to the people who voted for them, and then Noel’s clapping him on the back as they walk offstage, but Calum’s rooted to the fucking spot, can’t take his eyes off Michael. Neither of them are blinking, and as the lights sweep from the audience to them Calum almost loses Michael in the darkness, just sees the slight gleaming of his eyes, still fixed on Calum. 

“Fucking come on,” Noel nigh-on shouts in his ear, startling Calum out of it, and his feet unstick themselves as Noel puts his hand on the small of Calum’s back, guiding him off the stage. Calum tears his gaze away, looks down at his feet so he won’t trip down the stairs, and by the time he’s got to the bottom and is looking out into the sea of faces again, he’s lost Michael. He searches in vain all the way back to their table, trying to map out just how far to the right the Blur table is from the Oasis one based on where it had been in relation to the stage, but then Liam’s in front of him, waving an award in his face and grinning inanely, and Calum’s line of sight is blocked by Bonehead jumping on Liam’s back, and Noel’s shouting something at the three of them through a smile, and Calum’s being forced into his seat. 

The rest of the ceremony passes in a haze. Liam carries on heckling every act that gets up on stage, waving his award around over his head like it’ll somehow further his point, and Noel almost cries laughing at the sight of him until Liam’s fingers slip and the trophy goes flying and hits Noel smack in the face. Even that isn’t enough to get more than the ghost of a smile out of Calum, whose stomach is still twisting, eyes still flitting across the crowd, breath still catching every time a new award is announced just in case Michael will have to walk past their table, traipse up the stairs to their right, look down at Calum from the stage. Blur don’t win anything, though, much to the brothers’ delight, and as soon as they realise it’s winding down Liam’s saying something about an afterparty and trying to get up and leave before the ceremony’s officially ended. Tony grabs his arm and pulls him back down, mutters something about taking photos that both Noel and Liam scoff at, but one look from their management is enough to keep the two of them in their seats, albeit with glowers and grumbles. 

The hosts close the awards in the most long-winded way Calum’s ever seen, and then they’re being ushered into some back room to take photos along with all the other acts. Noel and Liam are drunker than Calum’s seen them in months, shouting and laughing and throwing their arms around each other and pressing kisses to anyone who dares walk within five metres of them, and, seeing how irritated the rest of the acts and the photographer are at their antics, they ramp it up, yelling and screaming and singing until everyone’s shooting them filthy looks and Calum’s almost managing a proper smile. His eyes have been roaming the room since they got in, looking past the miserable looking bloke from Radiohead because he thought he’d seen a flash of blonde that had turned out to be Robbie Williams’ terrible haircut, but either Blur have already been and gone or they’re still hanging around outside. 

“Cal,” Liam shouts, and then Calum’s being pulled into a headlock - quite a fucking feat, actually, because it’s Noel doing the headlocking, and he’s a good half-foot shorter than Calum. “What d'you reckon, eh? Best band on the fucking planet!” 

“Don’t think that was quite what they said,” Calum says, and Noel ruffles his hair before letting him go, just enough that Calum can stand up straight, and wrapping an arm around Calum’s waist. Calum leans into it, a little unsteady from the alcohol and Michael, relishing the comfort of a steady anchor to counter the way he feels so fucking unbalanced from seeing Michael in the flesh again after five years. 

“You’ve got to read between the lines , Cal,” Liam says earnestly. “They might not’ve said it, but it’s what they meant.” 

“Eeyar,” Noel says suddenly, grinning wickedly. “Is that who I think it is?” Liam twists, following Noel’s gaze, and Calum does the same, turning to the door and finding-

“‘S fucking Dermot All-bran!” Liam crows, cackling gleefully as Damon’s eyes flit to the three of them. He smiles, pretty and polite, and heads in their direction, and as he comes through the door with the woman from Elastica in tow, four more people file in behind him - ginger guy, moody guy, glasses guy, and, to the detriment of Calum’s heartbeat, Michael. 

“Congratulations,” Damon calls, nodding at the award in Liam’s hand. He’s almost reached them, and the rest of his band are trailing behind him, and Calum’s heart is beating so fucking fast and loud that he can barely hear Liam screaming next to him over the pounding in his ears as he watches Michael get closer and closer, carefully avoiding Calum’s burning gaze. 

“Fucking right,” Liam says proudly. “Fucking best band in the world, we are. Real rock ‘n’ roll stars. Not like you posh fucking wankers.” The guy in glasses behind Damon rolls his eyes, and something that looks like irritation flashes across Damon’s face, but Calum barely cares. 

Michael’s still not looking at him, all of three feet away, and Calum’s skin is fucking crawling, itching with the desire to reach out and touch him, to force him to look at Calum, to slot their fingers and their legs and their lips together again, just to see if they still fit. Fuck, he shouldn’t have drunk all that champagne.  

“Don’t think we’ve met,” the tall guy says, holding out a hand. “I’m Alex. This is Graham-” glasses guy, who nods tightly, “-and Dave-” ginger guy, who holds up a hand in an awkward wave, “-and you know Damon. And our resident Australian, Mike.” 

“Looks like a cunt,” Liam remarks, and Calum vaguely registers Noel and Bonehead laughing next to him, loud and giddy and a little spiteful. 

“Ours is better than yours, anyway,” Noel says, arm tightening around Calum, somewhere between defensive and proud. Damon raises an eyebrow, a definite challenge in his eyes now. 

“Is that so?” he says, and in the two years since Calum last heard him speak he’s forgotten how different his speaking voice is to how he sings, eloquent and deep and rich. It’s a secondary thought, though, because Calum’s still staring at Michael, willing him to take his eyes off Damon and look at Calum for just one fucking second, but Michael’s face remains carefully blank, and the closest he gets to looking at Calum is sending Liam a scornful glance. 

“Aye, ‘course it is, you prick,” Liam says, brash and careless, and Damon turns to Calum. 

“Calum, isn’t it?” he says. Calum tears his gaze away from Michael for a moment, enough to see the way Damon’s holding himself, and that whatever Calum says next is going to form Damon’s entire opinion of him. 

“Yeah,” Calum says, aiming for bold and confident to match Liam, because that’s where his loyalties lie now, and hopes no one else can hear how dry his throat is. 

“Didn’t you have a mate in Sydney called Calum?” Damon says, almost idly, turning to Michael. “Was he the one that moved to the UK?” Calum watches the line of Michael’s throat as he swallows, and tries not to superimpose the bruises his lips had left there the night before he’d left Australia for the first and last time on top of it. 

“Yeah,” he says, and Calum’s heart fucking splinters at the sound of his voice. Even in that one syllable, he can hear his Michael, the same tone and sound and depth, but there’s a new edge to it, something slower and more controlled than the wild seventeen-year-old Calum had left behind. The years without Calum have added a gloss to him, a new confidence in his voice and his expression and how he holds himself, and Calum just wants Michael to fucking look at him.

Fuck it, he thinks - or maybe the champagne thinks for him - and he swallows. 

“Hey, Michael,” he says quietly, and all hell breaks loose. 

taglist: @callmeboatboy @sadistmichael @clumsyclifford @angel-cal @tirednotflirting @cthofficial @tigerteeff @haikucal @queer-5sos @i-am-wierd-always @stupidfukimgspam @bloodyoathcal @pixiegrl @pxrxmoore @currentlyupcalsass @clumthood

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chapter three

#malum #5sos fic #5sos fanfic #5sos fanfiction #5sos slash #i actually have some TIME tonight to chat i will be back #thats a threat i will be returning #my laptop is like freaking out at the number of tabs i have open right now but what am i supposed to do close them? #absolutely not #theres also a huge insect in my room and i have to wait for it to leave the door or i'm trapped in my room #none of these tags are antyhing to do with the fic i'm sorry i'm just stream of consciousness in here #ignore me my brain is malfunctioning #i hope everyone is doing well i miss being active here i'm so fucking BUSY atm #but come friday i will be back for good #Back for good by take that is a banger #okay i'm seriously going to shut up now please read my breakdown

[mylifeisactuallyamess]

So here is the next chapter. Managed to write this one night at about midnight while I was squashed on the side of my own bed and the two small invaders tried to evict me. Single mum life I tell you it’s ridiculous 🤣

Blood Moon

Chapter 14

You kept to the shadows, your eyes glinting slightly as they caught the light. You could see two guards at the door, they were huge men with tattoos all the way up their arms. You gently touched a ring on your finger.

Rey they’re huge!

I’ve got your back, but I guarantee you get into that room he will talk to you. He likes anything unexpected and no one has breached those big guys before. You’ve got this! She said into your mind. You rolled you eyes and balled your fists. An echo sounded down the corridor and both men turned to the noise. It was now or never. You leapt out of the shadows, pushing away from the wall with a yell and landed on one of the guys neck, you wrapped your legs under his chin and with all your strength you managed to bring him down. The other guy roared loudly, his stance wide. You kept your legs tightly around this guys neck but he was strong and you started to sweat but you kept up the deadly grip on his windpipe. The other guy was changing, his bones cracked and ground together, your eyes widened as brown fur sprouted all over him, his claws lengthened and he grew even taller. He roared at you and you paled as you realised you were faced with a grizzly bear.

‘Fuck!’ He charged and you rolled away from the other guy who also started to change now you’d released his neck. The bear swiped at you and you dodged his blows, but man, they were fast. The other bear barrelled towards you and you jumped high into the air, you could hear his claws scrabbling on the floor as he tried to turn round but he couldn’t stop his massive form and it carried him to collide with the far wall. Plaster cracked and the hallway shook. You touched your ring briefly.

Anytime now! You mentally yelled. The other bear backed you up against the wall and you ducked as he swung at you and ripped through the wall and showering you in dust. You could barely see as you rolled through the gap in his legs kicking him. He roared in pain and fell to his knees. You jumped up but suddenly the wind was knocked out of you as the other bear walloped you in the back and sent you flying to the other side of the hallway, you crashed into the doors which opened and you fell groaning into a room full of bright colours. You struggled to stay conscious but you couldn’t hold off the darkness.

Your head pounded, and you ached, then it all came rushing back your eyes flew open and you jumped up. You looked wildly around expecting to be crushed.

‘Steady. No one will hurt you now.’ A smooth silky voice drew your attention. It came from a guy sat on a large ornate gold throne, he held a cup and saucer in his hands as his black eyes studied you, his skin was tanned and his hair dark. Everything about him looked perfect. He took a sip out of his cup never taking his eyes off you. You looked around and realised you were on your own with him. ‘Please sit, just be careful. You are dusty.’ His nose wrinkled slightly. You slowly sunk onto a plush cushion, the floor was filled with them all different colours with gold trimmings, coloured fabrics hung from the high ceiling and draped all along the walls. ‘I’ve heard about you.’ Your attention snapped back to him. ‘Tell me, do you know who I am?’

‘You are Kehar.’ You replied. He sat back in his chair his face smug. In one measured movement he placed the saucer down, before you could react he was before you. His scent washed over you, he smelled so different, dangerous almost. Power radiated off him in waves and you tried to break eye contact but you couldn’t look away. His black eyes slowly changed to bright yellow, his teeth elongated and black and orange fur rippled across his face.

‘I am Kehar!’ He rumbled. ‘And you come barging in here, attacking my bears,’ his eyes flashed and he snarled, but it wasn’t like a wolf snarl this was a long drawn out dangerous snarl that made your insides quiver. ‘And yet,’ you took a breath as he retreated, his eyes growing darker as he returned to his human form. ‘I admire you y/n. I never thought you’d make it in here.’ He sat back in his throne adjusting his jacket before piercing you with his eyes. ‘What do you want?’

‘You know my name?’ You whispered. He chuckled. ‘You and that witch friend of yours have been ruthless in looking for that boy alpha. And yet you still have no leads.’ The doors burst open behind you and you nearly jumped out of your own skin at the noise, your eyes flashed gold and you snarled in defence, but it was one of the guards holding Rey. He dumped her on the floor and Kehar motioned for him to leave. She gasped loudly as she sat up. You scooted over to her and she grabbed your arm.

‘They found me I’m so sorry!’ Her eyes widened as she took in her surroundings.

‘You are the witch, that left her coven to help a were?’ His voice rang out.

‘Y...yes sir.’ He chuckled again and clapped his hands loudly making you both jump.

‘I love rebels! Come, let’s eat.’ He rose from his throne and took long strides to a door you hadn’t noticed before, it opened and he motioned for you both to follow. The dining room was just as impressive as the previous room, there was a long table laden with food. You closed you eyes and sent a thank you to the universe, you couldn’t remember the last time you had any decent food. ‘Please tuck in, you must be hungry.’ His eyes glinted knowingly as you nodded. You loaded your plate up with cold meats, cheeses and fruit. You didn’t know how long until you would eat again, all you and Rey had done the last few months is fight and battle for any info on Kylo. But he had vanished, your pack had frozen you out claiming you were to blame, Han and Leia would not return your calls, neither would Poe. After all he said. You shovelled the food in your mouth mindlessly chewing as you got caught up in your thoughts. Rey stared at Kehar.

‘Can I help you little witch?’ He almost purred.

‘Is it true?’ She whispered.

‘Is what, true? Come on out with it.’

‘That you can turn, into, a.......’ she faltered and swallowed nervously.

‘Oh my dear,’ he leant forward and rested a hand on her arm, as you watched his hand changed into a giant white paw, the claws flexed and Rey froze.

‘I’d say the rumours are true.’ He winked as it turned back into a hand. ‘Now, let’s get down to real business. Why did you storm my humble abode?’

‘For information on Kylo.’ You replied.

‘Now why would I have information about some alpha pup?’ You smashed your fist on the table making the plates jump. Kehar sneered. ‘I have no interest in that mongrel, or any of those filthy werewolves. They are so, archaic in their ways, they don’t evolve with the times. They are the dredges of the were world...’ you smashed both fists on the table cracking it, plates smashed and you growled loudly.

‘Watch your mouth!!’ You screamed. Your eyes glowed gold as the anger coursed through you. Just the thought of anyone insulting Kylo made you angry, but hearing Kehar speak them in his condescending voice made you reach boiling point. He grinned at you as he laced his fingers together.

‘Now we are getting somewhere. Tell me, Y/N. Why are you so upset?’ You snarled as he stood. ‘You really are wasted with them.’ With a yell you launched yourself at him. He dodged your blows and landed one on your back you stumbled slightly but found your footing to face him again. You could feel your fur just under the surface of your skin, it felt so uncomfortable it made you feel even angrier. You felt your claws grow as you swiped at Kehar but he lazily batted you away. You kept coming and he kept blocking, you were almost in a frenzy when suddenly he pinned you up against the wall, you could feel the change coming, it was like a sort of tension that built and built and the only release was letting yourself go. ‘Picture it,’ he whispered right into your ear, ‘a tiger, in all her striped glory, large paws, long tail. Picture it.’ You looked into his eyes as you gave in, your bones cracking and sliding as they changed you felt relief as you fell onto all fours. You swished your tail and you heard Rey gasp. You turned to look at her and you tilted your head at her reaction. Kehar stood with one hand in his pocket, the other over his mouth. ‘I can’t believe it. It’s true.’ He laughed. You snarled at him but it wasn’t your usual snarl, this was deeper, more dangerous sounding, you almost choked on it. You looked down and scrabbled backwards as you noticed your paws were white, your long claws left gouges in the wooden floor, you turned to look behind you and your eyes widened as your long striped tail flailed about behind you. Your shape felt different, you were larger, your feet felt wider, you felt more balanced and controlled in this form, you snarled again and snapped loudly, your ears flattened on your head and your opened your mouth to reveal large, long, pointy fangs. Kehar crouched down, his eyes flashed yellow as he looked at you. ‘You are what will draw us together.’

#kylo ren x reader #kylo x reader #kylo x you #my writing #kylo ren #kylo #kylo ren au #kylo ren as a wolf #kylo ren x y/n #kylo ren x you #kylo ren imagine #kylo x y/n #kylo imagine #kylo as a wolf #blood moon #kylo au

[justabigassnerd]

One step at a time

Pairing - Rich x Squipped!reader

Word count - 2,554 

Warnings - swearing, mentions of bullying

A/N - Ya girl got struck by inspiration the other day about a Rich x reader where it’s basically the plot of BMC but the reader is the one who gets the SQUIP. Not Rich and this is what emerged. Please feel free to send in more requests as y’all have great ideas and I want to get my drive back. 

EDIT - I was unsatisfied with the original ending for this fic so I added some more onto the end (I apologise) but enjoy the new and improved ending : )

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

When people mentioned iconic friendships at your school, people would say, Jeremy and Michael, Chloe and Brooke and finally you and Jake. But what people didn’t know that in freshman year before people even knew you existed and before you became popular, you were best friends with Rich Goranski. You and Rich had been friends since you first moved to New Jersey, your parents quickly became friends with his parents and you two were brought up together, you did almost everything together. When you started high school you two stuck together as much as you could to avoid harassment from the people who had quickly become popular and were starting to pick on people. You knew you shouldn’t have let it get to you because you had a friend like Rich to support you through everything but soon the bullying became too much and you started to search for ways to help improve your status in school, you caught wind of a pill called a SQUIP which contained a supercomputer that would help you with anything you wanted it to. You managed to get a hold of one and that night alone in your room, without telling Rich, you took the pill with some Mountain Dew to start your new ‘cooler’ life. The next day, Rich went to your house to walk to school with you like he always did, but when he knocked at your door your mum opened the door and looked at Rich apologetically.

“I’m sorry Rich, y/n has already gone to school, I thought she was meeting you at your house.” She says, Rich is taken aback at that, you always waited for him at your house or you would text him saying that you were coming to his if he was running late. Rich thanked your mother before turning away from the door and starting the walk to school by himself for the first time. When Rich arrived at school you barely noticed him for the entire day, at lunch he went to sit with you but when he saw you sat with Jake, Chloe, Jenna and Brooke he quickly turned around and tried to find somewhere else to sit. That’s when Jeremy and Michael noticed the short boy trying to manoeuvre his way through the crowd of tall teens with his tray and they took pity on him and invited him to sit at their table with them. The two had often noticed you and Rich hanging out together at lunch and wondered why you weren’t sat together now.

“I don’t know, she didn’t wait to walk to school with me this morning and now she’s sat with the popular kids, I don’t know what happened to her.” Was Rich’s only response to the question asked.

Now you are all in your junior year and Rich had watched as you and Jake grew as close as you and him once were and it broke his heart every time he saw you two messing about in the hallway together, Rich had always had feelings for you since you had been friends for so long and even though you suddenly stopped talking to him for no reason, his feelings never vanished. Rich now hung out with Jeremy and Michael, being grateful that they showed pity on the day you first ditched him and invited him to sit with them. The three got along well but Rich couldn’t help but miss you whenever he saw you in the hallways, but you acted like he never existed. One day, your SQUIP told you to approach Jeremy Heere and tell him about him getting a SQUIP of his own. You corner him after play rehearsal, which both you and Jake signed up for, and tell him about how amazing having a SQUIP is.

“So that’s why you ditched Rich? For a SQUIP?” Jeremy asks, you feel your heart pang at the mention of you old best friend, you would be lying if you said you didn’t have feelings for him but your SQUIP convinced you that you didn’t need him.

“I didn’t intend to ditch him, I only did it because my SQUIP said I had to, it said it was the sacrifice I had to make for popularity.” You say and although Jeremy is skeptical and angry because of what you did to Rich he’s still curious as to what a SQUIP could do.

“One more thing, getting a SQUIP is a one-way ticket to getting the girl of your dreams, I’ve seen the way you look at Christine.” You say, quickly making Jeremy flustered but also more interested in getting a SQUIP. You tell Jeremy how much a SQUIP is and he runs off excitedly. As soon as Jeremy’s gone you feel a shock travel down your spine.

“Stop thinking about Rich, you are more, and you are better, you don’t need him, he’s a link to y/n 1.0, must I turn on optic nerve blocking again?” Your SQUIP growls, making you nervous.

“Rich was my best friend, I just like seeing him, it’s reassuring.” You reply, avoiding looking at your SQUIP which has taken a physical form in front of you.

“It’s reassuring? You have friends, Jake, Chloe, Jenna, Brooke, they’re all your friends, not Rich.” The SQUIP says before demanding you go home. Over the weeks your SQUIP started to crack down on you, any time you thought about Rich, you got a shock, anytime you looked at Rich, you got a shock. It even started to turn on optic nerve blocking when you thought about Rich too much. Soon, the time came for Jakes Halloween party since his parents weren’t home. You had helped Jake organise the whole event and when the party started you were enjoying yourself, dancing with Brooke, Jake and Jenna while Jeremy had disappeared with Chloe somewhere, making Jake increasingly on edge and irritable. Jake soon went upstairs, followed by Brooke, leaving just you and Jenna. Upstairs, Jeremy had just escaped a furious Jake, who had caught Chloe kissing him on his parents’ bed. He locked himself in the bathroom and was shocked to find both Rich and Michael hiding in the bathroom. The two told him about how they found out about someone going insane trying to get their SQUIP out, Jeremy paid no mind to their warnings and tried to leave, being blocked by them both, since Jeremy was slightly intoxicated, his SQUIP was not working leaving him to make the most difficult decision of his life.

“Get out of my way, losers.” He growls at them before barging past and leaving the room. Meanwhile, you were downstairs trying to hunt down some Mountain Dew Red, your SQUIP had been tormenting you for too long and you wanted it to end, you yelled at people, shouting that you just wanted some Mountain Dew Red and all you got was drunken laughs and stares, since you were also slightly drunk your SQUIP had no control over your actions, leading you to a separate room away from the party and you find a lighter.

“I’m sorry Rich, this is for the best.” You whisper, before lighting a fire.

The next day, Rich and Michael go to school and they hear a large commotion coming from the area where both yours and Rich’s lockers are, leading them quickly over to that area where they see Chloe and Brooke sticking a large ‘Get Well Soon y/n’ banner on your locker.

“Wait, what happened?” Rich asked nervously, his heart beating ten times faster than it usually does out of fear for his best friend.

“Oh, you didn’t hear? y/n set fire to Jake’s house and she’s now in hospital.” Jenna says dismissively, as if she doesn’t even care about what she just said. Rich looks at Michael with tear filled eyes, his best friend was in hospital and there was nothing he could do about it. Rich spent the whole day staring at the clock, willing it to go faster. The second the bell rang to signal the end of the day Rich darted out of the school building as quickly as he could, and Michael gave him a lift to the hospital where he asked to see you. The nurse told him which room you were in and we located it as quickly as possible. When he entered your room, his heart shattered into a million pieces, he saw you laid on the hospital bed in a full body cast, he sat down on a chair next to you and felt some tears fall down his face. He felt so helpless, if he had been a better friend to you, you wouldn’t have gotten a SQUIP and you wouldn’t have burned down Jake’s house and you wouldn’t be in a hospital bed right now. Rich took your hand lightly and apologised over and over while he cried. Before long, your eyes fluttered open and Rich sat up straight, almost in shock.

“Rich?” You croak out, unable to believe that he’s by your side right now, after all you’ve done to him.

“It’s me, I’m here.” He says reassuringly, causing you to burst into tears, the guilt of what you did finally catching up to you, now that you no longer had your SQUIP you were suddenly aware of your shitty actions. Rich gently takes your hand again and rubs his thumb over your knuckles while shushing you gently.

“I’m so sorry.” You sob, unable to look him in the eyes after all you did to him.

“Hey, I don’t care what you did, I knew that wasn’t really you, it was your SQUIP.” Rich whispers reassuringly, soothing you. After you calmed down, you got the guts to ask Rich why he was here seeing you.

“You’re my best friend y/n/n, what you did doesn’t matter to me, I’ll always be there for you.” Rich says, smiling shyly at you, a faint pink blush washing across his cheeks.

“Ok, Rich this may sound really weird and stop me when you want but I need to say this, I like you, like more than a friend, since freshman year and I thought the SQUIP was going to help me gain your attention but it made me choose other guys, I’m sorry, I’ve just fucked up our entire friendship more than I already have-” You’re suddenly cut off by Rich pressing his lips to yours, you melt into the kiss and you longed to wrap your arms around him but you couldn’t since you were in a full body cast. When you pull away for air your smile at each other widely.

“So, would you like to be my girlfriend… thing?” Rich asks, scratching the back of his head awkwardly, you smile and nod.

“I would love to be your girlfriend thing.” Rich smiles widely and pecks your lips once more before starting to tell you about his two friends Jeremy and Michael who looked after him when you first got the SQUIP, you watch intently as he explains everything they did together and you wonder to yourself how you got so lucky with this boy and while things had been shitty for the last couple of years, having Rich back by your side again is going to help everything get better, one step at a time.

By the time you were finally better and ready to go back to school, Jeremy’s SQUIP had tried to take over the school but Michael managed to save everyone because of his love of old discontinued drinks. When you went back to school for the first time, you were petrified to say the least. You were covered in scars from the burns from the fire. Rich met you at your house and saw you tugging on a hoodie to cover the scars on your arms and he smiles kindly at you.

“If anyone says anything, just let me know, I’ll beat them up for you.” Rich says, winking at the end of his sentence causing you to laugh slightly at the thought of your boyfriend who is 5”5’ trying to beat up someone taller than him. You two head off to school and when you arrive you are greeted by Jeremy and Michael who welcome you back with large hugs despite you not knowing each other that well. When you entered the school, you felt the stares and the whispers as you walked down the hallway.

“Didn’t she set fire to Jake’s house? Who let her back in? She might burn down the school.” You felt Rich tighten his grip around your waist as he heard the girls snickering to each other silently. Rich glared at the girls and they just scoffed and continued chatting to each other. Once you both got your stuff from your lockers you head to your homeroom and the first thing you see when you enter is: Jenna, Chloe, Brooke, Christine and Jake holding a large banner that says ‘WELCOME BACK Y/N!’ your eyes widen and you cover your mouth in shock, tears welling up in your eyes at the sight of your friends welcoming you back so warmly even after what you did. When they put the banner down to greet you with hugs you notice Jake is on crutches with two broken legs, once you’ve hugged everyone you head over to Jake to make things easier for him.

“I caused that didn’t I?” You whisper, looking from his legs up to his face where his eyes have softened, and he pulls you into a hug.

“It’s not your fault, it was your SQUIP wasn’t it? Don’t you dare blame yourself for this, I couldn’t just leave you to die in that fire, I just couldn’t.” Jake says, tightening the hug slightly. You were shocked when Jake revealed that he rescued you from his burning house. You set his house on fire and he still risked his life to save you, you’ve potentially fucked up his entire athletic career because you setting the fire caused him to break both of his legs. You feel your eyes welling up with tears as you hug Jake back tightly.

“I’m so sorry Jake.” You say, squeezing your eyes shut and allowing some tears to seep out before you two release each other from the hug.

“It’s ok, I’m just glad you’re ok, when I first got you out of there, I couldn’t do anything because of my legs, I freaked out so bad y/n, but the main thing is we’re both alive and kicking.” Jake says, a smile working its way back onto his face. You step back away from Jake and Rich is right back your side again and wraps his arm back around your waist, causing everyone to notice it and bombard you with questions. You two answer as many as you can before lessons start, with the promise to your friends of explaining everything at lunch. When lunch rolled around, both you and Rich located your friends and sat with them, you let Rich explain the story as you watch as his eyes light up whenever he mentions you making your heart flutter, you thank god for a lot of things, your friends being one of them, and your amazing boyfriend Rich Goranski being the other.

#Be More Chill #be more chill imagine #rich goranski #rich goranski x reader #jeremy heere #michael mell #jake dillinger #jake dillinger x reader #christine canigula #the squip #bmc squip #squip squad #bmc musical #bmc imagine #bmc michael #bmc jeremy #bmc rich #bmc jake