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bahrtofane · 3 months

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Jude misses his spanish class, and that somehow ends with the both of you stuck in a dark elevator, legs tangled and annoying each other till help comes

Word count - 3.5K+

Watch it - ur trapped in an elevator with jude, lights go out, you accidentally sock him, fluff tho hehehe

a/n - shout out to my bff best plooki for sending me the last jude pic, its what inspired this whole thing. nmout 3lik kho

—--

Jude is late to spanish class (again) so he's forced to sit for the staff ones instead. his mom will kill him if he misses any more, and his teammates will only tease him more. With the amount of promotional content and youtube videos he has to film soon, he literally doesn’t have the time to skip another class.

The only open seat is by you in the far corner, so he slides in as discreetly as he can. Which turns out isn’t all that discrete when all eyes are on him from the moment he steps into the room but it’s whatever. He'll live.

He pulls out his ipad and takes notes like the good student he is and pretends not to notice your gaze on him. He sits like such a teenage boy, legs spread and arms dangling over the table.

You haven’t been with Madrid all that long, you came along as an intern, eager to find your footing. Having one of the players all up next to you during class was not something you saw coming, you’ve met maybe one or two of them, after you got lost and ended up in the training facilities and they so graciously led the way out of the maze.

You’ve honestly been so busy with just getting settled you completely forgot the players existed. And here Jude is.

You stick your head back to your notes and hunker down for the hour left of spanish. You don't miss his stray gazes that land on you.

-----

Jude is a quiet guy you learn. He chews his bottom lip and blinks a little harshly at times. He's a pretty standard run of the mill guy and you try to treat him as such. He leaves you be, letting you have your space and pays attention to whatever the professor is saying in favor of talking to anyone.

When class is over you gather your things, slipping out from behind him and head to the elevator. Why the class is on the top floor you have yet to figure out. You like this elevator anyway, it's down the hall from the main big one that everyone crowds into, usually empty. Even though it lacks the big windows that overlook the pitches.

You see Jude jog to the elevator, you slide your hand out ,holding the doors open for him and he smiles at you in thanks, you smile back. It's silent save the hum of the elevator moving down.

Until it screeches to a halt, jolting the both of you so fast you land on the floor, legs tangled, things strewn all over the floor. Jude looks away while he picks himself up, helping track down your pens that roll across the floor. When you smooth your clothes down and find your footing, another jolt rocks the small metal box you're in.

Jude instinctively reaches out to steady himself, his hand landing on the railing beside you. You lurch forward and almost land right on him again. But you manage to keep your composure, and footing. Thank god.

"What in the world?" Jude asks, brows furrowing.

"I... I'm not sure," you reply, your heart still racing from the amusement park ride you never signed up for. Does Madrid not keep their elevators up to date on what is going on.

You both glance around the elevator, trying to assess the situation, and half waiting for another lurch. It's eerily quiet, and you notice the emergency button panel is dimly lit.

"Should we... press the emergency button?" you suggest tentatively, eyeing the panel.

"Probably our best bet" Jude agrees, reaching out to press the button. After a moment, a crackly voice comes through the intercom,

"Hello? Is someone in need of assistance?" a nasally voice comes to life. She sounds like your aunt kinda.

"Yeah, the elevator stopped suddenly, and we're not sure what's going on," Jude explains.

“Ah okay, which elevator? There should be a number and letter over the doors.”

“2C.” you real aloud.

"Perfect thank you. We’ll have people get to you as soon as we can. Please remain calm and stay where you are," the voice responds before the intercom falls silent again.

You exchange a look with Jude, both of you silently hoping that help arrives soon. The minutes tick by slowly, and the silence in the elevator becomes almost suffocating.

"So... Do you have any plans for after this?" Jude asks, breaking the silence. Even if its a little awkward.

You shake your head, grateful for the distraction. "Not really. Just some studying, I guess. What about you?"

Jude shrugs. "Probably just head back to my place if they don't need me. Training was pretty intense this morning."

You nod, "Sounds hectic."

"Yeah, it can be," Jude admits, scratching the back of his neck. "But it comes with the territory, I guess.

You fall into a silence again, playing with the hem of your shirt. Jude tucks his ipad under his arm and sighs deeply. Now that you take a good look at him, it looks like he booked it right from training. Slides and socks on, madrid shirt and shorts. Interesting.

You move to push the button again after what feels like ages, but this time the voice doesn't answer.

“What the..�� you mumble. You reach for your phone but as luck would have it there is no connection.

Jude slides to the floor, sitting criss-cross applesauce and trying his luck on his phone.

“No signal either huh.” he grumbles.

“Nope, we really just have to wait on them then.”

“I hope they hurry it up, no offense.”

You shrug, ”none taken.” sliding to take a seat on the floor opposite to him.

Little do you know you're about to spend the next 4 hours in this elevator together.

—-

It turns out there is only so much small talk you can make in an hour with a total stranger. Trust, you know.

After telling your life story, and him his, you’ve both run out of things to say. So you sit, drumming against the metal walls, taking turns pressing the help button and being greeted with the sweet sound of silence each time.

“What the actual hell are they doing.” Jude groans.

“Ignoring us.”

You just might lose your mind. Your legs are starting to go numb, and you watch Jude grow more agitated as time presses on. Thankfully there's been no more lurches downward, a win is a win. You get up periodically to stretch your legs out, checking your phone, reorganizing your bag, playing rock paper scissors, telling each other stories.

Jude is a silly guy, very competitive even after your 10th round of tic tac toe.

“I win again.” He cackles.

You wave him off, “Yeah yeah it’s just luck.”

“Whatever helps you sleep at night,” he smiles.

He goes back to the red button, and once again there’s no answer. You’re half way to losing your mind. How do they just forget about you here? You try texting people, and nothing goes through. Jude walks around the little space, arm raised and pointing his phone up in hopes of catching a signal.

“Oh wait I think- never mind. Not even one bar will hold in here.” He slumps back down against the wall.

“I actually can’t believe they’re not answering.” You groan, head in your hands.

“Me neither. “

You resort to looking through your phone for any games to pass the time. But you need a signal for just about all of them. Might as well clear out your photos right? Jude joins, scooting next to you.

“Don't mind if I watch?”

You shake you head, “nah, just getting rid of old pictures.”

He nods.

Now you just have to be triple careful of not accidentally swiping through any embarrassing pictures. You don't thankfully, instead your room back home pops up, after you redecorated it. Zidane jersey hanging off your wall.

Jude perks up at this, “Zidane fan?”

“Very big one.”

He smiles, “me too.”

“I've heard. What's he like?”

“Zidane? Hm, he's well, elegant. Classy. He's a calm guy.”

You nod, tucking your phone back inside your pocket, turning to face him, “have you seen him play in a charity match with ronaldo?”

He laughs ,”yeah the one with that insane title, fat old ronaldo does hat trick.”

You giggle, “that's the one.”

He hums, leaning his head back on the wall and you fall into silence again.

More time passes and you don’t think you have it in you to reorganize your bag for another time.

“I have an idea.” you declare as you move into the second hour.

Jude raises a brow.

“Might as well do our Spanish homework right?”

“I might die.” he dead pans.

You roll your eyes, “its better than doing nothing.”

“Nu uh, no way. I choose nothing.”

“Suit yourself,” you shrug.

10 minutes later Jude sits down next to, pulling his ipad out and getting to work. You smile, “see, I told you.”

“Yeah yeah,” he grumbles, “can you help me on number 4?”

You do, leaning against him and walking him through the conjugation of each word, your fingers brush against the iPad screen and you hope he doesn't notice how you blush.

Hours in an elevator with Jude bellingham what is this a bad fanfic plot?

You end up finish the pages of homework side by side and Jude smiles

“That wasn't half bad actually, thanks for the help.”

“No problem. We make a pretty good team huh?” you tease.

He snorts, “I guess so.”

It turns out Jude is really bad at staying in once place, he does anything but keep still, throwing his slides at the buttons periodically, and one even hits the help button, this time the voice answers.

“Hello?” it's a completely different voice his time, male.

“Thank god hello.” Jude scrambles to get up properly, and you follow suit, leaning closer to the little speaker.

“I'm sorry?”

“We've been in this elevator for what, 2 hours now and no ones been answering the call button? Fucking ridiculous.”

“I apologize for the inconvenience, we've been short staffed and I clocked in a few minutes ago.”

“For fucks sake, thats great and all but can you get us out?”

There's a pause, and for a second you think they're going to hang up and there will be no hope. You will die in this elevator.

Luckily for you the voice comes to life again, “would you like us to call the fire department?”

“What do you think?” Jude dead pans.

“We will keep you updated, but for now it's looking like a wait time of 45 minutes to an hour. “

Both of you groan, dramatically falling to the floor.

“You'd think Madrid would have better staffing,” he rubs his eyes.

“You think.” you agree.

“Im so gonna complain about this.” he squints his eyes at the buttons, almost like he's threatening them.

“Hey it could be worse, you could have missed a game.”

“Very true.”

He chews his lip before turning to you, a glint in his eyes, “Wanna play hot hands?” he tries.

“Sure why not.”

You shuffle so you're facing him once again, You're up first, palms up while Jude hovers his hands palm down over yours, and wow are his hands huge, completely covering your own. The name of the game is to manage to slap his hands faster than he can move them away.

And so it begins.

Unsurprisingly, Jude has keen reflexes, and you only shake your head at him.

“I'm at an unfair disadvantage, whereas VAR.”

He giggles, “VAR or no var, you're losing,” he shrugs.

It's just enough of a distraction to get you your first win.

“Lets gooo.” you celebrate.

“VAR immediately, time wasting, yellow card, red card, extra time.”

You smile, “you're just mad I won.”

“Yeah you won unfairly. “He sulks.

“Yeah yeah, your turn.”

He sighs dramatically, but puts his palms up regardless.

You're too focused on his hands, skittering at any movement, so much so you end up jumping and throwing your hands out so fast you slap him. Uh oh.

“Oh my god i'm so sorry, are you okay.” you reach out and cradle his face, a little red but nothing too bad thank god. You almost took out Madrid's star boy, you're just an intern, you do NOT have the money to fund any legal cases.

You don't even notice he's laughing, giggles bursting from his lips while you watch on. His eyes are big, oh my god, he's got those big brown beautiful eyes. People weren't kidding. He's even more handsome in person. You want to kiss him. Oh yeah you're holding his face, you drop your hands away and roll your eyes, trying to play off the blush that's spanning your face.

“I'm fine, don't worry. You got a mean arm, ever think of being a goalie?” he teases.

“I'm going to be Barcas goalie. How about that.” you shoot back, though there's no real bite to your words.

He only laughs harder, “hot hands really makes you competitive huh.”

“It wasn't my fault okay, you moved too fast.”

He only shakes his head, “I think you're the sore loser.”

“No but seriously, are you good?”

He waves you off, “nah i'm good seriously, you're fine.”

You sigh in relief.

He snorts, “no more hot hands for you.”

You squint at him, “I'm going to sleep.”

You make a pillow out of your bag and try to nap. Might as well at this point. Jude seems to share a similar idea as he lays down opposite to you, tucking his arms under him and screwing his eyes shut.

It turns out sleeping on the floor on an elevator is extremely uncomfortable, and you get about 5 minutes of shut eye before Jude somehow has his legs rolled into yours.

“ ‘M Sorry,” he mumbles. But you don't say anything, wiggling your feet back under his and trying to get some shut eye.

—--

At the turning of the third hour you get woken up by the crackle of the magic voice in the wall, “the wait is up about an hour to an hour and a half.”

“What's taking so long,” you huff, eyes still blurry from your sleep.

“We apologize for the delay but there's a back up in call logs and-”

“Yeah we get it you're understaffed whatever. Just please hurry up.” Jude bites back, nearing closer and closer to you.

The voice fizzles away and the sleep has worn off you, enough so to realize he's almost spooning you. You sit up, but Jude remains as he is, breathing soundly as he uses his hands to cover the harsh elevator lights that beat down on him. You're surprised the lights haven't-

You spoke too soon. Way way too soon. The lights go out within an instant and you almost scream, jolting against Jude.

This stirs him awake again, and he's oh so confused at the lack of lights. The secondary elevators are great, but there are no windows. Just solid metal on all ends. Leaving the two of you in complete darkness.

“Jude?’

You hear shuffling, “Yeah, I'm right here don't worry. “

“This is kinda freaky now.” you trail off.

“Hey, we'll be fine. Look on the bright side, it's easier to sleep.”

You snort, “Yeah guess so,” But the ease doesn't wear off of you.

“Here,” you feel Jude’s hands reach for yours. Feeling for them in the darkness till they're laced together. “Now it's not so bad right?”

You can feel your face heat up,“Not bad at all.”

“How sick would hot hands in the dark be? Just think-”

“Absolutely not.” you sigh.

He giggles again, teasing you is surprisingly very very fun for him. This is the most fun he's had all day. Every time you turn away while you blush only fuels him to tease you more. Out of all the people to be stuck in here with, he thinks he got pretty lucky with it being you.

But as sweet as you are, the situation only seems to get worse. He uses his free hand to feel for the button again, and the voice comes back.

“The lights just went off. I hope they're on their way.“ Jude speaks.

“The wait is about an hour.” the speaker says.

“My fucking god.” he sighs.

“Were supposed to wait in the dark, for an hour?” you can't believe it.

The voice mumbles another apology and Jude only tells them to go away if they’re going to be completely and utterly useless. And alone you two go.

—-

You start singing by the fourth hour. You're completely tangled in Jude’s legs, unable to even see what's in front of you in the pitch black darkness, but you can feel him. And it keeps you grounded, keeps away the panic. He pats your back while he sings stupid songs, trying to cheer you up and mind off of the situation as much as he can. The teasing doesn't stop, and you're starting to like it. (You liked it from the beginning).

If someone told you you'd be cuddling Jude Bellingham on the floor of an elevator in the darkness after class, you're pretty sure you'd call the nearest psych ward. But here you are. You think you’re sitting sideways on his lap, while he sits back to the wall, your arms tangled. You've started to trace shapes on his arms.

Who knew an elevator would be the perfect place to bond.

“You smell nice.” Jude mumbles into the crook of your neck.

You hum,” thank you.”

“You know, this is pretty nice. You're a good cuddler.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. my rooms a better spot though.”

You try not to freeze up too much, but you're sure he can feel you go rigid next to him.

“I bet it is,” you mumble into his shoulder

He laughs, easy and light, “You’re pretty cute too.”

“You cant even see me it's literally pitch black in here.”

“So?”

“You're silly Jude.”

“So i've been told”

You get comfy again, sliding a hand to his back and scratching lightly.

He melts within an instant, “that actually feels really nice…” he trails off, leaning against your shoulder.

“You’re like an overgrown puppy, “ you laugh.

He only snorts, leaning forward to allow you better access to his back.

—--

Finally, after what feels like an eternity, the voice comes to life, and Jude is not in the mood.

“What is it?”

“The wait is now 10 to 15 minutes, please step back from the doors and do not be alarmed when the fire department needs to possibly force the doors open.”

“Finally.” You sigh, squishing your face into his neck.

“Finally.” He confirms.

After a few minutes. You hear the sound of footsteps outside the elevator and voices chattering.

“Alright guys, sit tight, should be a few minutes and you’ll be outta here.” A voice says on the other end.

“Alright.” Jude replies, gently getting up and separating from you.

“We’re gonna need you guys to step back.”

You do as much, trying to feel for your bag to kick it away from the door.

Jude rests a hand on your hip and you smile, even if you can't see it you bet he's doing the same.

The doors are manually pried open, and you're greeted by the sweet sweet faces of firemen and security.

"Are you two okay?" the fireman asks, helping you both out of the elevator.

"Yeah, we're fine. Just glad to be out of there," you say with a sigh of relief.

As you step out into the hallway, you and Jude exchange grateful smiles. Unsurprisingly people crowd to him and make sure he's all good. He waves them off instead pointing them in your direction. You insist you're all good, no injuries. After thanking everyone you slip away and begin walking down the hall. After all, you don't expect him to actually mean anything there. You just got stuck together for a while, and got comfortable. That's all.

You think this is the 4th floor? Down the stairs you go.

The man is full of surprises. He catches up to you, shouting your name and closing the door to the stairs behind him.

“Had enough of me?”

“Eh four hours seems like enough.” you shrug.

He rolls his eyes, “so you don't give me your number then if i ask?”

“Only if you ask nicely. And I don't even have a Spanish number yet, I'll have to get yours.”

(you want his number sooo bad you might explode, this can't be real.)

“Would you like to get my number then?” he scratches the back of his neck, suddenly shy, ‘only if you want you know you don't have to just because the whole elevator thing i mean-”

You cut him off with a kiss to the check, “I'd love to get your number Jude. And thanks for being so nice in there.”

He looks to the ground, playing with his hands, “yeah anytime.”

You hand him your phone and he takes a contact picture right there, with the most obnoxious contact name to match.

‘the best elevator buddy Jude <3’

You smile, “I'll text you when I can, yeah?”

He hums, waving you off, slipping the door open with his foot and setting off in the opposite direction. What a day huh?

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ifancyharry · 7 months

Text

what it is: YN is Harry’s personal assistant and she gets sick, but he’s playing Wembley

word count: 4k

The air is crisp and clean as YN steps out of her hotel into the streets of London, hurrying down the sidewalk as she scurries to the first pharmacy she can find.

It’s 7.54 in the morning and she’s been awake for almost twenty-four hours. Not on purpose, obviously. And not on her boss’s orders either, despite having there been nights the team deemed important and she was required to pull an all nighter, but those were usually times of celebrations, either spent at an afterparty or waiting until midnight for Spotify to release the album everyone had been working hard on.

The air hurts her lungs as she stops to catch her breathing, the pounding behind her temples not dimming the slightest as she trespasses the sliding doors of the pharmacy, only intensifying with the bright artificial lights shining down on her from the ceiling.

She pulls her sunglasses out of the pocket of her sweatshirt and slides them over her eyes, relishing in the temporary relief washing over her sensitive eyes.

Her phone vibrates in her pocket and she pulls it out, grimacing at the name on the screen; it’s her boss, Harry, asking her what time she’s ready to leave for the venue.

Once her turn comes, she quickly explains her symptoms to the pharmacist and just as quickly she pays for the medicine the pharmacist has taken out for her.

She walks out of the pharmacy and types back a short response to Harry, telling him she’s on her way to his room.

She hopes the medicine she has stuffed in her pocket will make her feel better, and she thinks as she’s making her way back to the hotel that she’ll ask Harry to stop along the way to grab a coffee, hoping it will soothe the tension behind her temples. There’s no way she can be sick when her boss is playing at Wembley for the first time.

…

Harry isn’t one to comment on other people’s appearances, his mum taught him that and it has stuck with him since he was a little kid, a sort of an unspoken rule out of kindness, and therefore he’s never asked if someone was sick because they weren’t wearing makeup or if someone had eaten a little more over the holidays. He never considered other people’s looks something that concerned his range of business, but once he sees YN, he can’t help but wonder if she’s okay.

Her hair is tied in a messy braid, and there’s some strands falling out of it and in front of her eyes. She’s wearing a big love on tour sweatshirt and a pair of yoga pants, but that isn’t particularly concerning, because he’s used to her comfy articles of clothing.

What’s concerning is her face… and Harry already feels bad for thinking that, but she doesn’t look like herself. And Harry would know. Of course he would know, because he spends a lot of time looking at her face, especially when she’s not looking, most of the times when she’s reading a book next to him in a moment of rest or when she’s answering emails on Monday mornings. So… he knows her. He knows her skin looks paler than normal, and the circles under her eyes aren’t the same as that one time they partied all night after Harry won album of the year at the Grammys.

He wants to ask if she’s okay, because after a year of working together they have that kind of confidence, but he doesn’t want that to be the first thing he says to her, so he just smiles at her and welcomes her with a side hug and a good morning.

“Hi” she’s quick to greet back, and Harry notices even her voice sounds scruffier than usual.

“Are you ready to go?” She asks a second later.

“Yeah, yeah, the car’s down already?” He asks surprised. Sometimes it takes a while before the drivers find the hotel, and YN and Harry spend that time watching videos on youtube or talking about the day’s schedule.

YN shrugs but doesn’t say anything in response, which is weird to Harry because she’s usually really bright and energetic in the morning, and she’s really meticulous on top of everything: she never lets him wait without finding something to pass the time first.

“Let’s just stay until we don’t know for certain” he suggests.

She agrees with a nod of her head and she heads to his bed, sitting down on the end of it. It’s not uncommon for her, because she’s always in his space, and there have been times where they were forced to basically sleep in the same bed (one time YN fell asleep on his bed, and Harry was so in his song-writing-bubble he didn’t even realize until he was so tired he couldn’t keep his eyes open, so he slipped in next to her and literally passed out).

He still needs to tie his shoes, so he sits next to her and ties the laces of his ratted vans.

“How’d yeh sleep, pet?” He asks, because she’s freakishly quiet and it’s making him anxious. She’s never quiet, and with this being a stressful day already for Harry, every little thing that’s different from normal alerts him.

“Fine” she whispers, knuckling at her eyes, his question bringing back the awful memory of the night she spent tossing and turning in the scratchy hotel sheets, praying for a moment of solace every time she tried to breathe through her nose and failing.

“Me too…” he nods.

YN feels bad because she should be more engaging, but she really doesn’t have it in her to make small talk.

Some time passes before the driver calls YN’s phone to tell her the van is here, shaking her awake. She remembers closing her eyes to rest them, and next thing she knows she’s sound asleep on her boss’s bed. She’d be a bit embarrassed if it wasn’t for how awful she feels already.

“Crap! I fell asleep!” She exclaims once she hangs up the call.

“Yeah” Harry says from next to her, still laying on his bed, “just fo’ like… fifteen minutes though” He’s playing on his phone, and YN pushes at his bicep, “we need to go, driver’s here”

She gets up from the bed and slips on her shoes, grabbing her work bag (it’s really a tote bag but she finds calling it work bag makes her waaaay more professional) from the floor next to the door.

“YN” she hears Harry clear his voice, and she turns around to look at him.

He’s still sitting on the bed, and he passes a hand through his hair before saying, “are yeh all right?”

She closes her eyes in a furrow and tries not to wince when a sharp pain shoots behind her eyes with the movement, “yes, yes” she stresses, although not convinced.

“Are you sure? C’mon yeh can tell me!”

“I’m fine, Harry” and despite her words, she sniffles, “maybe I have a cold or something…”

“You can take the day off if you need to, yeh know that”

“No, there’s no way” she shakes her head swiftly, “no”.

“YN…” he trails off.

“Harry, I told you I’m fine. I can work! Let’s just go, okay?”

He sighs but does as she says, following her out of his room.

Harry isn’t a worrier. If someone from his team, or band whatsoever, says they can work, he at least presumes they’re mature enough to know the expanse of their limits.

With YN, it’s different. He worries.

Not because he considers her immature, but she’s just… different. Ever since she started working for him as his assistant, he’s always looked out for her, despite being the one that didn’t want to hire her in the first place.

She’s young, she works a lot to prove herself to him, despite him telling her lots of times she doesn’t need to prove anything and she’s doing a great job as she is.

She does unthinkable working hours, sometimes pulling all nighters, other times hurrying to his house in the middle of the night because he’s a little bit of a hypochondriac and she needs to check immediately what’s that new mole he has on his back (turns out it was a speck of dark chocolate that stuck onto his skin).

She’s soft and she always puts her job (him, actually) first, so he doesn’t really trust her to know her limits. If she’s sick she should rest. She should lay in bed and maybe eat a little soup and watch comfort movies tucked under the sheets, but he knows she won’t. And he knows he’s the reason behind that, because he’s playing at Wembley tonight, and she doesn’t want to cause trouble. Harry thinks she in no way could ever be described as trouble.

And maybe, and he feels a little bit scared to admit this, he could postpone the show just by a couple hours, at least until he knows she’s resting at the hotel. but, she hurries into the van and pretends like she’s just got “a cold or something”, so Harry doesn’t question her further.

He could just order her to take the day off, but he knows that would hurt her feelings, and he can imagine the look on her face, like a puppy being scolded, so he bites his tongue: there’s no way he could ever hurt her feelings.

…

YN has to stop a couple of times when she starts feeling dizzy on her feet. She shouldn’t run this much when she’s probably feverish, but there’s so much to do! She doesn’t trust to delegate, and not because she’s pretentious, but because she’s a control freak that needs to know how things are being handled, so she would only get much more frustrated and it would eventually just end up in her doing all the work anyway, increasing her fever undoubtedly.

So, she chugs downs a lot of water and a lot of ibuprofen, taking deep breaths every time she starts feeling nauseous. She should probably inform Harry at least that she doesn’t feel good, so if anything were to happen he wouldn’t be too surprised, but she knows how he is; he would demand she stop immediately and go back to the hotel to rest, and she can’t allow that to happen.

Wembley is the dream of a lifetime, and Harry sound checks every song two times before passing on to the next one. YN sits quietly in one of the seats, preparing Harry’s next instagram post on her phone. She handles all of his socials, because that’s what she was originally hired for. “A young set of eyes”, Jeff had defined her, and from then, her life had changed completely.

Of course, she wasn’t aware she’d develop a crush on her boss at the time she was hired. She figured she’d be immune to his charm; she’s younger than him, much less experienced (in every aspect of her life), and hasn’t really seen anything yet, so she thought they’d just be too different to get along. Spending each second of the day together didn’t help, though, because it was then she got to know Harry for who he truly was, and with that, came the awareness of how many things he’d lived through and how many things he could teach her. How soft he was with her, how he would always drape a blanket over her when she accidentally fell asleep on his bed, and how he would tell her she looked pretty even after pulling an all nighter and probably looking like a raccoon. That’s just how he was.

And that’s why she values his dreams more than her health. She would never do anything that could harm him, so she shrugs off the dreadful feeling off her back and keeps working.

…

“Hey” Harry plops down on the couch next to her, draping his arm on the backrest of the couch. If he’d stretched his fingers he could touch her shoulder, but he doesn’t just yet. He knows she still doesn’t feel good, he can see it in the way she’s hugging herself in the Love on tour hoodie she has on (probably one of his because their laundry always gets mixed up).

“Hi” she says softly, her voice much lower than it’d been the last time he saw her.

It’s closer to show time now, but he’s still not in his outfit. YN wonders if that’s the reason why he came in the dressing room in the first place.

“What are yeh doin’ hidin’ in here all alone?”

“‘m not hiding!” She pouts, “jus’… resting”

“Mh, yeah?” He hums, turning his head to look at her, “restin’ your ears? Are you tired of my music yet?” He jokes.

“Never!” She beams, swatting at his chest playfully.

He lets his arm fall down on her shoulder, and he tugs at her, squeezing her against his chest.

She breaths him in, and despite her stuffy nose, she can smell the faint scent of his fabric softener. Musk and lavender. It’s the same as hers.

“I’m sorry I’ve been a bit of a pain lately…” he trails off, his mouth buried in her hair, “nothing to do with you… was jus’ nervous is all”

She squeezes his hoodie between her fingers to tug him closer, “I’m really proud of you. You’ll do great.”

“Thanks, pet” he grins, breaking away from the hug.

She sniffles and he looks between her eyes warily, “’s there anything you want to tell me before I go on stage?”

“Jus’ to kick ass” she giggles, aware that wasn’t what he was alluding at.

“Mmmh” he muses, getting up from the couch. He knew she’d be stubborn about this so he doesn’t pressure her.

“Hav’to start gettin’ ready” he clears his throat, heading towards the portable hanger YN set up in his dressing room.

He then proceeds to take off his hoodie and his tank top, leaving him shirtless before her.

She’s seen him in his underwear many times, but maybe it’s the fever, maybe it’s the crush on him that’s growing stronger everyday, but she feels her insides get warm at the sight.

He tugs his sweats down his legs too, kicking them off his feet, and YN pretends to pick up her phone to respond to a message that definitely could have waited.

He picks up the heart printed overalls he’d be wearing and tugs them over his legs, jumping a little in his place so they could fit over his bum.

Once he’s fully dressed, he looks over at YN and finds her looking at him already, her eyes a little droopy. He feels his heart tug in his chest at the sight. He wishes she’d let him help her. If he could he’d send her back to the hotel straight away, but he has to admit he’s selfishly relishing in the idea of having her here, looking at him perform. It makes him want to do even better than he always does.

“All ready then” he smiles, dimples denting both his cheeks.

“Mmhh” she hums, getting up on her feet. She walks towards him and adjusts the neck of his shirt, petting it down.

“Good luck Harry” she smiles. He has to refrain himself from lowering his head down to kiss her, and he’s aware these thoughts are way too unprofessional of him, but he can’t help himself. Not when she’s looking at him like that.

“See ya after the show, pet”

…

“Harry!” Jeff pats down on his shoulders as soon as Harry runs backstage, “you just smashed it! Fuckin’ smashed it mate!”

Harry laughs with him out of politeness, but his mind is really on something else.

“Fuckin’ Wembley, Harry! Wembley’s Harry’s house!” Someone else shouts, and he thinks it’s Lloyd but he doesn’t really pay much attention to him. There’s someone missing from the crowd. YN. She’s nowhere to be found, and he’d really like to celebrate with her. She’s the one that should join in on the fun and get a little bit of praise too, because without her, harry doesn’t think he could’ve played Wembley.

Everything was going fine, and he saw her next to his mother standing in the private part of the pit, but then, when he came back after chatting with a couple of fans, she was gone. He wonders if she’s okay.

“Hey, Jeff” he clears his throat, hoping to be discreet with his tone of voice, “where’s YN?”

“Oh…” he nods, “she wasn’t feeling proper good, so I sent her to your dressing room. I told her to get back to the hotel, but she refused to leave”

Harry nods and after a ‘thanks’ he hurries towards his dressing room, hoping to find her there.

Once he opens the door, the sight of YN sleeping on the couch crouched on herself makes his heart somersault in his chest.

“Hey, pet” he coos softly once he crouches down next to her.

He repeats the endearing greeting, and this time she stirs awake. YN brings one hand to knuckle at her eyes tiredly, and Harry frowns at the sight of her bloodshot eyes. He brings one hand to caress her cheek, but when he realizes how warm she is, he brings it up to her forehead. She’s burning hot.

He immediately feels guilty. He should’ve sent her back to the hotel as soon as he realized she was sick, hell, he shouldn’t have let her leave his room that morning!

“Harry?” She asks timidly, her voice coming out scruffy. She gulps but flinches as the hurt in her throat doesn’t subside.

“Yeah, ’s me” he whispers, moving the hair away from her face, “let’s go back to the hotel, okay?”

“No Harry! The show! You can’t leave… the show! It’s wembley” she stresses, gripping his bicep tightly to refrain him from leaving her.

“Shh, shh” he shushes her, “calm down. ’s okay. The show was great. Everything was great” he coos, pressing his lips down her forehead and flinching from how hot it feels, “you did so great”.

She sniffles and: “great?”

“Yeah” he nods, reassuring her, “let’s go now, okay?”

He helps her get up on her feet, and she stumbles a bit in her place. She grips the fabric of his overalls tightly between her fingers, and he lets her, hoping to be at least a little bit of comfort.

…

“How are you feelin’? What hurts?” He asks her once they reach his hotel room (he wanted to go back to hers, but couldn’t find her key and didn’t want to startle her too much).

“Everything” she pouts.

“I’m so sorry, darling” he sighs, ushering her inside his room.

She’s stable on her feet now, the little nap at the venue kind of helped a bit in soothing her, but still, everything hurts, and the thought of being in a hotel room and not at her own house bothers her.

She also doesn’t want Harry to look at her like this, all sweaty and red in the cheeks. She must look so embarrassing!

“I’ll draw you a bath, how about that?” He proposes, not waiting for her response and heading directly towards the bathroom.

Now that he thinks about it, harry’s glad she’s in his room, because (being the Harry Styles) his room has a bathtub, whereas hers doesn’t. He also has lots of salt baths and bubbles to add to the water, courtesy of the hotel, and he adds everything he can to soothe her stuffed nose and make the bath as pleasing as possible.

She knocks on the door delicately, and he turns his head to look at her.

“Bath’s ready” he smiles gently, and he dips his index finger to test the temperature of the water, careful not to make it too hot to not aggravate her fever any more.

Harry excuses himself from the bathroom, and tells her to give him a shout if she needs anything.

It’s a couple of minutes later when he hears her calling for him, her voice still lower than normal.

He knocks on the door and after he gets her consent he opens it, peeking his head inside. She’s laying in the bathtub, the water submerging her almost to her neck, and he’s aware she’s naked under, but the bubbles cover her body entirely.

“Are yeh all right?” He asks worriedly.

“Mhmh,” she hums, “jus… keep me company?”

He’s happy she’s more responsive now, and he happily sits at her side, plopping down on the toilet seat next to the tub.

They sit in silence for a while, Harry’s aware he’s still in his fancy (and uncomfortable) show clothes, but he doesn’t care. He’s just happy to dote on her now as she’s been doing with him since she’s been hired.

“I can’t believe you played at wembley and I missed half of it” she says after a while, the water sloshing around her as she turns to look at him.

“There’s always next time” he grins at her playfully.

She throws a smile at him, “bet”.

His mouth opens in a sideway smile, his dimple indenting only one of his cheeks, and more seriously than he did before, he says “I wish you’d told me you weren’t feelin’ good”

“Didn’t want to spoil your day” she shrugs.

He wants to tell her she wouldn’t have spoiled it, that if she’d asked he would’ve postponed his show and crawled in bed with her, cuddling her until she felt better, even with the risk of getting himself sick too, he didn’t care. He would have done anything to make her feel good; but how can he tell her? How can he be honest about something like that without revealing another part of himself to her? He’s her boss. He’s older than her. And he doesn’t know if she feels the same way.

So, instead of making a complete fool out of himself, he ushers her out of the tub, passing her a towel without looking at her. He engulfs her in the bathrobe and ties it tight on her stomach, careful to have her bits covered completely by the fabric of the towel.

When he reaches his room, he takes out a t-shirt and a pair of boxers for her to sleep in, and he leave her to change in the bathroom.

While he waits for her to come out, he texts his mum if she could make that delicious soup she always prepared when he was sick, promising he wasn’t sick himself and that he’d explain in the morning. His mum answers a couple of minutes later with a thumbs up and a kissy face.

He locks his phone and plugs it in the charger next to the bed, leaving it on the bedside table.

When YN comes out of the bathroom, she looks better already. Her cheeks aren’t as red and her eyes appear to be more rested, but, she still looks tired, and he smiles at her as he tugs the comforter down for her to slip in.

She curls up under the covers and waits for Harry to tuck her in, “comfortable?” He asks.

She nods with her cheek against the pillow, “just wish I was home” she whispers and the affirmation pains him.

“I’ve been overworking yah, haven’t I?” He sighs deeply, feeling extremely guilty.

She’s quick to shake her head no, flinching when a sting of pain hits her temples with the movement.

“Yes I have… you’ve been s’good” he smiles down at her.

“You’re a Wembley player now” she whispers, her eyes closing on her as she speaks, and Harry chuckles endeared at her.

“Get some rest” he coos, but she’s already fallen in a deep sleep that will probably be tainted with a curly headed guy with green eyes and a pretty smile.

He fishes from inside her bag a tab of ibuprofen and, with a glass of water, he places them on the bedside table closer to her side, so, if she’d ever were to wake up in pain, she could take the medicine immediately.

He takes the shortest shower he’s ever taken, quickly putting on his pajamas and brushing his teeth. Once he’s ready for bed, he slips in next to her, leaning down to press his lips on her forehead to check her temperature. She’s still warm, but the bath seemed to be of help, and probably the much needed sleep, too.

He thinks he’ll give her the rest of the month off. He owes it to her, so she can get back up on her feet and spend some time at home if she’d like. He takes a minute to wonder why hasn’t he ever given her more than a day of rest, and he doesn’t have to wonder too much, because he knows the answer already, one that is overbearing and too deep to even analyze after the day he’s had: he doesn’t want to be away from her that much time. It’s as simple as that. He’s fucked.

Read part 1 to their story here

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canthelpit0 · 16 days

Text

Come through

Pairing: Cocky!Player!Chris x Reader

Word count: 4.5k+

Summary: chris hand always been a player. Would that change once he becomes famous? -no.

Warnings: smut, player!Chris, influencer!Reader, party, mentions of drinking/tobacco/weed, pet names (ma, pretty boy, pretty lady, sweetheart, etc.), bathroom sex, semi public, oral m!receiving, fingering, p in v (protected), praise kink, swearing, no use of y/n, no oc, written in 2nd pov

(A/N: English is not my first language, and I always appreciate feedback enjoy! love y'all. this is heavily inspired by come through, the song.)

Chris had always been sort of a fuckboy.

And with his growing fame it wasn’t getting any better.

Chris has a huge ego. Sure people would always say him and his brothers are nice and humble, but that doesn’t mean Chris can’t be cocky at times.

He didn’t drink. He was underage, though in LA nobody really cared about that anyway. He just didn’t like drinking.

Chris and his brothers would always be invited to some random LA parties.

At first Chris never wanted to go. He didn’t like partying. He didn’t like the smell of alcohol, tobacco and weed.

However he soon came to realize that his looks and fame would get girls swooning over him.

He was being a player and he knew it. However none of the girls he’s ever been with complained.

He made sure they know that it would be a one night stand, and that he doesn’t date. And it worked for him.

★ ★ ★

You were an upcoming YouTuber and influencer. You were starting to gain more and more followers. People were starting to notice you more

You were known for your humor and your witty comebacks.

And as much as you would like to deny it, People didn’t just loved you for your personality, but they also loved your body.

You were gorgeous, To put it lightly.

So obviously when Chris saw you on his for you page a week ago, picking out an outfit to put on for some place you were going to that day, he thought you were hot.

Not that he’d do anything about it.

He wasn’t the type of guy to slide into someone’s dm’s. Because quite frankly he didn’t care that much.

★ ★ ★

But when he saw you at the party he was attending tho…

You’d been carelessly dancing. You weren’t drinking, even tho you were 21. You didn’t want to drink today. You wanted to have sober fun and hang out with your friends.

Your friends always did and said the craziest things when drunk. And watching it as the sober designated driver was hilarious.

You feel big hands being placed on your waist delicately.

You turn around to see who it was and to your surprise it was one of the sturniolo triplets.

Chris.

He’s bold for just touching you like that. But for some reason it was hot. Maybe it was just the air laced in weed that was getting to you, but you were enjoying this.

So you simply dance with him.

After a while you both leave the middle of the crowd going to the kitchen to talk. The kitchen being way less crowded than the living room of this house party.

“You’re bold.” You chuckle pointing out watching as his expression morphed into one of amusement and lust as he checks you out.

“Couldn’t help myself ma”

“Sure you couldn’t, pretty boy” you chuckle rolling your eyes at the statement.

Chris, to the public was known to be a sweetheart. But in LA, around other influencers he was known to have quite frequent hook ups. And he was known to never leave any of the girls not satisfied.

You, having moved to LA recently for your career, have heard all about it. People were ‘warning’ you, but no one was outright telling you it was a stupid idea. Because was it tho?

“What’s a pretty lady like you doing here anyway?” His goofy grin is wide as he stares back into your eyes.

His eyes are a light shade of blue, but in the lights of the party and his blown out pupils they look dark. His brown hair long, and a mess.

After people had told you about him and his brothers (And particularly Chris’ reputation), you had searched them up and watched a few of their videos. They were quite funny.

And Chris in particular seemed to not be able to take anything seriously.

“Nothing, just having fun.”

You shrug taking a sip from your red solo cup. It was filled with plain water. Chris raised an eyebrow at that.

“You’re not drinking?” He can’t help the small laugh he lets out at that. Tho he is secretly glad you’re not. This was his chance to get you in bed, but he wasn’t going to do anything with a drunk girl.

“No,” you chuckle back. “Designated driver” you raise your free hand in surrender as if it was a crime.

He chuckles at your antics his eyes trailing over your face over to your body once more.

“Eyes up here sweetheart.”

His eyes snap back to yours his goofy grin staying right where it was.

“Sorry ma, you’re just really distracting.” He smiles looking down at you.

You weren’t that much shorter than him. But granted you were wearing high heels. He wasn’t even that tall himself though.

You were wearing a tiny mini dress. One that ends right below your ass. Your cleavage being low giving him a great view of your boobs.

“Oh, I’m distracting?”

You tease. You take a step closer to him, stepping into his personal space as you tilt your head up to look at him better.

His hand goes to the side of your jaw rubbing his thumb over your cheek gently as if asking for consent. You wrap your arm Around his neck pulling him down connecting your lips.

The sweet kiss turns more heated when his hand moved from your jaw to the back of your neck. His other hand holding you by the small of your back keeping your body flush against himself.

His tongue graces your lips asking for entrance with you eagerly give, parting your mouth slightly so he can slip his tongue into your mouth.

You make out, your tongues tangling in each other as you simply kiss for a moment.

His tongue hungrily exploring your mouth. He leans into you more tilting your head back more, kissing you with all the lust in his body. Kissing you Like he wants to devour you.

You eventually pull apart to breath. His lips immediately meeting your jawline. He kisses down your jawline moving down to your neck to your collarbone.

“Damn you smell amazing.” He breaths out. His voice strained from the previous kiss.

“Thank you” you chuckle your hand finding its way into his messy waves. You scratch his scalp with your freshly manicured nails causing him to let out a low groan.

He pulls back slightly. He leaves a quick peck on your lips before looking at you again.

“How about we go somewhere.” His voice low and raspy. Laced with the attraction and lust he feels for you.

You just hum. He starts to drag you back through the living room, through the crowd of people. Getting to some random bathroom. He opens the door and lets you walk in first.

You immediately stand in front of the mirror, leaning over slightly to fix your hair.

He closes and locks the door behind himself. He stands behind you watching you through the mirror. You make eye contact. In this new lighting his eyes seem clearer.

He stares into your soul as you push back from the sink.

You swiftly turn around and sink to your knees in front of him.

Chris would’ve never asked. But wich guy doesn’t like head.

“So eager” he chuckles. His hand goes to the top of your head petting it gently. Before he picks up your chin, making you look up at him again.

Your head is tilted back as you look up at him through your lashes. you know he’s probably had countless woman in this same position. But it never got old for him.

And he liked seeing you like the is anyway

“You look so pretty like this you know.” He mumbles before leaning down and leaving a heated kiss on your lips.

He stands back up straight, and you can’t help the way your eyes trail to his crotch. It was right in front of your face and you were getting impatient.

Before you know it your hands go to the top of his jeans, tugging on them gently. You were asking for permission without asking.

He chuckles at your eagerness, undoing his belt, then unbuttoning the jeans and letting you slide them down.

You can already see his huge erection through his boxers. Your mouth was already watering at the sight.

You pull down his boxers fast. His length springing free, hitting his abdomen.

You flinch back slightly. You look at his length with an eyebrow raised not doing anything for a moment just admiring.

You’ve never seen a dick be this pretty. It had a thick vain running up the side. It was long, at least a good 8 inches. It was thick, not too thick, but enough that you knew the stretch would burn.

“You good?” He asks. He was clearly holding in a laugh. His hand goes to your hair, still just patting the top of your head.

“You’re sure you’re white?” You tease one hand cupping his member as you start to gently and slowly jerk him off.

“Definitely, sweetheart” he chuckles rolling his eyes at the comment. People always asked about it. Wich is fine since most people weren’t used to his size. the constant questioning was so annoying sometimes.

But the way you teased him with that sentence was just too good.

His red tip is already leaking pre cum. He eagerly waits for you to start. You press a small peck on it, while looking up at him your eyes staying locked on his.

You start to kitten lick the tip. You watch as he lets out a slightly shaky sigh at the contact.

“C’mon ma, don’t tease.”

You pull away slightly chuckling at the statement. You teasingly blow air on it, watching as he shivers. But before he can start complaining about your teasing you take his entire tip in your mouth swirling your tongue around it.

“Yeah, like that.” He sighs softly. He rubs your cheek with the back of his hand as you hollow out your cheeks to give him more pleasure.

His hand moves to my hair taking it and putting it in a makeshift ponytail. You start to take him as deep as you could, starting to slowly bob your head. Sucking and swirling your tongue. You take him as deep as you can jerking off what you can’t fit with your manicured hand.

The sounded coming from it are sinful, and so are his low moans and grunts.

When you hear his soft grunts turn into moans you can tell he’s getting close. You pull off with a pop. You stroke him gently, and then teasingly lick a stripe up his shaft.

“You like that?” You tease licking at it. He groans in annoyance. He thrusts his hips back to get more friction from your hand.

“Please keep going.”

You lick your lips briefly watching him. His eyes meet yours. You chuckle starting to suck him off again. This time you do it more vigorously and faster than before. His dick repeatedly hitting the back of your throat as you slightly gag around it.

Chris’ grip in your hair tightens as he starts to tug in it. He holds you in place stopping your movements as he starts to harshly thrust in and out of your mouth.

The sounds of your moans send sensations of pleasure through him. Every sinful sound echos through the small bathroom, making the music outside sound non existent to you two.

His cock is repeatedly hitting the back of your throat. Your eyes water at the harsh feeling. You try to gag as little as possible.

“Fucking- swallow ‘aight” he breaths out harshly. You hum as best as you could. The sensation tingles through his spine. And with a last thrust you feel his cum pore down your throat. You try your best to swallow as much as you could.

He gently pulls out. His thumb rubbing the corner of your lips where some of it had leaked.

He puts his thumb on your plump and swollen lips. And without a secound thought you suck on his thumb. You blink away the tears that’d been forming.

The sight is enough to have him going all over again.

His grip on your hair had loosened, but he still pulls you up by it gently.

He turns you around, so that you’re facing the mirror your hands on the sink. Your ass presented to him.

His eyes meet yours through the mirror once more. Seemingly asking for consent, to wich you nod.

His hand starts to trail over the side of your thigh slightly under your short dress.

“Words baby”

“Yes Chris- please” you waste no time asking him. You want him to touch you where you crave him the most.

“Gonna be a good little slut now?” He teases. His eyes stay locked on yours through the mirror.

“Mhm” you mumble watching him. You feel him start to pull up your dress. He bunches it up right over your ass.

His fingers go to trail over your slick wet folds. Chris pushes the lacy thong to the side. He rubs his fingers briefly over your clit, before going to tease your cunt.

“Words, sweetheart.” He repeats, his eyes staying locked on yours. He had no problem teasing you until you comply.

“Yes-“ you get cut off by a Moan. When he slams two of his long fingers into you.

Your body jolts forward, your thighs hitting the cold sink. You grimace at the feeling.

“Wow, so sensitive?” He teases leaning over again to leave a quick peck behind your ear.

He starts to plunge his fingers in and out of your cunt. He roughly fingers you, his long fingers curl just right to hit your sweet spot.

You let out a breathless moan letting your head fall forward. You were leaning on your arms for support.

You feel his big hand wrap around your throat as he pulls you back up. “Now, now, baby watch yourself.” He teases.

“Keep those pretty eyes on me” he taunts. You flutter your eyes open. You feel his fingering get rougher as you can feel your climax rapidly approaching. You’re tempted to close your eyes again, but you’re sure Chris would edge you or something.

So you try your best to keep them open and staring at his face.

“Good girl. Yeah. Just like that.” He praises. His low words sending tingles to your core. You can practically feel yourself get wetter at how words and the sound of his voice alone.

Your wetness is loud. The lewd sounds bounce off of the bathroom walls. That along with your sweet low moans, while you try to keep yourself together.

“You like my praise honey?” He asks in a sweet tone. His words sound so innocent. Unlike the very things he’s doing to you right now.

“Yes- god” you whine, this time not hesitating to answer.

He chuckles at your eagerness speeding up his pace to give you your release. His fingers curl at just the right spots, reaching places you couldn’t reach by yourself.

“I’m close-“

“I know.” Chris grins keeping his eyes on yours through the mirror. His hand moves higher from your neck to your jaw, cupping your face roughly.

He turns your head to face him. He roughly crashes his lips onto yours. You try hard to focus on the kiss, but the way he finger fucks you has you weak in the knees. The kiss is sloppy and messy. His tongue explores your mouth as you try hard to focus.

You whine loudly. His lips catching the moan as he only picks up pace even more. He gets the hint that you’re close. And before you know it, you’re coming around his fingers.

He lets go of your face. You lean further on your arms. Your Hands harshly gripping onto the sink. You let your head fall forward as you pant harshly.

He gently pulls out his fingers. His eyes focused on the way you’re throbbing around nothing.

He sucks his fingers clean humming at the taste of your cunt on them. “Did so well for me ma” he hums reassuringly, pressing a sweet kiss on your neck.

“You think you can take another, sweet girl?” He says softly.

“Please.” Your breath out your voice shaky. You pick up your head looking at him through the mirror again.

He leans down briefly to his jeans that were still pooling down at his feet.

Chris puts his hand on your hip His eyes locking with yours through the mirror. He holds out a condom with one hand. He leans over you to leave a quick peck on your shoulder.

“I’m clean” you raise an eyebrow at him through the mirror. He doesn’t respond. “And I’m on birth control..” you trail off watching him.

He grins letting out a low laugh that seems to vibrate through his entire chest.

He presses his chest up against your back as his arm wraps around your torso. He leaves another kiss on your shoulder, trailing it up to your neck and right under your ear.

“I’m not taking any chances ma”

His voice is low and seductive. The tone sending vibrations right to your core.

“Fine for me” you shrug as you watch him lean back. His eyes lock on your ass. He licks his lips.

Chris roughly rips open the condom package with his teeth. Rolling the condom over himself fast. He was eager to get into you as fast as possible.

He hums in response, caressing your ass gently, his other hand guiding his dick through your soaked folds.

He gently starts to push into you. Letting you take the tip first. Once he feels you relax he rams in the rest of his cock.

You let out another breathless moan at the impact. Chris doesn’t move right away tho, he wants to make it last as long as possible.

“Good” he praises lowly rubbing your hips soothingly. Your body was tense, and he was waiting for you to adjust just a little bit.

You let out a shaky sigh pushing yourself back on him. He takes the hint that he can move now.

So before you realize it, he’s relentlessly pounding into you. You let out a squealed moan at the sudden intense feeling of his movements.

“Oh- fuck-“

He chuckles, and suddenly you feel a harsh slap on your butt. You wince at the harshness. Chris’ hand goes to knead your ass, easing out the pain.

His other hand trails from your waist to the small of your back to arch it more, consequently pushing you closer to the sink.

You lean over the sink. You try hard to keep your head up and look at him. But with the way he is hitting every spot inside of you, it’s hard for you to focus right now.

Chris notices the struggle. One of his hands trail from your hip, up your back teasingly. Before he grabs your hair roughly, putting it in a makeshift ponytail.

“Does the pretty girl like getting her hair pulled like a slut?”

The way he tugs on your hair, the way his sharp eyes trail over your body , and then lock on your eyes through the mirror. It’s all so hot to you.

You let out a shaky breath between Moans. “Yes-“ before you can say anything more you feel him tug harder on your hair And his thrusts becoming harsher.

His eyes train back onto your ass And the way it looks when he thrusts into you. The way his cock disappears in your wet cunt. It’s so captivating to watch for him. He could stare at that sight for hours.

“Gorgeous girl wants to get fucked like this?” He questions teasingly. Another harsh slap echos through the bathroom, But it feels so euphoric.

Your eyes close momentarily at the feeling. Before you feel him rub your ass again. Chris tugs on your hair again, to wich you open your eyes.

“Keep your eyes open and watch me fuck you”

Chris’ words are harsh. He is being dead serious. His breaths sharp and his tone laced with lust.

You only let out a mumble to wich he pulls on your hair harsher. And another smack echos through the room. You jolt forward again at the sudden impact, but this time he doesn’t ease the pain away. Instead his pace gets even rougher.

The sound of skin clapping, and the lewd sounds of your soaked cunt are loud, Creating a sinful melody.

“Touch yourself ma.” He huffs out harshly keeping up the pace. Chris keeps his fingers tangled in your hair pulling on it. While his other hand stays firmly on your hip. The harshness at wich he is holding onto you would be enough to leave bruises.

Without thinking you reach one hand down starting to rub your clit furiously, chasing your own high.

“Close” you moan as you keep repeatedly rubbing your clit. And the way Chris’ cock is hitting your cervix only intensifies the feeling.

“Come around me baby” you’ve been pulsing around him all this time. You were already squeezing him so tight. What he wouldn’t give right now to just feel your cunt squeeze him while you come.

So he keeps going. Until you let out a loud whine. You close your legs as best as you could and You clench around Chris harshly.

Chris keeps up pace. His eyes locking to your ass. Watching the way his cock disappears into you over and over. Watching the way the condom he’s wearing is covered in your slik wetness.

What he wouldn’t give to just raw dog it and feel your cum on his bare dick right now. He was tempted to actually just take off the condom to see and feel this without one.

Chris’ thrusts become more messy. But his pace doesn’t let up. Until his hips stutter and he lets out a breathless moan burying himself into you one last time.

His jaw is dropped. He moves his hand from your hip, instead wrapping that arm around your waist, holding you close. He leans over your back keeping himself inside for a moment. Chris burries his face in the crook of your neck. You both breathe heavily at your previous orgasms.

His hand in your hairs loosens. Until he fully lets go. His hand rubbing your scalp since he’d been pulling on it relentlessly.

“Did so good for me ma” he mumbles. His face stays buried in your neck for a moment.

You place your hand back on the sink again, trying to catch your breath and steady yourself.

You’d just fucked a random influencer. Some random player. But, god, was that worth it. No wonder none of his one night stands ever complained. That was fucking amazing.

You just mumble out a quick agreement.

He stands up straight. Gently pulling out as to not hurt you or anything. He takes off the condom.

But while he gets rid of it you don’t even pay attention to him. You look at yourself in the mirror. As much as you want to regret it, you can’t.

You pull your thong back into place and pull your mini dress back down.

You examine your face. Your hair was messy from the pulling, and your make up was only slightly smudged. You’d almost cried while deepthroating him, but you luckily hadn’t. Tho your mascara was still slightly smudged.

You could feel your cunt still ache.

You can see Chris pull up his pants from the corner of the mirror. And then fasten his belt back.

“You okay?” Chris asks his arms wrapping a round you. He looks at you through the mirror . His expression is soft and more caring than you’d expect. Most guys would’ve left by now.

“Mhm.” You mumble watching his expression through the mirror. He narrows his eyes at you.

“Do you regret it?” He asks softly. His tone sweet, like he is talking about something normal.

You purse your lips trying to hold back a smile. The fact that he cared to ask if you regret it or not. Everyone told you he’s a fuck boy, and that is motto is literally ‘hit and quit’. But why was he being nice then?

“No” you speak. And you can’t help the small chuckle that leaves your lips.

He turns you around so you face him. He presses a quick peck on your lips. Before he leans over and grabs a random towel off a rack. He wets it slightly in the sink behind you.

And then he sinks onto his knees in front of you. He looks up at you pulling up your dress again slightly.

“What’re you doing?” You question. a chuckle leaves your lips at the sight of Chris on his knees in front of you.

He leans in leaving a soft kiss on your thigh.

“I’m not letting you walk out with your cum running down your thighs ma.” Chris laughs, he then runs the damp towel over your inner thighs.

He cleans you up enough for you to not feel so sticky anymore. He places your panties back. Then he gets up again. Chris pulls down your dress for you before placing another kiss on your lips.

He throws the towel into some laundry bag carelessly. At your curious gaze he explains. “A friend of mine is throwing this party.” He shrugs.

There is a silence for a second where you two just look at each other. Neither of you say anything. Until you speak up again.

“Do you always wear condoms when you hook up with girls?”

You ask before the words even register in your mind. And once they do a blush creeps over your cheeks.

“Yeah. I won’t wear one next time if you don’t want me too.” He chuckles. “There will be a next time?” You question.

Chris was the type to only hook up with a girl once. He probably didn’t even remember half of their names.

Instead of answering though, he leans in and kisses you. The kiss is slower, not heated like the previous one shad been.

One of your hands moves from his neck to grab his phone out of his back pocket.

You Lean back slightly. You type your number into his phone. Then you hand it back to him.

He grins at the new contact on his screen.

“I’ll see you around pretty boy.”

You smile giving him another kiss on the lips. And this one lingers. You slide out of his grasp opening the bathroom door. he watches with a goofy grin, as you leave.

You leave going straight back into the crowd of drunk influencers. Trying to search for your drunk friends that would be around here somewhere.

You know he’s a player. So you don’t know if he’ll call you. You don’t know if you’re special, and if he treated you different than others. But if it came down to it you’d at least tried.

But,

He’s not into dating.

Materlist

(A/N: I literally wrote this within the span of one day. I feel like this is probably the best thing I've written so far. Hope you enjoyed <33)

‼️please don’t copy my work/idea‼️

Taglist: @muwapsturniolo , @sturnad , @iluvm4ttsturni0l0 , @evie-sturns , @me09love , @fratbrochrisgf , @spideylovin , @chrissgirlsstuff , @ecliphttlunar

#SoundCloud #chris sturniolo x reader #chris sturniolo x y/n #chris sturniolo x you #chris x reader #christopher sturniolo x reader #sturniolo x reader #chris sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #christopher sturniolo smut #sturniolo smut #oneshot

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cleolinda · 9 days

Text

I’ve read a few of the umpteen thousand upset comments about the paid Watcher service, and I’ve read comments angry about the upset comments. There’s one thing I want to point out, and it’s that this isn’t, or shouldn’t be, “You’re saying people don’t deserve to earn money for their work.”

The Watcher guys do deserve to earn money. I already give them money. I give them $5 a month on Patreon, not because I think they do or don’t give me $5 worth of media, but because I want to support them. I canceled Netflix for pissing me off with its price hike/ad tier, but I give Watcher Entertainment money.

They’re saying now that the Patreon will be solely about the podcasts, and they understand if people leave. I’m perfectly happy to switch the support I can afford to the streaming service. With the early adopter 30% discount, I’d actually save money. In fact, I tried to subscribe, but the site didn’t work.

Watcher wanting to profit from their shows isn’t the problem. It’s that they’re now discovering that their fanbase is young and broke in a terrible economy, judging by tens of thousands of comments on multiple platforms. I can throw them $5/month, so I do. But the Patreon only has (checks notes) 5874 paying followers, and there’s a reason for that. $60/year upfront would not be “accessible.” Patreon is literally patronage from the people who can afford it.

If the guys had said up front, “ONLY new shows and episodes will be exclusive to the service,” I think we’d be having a different conversation right now. But at first they did say, “We’re pulling all our content from YouTube,” to the point where Variety had to issue an update. Like, that’s in print and I’m pretty sure it was on video. Now they’ve backtracked to ONLY new etc.—but most people haven’t heard, and they feel crushed. And the trust is probably gone regardless.

So now four years of back catalogue will stay public. And now, you’re paying $6.99 a month for one episode, maybe two, of something a week, and now, not an exclusive back catalogue. I would pay for Watcher shows before I’d pay for anyone else, but I just don’t think the company is big enough yet for a SVOD at that price. They’re not Dropout size. They needed to build more programming and get a higher follower count first, or at the very least, charge less.

The international price/exchange rate situation is a nightmare and I don’t know what it is they’re not doing to make it… not… be like that.

I don’t know what they should have done instead of a full streaming service, but surely there were alternatives? I’ve seen comments from people suggesting they GET a Patreon. Lean on that more! Do the shows exclusive for a month and then let them roll onto YouTube! I don’t know! Anything but One More Fucking Streaming Service, which enraged me, and I was willing to move my support to it!

And I shouldn’t say this, but I will. In the “Goodbye YouTube” video the guys posted, they say that setting up the streaming service has allowed Steven to do a remake of Worth It where he and his cohosts travel the world and eat expensive food. This is the first new show they announce. Not “We have always been committed to diversity and we’re now able to bring on new creator(s) to expand our programming.” No, a redo of an old show that by definition has got to be expensive. Commenters are saying they can’t pay for the streaming service because they can’t make ends meet in this economy. The optics are terrible. I genuinely question what the thought process even was here.

I love the guys and I still watch their shows. I want to see Watcher succeed. I started watching Buzzfeed Unsolved in 2018 while recovering from surgery—as with a lot of people, their shows got me through a tough time. I’m as attached as anyone. If I can continue to afford monthly support—this is not a certainty—I’ll give it to them. I’m not a ~hater who doesn’t want Watcher to make money. But I am absolutely BAFFLED by every single decision here. I want them to figure out how to turn this around and go in a better direction, because right now, this ain’t it.

#long post #I hope nobody hates me for this but like #this is someone supporting you #this is the best I can do #and that should tell you something #watcher

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catfern · 6 months

Text

1 MILLION SUBSCRIBERS SPECIAL

pairing: ghost hunter!ellie x afab!reader (feminine pronouns used)

music: eyes without a face - billy idol

word count: 2.3k

summary: ghost hunter!ellie needs a new assistant to help film her 1 million subscribers special in a supposedly 'haunted house'. good thing you'll do anything she says.

warnings: SEXTAPE, oral (r!receiving) fingering (r!receiving), ghosts? spooky business, ellie is a shitty clickbait youtuber

an: heyyy this came to me in a dream. nothing much else to say. get ready to fuck dirty while ghosts watch idk. this is probably gonna be my only halloween fic while we're still in october. got some other ideas tho so get ready for a spooky november

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

“come on! come on! it’ll be fun! something memorable on halloween.”

“jesus, ellie, you know I don’t believe in that shit.”

it’s a coy laugh. your fingers dance over your phone, unsure what to do. you didn’t believe her when she jumped and screamed, bolstering about her 1 millionth subscriber.

‘The Ghost Detective.’ her youtube profile was almost as shoddy as her Mr. Beast-esque clickbait video titles.

“then it doesn’t matter!” she had a hold on your forearm, intermittent squeezing begging you to fold, “please? the last girl I had thought her dead mom was talking to her and ran off.”

she had an almost pitiful look in her eyes, her eyebrows screwed together as she pleaded.

fucking hell. you were convinced if you hadn’t met ellie, hadn’t started falling behind her like an obedient dog, you’d actually submit most of your assignments on time.

“fine.”

it wasn’t that your tiny town was particularly superstitious, or religious, or any other ‘-itious’, but it was in unspoken agreement that there was something inexplicable here, on the hill that looked over the lights of the suburbs. a decaying prairie protrusion built god-knows-when, the moon shone high in its fullness through the rotting foundations, casting its shadows over the dead grass, falling at your feet with the cool of the wind.

the whisper in her voice ran up your spine, “gettin’ scared yet?”

ellie seemed all too giddy to be here, a wicked smile and a laugh in her throat. her hair was pulled back from her face, and you could lightly see the ghost of freckles across her cheek in the night.

“what? no, no. i’m just tired.”

“right,” she was poking fun, the words dripping from her lips like electricity. she dumped her arms-full of equipment in your arms with a huff, before digging around in her backpack. “here,” cold metal in your hand as she took back her stuff. redbull, “we’re gonna be here all night.”

you don’t know how she did it. even as a certified non-believer, the engulfing emptiness of the house, the darkness that settled in the cracks and corners caught up with you, something unsettling pricking the hairs on the back of your neck.

but here she was. she brought a lawn chair from home, said it was her dad’s. equipped with the built-in beer holder and everything, she was relaxed. her elbows settled on her knees, her hands fallen limp in the space between her legs. she had something in her eyes, a glint. something determined, charming as she stared you down. well, the camera.

but you were staring at her right back. memorising what little detail echoed through the lens of the shitty 2008 sony camcorder.

she said it was for the ‘found footage look’. you know it’s just because she’s broke.

“now, legend has it, ladies and gentlemen, that the last owners of this iconic hillside property were satan .. worshippers. and that this house, this very house that i’m sitting in right now, is actually an active portal. to. hell.”

you’ve gotta give it to her. she had a talent for drama.

“i’ll just point to you when i need you to do like, i dunno, a little camera pan or something, yeah?”

ellie was explaining it to you like you hadn’t just been at home binge-watching her channel for the past few days, meticulous research, you called it. to make sure you did a good job as her assistant. not like the blur of her messy hair and her face in the ghoulish green light of the night vision camera did anything to you.

you knew her video structure. front room first, then five minutes in a spooky hallway, then some time left to freak out in one of the bedrooms, find an old haunted toy that definitely wasn’t planted, and then a quick exit with a lot of swearing, screaming and camera shaking.

“right, you ready?”

you nod.

the front room was, unsurprisingly, boring, although ellie put on her best shiver-me-timbers face, as she calls it. something for the fans.

but when you got back into the hallway, something in the air had changed. you looked to ellie, and you couldn’t tell if what she felt was real, or fake. she just kept looking at you through the camera, the same dramatised ‘concern’ written all over her face.

everything ellie does is scripted. fake.

if there was something wrong, truly wrong, here, you would leave, right?

the feeling was violently oppressive, pushing down on you. run, run, run. a gush of something ran across the back of your neck.

“fuck! what was that? did you feel that?”

“hey, hey,” the sudden normalness of her voice felt misplaced, “just keep the camera on me, okay? eyes on me.”

you could barely see her fucking eyes. the imposing and suffocating darkness of the house seemed to wrap around you horribly tight, the only thing keeping you tethered to your sense of sanity was the sound of ellie’s breath, so close you could feel it wisp around your cheekbone, warm and inviting. the only comfort fighting the cold in the air.

slowly, your sight adjusts to the dark, and you could barely make out the outline of her face in the dim light of the moon. she was watching you, her eyes lidded, flickering over the shadow of your body. your own breath was quick, adrenaline laced, something sore and deep. you feel a slight graze against your arm and you jump, ellie catching your shoulders in her arms, pushing you upright,

“careful, it’s just me,”

there’s a closeness now, a beat. her grip is strong as it soothes the shaking, the fear, the absolute buzz that you’re convinced is the only thing keeping you alive. you quickly become obsessed with the design of her, you’ve never been this close. suddenly, you recognise the way her hair falls on her face, the look in her eyes, the shine as she looks at you. she clears her throat, and her hands drop, coarsely, from your shoulders,

“come on, you’re alright. let’s keep going.”

yeah, yeah. you fumble your hand back through the strap of the camera, a slight twitch in your hand as you press record,

“fucking hell,” her voice was raspy, deep, a soft but commanding whisper, “the spirits sure are stirred up here… i wonder what happened.”

stay close to me. it’s barely a breath, something not meant to be heard, but her voice is luring, and you nod.

your footsteps were a heavy echo against the aging wood floor, the creaks spreading through the house like a warning. to you, or to others, you don’t know.

the bedroom wasn’t far. you had to hike up a flight of decaying steps, but as ellie talked to the camera, she held a hand firm on your back. she wouldn’t let you fall.

the room obviously belonged to some kids, however long ago. abandoned toys and rotted posters littered the floor, and it almost felt painful to see the life that was once in this house. but why did they leave everything here? kids drawings, toys, a closet full of half-eaten, moth-ridden clothes.

what made them just get up and leave?

wind rattled against the window, it felt like it was rocking the house. something was uneasy here, unnerving. you tried to focus your thoughts on ellie, her dramatic storytelling and perfectly practiced ‘scared’ body language, but there was something here. and it was watching.

one final gust of wind surged against the rocky foundations of the house, and the closet doors flung open, an old wooden puppet flying out to your feet.

you were never a screamer, never. which is why, when you heard a blood-curdling shriek rush through the house, it felt like an out of body experience. something foreign. you fell back and tripped over your own feet, desperate to put as much distance between you and whatever was in this house as possible.

luckily, ellie’s fear is fabricated. she’s quick to respond, stepping in to steady you with kind hands and a charming smile. your heart rate was so intense, it rocked the both of you, chest to back, intertwined something fierce. your breath settles against her chest, and you meet her eye,

“thought you didn’t get scared,” she was being a tease. her hands ghosting over your body gently, carefully, thinly veiled under the guise of simply holding you, caring for you, she was keeping you safe. it was a little self-indulgent.

“i’m not,” you steel yourself, stubborn girl, although a soft laugh bubbles in your throat. there’s something unreal about the steady feeling of ellie’s hands, the roughness of her palms pushing through your clothing. you turn, and she’s smiling, the glint of her teeth in the soft light, mischief an echo on her face. her voice was low as she leaned in, tickles of her hair just brushing the apple of your cheekbone,

“really, baby? i don’t think you would even still be here if it wasn’t for me.”

“you think i’m here for you?” she’s so close you can feel your breath swirl with hers, heat brushing down your jaw and dripping onto your neck. her grip on your waist anchors, and you feel her settle in the crooks of your body, the corners of your skin, like she’s home. she’s looking at you, something jokingly fierce, but unsure, and her gaze falls on your lips,

“mhm,”

you’d think she’d been starved. restless, choked breaths fall between you in gaps as she pulls you in, heavy, her lips on yours in fervour. her hands are everywhere, tracing themselves in your hair, down your neck, feeling their way blindly along the softness of your skin. god.

her lips draw from yours, dragging a mix of spit and lip gloss down your chin, along the ridge of your neck, a trail glistening in the edging darkness.

“fuck, ellie.”

you barely register the weight lifting from your hand, only a visceral whine as she pulls from you, walking a safe distance to gently place the camera down, out of the way.

ellie finds herself back in the crook of her neck, dragging your skin through her teeth, soft groans rumbling from her throat as her hands pull their way down to the waistband of your skirt,

a skirt? really?

had you planned this?

“come on, sweetheart,” she’s barely audible against your skin, vibrations dripping down your torso as her hands dive under your shirt, lifting it to bounce above your tits, “that’s it.”

her palm cups the base of your tit, dragging soft moans from your pretty lips as she squeezes.

under her breath, she’s praying. vulgar, tenacious, she can’t control herself, lost in the dream of your body as she presses you against a wall she hopes won’t collapse.

fuck-god, fuck, jesus, baby.

if you’re who she’s praying to, it falls on deaf ears. you’re no god, you can’t help her, but fuck, she feels like she could worship you. properly, forever, falling to her knees and cupping her palms behind your thighs, it’s like she’s pleading,

“can i?” she’s soft, her cheek resting on the inside of your thigh, you’re her altar, “god, say yes.”

her nose just graces the wetness of your underwear and you flinch, “yes! ellie, f-fuck-please.”

she loops her pointer fingers into the waistband of your panties, dragging them down your thighs, almost too rough. she loses herself in the heat, the slick dripping from your pussy.

heat poured over your body like molten gold, the feeling of her tongue inside you, raw, animalistic, sending pulses sliding up the ridges of your skin. she hums against your clit, her hand coming down to pull your velvet slick from the rim of her lips.

you convulse, clenching around the encroaching absence of a feeling, of something you didn’t know you needed.

her.

“fucking hell, sweet girl,” deep, ragged breaths shadow your thighs. she needs air, but its not like she wants it. fuck, she wants you, she needs you. your taste on her tongue is metallic, a memory she’s chasing like a quick withdrawal. her tongue finds your clit and presses, a murmur leaving her drowning lips and echoing through your veins as you moan, desperation clawing through your hands and in ellie’s hair, binding.

“please, el-f-shit, i need you. i need to feel you, fuck!”

you didn’t need to ask twice.

fuck, you wrapped around her like you were made for her, godsent, a gift for her devotion. she stretched you, opening you with her fingers and you nearly melted, ellie’s arm wrapped around your thigh the only stability offered for your spent body. your head threw back, digging into the old, rotting wood of the wall, and if ellie looked up, pulled away from her firm spot between your legs, she would have seen you and completely unravelled.

she wasn’t gentle, the way her fingers moved inside you. desperate and completely unforgiving, she needed everything that you were willing to give her, her pace rough, fast, world-destroying.

and there she was, a lazy grin bearing her teeth against your clit, pussydrunk and delirious, tasting you and content enough to die.

she supposed she wouldn’t mind haunting this house, if you came to visit her.

low warbles against your cunt, you couldn’t hear her, even if you were listening. drowning in the push and pull of her touch, in the warmth of her, your head felt like molasses, your body something soft, mouldable to her design. ellie laughed against your walls, sweet and desiring, and you collapsed.

your vision bleary, you could just feel the tips of ellie’s fingers brushing through your hair, smoothing your slick across your skin. your head fell against hers, and you could just make out something blinking in the foggy distance,

the camera,

“hey, el,”

she sighed, heat in the crook of your neck, “yeah?”

“does the red light mean it’s on?”

A few days later, the thoughts of ghosthunting weighing heavy on your mind, ellie texts you,

thought you might want a copy <3

my subscribers will love you

attachment: hauntedhouse.mov

taglist; @whore4abby

dm me to join my sad lil list <3

#ellie x reader #ellie williams x reader #ellie williams #ellie williams smut #ellie williams headcanons #ellie williams fanfic #ellie x fem reader #ellie x y/n #ellie x you #ellie the last of us #ellie tlou

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flowermiist · 3 months

Text

A warm heart - Prologue

Click here to read new chapters... ♡

Pairing: John Price x Fem!Reader

Sypnosis: Some time ago, you started a cooking channel on YouTube as a way to relax, have a proper hobby and teach others your favorite recipes as you improved your own culinary skills too. Fame wasn’t something you wanted, you were more than happy with your 50k subscribers... Yet you never thought you’d stumble upon one of them.

Word count: 1.k

A/N: So I’m really excited since this is my very first fic... I still haven’t planned it much but I’m already working on the first chapter as I post this!! If you have any suggestions or comments please leave them below. Comments and reblogs are always so welcome and appreciated.

John had gotten back from base two days ago, he had spent nearly three months stuck in Egypt with some CIA members and his SAS team. Time there went slow, it felt like it would never end, most intel they could gather was messy but the missions were successful.

Sitting on his couch and with his already third glass of scotch, John knew his stomach wouldn’t actually settle for alcohol and a cigar – It was too late to go out, most places would already be closed by now – except for some street food carts and dingy local pubs. So now, both his exhaustion of having spent his whole day locked away in his office finishing reports and filling out documents was mixing with his empty stomach and possible upcoming migraines making him way too irritable and tired to even attempt going out and getting something – Not like he was even in the mood to do so.

If this moment had been one of the irritated man’s childhood caricatures, a lightbulb would have gone on above his head as he remembered the few basics he had gotten from the grocery store in the middle of the road on his way home while getting back home from base. The captain let out a deep grunt as he got up from the couch, grabbing the empty glass of scotch and the TV remote to turn it off and walk to his kitchen.

Opening his pantry, he only saw the basics, some canned tomato sauce and a single bag of spaghetti. John sighed as he grabbed those two ingredients and hopes that it would at least taste decent enough not to make his headache worse. Internally cursing himself for not getting more things from the store – not being home for too long did limit a lot of his comfort and meal options when it came to getting back after a long time, buying food that would expire too soon before going to work would only mess up his pantry and fridge.

When it came to cooking, he wasn’t exactly an expert. Yes, he could defend his culinary skills by making a good English breakfast and a cup of tea but besides that? Yeah, no. Yet for some reason, John didn’t want to admit the fact that he had grown too accustomed to the meals he’d get at base or the pickup he’d order whenever he was home. Almost embarrassing that an officer specialized in unconventional warfare or any kind of missions would find it more difficult to cook for himself than to deploy to the most dangerous and broken places on earth.

Luck had jumped out of his window and the spaghetti ended up tasting horrible to say the least – Was it the sauce? Was it expired? Or did John just get horrible at cooking at this point? Too tired to care, the gruff man washed the dishes and went to sleep. This culinary war wasn’t over.

The following morning was busy, the captain went out for a morning jog then continued finishing up the last reports. His house had been too quiet for his own liking because when a man like John Price has gotten too used to the chaos and noise of all the places he deploys to and filled with all kinds of people, being in his own house feels almost surreal. Almost like he doesn’t belong here, like all he can handle are the noises that will not leave him alone with his thoughts eating him alive.

His own perseverance and stubbornness did not allow him to give up when it came to cooking, he was a grown man for crying out loud! No goddamn way he could be able to handle all the things he sees in his line of work but couldn’t handle himself in the kitchen – he thought.

Closing the other tabs on his laptop, he entered YouTube. After searching for basic recipes to challenge himself, he came upon certain channel – “Y/N’s kitchen diaries.”

Not even ten minutes later, he was already taking notes and focusing on every single detail.

John had prepared one of the recipes for dinner after yet another visit to the grocerie store, a less rushed one this time and somewhere that wasn’t in the middle of an isolated road. Meticulously following every single step shown by the woman in the videos – he liked her voice, it wasn’t like one of those annoying cooking shows from TV that would be filled with ads for kitchen tools and nonsense chatter, it even felt as if he had some company with the video – “Here we have our final result.” She spoke softly as she was showing the results, John looked at her video then back at his plate – It looked and smelled good. “As you can see the chicken is juicy and the smoked paprika gives it that extra flavor. Now our broccoli has that chewy yet soft texture, I personally sprinkle some salt on top of it but that is up to your liking.” A small pause before she spoke again, by then, John was already placing the plate on the dining table before grabbing his phone as the young woman spoke the final lines of the video. “Thank you for watching – don’t forget to comment down below if you have any suggestions or any recipes you’d like me to try. Bye Bye!” – The video ended and John had a small smirk on his face, both proud of himself and amused by how well this went. He clicked on the “subscribe” button and left his phone on top of the counter, walking towards the dining table and taking a seat.

The moment you got home, you kicked off your high heels, grunting from the relief as you stomped on the floor a few times – getting that relief of your feet getting accustomed to flat ground again. Putting your purse aside, you make your way towards the kitchen where you open the fridge and take some leftovers from yesterday and place the plate in the microwave – this gives you some time to rush to your bedroom and get your laptop to continue editing one of your videos, a new lasagna recipe you had been improving and recorded a video of.

While making your way out of your bedroom, you hear the little musical alarm of the microwave going off. You wanted to record a little something to start with the next video; yet you knew you didn’t have the enough ingredients to do so and neither did you have the energy to edit and record at the same time, not tonight at least – “Will do it tomorrow…” you mumble to yourself as you open your laptop and set your plate on top of the coffee table of your living room. – “Thereee we go...” you almost moan the moment your body falls down onto the couch, finally getting some rest.

You took some time to check your channel, seeing if there was anything interesting – YouTube was the only platform you uploaded your cooking videos to as you didn’t see it as a big deal but rather a hobby you enjoyed and relaxed with, the rest of your social media was pretty much private and not about your recipes or small food vlogs. Learning how to edit videos by yourself hadn’t been an easy task – but to you, it was worth it as it helped you clear your mind and not seem too crazy while talking to yourself in front of a camera. Before starting to make videos, you talked to yourself while doing tasks, eventually it just came into your mind – Why the hell not? You wouldn’t seem too crazy if you talked to a camera and recorded things for yourself, right? It was a good reason to talk to yourself, not an excuse. Starting your channel had been a rather spontaneous decision you took two years ago with the difference that nowadays, you are more frequent with your content than you were back then.

Sighing in relief, you turn off your laptop since you had finally finished the last details of the video. You were already stripping off your clothes on your way to the bedroom, not caring about tonight’s shower but rather tonight’s rest, you’d do everything tomorrow.

#captain price #john price #call of duty #john price x reader #cod #cod mw2 #captain price x reader #captain price x you #fem!reader #romance #cod x reader

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unorthodoxfaithxx · 12 days

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Soft Yandere Simp with CamGirl Reader, part 2

3, 2, 1, FINALLY IT’S TIME! He can hardly contain himself as he counts down the days until he finally gets to meet you in person.

During your nightly video chats with him, which he’s grown to cherish dearly, you brought the idea of meeting up to his attention. You have no idea how happy he was that you brought it up on your own accord!

Through some shady research, he already knows you are about 3 hours away from his home-city. It wouldn’t hurt to drive your way. He’d row a damn boat for hours if it meant getting to see you in person.

The two of you decide on meeting up for a picnic, and then a shopping date at the mall closest to your vicinity.

The night before the designated meetup, he sits at his computer desk studying everything he had learned about you over the past couple of months, lest he forgets something important.

He wishes he had a perfect memory, but he doesn’t. So he opted to writing down every fact he had ever learned about you in a special journal, dedicated to you and only you. All your likes, dislikes, blood type, height, weight (all three of which he had to break into your medical records to find) , favorite games, health issues, the amount of freckles on your face—every little detail he knew about you was written down, along with many, MANY hearts and grade-school doodles because he really can’t help it. You make him feel like a giddy kid again.

Saturday morning. It’s show-time. He leaves thirty minutes early, dressed up and ready to tackle the day and meet the love of his life for the first time. He shoots you a text when he arrives (Did he ever mention his background screen was a photo of you?), nervously standing at your doorstep with a box of your favorite chocolates in hand, as well as a little vase with succulents in it, since you’re allergic to the pollen in actual flowers.

You greet him with a hug and he just about melts in your arms, taking in your scent and rubbing his face into your beautiful locks.

You’re pretty on camera, but nothing beats the real thing. You’re simply a goddess in the human form. He wishes he could take a photo to capture this moment forever, but his eyes will have to make do.

The drive to the park is an awkwardly quiet, but serene one. He swears you might be able to hear his heart pounding the entire ride, despite the music playing in the background (a playlist he made dedicated to you, obviously). When he glances over to the passenger seat, you’re gazing out the window with the cutest little smile on your face. He’s happy you’re happy.

When the two of you arrive, he opens the trunk and removes all the supplies he brought to ensure today’s picnic would be great. He brought a giant blanket for the occasion, a small speaker for music, and even packed sandwiches and cookies that he had made himself, praying to god they would taste good. He wasn’t the greatest cook, so he watched about five different baking videos on how to make the perfect cookies. He hopes Youtube hasn’t failed him yet.

He silently thanks whatever god lives in the sky when you take a bite into a cookie and compliment his baking skills. You take another bite and moan, making him feel ten times hotter than the warm spring day already made him feel.

30 minutes pass and both his and your bellies are full. You lay down on the blanket, inviting him to do the same, and he nervously lays next to you. He relaxes once you intertwine your fingers with his. He thinks he’s never felt more at peace than in this moment, relaxing with you. The two of you talk about random things, watching the clouds in the sky morph into various shapes as time passes.

Eventually, you both pack up and head to the mall. You buy him a figure from his favorite video game, and he gets you a new set of earrings. You laugh when his face turns fully red as you two walk into a store specializing in lingerie.

He feels like he might faint from the sheer intense feelings he has when you ask him to pick something out, ‘just for his eyes only’ you say with a whisper into his ear.

If he didn’t have such good self control he’d bang you in the try-on rooms right then and there. But no. He’d be a gentlemen.

But be prepared for all his pent up longing when you two finally share an intimate time together. Let’s just say he has…plenty in store for you :)

The date ends with you being dropped off back home. You invite him in for a drink, and chat a little more before it becomes late. He finds your yawns adorable, and he kisses you on the forehead before heading out for the night.

He sincerely hopes you don’t ever find the tracking device he’s planted in your purse when you weren’t looking. He convinces himself it’s for peace of mind since he’ll know where you are, whenever you are. To protect you. That’s what good boyfriends do, right?

Wait. Are you two even dating now?

He wants to pull over on the drive home and just sit in utter defeat because his dumbass totally forgot to ask this.

He sighs as he asks the dumbest, most cliche question in the world. He shoots you a text.

“Hey, Y/N. What are we? (｀・ω・´)”

#male yandere #yandere imagines #yandere scenarios #yandere #yandere headcanons #yandere male #yandere writing #yandere x reader #yandere drabble #soft yandere #obsessive yandere #yandere thoughts #yancore #yandere blog

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strawberrysturniolo · 2 months

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never grow up part eight

summary: after their break up, a drunken text from chris sends their friendship spiraling yet again

part 7 part nine

Chris’ POV

I got invited to a party tonight. It’s some celebration for a certain YouTuber I’ve never met before, but a party is a party when it comes to LA. It never really matters who they are, but getting invited is enough.

I dressed in a black hoodie, dark pants, and a white beanie pulled over my head, concealing the long hair I have yet to cut.

I haven’t talked to Sunny since the break up. It’s weird to even call it that considering our entire relationship was long distance. I don’t even know if I can count it as a real relationship, but I know she would, so I don’t want to be the asshole who doesn’t see things the same way.

The worst part about all of this is the fact that there’s no one I want more than her. It’s always been that way, and it’s never going to change. It’s always been her, and the fact that we’re on opposite sides of the country makes this all so unfair.

The love we have for each other has always been so strong, and I thought we could handle anything. I thought distance wouldn’t be so bad. We would work hard, and our determination would show how much we love each other. We would have to fight for it and prove to the other person that we wanted it, and I know we both did.

So why did it have to go this way?

I want to reach out and ask her how she is. I started to, but she left me on read. Petty little actions from her side of things that made me think I would never be able to get through to her.

I know she’s upset, and I can’t blame her, but my intentions were there. I knew it would only get harder, and I needed to end it before it would have made the breakup worse. I love her so much, she knows that. It’s like she’s trying to convince herself otherwise so she doesn’t come back to me.

Above all, I just want my best friend back.

We used to be able to talk about everything. Hell, I knew what fucking tampons she used because she would send me out to get them when we were in high school and she couldn’t leave the fetal position in her bed from her cramps hurting her so badly.

I knew what time of the year was her least favorite and how to cheer her up so she didn’t struggle for months. I knew how she liked her food so I could make sure the order was perfect for her when we would go through a drive-thru.

This was all so unfair, but I need her to work with me, and she refuses.

I followed my brothers to the Uber and sat silently in the backseat behind the driver with my phone tucked in my pocket. I felt like an idiot for checking the notification every time it vibrated. I hoped it would be her, but it never was.

Like an absolute idiot, I text her again, surely making a fool of myself.

Me: Can you let me know you’re okay?

I tuck my phone back into my pocket and pull it back out when I feel it vibrate again.

Progress has been made, because she read it, and reacted to the message.

I have to remind myself that it’s something when I see the thumbs up tacked to the top of my message to her. While it’s not much, it’s something and I have to be grateful for that.

I met up with some of my friends at the party, all of whom were waiting for me to arrive with shot glasses in their hands. I don’t bother asking what the drink of choice is before I throw it back, letting it burn my throat and make me choke on a cough.

Without getting a chance to ask for a drink, a different cup is shoved in my hand. I take a sip and purse my lips in disgust at the shitty beer they bought for this party. Once again, I remind myself to be grateful, because at least something is going to be getting me drunk tonight.

It doesn’t take much to get me drunk tonight. I woke up late as usual and hadn’t eaten until we arrived here, and the only food I’ve put in my body are small snack plates that are arranged on a large table. Crackers, cheese, and pieces of pepperoni. Basically a fucking lunchable pack scattered across a charcuterie board.

The same girl keeps bringing me drinks. She wants to get me drunk, and I know why. She knows what she’s doing, and even though I do too, I don’t bother telling her to go away. I’m known for being a piece of shit at the last minute when I could’ve prevented all of this. That became obvious with me and Sunny, right?

She has dark makeup covering her eyes, and the lighting only makes it harder to see her face. Not to mention I’m tipsy and my vision is starting to go out. She reaches for my hand, the one not holding an almost empty beer, and she places it on her shoulder. I play with the strap of her tight dress while she pulls herself closer to me. She wraps her arms around my own, holding herself at my side, making me wonder if I’ve said anything to invite this arrangement that I’ve already forgotten about.

Once my friends walk away from us, she raises herself on her feet to whisper in my ear.

“Do you want to go somewhere?”

I furrow my brows, sipping the rest of my drink. “Not really.”

She pouts her dark red lips at me. “Why not?”

I set my empty cup down and lean against a table. “I can’t even see straight right now. You could be a dude in a wig for all I know.”

She laughs a bit at me, but I’m not making jokes. She takes both my hands and traces the curves of her body with them. “Does that prove anything to you?”

A shiver goes up my arms as I feel her body. My head feels like a fucking bowling ball. My legs are frozen but somehow also feel like they’re about to give out. My eyes can’t stay open, I’m starting to wobble, but when I fall forward, she catches me.

“I got you,” she whispers, holding me carefully.

“Where are my brothers?” I ask quietly, unable to speak any louder without feeling like I’m going to projectile vomit.

She looks around the hall we’re in. “Maybe they’re occupied too.”

I shake my head. “No. Take me to them. I have to find my brothers.”

She goes to argue with me, and yeah, she’s hot, but she’s not who I want.

I push myself off of her and struggle to stand. I look like an idiot when I try to walk away. I’m falling into people and trying to open my eyes enough to see either of my siblings. I almost make it to Matt when my body collides into someone else’s. I would’ve been sent through the floor if they hadn’t caught me.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Nick curses at me through gritted teeth. “You look a fucking mess. You’re embarrassing all of us.”

I look up at him and can’t control the way my chin is shaking. I can’t do this right now in front of everyone.

“She’s never going to talk to me again.”

Nick’s face softens. He wraps an arm around me and takes me to a door that leads us outside. He sits me on the ground and stands in front of me. “Yes, she will. She’s just upset right now.”

I shake my head, tears starting to pour out. “You don’t get it. She’s all I wanted. I fucked it up. I rushed into everything. I went too fast. We could’ve been perfect, Nick–”

“Okay!” he interrupts me. “And maybe you just weren’t. Maybe it wasn’t enough. I mean, fuck, Chris!” he runs his hands through his hair. “I’m sorry that you’re heartbroken, I really am, but you can’t keep burrowing your head under the dirt and moping about the same thing. If she’s not talking to you anymore, then that’s on her. You can’t make her want to come back to you. Just give her time, and she’ll come around if she really wants to. If she doesn’t, she’s not who you thought she was. Either way, you need to get your act together. You can mope in your room, but don’t get trashed here in front of everyone.”

The words hit me like a fucking knife, cutting me open after every single one. I feel so hurt that I have to check to make sure I’m not actually bleeding out right now.

I want to kill him for what he said, the way he talked about her, but I’m so weak right now I can’t even move, and by the time I have that strength back in my body, I won’t even remember this interaction.

He sits outside with me and forces me to drink a water, waiting until I’m composed enough to go back inside.

I let that anger towards Sunny rip through me, because I’m tired of being sad.

Me: No one is ever going to love you the way I did

Me: I love you more than anyone else and I always will

Sunny’s POV

Needless to say I thought I was going to throw up when I read that message.

I had barely finished my shift at work, only just clocking out and walking to my car. My bag almost fell out of my hands when I read what he wrote for me.

Chris had been trying to reach out for some time now, but in all honesty, I just needed a break. I needed to get myself back on track and try to piece myself back together after he continued to rip me apart, sew me back together, and rip me apart again. It was exhausting. I was exhausted.

Above all, I love him no matter what our relationship is, so when he texted to make sure I was okay, I of course answered. It may have only been a thumbs up, but it was something, and that’s what he wanted.

No one is ever going to love you the way I did.

Maybe that’s true, but hopefully no one else destroys me like you did too.

I love you more than anyone else and I always will.

Then why did you throw us away?

I let the questions consume me on my drive home, and once I make it to my shower, everything unfolds. I’m a sobbing mess, embarrassed at the control he has over me. I want to scream at him. I want to hate him and never worry about him again.

But he’s the same guy who would ask me if I wanted a Barbie or a Spiderman tattoo when I scraped my knee riding our bikes.

The same guy who would clap my muddy shoes together after we played in the dirt.

The same guy who would wipe my tears when a stupid boy made me cry.

And now he’s that stupid boy, and no one can wipe my tears.

The next morning I woke up angrier than ever.

How dare he do this to me. This back and forth and push and shove, I love you, I can’t be with you, but no one will love you like I do bullshit. I’m tired of it. It’s not fair, and it’s damaging to our friendship, which should be what we’re trying to salvage above anything else.

I’m barely thinking when I reach for my phone and call him. I know he’s probably sleeping, and part of me wants him to wake up and hear me rip him apart for a change, while the other part of me hopes he doesn’t answer so I can say I tried and then never do this shit again.

“Hello?” he groans, his voice a groggy mess. Just as I thought, he’s asleep.

I hate the way my entire body softens at the sound of his voice.

“We need to talk.”

“Right now? he asks. “It’s five in the morning Sun–”

“Do not call me that.”

He sighs. “I get not calling you baby, but now I can’t even call you your nickname?”

“No, Chris, you can’t.”

My tone is clear. I’m a pissed off, worked up mess. He knows that. It’s obvious.

“What did you call me for then?”

My throat tightens. Sharp stabs thrash at my flesh, and then I realize the knives I’m picturing at my neck don’t exist.

My voice breaks slightly, but I cover it up enough. “What the fuck was that text last night?”

He sits up in his bed so fast I can hear the bed shift through the phone. “What text?”

“No one is ever going to love you the way I did, and I love you more than anyone else and I always will,” I enlighten him. “What? You don’t remember!”

He pauses. “Actually… no, I don’t remember.” Silence fills the call. “I was at a party last night. I got drunk, and I texted you. I was busy thinking about how you cut me off entirely after I tried to keep things normal between us, and then while I was drunk I must have had a breakdown and texted you.”

At this point, I’m furious. The words spew out of my mouth before I can think about what I’m saying.

“Did you have fun fucking another girl while you were thinking about me?”

He doesn’t say anything for a moment, clearly thinking about if he should throw a comment back at me, or if he should be the mature one for a change.

“No, Sunny. I didn’t. I was busy sitting outside with Nick drunk off my shit, not thinking straight, trying not to throw up, while I cried over the fact that I thought you hated me and I lost you for good. Was a girl trying to come home with me? Yes. Did I get the fuck away from her because she wasn’t you and no girl will ever fucking be you? Yes, I fucking did.”

Guilt treads through my bloodstream. The snap at him only felt good for a second until he broke the dam that held him together and told me everything he felt about me and him.

“Then why did you break up with me, Chris?” I finally let go and let the tears fall. “Why didn’t you fight for us–”

“I was fighting for you every fucking day, Sunny! Every day! I had to get up every morning and not know when I was going to see my girlfriend. What’s the fun in that?! You and I both know this was the right decision for right now, and if you want to hate me for what I decided to do, then you must not want to be with me in the future, because if I said that I fucking promise that we’ll be together someday, just not now, then that should be enough,” he fires off.

“I’m sorry.”

He inhales deeply, gathering himself again. “Work with me here. I’m promising you that we’re going to make it out of this alright if you just fucking work with me. No more of this back and forth fighting shit. No more of us not hearing the other person out. I want you in my life no matter what it fucking is. Now can you say that you understand and you love me too and that you trust me that this is the right decision so I can go back to bed? I have a hangover, Sunny. Please.”

Someday.

That’s better than never in a million years.

“I love you,” I mumble, even though I’m trying to scream it. “And I trust you.”

tag list: @luv4kozume @luverboychris @luvsturniolo @ev3rgreenxtrees @thottie777 @plasticferal @angelworldspost @alluringsturniolo @sturniolho @sturniolopowers @sleepysturnss @sturniolovoid @st7rnioioss @flowerxbunnie @gamermattsgf @christinarowie332 @nicksbf @n6ptunova @bernardenjoyer @bellybumm @mbbsgf @mattsneezing @mattitties @mangoposts @sturniololol @sturnswift @sturniololoverr @sturniolo @sturnioloos @lacysturniolo @sturniol0s @hearts4chris

#sturniolo triplets #chris sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #strawberrysturniolo #sturniolo #chris sturniolo x you #chris sturniolo x reader #Spotify

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redrose10 · 4 months

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I hope everyone is enjoying the story. I do appreciate all the feedback! Here is Chapter 8. I feel like this one is going to create more questions than answers. Next chapter in a few days.

This chapter and the next one will touch on some darker subjects so I highlighted the specific trigger warning in red. In the story it’s not really detailed or any thing but I still wanted to make it known just in case.

Yoongi X Female Reader. CEO/Arranged Marriage AU

Summary: You were selected to marry the wayward CEO/Billionaire/Heir, Min Yoongi. You went into it with an open mind and heart determined to try and make it work. Yoongi on the other hand had no intention of ever letting you in let alone allowing himself to fall in love with you. Slowly you start to associate the smell of cinnamon and vanilla with the feelings of hurt and sorrow.

Word count: 3,608

Warnings: (May get updated as chapters progress): Arranged marriage, cheating/infidelity, hints of smut (Probably won’t get very explicit but we’ll see how it goes), Sexual Assault, Brief mentions of death, Reader grew up an orphan, General Angst, Swearing

You thought about going back in to speak with Yoongi but after what he did and what you said you decided it would be best to have some space for a while. After calming yourself down enough that you could finally breathe you headed over to Jimins. You sat on his couch clutching the photo album to your chest still sniffling every so often.

“Ahh I see he still gave you the gift.”, he said placing a bottle of water down in front of you.

“You knew about this?”, you asked wide eyed.

He took a seat next to you and began rubbing your back. “Yeah he came to me one day and asked if I had a way to contact anyone in your family. He’s been working on it for a couple months. When he finally got the book he was so excited. Seriously it was weird to see him like that. He was also so nervous to give it to you. He kept asking if I thought you’d like it or if you’d be mad or think it was weird that he did this. I don’t think he’s ever done something like this for anyone before.”

“Jimin he lied to me. He promised me he was changing and that he didn’t sleep with anyone and he slept with some woman named Suri last week.”, you said feeling the tears start up again.

“Did you hear his side of the story?”

“Seriously Jimin? He doesn’t exactly have the best history. I don’t have to hear his side of the story to know it happened.”

“Listen I’m not defending him and I can’t guarantee he didn’t do anything with her but I spend a lot of time with him and I’ve seen a big change in his ways. The way he thinks, the way he talks, the way he acts. I mean I caught the man watching a YouTube video on how to make homemade chocolate chip muffins. I just don’t think that he would do that to you any mo-.”

Before he could finish you stormed off to the spare room. The last thing you needed or wanted right now was for your best friend to try defending the man that intentionally hurt you.

The next morning you did apologize to Jimin for storming away like that. He was letting you live with him after all and you know he’s stuck in the middle between his two best friends so it puts him in a bad spot. Thankfully he was really understanding and didn’t take it to heart.

The weekend passed and Yoongi hadn’t tried to contact you once. Jimin took a couple days off from work the following week claiming to be sick but you figured Yoongi knew exactly why he did that. When Jimin did finally go to work and came home you asked if Yoongi had said anything.

“No he didn’t say anything at all. He’s acting completely normal.”, he said shaking his head.

“So he really didn’t mention anything about me or us or what happened?”

“He just asked if you were staying with me and I said yes. That was it.”

You could feel the tears start to well up again.

“Jimin, if he really did change and didn’t sleep with that woman and he loved me like he said he did, don’t you think he’d be fighting for me right now or doing anything to show me he didn’t do it?”

“Y/N, I think hes already accepted that he lost you and at this point he is just trying to get by. He’s never been the kind of person to chase after someone.” Jimin walked over and wrapped his arms around you.

You sniffled, “Jimin, the worst part of all is that I really started to believed him. I really thought he loved me and I loved him too.”

“I’m sorry Y/N. I know you don’t want to hear this but maybe you could try reaching out to him because I doubt he’ll ever come crawling back to you. But you guys do have to discuss this some time. You can’t just pretend nothing happened between the two of you.”

“I know. I’ll think about it. Thank you Jimin.”

Later that evening he knocked on your door carrying in a bowl of ramen. After you took a few bites he started to speak.

“So I hate to do this to you Y/N but I’ve just been informed that I have to go out of the country for a while. Maybe a couple weeks. Maybe a little longer. Depends on how it goes. I’m really sorry that I have to leave you like this.”

You shook your head, “No it’s okay. I understand. You have a job to do. I’m a big girl and I can take care of myself.”

“You are welcome to stay here as long as you need and I always have my phone on me.”

“Thanks. I appreciate it.”

He gave you another hug before leaving you to finish off the rest of your dinner alone.

Jimin left the following morning and with him being gone now you were left to continue trying to heal alone. You saw the photo album sitting on the dresser and realized you never properly thanked Yoongi for the book. Even though things ended badly he could’ve kept the book and never told you he had it and threw it into a fire or something instead but he had the decency to give it to you. Maybe a tiny part of you also hoped it would force him to say something to you and the two of you could talk.

Throwing on some clothes you called for a car and traveled over to his office building. The receptionist greeted you with a smile, “Hello Mrs. Min. It’s been a while.”

“Yes it truly has. I hope you’re doing well.”She nodded and reached for the intercom, “Mr. Min you have a visitor.”A few moments later there was a beep, “Who is it Areum?”

You gave her a look that you hoped translated to please lie and don’t tell him it’s me or he’ll never let me in. Thankfully it seems she got the message as she reached for the intercom again, “One of your partners.” Not completely a lie on her part.

“Send them in.”

You nodded a thanks and walked down the hall to the large oak double doors. The room was surprisingly warm and inviting. Yoongi was sitting behind his desk reading over some paper work when you cleared your throat. He looked up at you before returning back to the papers.

“What do you want Y/N?”

Suddenly you felt nervous and you were starting to regret even going there.

“Umm I just wanted to come and thank you in person for the photo album. I do really appreciate it. No one has ever done anything like that for me before.”

“You’re welcome. Anything else?” He didn’t even look at you.

You got a sudden rush of confidence and decided to just go for it since it was clear he wasn’t going to bring it up.

“I just thought maybe we could talk about everything that happened?”

Yoongi scoffed, “So now you want to talk about things? Now you want to hear what I have to say?”

“Yoongi you have to understand and see it from my perspective. I was furious and hurt. At the time I didn’t think there would be any possible explanation that you could give me but I’ve had some time to think and I would like to hear your side of the story and then decide. Maybe we could figure out how to move forward together.”

He stood up and walked over to stand in front of you, so close you could smell his cologne. The familiar scent of cinnamon and vanilla making your stomach churn.

“I did understand Y/N. I knew it looked bad and how much that message hurt you. My heart broke just at the thought of you having to see that. That’s why I begged and pleaded with you to stay and give me a chance to explain.”

“I’m sorry Yoongi. I was hurt and scared and angry, but I want us to discuss this now.”

“Why does is matter any more Y/N? You said your peace the other day. If you’re always going to just assume the worst of me no matter what I do then what’s the point? Why should I even try to be better? You said it yourself, I’m unlovable. I’m not going to force you to into the miserable life that I’ve created for myself. We’ll go to public events together and pretend to be a happy loving husband and wife and then we’ll go our separate ways until we’re forced to meet again. Maybe you’ll meet someone who will love you like you deserve behind closed doors instead of just for show.”

Before you could speak he reached for the intercom, “Areum please come see Y/N out.”

A few seconds later she opened up the door smiling and gesturing for you to exit. Yoongi leaned up against the front of his desk with his arms crossed. The unreadable expression on his face made you want to cry.

“Oh Y/N before I forget.”

You spun around so fast you were dizzy.

“There’s a charity event happening next Saturday. We’re expected to attend together. A car will pick you up.”

He turned and walked back to his chair taking a seat without sparing you another look.

You quietly followed his secretary feeling the familiar burning sensation in your eyes as tears began to form.

Areum gave you a small smile before again gesturing towards the elevator doors.

“Can I get you a coffee or a bottle of water for the road Mrs. Min?”

Shaking your head you gave a small smile and headed towards the elevator. Once inside with the metal doors blocking you from view you finally let go of the tears you’d been holding in. You’ve never had someone in your life that could make you feel the way he did. One day you hate his existence and the next you’re pinning for him in ways you never thought you would.

You and Yoongi didn’t speak the rest of the week other than the one text you got telling you the details of the event.

When Saturday came around you couldn’t have been less excited if you tried. The thought of being around Yoongi while he ignored you made you want to cry so you weren’t sure how you were going to get through the night with him.

You walked down through the lobby to the waiting car. The driver greeted you before opening the door and helping you in. You stumbled a little when you saw Yoongi sitting in the seat next to you. You fully expected him to arrive separately but there he was.

The ride to the event was silent. Several times you attempted to bring yourself to speak but the words would never come out. The car finally pulled up to the Seoul Museum of Art where the event was being held and you were relieved to be able to get out of the suffocating car.

Once outside the vehicle the familiar feeling of dread hit when you saw all the cameras and droves of people. You jumped a little when Yoongi placed a hand on your lower back. He didn’t say anything but started guiding you up the stairs to enter the building. It was hard to decipher if he was doing this out of genuine concern for you knowing how uneasy the attention made you feel or just as a show for the photographers which made you want to cry even more. Once inside you expected him to run off but he stayed by your side although not speaking to you except to ask if you’d like a drink.

His father came up to you giving you a kiss on the cheek, “I just have to borrow your husband for a little bit. Don’t worry. I’ll return him in one piece.” You smiled and watched as the two walked off and you were left standing alone. You really wished Jimin was there with you but unfortunately he was still away on business so you stood off to the side trying to go unnoticed.

Out of the corner of your eye you saw a man eyeing you. You didn’t recognize him at all and the way he looked at you made you uncomfortable. You were scanning the room hoping to get a sighting of Yoongi or anyone that you knew when you heard a familiar voice.

“Hi Y/N, how have you been?”

“Oh my god, hi Namjoon! Why am I not surprised to see you here?”

“Well this is one of my favorite events of the year.”

You laughed, “Fair enough. How’s the new job going?”

“It’s not bad. I like the work. Just wish I didn’t have to move so far out of the city. You still taking lessons?”

“Yeah here and there. My new teacher isn’t as good though.”

He chuckled, “Well I was one of the best if I do say so myself.”

Playfully you rolled your eyes, “Always so humble Namjoon.”

“Come on Y/N. Let’s go get a drink.”

Noticing the strange man still staring at you from across the room you quickly agreed to follow Namjoon.

A bell rang through the venue signaling the auction was about to begin. Various pieces of art were set to be auctioned off with the proceeds being split between the museum and the local children’s hospital. Even though you wished to stay with Namjoon you knew it would be best for show to sit with your husband. Luckily you were able to easily find him sitting next to his parents. When you walked over you gave a small smile and he removed his suit coat from the seat he was saving for you. A small gesture that made your heart swell.

You happened to look a few rows behind you and you gasped. The same man from earlier was sitting right there staring at you once again. You told yourself it was all a coincidence but something still felt off. Yoongi gave you a questioning look but you ignored it and sat down instead, secretly happy to have him by your side.

The auction was interesting to say the least. You’d never been to one before and you’d be okay if you never went again. You watched as rich people spent a disgusting amount of money on various works of art just because they could. At least it was going to a good cause you thought.

“If there’s anything you want just go ahead and bid. I’m sure Yoongi here won’t mind.”, your mother in law said leaning over her son to get your attention.

“I’ll keep an eye out.”, you said politely knowing that Yoongi would definitely mind.

Through the night nothing really caught your eye anyways. There were a few beautiful pieces here and there but nothing you’d be willing spend that kind of money on. Then the auctioneer announced a one of a kind piece by a young up and coming artist named Hyunjin. You’d seen his work before as most of it included various flowers and this was no exception. A gorgeous water color painting of a large bouquet of blue hydrangeas with just a touch of sparkle when it caught the light just right. Instantly you knew you were going to try and get this one. Before you could even bid though the price shot up to 12 billion KRW. Your mouth dropped open. Even though it was technically Yoongi’s money you couldn’t bring yourself to spend that much on a painting. It did look beautiful though. You hoped that whomever purchased it would treasure it as much as you would.

“Going once, going twice, sold to the gentleman in the fifth row.”, you heard the auctioneer announce.

Feeling movement next to you is when you noticed Yoongi stand and walk down to the front to grab the ticket that he would use to claim the beautiful painting. When he walked back over he handed you the ticket and took his seat next to you without saying a word. You looked down at the ticket and smiled. He had bought the painting for you.

It was amazing how long these events lasted. You felt liked you’d been there for hours and you still had to get through dinner. Yoongi had excused himself and went to sit over at another table where he began talking about numbers and things. You noticed the same man from earlier sitting a few tables over with his eyes still on you as he sipped from a glass of whiskey. Feeling uncomfortable and suffocated you grabbed your clutch deciding you needed some fresh air so you exited through the front door. The cool air felt great. It felt refreshing. You were standing off to the side watching the various people move about when you felt a presence next to you. Peeking over to your right your heart skipped a beat. That same man from earlier was now standing right next to you. “How are you Y/N? I know that you’ve been noticing me all night. Why didn’t you come say hello?”, he asked. His voice nasally making your skin crawl like you just heard nails on a chalk board.

“You’re very beautiful Y/N. Yoongi is a very lucky man.”, he continued. Looking around for an escape you realized that you’d have to walk right past him to get back to the front entrance that you came out of which seemed like a bad choice being that he could easily grab you that way. Instead you decided to try walking around the building because surely there had to be another entrance a long the way. As you made your way around and you got further away from the hustle and bustle of the front entrance, things got quieter. You heard your heels on the cement but you could also hear footsteps behind you. Looking back you confirmed your fears. The walk to the back of the building was significantly longer than you had anticipated and you were really regretting your choice of shoes. You did your best to power walk without breaking an ankle.

Feeling more and more nervous you began reaching into your clutch to find your phone. You were going to call Yoongi or Namjoon or even your in-laws. Anyone to help. The man saw that as a distraction on your part and an excuse to quicken his step running up next to you just before you could turn the corner. He grabbed your arm quickly pinning you up against the cold brick of the building.

He was much larger than you. His cologne was strong and not pleasant, kind of like a wet dog ran threw a perfume factory. He saw you still scrolling through your phone so he grabbed it tossing the device on the ground. “Come on Y/N, we’re not going to do that now.”

“Seriously who are you and how do you know so much about me?”, you asked.

“That’s not important right this moment. What is important is that you let me get what I want without a fight?”

You scoffed, “Someone will come looking for me. They probably already are.”

The man laughed, “You mean Yoongi? Do you really think he cares about you? If he did then he wouldn’t have been cheating on you most of your marriage. He wouldn’t have been hooking up with Suri a week before your anniversary and lying to you about it. He’s probably got one of the waitresses bent over in a bathroom stall right now as we speak. He doesn’t care about you Y/N. Never has and never will.”

You could feel tears begin to form. The man placed his hands on your hips leaning in like he was going for a kiss. Quickly you turned your face away from him. He pulled you a little closer.

“Maybe that Namjoon might care about you from what I’ve heard but I’m sure he knows better than to cross that boundary.”

You continue to try and wiggle free but he had a hard grip on you.

“Please just stop. Let me go.”

“I don’t think so sweetheart. I’ve wanted this for a long time and the fact that you are Yoongi’s is going to make this that much sweeter.”

The man kissed your cheek then your neck. You tried to push him away but he had moved his hands to grip your wrists.

You had your eyes screwed shut so you didn’t even see or feel anyone else come up to the two of you but you heard a loud deep voice speak which startled you,

“Get the fuck away from her.”

“Yeah or what?”

No words were spoken after that but you flinched when the man suddenly fell to the ground after taking a hard punch to the side of his face. You looked down at the unconscious man before turning your attention over to the person that threw the punch.

You stared at him your mouth open in shock, “What are you doing here?”

#bts #yoongi x reader #yoongi fanfic #yoongi angst #min yoongi #yoongi x y/n #bts fanfic #cinnamon&vanilla #arranged marriage au #yoongi fic #bts fic #bts x reader #yoongi au #bts yoongi #yoongi

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hanasnx · 9 months

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fratboy!anakin headcanons

part: 3 | part 1 ⟹ part 2

minors dni 18+

word count: 0.8k | character(s): anakin skywalker x gn!reader

notes: do not give anyone road head it is so dangerous.

warnings: no use of y/n, mention of reader being shorter than anakin, mentions of copping feels, drug use mention (weed, acid, shrooms) and mention of sex on acid, mention of road head, mention of twitter porn links.

☥ If you sound interested in meditating and yoga, he’d ask if you wanted to join him on the basis he’s “really good at it.”

Sits quietly in meditation with a curated playlist of music and lit incense. Cop feels while he directs your body in poses.

He usually does both in the morning to stretch and center himself and get ready for his day, using a daily YouTube video from “Yoga with Adrienne.”

It’s not that you’re bad at it or know the poses by name but when he sees you putting pressure on your knee incorrectly, he comes up behind you real close and moves your body for you. Puts his big hands on your hips and pulls you back into him, and acts all innocent when you call him on it. He knows what he’s doing.

Showering you with compliments. “Lookin’ good, baby, you sure you haven’t done this before?”

and “I see you closing up here. lemme relax you.” beginning to massage your thighs, sliding up to your ass— as if it isn’t intimate enough already.

There’s a part of you that wants to keep dangling yourself out of his reach. “Ani, I don’t think we should be doing this.”

When he speaks, his lips murmur against the back of your head, warm breath washing over your neck. “It’s okay, it’s just yoga; you’re so tense.”

☥ He doesn’t sleep much. Nightmares aren’t an uncommon occurrence, but he suffers from a case of insomnia for a number of other reasons. So his time is spent doing other things. He has the graveyard shift at his job which tires him out enough for an hour or two long power nap until he can get to class or the gym or hockey practice.

☥ Extremely disciplined despite your preconceived notions. He sticks to a schedule: a healthy diet; takes his job seriously (even if he believes he’s the best person there and should move on to better things); committing to hockey and its demands; and has a brain that processes things like homework in a record time you’re envious of.

☥ Does smoke weed occasionally for “spirituality.” He’s done acid and shrooms for the same reason. All three being low on the risk factor of drug use, which is one of the reasons he was comfortable trying them out.

He wants to take a tab with you and fuck. All of your senses heightened, and inhibitions lowered. It’s mind-blowing. He wants to blow your mind and your back out.

☥ Has gotten road head from you before. It only made him drive faster.

☥ Plays Minecraft with you and you have a server together. (Named after your ship name. He doesn’t tell you that.)

☥ Movie nights where you swap your favorites. You show him Pride and Prejudice (2005) and he shows you Tron: Legacy (2010).

☥ Sends you Twitter porn links captioned; “us💕”

#ch: fratboy!anakin #anakin skywalker fanfiction #anakin skywalker smut #anakin skywalker x reader #reader insert #anakin skywalker x gn!reader #anakin x you #anakin skywalker x you #anakin skywalker imagine

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lxvelyzoe · 4 months

Text

head cannons of bf!matt x extrovert!gf

pairing: matt sturniolo x fem!reader

word count: 500+

summary: headcannons of matt with an extroverted girlfriend

warning: established relationship, fluff, not a warning but this was requested by @jupitersturniolos

i feel like you would be be famous as well, probably a youtuber

you guys definitely met at a party, you were wondering around and saw matt alone so you decided to talk to him

your first conversation went something like this:

“hey pretty boy, what are you doing all alone?”

“oh um i’m ju-“

“wanna dance?”

“uh su-“

“lets go pretty boy”

then you dragged him to the dance floor and definitely embarrassed him by your dance moves (your not bad but matt was very very shy)

at the end of the night, you traded everything, numbers, snaps etc. and you guys talked 24/7

matt is definitely a soft launch person and thats how he started announcing that you guys were together but then you got bored and decided to hard launch you guys

he would do the classic soft launch stuff, food from dates, pictures of you guys etc

on the other hand, you posted a photo dump and matt was in it and you captioned it something like “i love my man” and EVERYONE was going crazy

you definitely bother the shit out of him, like you never stop talking (he loves it tho)

you, chris and nick embarrass him so much in public

one time in a gas station (because where else would you be at 2am) and an ice spice song came on you three started dancing like crazy

“baby… please stop”

“come on matty, join us”

“yeah matty, come on”

“im leaving”

your always talking to people at events or parties and matt just stands there looking around awkwardly, its the cutest thing ever

matt either drags you away from people from your belt loops or you drag him to people by his belt loops

pda is your favourite thing ever, you smother him with kisses all the time

the man definitely owns an “i love my gf” shirt and he loves it so so much

he LOVES matching outfits with you, he never posts about it though but you don’t care at all and post it on your story or a post

you randomly show up to the triplets apartment, you barge in and start yelling for matt

“MATTY BABY IM HEREEE”

“oh hi y/n, hes in his room”

*barge in his room*

“HI MATTY BABYYY”

“hi my love”

he likes taking you on cute dates but you take him on so many “outgoing” dates but there not really outgoing, its just not in his comfort zone (he loves it though because you love it)

you always drag him to be in your youtube videos and your always in the triplets wednesday videos

none of you guys are the jealous type, matt doesn’t really talk to a lot of people so you have no need to be jealous and matt doesn’t get jealous because you make it VERY VERY obvious that you two are dating

taglist: @blahbel668

#lxvleyzoe #matt sturniolo #matthew sturniolo #chris sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #nick sturniolo #nicolas sturniolo #sturniolo triplets #sturniolo fanfic #sturniolo x reader #the sturniolo triplets

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chelseachilly · 3 months

Text

falling for you

pairing: reader x ben chilwell summary: as a reporter for chelsea and england, you and ben have always been friendly - and sometimes a bit flirty - but you never imagined a fluke injury while filming a youtube video could lead to something more warnings: mentions of minor injury, mainly just fluff ☺️ word count: 6.4k

author's note: hope you like this one! it was a lot of fun to write and definitely my longest one-shot yet hahah. fc is olivia buzalgo obviously lol

As a reporter for both the England national team and Chelsea, you’ve always tried your best to remain professional and not show favouritism towards any of the players.

For the most part, this hasn’t been an issue. While you do spend a lot of your time with incredibly fit guys around your age, they’ve never been anything other than colleagues or, at the most, friends.

Except for Ben Chilwell.

He had been on your radar professionally for some time before you met, as he was an up and coming talent at Leicester and for England. You always thought he was good looking when you watched him play on television, but you didn’t really know much about him.

It wasn’t until he signed for Chelsea in the summer of 2020 that things changed.

You were tasked with conducting Ben’s first interview for the club, and the two of you hit it off immediately. You felt like you had known him your whole life within the hour you spent together in a small room at Cobham, chatting about his career and his goals at Chelsea.

You also learned quickly that Ben wasn’t just attractive - there was something magnetic about him. You felt instantly at ease around him, yet he also made your heart rate triple with a quick smile as you passed in the hallway or a glance in your direction while he’s on the pitch.

While you would never dream of pursuing him, partly because it’s unprofessional and partly because there’s no way he feels the same way, the connection between you two hasn’t exactly gone unnoticed.

Every time you post an Instagram story of you working with Ben or a video of you interviewing him is released, the comments and replies are flooded with fans speculating about whether you two are dating. You always feel a bit embarrassed, wondering if he’s seeing these responses too, but you continue to post the content for two reasons:

One, because your content with Ben always performs the best, meaning your bosses are always encouraging more of it;

And two, because you’re super into him and you’ll take any excuse to work with or spend time with him.

So, despite all the speculation, you continue to post pics with Ben whenever you’re working together, and the occasional borderline-flirty comments he leaves certainly don’t help matters.

yourusername

liked by benchilwell, masonmount and others yourusername Always a pleasure with the best left-back in the league @benchilwell ☺️ view all comments benchilwell High praise from the best reporter in the game 😉 chelsfan1 ooh i think chilly has a crush on y/n benfan2 they are never beating the secretly dating allegations 🤨

The seemingly flirty comments he sometimes makes in person don’t help matters, either - certainly not for your growing crush on him. You find yourself both looking forward to and dreading every opportunity to film something with him, loving every minute of your time with him but wishing deep down that it could lead to something more.

You’ve hung out a bit outside of work, too, sometimes grabbing something to eat after a shoot or partying together after Chelsea have won a big game. You’re friends, but that’s all you are. You’re painfully reminded of that every time you read about the latest gorgeous model he’s dating.

That doesn’t stop your heart from skipping a beat when your boss emails you your next assignment, a video with Ben and Conor. They’re two of your closest friends on the team, so it should be a dream day of work for you to film a silly video with them for the club’s socials, but you’re more nervous than usual.

Ben’s been a little bit flirtier than usual lately, bringing you coffee when you’re working at Cobham and sending you funny TikToks throughout the day. You’re not reading too much into it, but it’s definitely going to make it harder for you to ignore your feelings for him.

But you’ll at least have Conor and the camera crew there, so it won’t be that bad. You hope.

You arrive at Cobham bright and early that day, already dressed and having done your own makeup as per usual for a shoot like this. You meet up with the cameraman, Brian, who you frequently work with, to go over the plan.

“You nervous?” Brian asks when you walk into the office, a small smirk on his face.

You can feel your face go pale and your eyes widen. “What? Wh-why would I be nervous?”

“Because of the shoot,” Brian says blankly, raising an eyebrow at you. “You know, how you were saying you’re awful at football…”

Ah, yes. The normal reason for you to be nervous.

Truthfully, your mind has been so taken up with thoughts of seeing Ben that you haven’t worried too much about the video itself. The premise is that the boys will demonstrate some football skills and you’re supposed to try to replicate them. You’re hardly a footballer, so it’s really just meant to be lighthearted, funny content for fans who like your dynamic with the boys.

“Oh, right,” you say with a small laugh. “I’m sure it won’t be too bad. How hard can it be?”

Brian just laughs, ignoring your slightly odd behaviour from before. “Yeah, you’ll be fine.”

A little while later, you make your way out to the training pitch where you’re meeting the guys, and you smile when you see Ben has shown up early and is kicking the ball around and scrolling on his phone. He stops and smiles when he sees you approaching.

“Y/N, hey!” he exclaims, pulling you into a quick hug. “You alright?”

“Hey, Ben,” you reply, in a bit of a trance as you pull back from the hug. “I’m good. How are you?”

“Great,” Ben grins. “You ready to learn a few things?”

“Oh, yeah, it’s not every day that I get a free football lesson from the stars of Chelsea FC,” you tease.

“Yeah, you basically won the lotto,” Ben chuckles.

You raise an eyebrow with a smirk. “You’re comparing a morning with you to winning the lottery?”

Before your banter can continue, you see Conor and the rest of the video crew approaching and you’re brought back to reality - in which Ben is your coworker, not your boyfriend, and you have a job to do.

You quickly hug Conor hello and chat for a minute while the guys set up the filming equipment. You can tell they’re in high spirits from the recent winning streak they’ve been on, making the atmosphere around Cobham better all around.

Once it’s time to get started, you get into position and begin your intro, explaining the premise of the video.

You start off with some easier skills, watching Ben and Conor demonstrate before attempting them yourself. You’re definitely not a professional, but you played a bit as a kid, so you can handle a few kick ups and headers.

As things start to get a bit more complicated, you’re definitely struggling more, but the boys are very sweet and encouraging. Honestly, you’re not too concerned with showcasing your abilities - it’s just a funny video, and it’s part of the job. You don’t think any of the fans are expecting you to be the next Leah Williamson or something, but you still try your best for the sake of the challenge.

The final skill you have to do is a bit of a trickier one, a crossover. Ben shows you how to do it with ease, obviously, before encouraging you to give it a go.

After a couple failed attempts that you hope the video editor cuts out, you finally manage one, and both Ben and Conor cheer for you like you just won the Champions League.

“You’re a pro, Y/N,” Ben grins. “Wanna go again?”

With a sudden boost of confidence, you nod, and Ben kicks the ball back to you. You kick it up a few times and meet Ben’s gaze with a small smile before jumping up and swinging your leg around the ball again.

Only this time, instead of landing perfectly on your feet, you land directly on the side of your left ankle and fall over.

There’s a shooting pain up your leg, but that’s overshadowed by the immediate embarrassment you’re feeling. The moment you catch your breath and sit up, Ben is already at your side with his hand on your upper back, asking if you’re okay.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” you insist, before you’ve even had time to assess if that’s true. “Just give me a sec and we can keep going, sorry guys.”

“Are you sure?” Brian asks, setting his camera down on the tripod after he stopped filming. “It looked like you twisted your ankle pretty bad.”

“I’m sure it’s nothing,” you say, though the pain has begun to settle in and it definitely doesn’t feel like nothing. “Ben, can you help me up?”

Ben looks hesitant, his eyes flitting from your ankle back up to your face, but he nods and grabs both your hands to help lift you to your feet.

You’re determined to soldier on and finish the video with minimal humiliation, but the moment you put the slightest bit of weight on your left foot, you wince sharply and feel tears begin to brim in your eyes.

Ben immediately catches you and carefully lowers you back to the ground, keeping a hand on your back.

“Y/N, you’re hurt,” Ben says, eyes full of concern. “It’s your ankle?”

You nod, afraid that if you speak, your voice will tremble from the pain.

“We should take her to one of the physios to get it looked at,” Conor suggests.

“I’m sure they have more important things to deal with,” you mumble, feeling a bit more grounded by the way Ben is gently rubbing your back, giving you something other than the pain to focus on.

“Not really, we don’t have training today so most of the boys aren’t even here,” Ben assures you. “I’ll take you there now.”

You’re about to ask how you’re going to get all the way up to the physio offices if you can’t even stand, but you don’t have to wonder for long before Ben is carefully slipping his arm under your knees.

You let out a small gasp as you’re swept off your feet, suddenly finding yourself in Ben’s arms.

“Are you okay? Did I hurt you?” he asks quickly, misinterpreting your surprise for pain.

“No, I’m good,” you say quietly. Despite the shooting pain, this is partially true - how could you not be good when you’re currently being carried bridal style by the guy you’ve had a crush on for years.

“Sorry, guys,” you say to Conor and the crew. “Maybe once they look at my ankle we can continue-“

“There’s no way you’re walking on that today, and we have enough content for the video,” Brian tells you. “Go get checked out and let us know how you’re feeling, alright?”

“I will,” you smile. “Thanks.”

“Good to go?” Ben asks you, and you nod.

You rest your head on his shoulder as he carries you with ease up to the physio department, feeling strangely comfortable in this position you never expected to be in. You love the feeling of being in his arms, how safe and protected you feel even in your vulnerable state.

Once you arrive at the physio rooms, Ben sets you down gently on one of the beds and runs to grab someone. He returns moments later with Billy, who you’ve met a few times around the club. He’s a kind man who you know is particularly close with many of the players, including Ben.

“Hi there, Y/N, let’s take a look at that ankle,” he says gently. “Ben, mind grabbing some ice?”

“Of course.”

Ben goes over to the freezer and grabs a bag of ice while Billy carefully removes your shoe and sock, the action alone making tears form in your eyes once again.

“Let’s ice it for a few minutes first,” Billy suggests after seeing the state of your rapidly swelling ankle. “I’ll go get you something for the pain.”

After he takes the ice pack from Ben and gently places it on your foot, relieving the throbbing a little bit, Billy leaves the room. Ben pulls up a chair next to you and lightly touches your arm.

“You doing alright? That looks like a bad one,” Ben says, his voice impossibly even softer than before as he sees the pain you’re experiencing.

“Yeah, I’ll be fine.” You sigh, shaking your head. “I’m just so humiliated, to be honest. Leave it to me to injure myself on video, and in front of my coworkers and two professional footballers.”

“You have nothing to be embarrassed about, love, that could’ve happened to anyone,” Ben insists, making your heart jump at the tender nickname. “It’s my fault, I encouraged you to go again. I’m so sorry you got hurt, I feel awful.”

“No, Ben, absolutely not,” you say quickly. “It was just a dumb accident. I think I got a bit too confident in my football abilities.”

“Well, you were doing great,” he smiles. “I think the fans will love the video. Just like everything else you do.”

You’re grateful that Billy walks back in right in that moment, both because of the pain meds he has for you and because it diverts Ben’s attention from your now flushed cheeks.

As Billy begins your assessment, you turn back to Ben.

“You really don’t have to stay, I’m sure you have better things to do with the rest of your day.”

“Don’t be silly, Y/N, I’m not going anywhere,” Ben says definitively.

You’re sure you’re blushing again, but it’s quickly overshadowed by your grimacing in pain as Billy gently rotates and palpates your foot. Ben’s presence calms you down massively as Billy runs some tests to determine the extent of your injury.

After it’s determined that it’s just a bad sprain, Billy puts you in a boot and gives you crutches to get around for the next few days. He says to go for an x-ray if it doesn’t improve in the next two weeks, but that you should be walking fine by then.

Once you’re cleared to leave, Ben offers to grab your stuff from the media team offices as you rack your brain to think about how you’re going to get both yourself and your car home.

He returns with your bag slung over his shoulder and another gentle, heartwarming, completely irresistible smile on his face.

“You ready to go?”

“Yeah, I just need to call my parents and see when they’ll be able to make it,” you tell him. “It might be a while, but I’m fine to wait here. I’ve already taken up way too much of your time.”

Ben just furrows his eyebrows. “Don’t your parents live in North London?”

You just blink at him for a second, completely surprised that he remembers this detail you hardly remember sharing with him, before nodding.

“That could take hours with traffic, I’ll just take you,” he insists.

“That’s really nice, Ben, but I also have to get my car home somehow.”

“So I’ll drive you home in your car, then Uber back to get mine later,” he says nonchalantly.

“Ben-“

“Please just let me do this, Y/N,” Ben pleads. “I swear it’s no trouble.“

After a moment of deliberation, you find yourself agreeing with him. It could take hours for your parents to get here, and you’re really looking forward to being home on your couch after the day you’ve had.

He helps you down to the car park, matching your slow pace and opening all the doors for you, and then helps you get into the passenger seat of your car. You feel mildly embarrassed that he has to drive your tiny little vehicle that probably cost only a fraction of his weekly pay, but he immediately tells you how nice it is and cracks a joke about how much cleaner it is than his own, putting you at ease.

You play some music while he drives, chatting about some of the recent changes at the club as you give him directions to your flat. About halfway there, you notice how his phone that he placed in the drink holder between you is incessantly buzzing.

“Do you need to get that?”

“No, it’s alright,” Ben shrugs. “Probably just the boys. I was supposed to go to my mate’s house after we wrapped up, but I’ll text them and explain. He won’t mind.”

You instantly feel terrible for keeping him from hanging out with his friends on a rare day off from training.

“Ben, I-“

“Y/N, it’s really no big deal,” he says, looking over at you now that you’re stopped at a red light. “They’re not going to care that I bailed on playing FIFA to help my injured friend.“

You nod and smile at him, holding his gaze until the light turns green and the person behind you is honking at you to drive.

yourusername

liked by benchilwell, conorgallagher92 and others yourusername Before and after attempting to keep up with professional footballers…I’ll keep my day job lol 😅 view all comments benchilwell You'll be back on the pitch with us in no time 🥰 conorgallagher92 Hope you're feeling better!! You did great 😊 chelsfan3 aww poor y/n, what happened?? yourfriend Get well soon babe! x benfan4 Omg Y/N and Ben...need this video out asap (and hope she's ok!)

The next few days pass fairly uneventfully as you’re laid up on your couch icing your ankle and watching Netflix.

Thankfully, you didn’t have any in-person work commitments this week, and you’re able to do some prep for next week’s interviews from the comfort of your own home.

Although the injury is certainly a disruption to your routine, the most significant change is the sheer amount of attention you’ve been receiving from Ben ever since.

After he helped you get home and learned that your flatmate is on holiday for two weeks and you would be home all alone, he insisted on staying and making you something to eat. He only left once he was confident that you were comfortable and had everything you needed.

Since then, he’s texted you way more than he ever has before, constantly checking in and asking if you need anything. As much as you would love for him to come over every day and watch movies or have dinner with you, you have a nagging feeling that he just feels guilty about your injury. You like him so much, even more so for how sweet and attentive he’s being, but you don’t want to take advantage of that kindness.

After the third day of being bored at home, though, you’re starting to go a little stir crazy, and it’s hard to resist when Ben texts you.

True to his word, Ben shows up at 5:45 with Nando’s for both of you, having remembered your order from one time you went together after an interview he did for Sky.

After teasing him during dinner for never having finished the films, you decide to watch the fourth Harry Potter movie, Ben helping you settle in on the couch with your leg up before sitting right next to you.

As time passes, he gets progressively closer to you, until his arm is resting on the back of the sofa. He’s not quite touching you, but after he selects the next film, silently looking at you to see if you want him to stay, you feel a bit braver. After nodding with a smile, prompting Ben to hit play and settle back into the cushions, you shift slightly closer to him and lean into his body.

“You’re warm,” you say, suddenly feeling the need to justify your closeness when you feel his muscles tense slightly.

When you feel him shift away from you, you’re completely humiliated for misreading the situation. What on earth were you thinking trying to cuddle with him? You don’t cuddle with your other friends.

But these thoughts are quickly shut down as Ben grabs the blanket from the opposite end of the couch and drapes it over both of you, then raises his arm to invite you to lean back into him with a smile on his face.

You hesitate only a moment before curling back up to him, your head now resting on his shoulder and his arm wrapped around you.

You’re so comfortable and at ease in this position, despite it being completely new and a bit terrifying, that you can feel yourself drifting off less than halfway through the movie. You swear you feel Ben press a kiss to your forehead, but you’re not sure if it’s real or you’re already dreaming.

When you wake up again, the credits are rolling and Ben is half-asleep with his head resting on top of yours.

“Sorry I fell asleep,” you murmur with a small yawn, reluctantly extracting yourself from his embrace.

“It’s okay, you needed the rest,” Ben says softly, his voice a bit gravelly from lack of use.

God, you want to kiss him so bad.

“It’s late, do you have training in the morning?” you ask.

“Yeah, at nine,” Ben confirms. “So I suppose I should get going. Do you need anything before I do?”

“No, thank you, though,” you say. “For everything, Ben. You’ve been so amazing, I really cant thank you enough.”

“You don’t have to thank me,” Ben says softly, taking your hand and giving it a squeeze. “You’ve always been so nice and supportive when I was injured, whether you’re interviewing me about it or we’re just chatting privately, and I don’t think I ever told you how much I appreciate that. How much I appreciate you.”

Your cheeks are growing hotter as you hold his gaze, his bright blue eyes staring into yours with a new kind of intensity you’ve never seen before.

As much as you desperately want to lean in and press your lips to his, or even tell him how you feel, you’ve grown to treasure your connection with him too much to risk anything. You have to be sure.

“You’re welcome, Ben,” you say. “I’m glad I could help. I’ve always hated seeing you go through that.”

Ben nods, squeezing your hand once more before letting go.

“I’ll text you tomorrow, keep taking it easy and feel free to call me if there’s anything you need. At all.”

“Thanks,” you say once again, rising and grabbing your crutches to walk him out and so you can lock the door behind him. “I’ll be okay. But I will probably have to miss the game on Sunday, not sure I’ll be up for the journey to Newcastle.”

You hate missing Chelsea games, whether they’re home or away, but even if you secure a spot on the team jet and you have a comfy spot in one of the boxes, it would be a lot to navigate on crutches.

“Of course, we’ll all miss seeing you, though,” Ben says. “Won’t feel right doing the interview with someone else after we win.”

“I love the confidence, but you speak with other interviewers all the time,” you tease him gently.

“Yeah, and I always wish they were you,” he admits as he slides his shoes on. “Good night, love.”

He steps forward, cupping your face and pressing another kiss to your forehead - this one definitely not a dream - but pulls back much too quickly for your liking.

“Good night, Ben,” you’re barely able to choke out, your heart rate nearly triple its usual pace.

The moment he’s gone, you crutch back over to the sofa and flop down, letting out a long exhale.

Surely, he would’ve kissed you when he had the chance if he fancied you, right?

But, at the same time, no matter how nice of a person he is or how much he treasures your friendship, you doubt he would spend his whole evening cuddling with you if he didn’t want to.

As you settle in and press play on yet another movie - the perks of not having work in the morning - you try to put all thoughts of Ben out of your mind. This proves difficult, considering the blanket you’re using still smells a bit like his cologne, and because you haven’t really stopped thinking about him since the day you met.

The next week, after Chelsea defeat Newcastle 3-1 with a spectacular assist from Ben that you really wish you could’ve seen in person, you’re back at work.

You’re doing an interview with Pochettino this afternoon to talk about the win and how the season is turning around, which is a great opportunity for you, career-wise.

You just wish that it hadn’t happened on a day when you’re still hobbling around in a boot and Brian is stuck in traffic, meaning you have to set up for the interview yourself. Thankfully, you’re no longer on crutches, but by the second trip down the stairs from the media office to the room where you’re doing the interview, your ankle is really starting to protest all the walking.

Just as you’re taking a break in the middle of the stairwell, propping the tripod you were carrying up against the wall and taking a seat, you hear the sound of footsteps approaching and mentally prepare yourself to explain what you’re doing just chilling on the stairs.

“Y/N!”

The sound of the familiar voice calling your name relaxes you a bit, your shoulders slumping as you see the same smile that has been imprinted in your brain for the past week.

“Someone told me you were in today but I couldn’t find you in the media office,” he says, the smile on his face fading as he notes your slightly pained expression. “Are you alright, love?”

Since your injury, he’s called you “love” more times than you can ever recall him saying to anyone before, making your stomach fill with butterflies every time.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” you insist. “Just…taking a break.”

Ben narrows his eyes, and you know you aren’t fooling him, as much as you don’t want any more pity or guilty looks from him.

“In the stairwell? Wait - you aren’t carrying equipment yourself, are you? Y/N-“

“Brian’s stuck in traffic, and I’m interviewing Poch in an hour. I’m not going to waste his time because we were late to set up.”

“Y/N, there’s no way I’m letting you carry anything else down these stairs,” Ben says seriously, reaching out to carry the tripod under one arm and offering you a hand with the other.

You take his hand and let him pull you to your feet, but you still can’t help but protest.

“Don’t you have training right now?”

“Nah, just finished,” he says, beginning to walk down the stairs and keeping a hand hovering behind your back as if he’s afraid you’ll topple over. “We have a break for lunch now before we hit the gym.”

“But-“

“I’ll have plenty of time to help you and eat,” Ben says, now countering your arguments for accepting help before you can even make them.

Once you get down to the room of the interview, Ben insists you sit down and elevate your leg while he grabs the rest of the stuff. On his final trip, he comes back with your folder of notes in one hand and a bag with lunch and drinks for both of you in the other.

You don’t know how he keeps continuing to surprise you with his sweet gestures, but somehow he’s one-upped himself yet again. You sit on the floor and eat the sandwiches he grabbed from the cafeteria together while he helps you review your talking points for the interview.

He doesn’t get up to leave until Brian arrives to finish setting up, ensuring that someone will be there to prevent you from doing any more physical labour.

“Can I give you a ride home today?” Ben offers as he helps you up off the floor. “You still can’t drive with that on, right?”

You glance down at the cumbersome boot. Unfortunately, you did injure your driving foot, which means you had to get an Uber here today. You’re about to tell him you can get another one home, not wanting to inconvenience him any more, but you know that he’s just going to refuse.

“That would be great, Ben, thanks,” you smile, squeezing his hands before letting go. “I should be done here in about an hour and a half.”

“That’s perfect,” he grins. “Good luck with the interview, I know you’ll smash it.”

He jogs away to head to the gym, which you suspect he’s now late for, leaving you in a bit of a daze with a completely lovestruck expression on your face.

“Someone’s got a crush,” Brian says a moment later with a smirk, snapping you out of your trance.

“I-I do not,” you insist quickly, your eyes wide.

“I was talking about Chilly,” he says, chuckling a bit at your frantic denial. “But now that you mention it, you have always gotten on particularly well with him. No wonder the fans are always commenting about the vibes between you.”

“Oh, shush,” you roll your eyes. “There are no…vibes. He’s just being nice because of my ankle.”

“Right, I’m sure that’s the only reason,” Brian retorts sarcastically.

You pull out your phone and see that the Instagram stories you posted earlier are garnering lots of attention, your replies full of fans commenting on how sweet Ben is - something you’re well aware of.

yourusername via instagram stories

Thankfully, Brian can’t tease you much longer before Poch shows up for the interview. You say hello and settle in before getting started.

About 30 minutes later, you have everything you need from him and thank the coach for his time and a great conversation. You and Brian head back to the media offices to get to work on early edits of the video, a part of the process that you’re not really required to help with, but you always enjoy being as involved as possible.

You’re wrapping up and sending the file to the media team for final edits when Ben appears in the doorway, freshly showered and now wearing grey sweatpants and a hoodie that really look unfairly good on him instead of his training kit.

“Ready to go?”

“Yeah,” you smile. “I’ll just grab my bag-"

Ben is already walking over and grabbing it for you so you don’t have to carry anything, and you both say goodbye to Brian before heading for the car park.

He opens the door to his car for you, even though you’re definitely capable of getting in yourself now, and then he begins to drive to your place, no longer requiring any directions.

“So, how was the interview?” Ben asks after a moment of comfortable silence.

“It was great,” you say. “He speaks very highly of you, you know. Not that I blame him after that assist on Sunday.”

“You watched?” Ben asks, his eyes lit up with joy as he glances over at you.

“Of course, I wasn’t gonna miss it just cause I couldn’t be there in person,” you smile. “You were brilliant.”

You can’t tear your eyes away from Ben’s gorgeous smile as he continues to drive - improved only by your compliments being the reason for it.

You continue to chat about the game and other things until you arrive in front of your building. It’s hard to keep the slightly sad expression off your face when Ben pulls into the driveway and you know you have to say goodbye to him again.

All you want is to drag him inside with you and never let him go, but you know that isn’t realistic. Sure, he’s been wonderful and caring and attentive all week, but you’re sure that as soon as your ankle heals, everything will go back to how it was.

“Are you okay?” Ben asks once he puts the car in park and notices the look on your face. “Is it your ankle? Is it bothering you?”

“No, no,” you say, quickly dissuading his worries. “It’s nothing, I’m all good.”

He nods, but the concerned expression doesn’t quite leave his face. “I’ve been worried about you. You know, being here by yourself and stuff.”

Though your stomach flips once again at his soft tone, you try to ignore it. He’s just being nice. He’s a nice person. That’s why you like him so damn much.

“It’s okay, my mum has come around a few times and my flatmate will be home on Saturday,” you tell him. “Besides, I’m completely fine. I know you feel a bit guilty, but it’s just a sprained ankle. You’ve been so sweet looking after me, but I don’t want you to feel obligated.”

Ben blinks at you for a moment before letting out a sigh, running his hand through his hair.

“It’s not…I mean, I did feel a bit guilty, but that’s not why I wanted to take care of you. It’s because I care about you.”

You frown in confusion. “I’m not saying you don’t care about me, Ben, I care about you too, but-“

“Y/N, for gods sake,” Ben cuts you off, taking a deep breath. “It’s not just that I care about you, okay? I care about the boys, but I don’t exactly turn up with dinner and cuddle with Reece or Trev when they’re injured.”

As you realize what he’s implying, your breath catches in your throat and you find it hard to speak at all, let alone say the right thing.

You’re not sure what comes over you, but the only thing you can think to do in the moment is the thing you’ve been dreaming about doing for the past three years - you lean across the console and press your lips firmly to his.

You have a brief feeling of terror that you’ve misunderstood what he was saying, until Ben starts to kiss you back and you no longer have any thoughts in your brain that aren’t of his lips.

He parts his mouth slightly and you kiss him harder, his hand coming up to tangle in your hair. You sigh into his mouth, in pure ecstasy as he kisses you like his life depends on it.

You only part when you both need to come up for air, and even then, you’re reluctant to pull away from him, lingering close. Ben brushes his nose against yours, and you watch as he slowly opens his eyes.

“Y/N,” he breathes. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted you to do that.”

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to,” you murmur, slowly pulling back from him. “Why…why didn’t you ever say anything?”

“I wasn’t sure if you felt the same, and I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable since we work together a lot,” Ben admits. “I thought about bringing it up every time we hung out outside of work, but I always chickened out.”

“Oh,” you exhale, your mind whirring with a million different thoughts. “I never knew you felt that way about me.”

Ben raises an eyebrow. “I flirt with you all the time! There’s a reason the fans are always posting about us online, saying I fancy you and stuff. I thought it was obvious.”

You could nearly scream at your own obliviousness - if only because it delayed what was just most definitely the best kiss of your life - but you never thought in a million years that Ben would choose you over all the other options he has available to him, over all the perfect girls you’ve seen fawn over him at games and parties.

“Well, I’m glad you’ve told me now, even if it took me falling over and injuring myself for us to get here,” you laugh under your breath, making him roll his eyes at you with affection.

“I’m definitely not glad you got hurt, but I was happy to have an excuse to spend more time with you,” Ben admits. “I just…always want to spend time with you.”

You’re blushing like crazy again, but this time, you don’t care that Ben can see. When he reaches out to cup your face and stroke your cheek with his thumb, you don’t shy away from him, your bashful smile mirroring his.

“Are you free tomorrow night?” he asks. “There’s this amazing French restaurant in Richmond, I would love to take you if you want.”

You’re giddy at the thought of an actual, romantic first date with Ben, though you’ve felt more romance eating sandwiches on the floor and chatting in crowded stadiums and walking to get coffee with him than you have on any “real” first date you’ve ever had.

“I would love to,” you smile.

“Okay,” Ben grins. “I’ll pick you up at seven, then?”

You nod, feeling pure elation as Ben begins to lean in to seal your agreement with a kiss. It feels so natural, it’s hard to believe your first one was just minutes ago.

“Can I help you inside?” Ben offers once you’ve pulled away again.

He knows full well that you’re completely capable of walking to the door by yourself, but you’re not offended by his chivalrous behaviour, especially now that you know he has a very good reason for it.

“Only if you kiss me again at the door,” you respond, smirking at him playfully, and his eyes light up with delight.

“I can definitely do that.”

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