☾ name: jinx!
☾ age: 21
☾ pronouns: any pronouns
☾ timezone: CET
☾ fun facts about me:
I am a mechanical engineer!
My favourite animals are gaboon vipers
I have two cats! (Miss Kitty & Mr Kat)
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☾ feel free to send asks / messages / interact if you'd like!
space boy and cosmic girl
pairing: Peter Quill x alien!f!reader
genre: angst/comfort • tensions • friends to lovers
notes: You are an alien from the planet 'Zeltor Prime', the galaxy’s central hub for music, rhythm, and sound itself. For many human years, you have been best friends with Peter 'Star-Lord' Quill, though you prefer to call him "Spaceboy." What you didn't know about your best friend was that... he had developed a bit of a crush on you. But... much to Peter's unfortunate, mingling with other species wasn't something your home planet encouraged.
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chapter 3 – once in a lifetime 💫
The moment Zeltor Prime came into view through the viewport, Peter understood why you always talked about it the way you did.
The planet glowed.
Not figuratively.
Actually glowed.
Great golden continents shimmered beneath swirling clouds of pink and violet, while countless lights sparkled across the surface like stars..
A few minutes later, the ship settled onto one of the enormous landing platforms that overlooked the capital city.
The moment the ramp lowered, sound flooded inside.
Music.
Laughter.
Singing.
Thousands upon thousands of voices.
Peter stepped out beside you and immediately froze.
The crowd froze too.
Silence swept through the plaza so quickly it felt almost unnatural.
Hundreds of Zel’tori stopped what they were doing.
Thousands of eyes turned.
Every single one landed on him.
Peter swallowed, maybe this was why you never wanted to meet on your planet...
“Y/N,” he said carefully, not taking his eyes off the crowd. “Are they going to eat me?”
“No, Space Boy,” you replied as you nudged his arm playfully.
“I'm serious,” Peter muttered, still staring at the sea of silent faces.
Before you could answer, a woman approached from the front of the gathering.
Peter recognised her immediately, it was your mother, he had met her once or twice, but the language barrier made it hard to… communicate. But the resemblance between you was impossible to miss.
Her coloured skin carried the same subtle glow as yours, and her eyes held that same warmth Peter had always associated with you.
She stepped forward gracefully and sang a short melody.
You smiled immediately, and sang back.
The melody that left your lips was softer than the ones Peter normally heard from you.
Your mother's expression softened.
Several nearby Zel’tori smiled.
Then, as though some invisible signal had been given, the entire crowd erupted into cheers.
Music started again.
Peter blinked in mild confusion.
“What just happened?” he asked as he looked between you and the celebrating crowd.
You turned toward him with a completely straight face.
“I told them they could eat you,” you replied calmly.
Peter's eyes widened.
“What?”
For two full seconds you maintained the expression, before you burst out into laughter.
“Oh, come on.” Peter groaned, feeling a bit embarrassed he did believe you for even a second.
You leaned against him as your laughter continued.
“I'm kidding,” you managed between giggles.
“I told them I brought a guest.” you smiled warmly, “And that my favorite human finally came to Zeltor Prime.”
Peter felt something warm settle in his chest.
Unfortunately, before he could think too hard about that statement, you continued.
“I also told them you're here to party!”
The crowd cheered again as though on cue.
Peter rubbed his face, “Great…”
You shook your head and grabbed his hand before he could ask another question, weaving the two of you through the endless sea of dancing festival-goers.
“Less talking, more walking, Space Boy,” you said, your fingers tightening around his hand.
Peter stumbled after you with an exaggerated grin.
The two of you pushed through crowded streets before finally slipping into one of the towering golden buildings that stretched high above the city.
A few moments later, the elevator doors slid shut behind you.
For the first time since arriving on Zeltor Prime, the two of you were alone.
Peter let out a breath he hadn't realised he'd been holding as the elevator began its ascent.
You leaned back against the mirrored wall and sighed heavily, exhaustion already catching up with you.
“Sorry for... well, everything so far,” you said after a moment, rubbing the back of your neck.
“The crowd, my friends, my family, the staring... all of it.”
Peter's expression softened immediately.
“Hey,” he said gently as he leaned against the opposite wall. “You don't have to apologize.”
“I'm serious,” he continued with a small smile.
“This place is your home. I'm the weird one here, remember?”
A quiet laugh escaped you.
“You're doing surprisingly well, honestly,” you admitted.
“There is always a lot going on here,” you said more quietly as your shoulders relaxed. “Zeltor Prime doesn't really know how to … slow down.”
“Yeah, I noticed,” Peter replied with a chuckle. “I thought Knowhere was chaotic, but this place makes everywhere else look like… a retirement home.”
The elevator continued climbing.
“Still, it's kind of amazing seeing you here.”
Peter added after a moment, glancing toward you.
You tilted your head, “What does that mean?”
He shrugged.
“I don't know, I've heard stories about this place for years. About your family, your city, your festivals, all the stuff you missed whenever you were traveling.”
His smile softened, “It's nice finally seeing where you come from.”
Something warm flickered across your expression, but before you could respond, the elevator chimed.
The doors slid open and Peter stepped out with you and into your apartment.
The entire apartment seemed to be made of sunlight.
Golden furniture, tall glass walls, strange musical instruments stood around the room.
Beyond the windows stretched the entirety of Zeltor Prime's capital city.
Peter let out a low whistle.
“Okay,” he said as he slowly turned in place. “Now you're just showing off.”
You laughed and dropped onto the enormous pale-yellow couch in the center of the room.
“You know very well I like the Milano more than this place…”
Peter walked over to the glass wall, staring out at the city below.
The view was incredible.
For a moment, Peter could almost understand why you always seemed torn between staying and leaving.
Eventually he wandered over and sat beside you on the couch.
The cushions sank beneath his weight.
“Now I get why you miss this place,” he said quietly as he looked around.
A thoughtful hum escaped you.
You shifted comfortably on the couch before stretching out across it entirely.
Before Peter could react, your head settled naturally into his lap.
Like it was the most normal thing in the universe.
He looked down at you.
You were staring up at the ceiling and a soft melodic hum escaped your throat.
“I miss it because it's home,” you admitted quietly. “No matter how far away I go, no matter how many planets I visit... part of me will always belong here.”
Peter's hand absentmindedly settled against your hair.
“But…” you continued after a moment, your voice growing distant with thought, “when I was younger, all I wanted was to leave.”
Peter smiled softly, just listening to you.
“I wanted to see everything,” you said as your eyes drifted toward the skyline beyond the glass walls. “Every planet. Every civilization. Every weird corner of the universe.”
A small laugh escaped you.
“I used to sit right here and imagine what was beyond the stars.”
Peter looked down at you, “And now?”
Your eyes flickered toward him.
“Now I know,” you said softly.
Finally you closed your eyes a bit, letting out a soft breath, “I’ll be honest I’d much rather stay here than go to the festival…”
“But well… I have duties, and whatever.” you sighed, “Don’t get me wrong– I love the Blooming Festival but… I feel like I’m letting my people down by not bringing a partner.”
You felt the anxiety and pressure of it all tighten in your chest again and you sat up.
Peter leaned back against the arm of the couch, watching as you now stood and moved toward the enormous glass windows overlooking Zeltor Prime.
For a moment, neither of you spoke.
Then you rested one hand against the glass and looked down at the festival preparations happening far below.
“You know, on Zeltor Prime, we mate for life,” you explained quietly, your voice softer now than it had been all day. “A Zel’tori is supposed to find someone whose music matches theirs. Someone whose rhythm complements their own…”
Peter let out a short breath, “Your groove.”
“Yeah.. My groove,” you agreed with a small smile.
He nodded slowly, “Right. I've heard that one about a thousand times over the years.”
You laughed softly before turning your attention back to the city.
“It's more than just attraction. More than love, honestly. It's difficult to explain to non-Zel’tori…” You paused, searching for the right words.
“It's like... hearing a song your entire life and suddenly finding the missing instrument.”
Peter's chest tightened, because despite all the joking and teasing about it, you sounded serious.
“And when you find that person?” he asked quietly.
You folded your arms over your chest.
“Then that's it.”
“That's it?”
You nodded, “Yeah… that’s it.”
The city lights reflected in your eyes as you continued.
“You choose each other. Forever.” you added.
Peter looked away for a moment.
Forever.
The words sat heavy in his chest. He knew all this, but he had just pushed it aside, called his attraction to you, just a ‘crush’ and this while Zeltor mating thing rarely crossed his mind anyway.
But now, he couldn't ignore the reality staring him in the face.
No matter how much time you'd spent together over the years, no matter how many adventures you'd shared, there were parts of your life and culture he would never truly belong to.
“Sounds like a lot of pressure,” he said eventually, forcing a small grin.
You laughed, “Tell me about it.”
The grin faded from his face almost immediately.
Then he asked the question that had been bothering him ever since Kiquy opened her mouth on the ship, “So what happens if a Zeltorian never finds their groove?”
The small smile was wiped from your lips immediately, the silence that followed made Peter worry he asked something deeply uncomfortable.
“Everyone find one eventually,” you said quietly.
But there was something in your voice that made Peter think you weren't entirely convinced.
His stomach sank.
Because suddenly all the teasing from your friends made a lot more sense.
The comments about you losing your rhythm.
About never bringing anyone to the Blooming Festival.
About never finding your groove.
“Most Zel’tori are born with a voice that belongs to a single instrument family,” you explained quietly.
“Some sound like strings, some like brass, some like woodwinds. When they grow up, they find their partner by matching melodies and harmonies. It's how they've always done things…”
“But I was born with the Melody of Zeltor,” you continued with a small shrug. “That's the gift that made me Guardian in the first place. When I sing, I can mimic every instrument. Every note. Every melody…”
A faint laugh escaped you, though there was little humor behind it.
“Which means finding a predetermined match is... complicated, to say the least,” you said with a sigh.
Peter nodded slowly as he processed the explanation.
“I mean… not that I've ever really cared about dating anyone from here,” you added after a moment, your voice quieter now. “Truthfully, I've never been in my groove with anyone at all.”
Peter felt something tighten unexpectedly in his chest at those words.
He wasn't entirely sure why.
He rose from the couch and joined you by the window. His shoulder brushed yours lightly as he stopped beside you.
You released a long sigh.
“I mean.. I don't care who I fall in love with,” you explained as you leaned one shoulder against the glass. “But my people do.”
Your expression softened slightly.
“If I don't eventually have a child, there won't be another Guardian after me.”
Peter's eyes widened, “Oh…”
“Yeah. Oh,” you repeated with a dry laugh.
You lifted both hands in an exaggerated gesture.
“You know. No pressure. Just the future survival of an entire planet.”
Peter couldn't help laughing at that, though the humor quickly faded when he realised you weren't entirely joking.
“You've seriously been carrying that around by yourself all these years?” he asked quietly. “You could have told me, you know.”
You shrugged, “It comes with the title. Besides… I like that I don’t have to worry about those things with you.”
Peter looked away for a moment, staring out over the sprawling city below.
“I get that Earth doesn't really work like that,” you said softly, “But Zel’tori aren't fighters, Peter. We don't build armies... We don't conquer planets.”
You turned toward him fully.
“If we don't have a Guardian protecting us, we're easy prey for whatever violent empire decides we're worth taking.”
Peter's expression grew serious, he knew about the generational suffering your planet used to endure until you were born as the next guardian.
Since Guardians can only be born to previous guardians or one is naturally born every thousand years, this was a lot of pressure on you.
Peter remained by the window for a moment after you finished speaking, his reflection staring back at him from the glass window.
He finally looked back at you, his expression softening.
“So… let me get this straight,” Peter said as he pointed at you. “An entire planet is currently invested in your love life?”
“When you say it like that, it sounds ridiculous,” you said between chuckles.
“It is ridiculous,” Peter argued as he laughed quietly.
You simply shrugged, “Maybe yeah..”
You pushed yourself away from the window and crossed the room toward your wardrobe.
Peter watched as you began digging through racks of clothing as though you hadn't just casually informed him that the future of your species depended on your ability to find a life partner.
Meanwhile, his brain was still trying to process everything.
“Okay…” he said carefully as he followed after you. “I don't mean to pry, but how exactly are you supposed to fix this situation?”
You glanced back at him over your shoulder.
“Fix what situation?” you asked innocently.
“The whole 'future of Zeltor Prime depends on me finding a partner' situation,” Peter clarified.
“Oh. Well, luckily it's not something I have to solve tonight,” you explained as you continued searching through your wardrobe. “I still have a few years. Two or three, probably.”
“Oh thank God,” he muttered.
You turned around holding what was clearly your ceremonial outfit.
The bodysuit shimmered with shades of orange, pink, and gold, with flowing translucent fabric trailing behind it like liquid sunlight.
You sighed quietly before laying the outfit across the round bed and searching for the matching accessories.
“So yeah,” you continued casually as you dug through another compartment.
“I technically have two or three years to find somebody, convince them to spend the rest of their life with me, have a child with me, and make sure that child eventually becomes the next Guardian.” you said dryly as you pulled out a pair of gleaming golden knee-high boots.
The thought made something twist painfully in his chest.
“Right. Right,” he said half-heartedly, shoving his hands into the pockets of his jacket as he leaned against the nearby wall.
“It just has to be the right person, and they’ll be put for it.” you said quietly, sounding far less certain than you usually did.
“The right person. What a concept,” he said dryly.
You narrowed your eyes at him.
“You ask a lot of questions,” you pointed out with a small huff. “Is dating always this complicated for humans?” you asked curiously.
Before Peter could answer, you glanced toward your wardrobe and then back toward him.
“Also, this is usually the point where you turn around so I can change, Space Boy,” you informed him, gesturing toward the opposite wall.
Peter immediately froze.
His eyes widened slightly as he suddenly remembered that you were, in fact, about to change into your ceremonial attire.
“Oh. Right. Right,” he said quickly, his face turning pink almost instantly. “Sorry,” he added as he spun around so fast he nearly tripped over his own boots.
You laughed quietly under your breath.
“Thanks,” you said as you slipped out of your dress.
The rustle of fabric filled the room as you carefully stepped into the glittering ceremonial bodysuit waiting on the bed.
“So how does dating actually work for humans?” you asked after a moment. “Do you also have a predetermined person somewhere?” you continued curiously while adjusting the sparkling fabric into place.
Peter stared firmly at the wall in front of him.
“Nope,” he replied with a quiet chuckle. “Humans don't get predetermined matches.”
He folded his arms across his chest as he considered how to explain something humans themselves barely understood.
“Dating is basically just throwing yourself into complete uncertainty and hoping you don't crash and burn,” he explained with a grin.
You laughed softly behind him.
“Wow. That sounds terrible too,” you said sympathetically.
“Yeah, pretty much,” he admitted.
There was another pause while you adjusted part of your outfit.
“So then how do you know?” you asked genuinely. “How do humans know they've found the right person?”
Peter's smile faded slightly, that question felt a little too relevant, too dangerous.
He stared at the wall for several seconds before shrugging.
He rubbed the back of his neck, “No one really knows.”
Your movements behind him slowed.
“Really?” you asked.
"I mean humans spend most of their lives guessing,” he explained. “Sometimes people think they've found the right person and they're wrong. Sometimes they don't realize they've found the right person until it's too late.”
His voice softened without him meaning it to.
“And sometimes…” he began before trailing off.
He thought about you.
About your laugh.
About the way you called him Spaceboy.
About the impossible situation he'd somehow gotten himself into.
“Sometimes you just know,” he finished quietly.
You carefully pulled the ceremonial bodysuit into place, smoothing out a few stubborn wrinkles along the glittering fabric before turning slightly toward him.
“What? No signs at all?” you asked in disbelief, adjusting one of the shimmering straps resting against your shoulder.
You tilted your head thoughtfully.
“When Zel’tori fall in love, their melodies begin to align,” you explained softly. A faint smile touched your lips.
“My mother always said it sounds like hearing your favorite song for the first time and somehow … already knowing every note.”
You glanced toward Peter's back.
“And humans just get... nothing? How disappointing…” you noted.
Peter couldn't help smiling at the image.
You frowned slightly at your reflection as you zipped the side of the bodysuit closed.
The sparkling tulle veil settled across your shoulders, catching the light from outside.
You adjusted a few of the beaded decorations hanging from the veil.
“You know… Zel’tori only truly fall in love once.” you hummed.
Peter immediately glanced over his shoulder.
Unfortunately for him, that was exactly when he caught sight of you standing in front of the mirror.
The glittering bodysuit hugged your frame perfectly.
The veil shimmered every time you moved.
For a brief moment his brain completely stopped functioning.
Then he snapped his head back around before you could notice.
“Seriously?” he asked, clearing his throat. “Only once?”
You nodded, pushing your hair into place, “Only once,” you confirmed.
You secured another decorative pin into place.
“Ever?” he asked.
“Ever,” you replied simply.
You moved toward the edge of the bed and sat down to pull on one of your golden boots.
“Do humans fall in love all the time?” you asked curiously.
Peter let out a slow breath.
The answer felt strangely depressing compared to yours.
“Sometimes,” he admitted.
His voice sounded rougher than he intended.
“Humans fall in love. Fall out of love. Move on. Try again. It’s quite messy…”
The concept clearly baffled you.
“That's so strange,” you said softly.
You slipped your foot into the first boot.
“Then.. How do you stop loving someone?” you asked, your brow furrowed, “If they're your person, shouldn't they always be your person?”
The innocent sincerity in your voice hit Peter harder than he expected.
For several seconds he couldn't answer.
The question sounded so simple when you asked it.
So obvious.
Why wouldn't you want to love someone forever?
Why wouldn't you want one person who belonged in your life for the rest of it?
Peter let out a slow breath and dragged a hand through his hair, trying to smooth over the emotions threatening to show on his face.
“Sometimes people just aren't meant to be forever,” he said quietly.
“I see…” you said thoughtfully as you tried to make sense of yet another human custom that felt completely foreign to you.
“Yeah... your life partner thing… it sounds special,” he said after a moment, though the bitterness creeping into his voice surprised even him.
A brief silence settled over the room.
“Is something wrong?” you asked as you rose to your feet again, studying his turned back with concern.
“You can look, by the way. I'm done changing,” you added gently as you glanced at your reflection in the mirror.
Peter swallowed hard before he turned around.
Any words died in his throat.
The ceremonial outfit shimmered beneath the golden lights pouring through the glass walls.
You looked breathtaking.
For several seconds, he simply stared.
“Nothing's wrong,” he said far too quickly, forcing himself to blink.
“I just…” He paused, struggling to find words that didn't immediately give him away. “You look really beautiful,” he admitted quietly.
The compliment escaped before he could stop it.
You looked at him through the mirror, then slowly turned to face him.
“It's surprisingly easy to tell when humans are lying,” you said, one eyebrow lifting slightly as you studied him.
Peter let out a defeated sigh.
“It's nothing, really,” he said, though the exhaustion in his voice betrayed him immediately. “Just... don't worry about it.”
His eyes drifted back to you again despite himself.
The sight of you standing there in the ceremonial clothes only made everything harder.
You were going to walk out there tonight as Zeltor Prime's Guardian.
And eventually, somehow, you were going to find the person who belonged beside you.
The thought made his stomach twist.
“I'm sorry if I dumped all of that on you,” you said quietly as you moved away from the mirror and crossed the room.
The delicate veil billowed across the floor behind you as you walked toward the enormous glass windows overlooking the city.
“If something is bothering you, please tell me,” you said softly as you stared down at the celebration below.
“It's fine,” Peter said, though the words came out hollow enough that even he didn't believe them.
He rubbed the back of his neck and forced a small smile. “I'm glad you told me all of that.”
You remained standing by the enormous glass window overlooking the glowing city below, your gaze fixed on the countless lights.
“Then what's bothering you?” you asked quietly, your voice carrying genuine concern.
A brief pause followed before you spoke again.
“Was it something I said?” you asked, finally turning your head slightly in his direction.
Peter immediately shook his head.
“No, no. It's not you,” he said quickly, almost too quickly. He looked away, jaw tightening as he searched for words that refused to come easily. “I just…”
His voice trailed off.
After a moment, he released a slow breath.
“I just wish things were different,” he admitted quietly.
You frowned slightly and turned toward him properly now.
“What things?” you asked carefully. “Different for me?” you continued, tilting your head.
A small smile touched your lips, though it didn't quite reach your eyes.
“You don't have to worry about me. I'll be fine,” you said gently.
“No,” Peter said through clenched teeth as he looked away again. “Not that. Forget it.”
“Just forget I said anything,” he muttered.
You stared at him for a long moment.
“How am I supposed to forget it?” you asked quietly as you stepped closer.
“I can hear it in your voice, Peter. Whatever you're feeling, it's hurting you,” you continued gently.
Your expression softened.
“Are you feeling sick?” you asked, genuine worry entering your voice. “Is it all the people? The noise? The colors? The atmosphere?” you questioned, trying to understand.
Peter shut his eyes for a second.
Of course that was where your mind went.
You were trying so hard to help him, and somehow that only made everything worse.
When he opened his eyes again, there was no hiding the emotion in them anymore.
"It's you, Y/N," he admitted quietly.
The words hung between you.
Peter swallowed hard.
“It's you and the fact that someday soon, someone is going to become your person,” he continued, his voice growing rougher. “The person you're meant to spend forever with.”
You stared at him.
“What?” you asked, completely caught off guard.
Silence filled the room for a long moment before you furrowed your brows.
“Why does that bother you?” you asked honestly. “Is that... a bad thing for humans?” you questioned.
Peter let out a short, humorless laugh.
“Yeah,” Peter said quietly, shaking his head. “Yeah, it kind of is.”
His eyes finally met yours.
The look in them made your stomach twist.
“Because it means that no matter what I feel for you…” he said softly. “None of it changes anything.”
Your breath caught in your throat and a flash of uncertainty played over your features.
“What do you feel for me?” you asked quietly.
The question came out barely above a whisper.
Too vulnerable and honest.
The city lights reflected in your eyes.
For a second he considered lying again.
Telling you it was nothing.
Saving himself the humiliation.
Saving both of you the heartbreak.
But he was tired of lying.
“I think I'm falling in love with you, Y/N,” he confessed quietly.
The words felt terrifying once they were spoken aloud.
Peter laughed softly, though there was no humor in it.
“And honestly?” he continued. “It's probably the worst thing that could've happened to me…”
His gaze never left yours.
“Because you keep talking about perfect harmonies and soulmates and finding the person you're meant to spend forever with,” he said quietly. “And every time you do, all I can think about is how it was never supposed to be me.”
The confession lingered between you.
“I know I'm human,” Peter continued softly. “I know I'm not Zel’tori. I know I can't be part of whatever destiny your people believe in.”
His voice cracked slightly.
“But none of that stopped me from feeling this.”
The apartment suddenly felt far too quiet.
Peter swallowed.
“And the worst part is..” he continued with a faint, broken smile. “I don't even wish I felt differently.”
You felt your heart tighten painfully in your chest.
The sensation was strange.
Unfamiliar.
Your skin prickled with nervous energy, and suddenly it felt difficult to breathe properly.
“In love…” you repeated quietly, as though the words themselves were forbidden.
Your gaze dropped briefly before returning to him. “Peter, this…” you began softly. “You're …, and I'm…” You faltered, unable to finish the thought. “You know this isn't…” you whispered, unable to force yourself to say the words aloud.
You didn't want to name it.
Didn't want to acknowledge the possibility that what he was saying might somehow be real.
He knew how impossible this was.
Every part of him knew that these feelings would only end in heartbreak.
He should have walked away the moment he realized what was happening.
Instead, he found himself taking a step closer.
“Yeah, I know,” he said quietly, his eyes never leaving yours. “I know we're different. I know this doesn't fit into any of the rules you grew up with.”
His jaw tightened.
“I know it probably doesn't make any sense,” he admitted softly. “And I know it's probably going to hurt me.”
Your chest tightened further.
“Then don't,” you said immediately, the words escaping before you could stop them.
You instinctively took a step backward. “Don't feel that way, Peter,” you said firmly.
“I don't want to hurt you,” you said quietly. “I couldn't do that.”
The distance you created between you felt like a physical blow.
Peter's heart sank.
You were only a few feet away, yet somehow you had never felt farther from him.
“Being around you and knowing I can't have you…” he admitted. “That's the part that's killing me.”
You stared at him.
Your mind struggled to make sense of what he was saying.
None of it fit.
None of it followed the rules you understood.
“How?” you asked shakily. “How could you feel that way about me when I'm not your match?”
Your voice sounded small and confused.
Peter exhaled slowly.
“Every time I see you, every time you laugh, every time you start talking about some alien thing I've never heard of before…” he said softly.
A helpless smile appeared briefly.
“I just like being around you.”
The words hung between you.
Peter swallowed.
“And… I can't stop thinking about you,” he admitted.
You opened your mouth to answer.
Nothing came out.
The ache in your chest was growing stronger by the second.
A strange pull seemed to tug at something deep inside you.
Part of you wanted to move closer.
Part of you wanted to reach for him.
Part of you wanted to understand.
But none of that was possible.
None of it should have been possible.
He couldn't be your harmony.
He couldn't be your predetermined match.
So why did your heart keep reacting every time he looked at you?
“I don't understand,” you admitted quietly.
You genuinely didn't understand.
Peter's expression softened at the confusion in your voice.
If anything, seeing you look so lost only hurt more.
Silence settled between you.
The city lights shimmered beyond the glass walls.
You simply stared at him, as though if you looked long enough, you might finally understand what was happening.
Then–
DING.
The elevator chimed.
The apartment doors slid open.
“OH MY BLOB, Y/N! WE'VE BEEN WAITING FOR AGES!” Koola shouted dramatically as she burst into the apartment.
“HURRY UP!” Kiquy squealed as she hurried in after her.
The sudden explosion of noise shattered the moment.
All four girls piled into the apartment at once, laughing and talking over one another before freezing when they spotted the two of you standing by the window.
Peter immediately stiffened.
His heart was still hammering from everything he'd just confessed.
The last thing he wanted right now was an audience.
He quickly stepped back, putting more distance between himself and you as he shoved his hands into his pockets.
“Hey,” he said awkwardly, forcing a smile that felt painfully fake.
if they put a gun to my head and asked me to start a chapter/story/part without saying "Your house was quieter than usual." or something along those lines the gun might as well go off
promises and patience
pairing: Thomas Shelby x f!reader
genre: angst/comfort • tensions • established relationship
series: this is the series two of my fanfic army dreamers! find series 1 in my master list
notes: You and Thomas are now engaged, with a lot of promises and a lot of expectations you enter this new chapter of your life together. But, things seem to derail from planning your dream wedding to nightmare business, as per usual for a Shelby.
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series two
epilogue
The house was still dark when you woke.
For a moment you simply lay there, staring up at the ceiling while the familiar mixture of excitement and anxiety settled heavily in your chest.
Today…
You were going to the doctor today.
The thought had followed you into sleep and dragged you back out again before the sun even fully rose.
Slowly you pushed yourself upright.
Beside you, Thomas remained asleep, his face looked even tired now.
The past few weeks had not been kind to him, ever since Derby day he had struggled to rest.
Sometimes he woke shouting.
Sometimes gasping.
Sometimes simply sitting upright in bed, staring into the darkness as though he had left part of himself somewhere he couldn't retrieve.
You glanced at him for a moment, there was no reason to wake him now that he seemed to sleep at least a bit.
Then quietly you gathered your clothes.
The floorboards creaked softly beneath your feet as you slipped from the bedroom.
A few minutes later you stood in the bathroom, brushing your teeth while trying not to think too much about doctors and babies and what not.
A strange sound that drifted through the house caught you off guard.
You froze, at first you couldn't place it.
Then it came again.
A sharp intake of breath.
Followed by something that sounded horrifyingly close to a sob.
Your heart immediately sank, “Tommy…”
The toothbrush was forgotten instantly, as you hurried back toward the bedroom.
Thomas was tangled in the sheets, his entire body tense beneath them.
His breathing came in uneven gasps.
His face twisted with distress.
One hand clenched the blanket so tightly his knuckles had turned white.
Like he was grabbing something.
Holding on.
You sat carefully beside him, “Tommy…” you whispered.
His breathing hitched again.
You placed a hand gently on his shoulder, “Tommy.” you repeated.
This time his body jerked violently, his eyes flew open and for one terrible second he looked completely lost.
His chest heaved, his pupils wide and he scrambled backwards across the mattress he almost fell off the bed.
You immediately lifted your hands, “It's me.”
Thomas froze, panting as he looked around the room, as if he didn’t recognise the place for a moment.
Reality slowly returned to him, and his shoulders dropped slightly.
“Nightmare?” you asked quietly.
He rubbed a hand over his face, pushing back damp hair, “Yeah..”
For another moment you just watched him, then you slowly rose to your feet, “I’ll get you some water.”
Thomas nodded absentmindedly.
You left him sitting there and headed downstairs.
The kitchen was cool and quiet, you filled a glass with water, and waited a moment, giving him his time to settle.
When you returned to the bedroom, pushing the door open with your shoulder, you stopped in the doorway, seeing him sitting by the window.
His opium pipe rested in his hand, smoke curling lazily upward.
Thomas looked up as you entered.
His eyes met yours briefly, then drifted away again.
Almost guilty.
You crossed the room quietly and handed him the water.
He accepted it without argument.
“Couldn't sleep?” he asked after a moment.
You gave him a small smile, “Was just… too anxious to sleep.”
For the first time that morning something softened in his expression.
Thomas looked down into the water.
Then toward you.
“Are you nervous?” he asked quietly.
“A bit.” you admitted
He nodded, “As am I.”
A faint smile touched the corner of his mouth.
Only for a second.
Then it disappeared again.
Silence settled between you.
Thomas sat quietly for another minute, the pipe balanced between his fingers while the first pale light of morning crept across the room.
Then he stood, “I'll finish this outside,” he said quietly.
You nodded.
He slipped through the balcony doors, leaving them partially open behind him.
The morning air was cool against your skin when you followed after brief consideration.
Thomas rested his forearms against the balcony railing.
The opium pipe hung loosely from his hand.
You simply stood beside him.
Close enough that your shoulder brushed his arm.
Eventually you broke the silence that began to linger between you, “You know,” you said softly, “you can talk to me if you need to.”
Thomas stared out across the rooftops.
For a moment you thought he hadn't heard you, then he glanced sideways at you.
“I know.” he whispered.
Thomas looked down at the pipe in his hand before shaking his head slightly, “Not… not today.”
You frowned a bit at that.
“What do you mean?” you asked quietly.
He turned toward you properly then.
"Today isn't about me," he said.
His gaze dropped briefly to your stomach, then returned to your face.
“Today is about you.”
His hand found yours.
“And our baby.”
Your chest tightened immediately, even hearing him say it out loud still felt strange.
Thomas looked at you for a long moment, before he opened his arms slightly.
You stepped into them without hesitation.
His embrace came around you immediately.
One hand settling against your back, the other resting over your side. You buried your face against his chest.
Thomas lowered his head and kissed your forehead, then your temple, then your cheek.
Slow, absentminded kisses that seemed less like affection and more like reassurance.
Then he pulled back just enough to look at you.
Then, without warning, he abandoned the pipe entirely, setting it on the balcony ledge.
His attention shifted completely.
The next kiss landed just below your ear.
You immediately giggled, “Thomas–”
Another, a little lower.
“Thomas.”
His lips brushed the side of your neck again, the ticklish touch made you squirm a bit.
You laughed again, trying unsuccessfully to escape, “Tommy–”
Another quick kiss before he finally stopped threatening you with kisses.
His hand found yours again.
“I can't wait,” he admitted suddenly, his expression softening completely, “For our wedding… and our baby.”
The words seemed to surprise even him.
You couldn’t help but smile, and nod, “Neither can I…”
Thomas had never been good at waiting.
And today was proving exactly that.
He stood outside the midwife's house with a cigarette between his fingers that had long since burned unevenly. He hadn't smoked half of it. Mostly he had just held it while pacing the same stretch of pavement over and over again.
Every few minutes he checked the door.
Then the window.
Then the door again.
The thought still felt unreal, dangerous, like hoping too hard might somehow make it disappear.
The front door opened, and Thomas turned immediately, the cigarette falling to the floor, already forgotten.
You stepped outside.
The midwife stood behind you for only a moment before quietly closing the door, leaving the two of you alone.
Within seconds Thomas was standing in front of you.
His eyes searched your face desperately, looking for an answer.
His hands came up to cup your cheeks.
You looked overwhelmed, almost dazed.
“Well?” he asked quietly.
You opened your mouth, then closed it again.
For a second you looked as though you might cry.
Thomas felt his heart thundering against his ribs.
You stared at him, speechless for what felt like an eternity.
Then finally you managed a small breathless smile, “We're having a baby.” you breathed out.
Thomas just stared at you.
His eyes searched yours as though he needed confirmation a second time.
Then a third.
As though the words couldn't possibly be real.
“We're … we are having a baby,” you repeated, your voice trembling slightly now.
The reality of it was beginning to catch up with you too.
His eyes lowered briefly.
A shaky breath escaped him.
Then he laughed, a quiet, disbelieving laugh.
You had heard Thomas laugh before, many times, but never like this.
Never with such naked relief.
Never with so much wonder.
When he looked back at you his eyes were shining.
He immediately pulled you against him.
His arm wrapped tightly around you and you immediately buried your face against his chest.
After a long embrace he pulled back just enough to lean down and kiss you.
The kind of kiss that held a thousand things neither of you could properly put into words.
When it ended, his forehead rested against yours.
“We're having a baby,” he repeated quietly, almost to himself.
You laughed through tears and nodded.
“Yes.”
Thomas closed his eyes briefly, as though committing the moment to memory forever.
Then he opened them again and kissed your forehead.
“Well,” he said softly, “Looks like we're going to need a bigger house.”
The garden behind your house was filled with noise.
Not the noise of business, or guns, or racecourses, but the noise of family.
Children ran through the grass while the warm early summer evening painted everything gold. The table had been dragged outside beneath strings of lanterns, and plates of food covered nearly every inch of its surface.
John was already halfway to losing his patience.
“For God's sake, stop climbing on things!” he snapped at one of his boys.
Esme laughed from across the garden, pulling the boy into her lap as he glared at John.
Arthur, meanwhile, seemed perfectly content with the smallest of John's children balanced on his arm. He bounced the baby gently while making ridiculous faces that earned delighted giggles.
“Look at him,” Arthur said proudly. “Likes me best.”
The baby giggled delightfully, grabbing his sleeve.
Across the garden, Polly stood speaking quietly with Michael while pretending not to keep an eye on everyone at once.
While Ada was attempting to clean dirt from Karl's hands.
An impossible task.
The boy had somehow managed to cover himself in soil from head to toe.
At the edge of the garden Finn was throwing a stick for Chloe.
The Dalmatian raced after it with endless enthusiasm, her black-spotted body flying across the grass while Finn cheered her on.
You smiled at the sight.
Beside you, Thomas sat quietly.
His hand rested over yours beneath the table. Every now and then his thumb brushed gently across your knuckles.
You looked at him, he looked surprisingly calm, which told you he was likely nervous inside. You knew him well enough to recognise it.
The dinner itself had been his idea, a family dinner.
Thomas squeezed your hand once, you squeezed back.
Then called across the garden, “Finn!” your voice rang out.
The boy looked up immediately, “Come on back, it’s time for dinner!”
Finn groaned but eventually came back over.
Chloe followed him, settling down in the grass and gnawing at her stick.
A few minutes later everyone had finally gathered, more or less.
The children were seated.
The food was served.
The whiskey was flowing.
Then Thomas stood, the conversations gradually faded as all attention turned to him.
For a moment he simply looked around the table.
At you.
At Arthur.
At John.
At Polly.
Michael.
Ada.
Finn.
Karl.
The children.
All of them.
His family.
“You all know,” he began quietly, “I'm not usually one for speeches.”
John immediately snorted into his drink.
“That's a lie.”
Thomas ignored him.
A few chuckles rippled around the table.
He waited for them to settle before continuing.
“You spend enough years doing what we do and you start believing money matters most.”
His gaze moved around the table.
“Then you think power matters most.”
The smile faded slightly.
“And then one day you find out neither of those things mean much when you're standing alone. I've spent a lot of my life chasing things.”
His fingers tightened slightly against the chair.
“But no matter what happens…”
His eyes drifted briefly to you.
“...family is what remains.”
Polly lowered her glass.
Ada sat a little straighter.
Even Arthur seemed unusually attentive.
Thomas looked at all of them.
“And because family matters, I wanted you all here to hear this first.”
His hand found yours.
Several pairs of eyes shifted between the two of you.
Ada already looked suspiciously unsurprised.
“The family will be expanding.”
There was a second of silence.
Then Polly nearly inhaled her whiskey.
She coughed violently and wiped her mouth.
“Oh, for fuck's sake,” she spluttered.
Arthur's eyes widened, only Ada simply folded her arms.
“My wife,” he said proudly, the word still sounding precious whenever he used it, “is expecting a baby.”
Suddenly Arthur shouted loud enough for half of Birmingham to hear.
Polly covered her mouth in pure shock.
Thomas remained standing, lifting his glass.
“And I'll be proud,” he said firmly, emotion roughening his voice just slightly, “that child will carry the Shelby name.”
Glasses rose around the table.
Cheers erupted.
And as the family toasted, Thomas leaned down and pressed a kiss against your temple.
space boy and cosmic girl
pairing: Peter Quill x alien!f!reader
genre: angst/comfort • tensions • friends to lovers
notes: You are an alien from the planet 'Zeltor Prime', the galaxy’s central hub for music, rhythm, and sound itself. For many human years, you have been best friends with Peter 'Star-Lord' Quill, though you prefer to call him "Spaceboy." What you didn't know about your best friend was that... he had developed a bit of a crush on you. But... much to Peter's unfortunate, mingling with other species wasn't something your home planet encouraged.
MINORS DNI!!
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─── ꒰ 🚀 ꒱ ───
chapter 2 – being desired 💋
The Milano was quiet compared to the disco when he returned.
He lay sprawled across his bunk, hands folded behind his head as he stared up at the ceiling.
Usually after seeing you, he'd feel content.
The two of you had spent years meeting up across the galaxy whenever your schedules aligned. Sometimes it was a quick lunch on a station. Sometimes it was simply sitting together and talking about absolutely nothing.
That was normal.
What wasn't normal was the fact that he couldn't stop replaying tonight.
The way you'd grabbed his hand to drag him onto the dance floor.
The sound of your laugh.
The lipstick mark you'd left on his cheek.
The way you'd looked at him beneath all those flashing lights.
Most concerningly…
The fact that he'd wanted to kiss you.
Peter groaned and covered his face with both hands.
“Oh, this is bad.” Rocket said, his familiar furry silhouette appearing in the doorway.
Rocket didn't even bother knocking, “Still thinking about her?”
Peter threw a pillow at him.
Rocket dodged it effortlessly.
“That's a yes.” Rocket chuckled wandering into the room anyway.
“Seriously, Quill.” he continued anyway.
“I don't wanna talk about it.” Peter groaned.
Rocket hopped onto a nearby crate, “You've spent years hanging around this girl, why don’t you just… make a move?”
“Look,” Peter muttered, “It's not like that…”
“It is exactly like that.” the racoon countered and Peter sighed.
Because unfortunately, it was.
Rocket hopped down from the crate, “So what're you gonna do about it?”
Peter stared at the ceiling again.
There was the problem.
Because this wasn't some random woman at a bar.
This was you.
His friend.
For once, the teasing disappeared from Rocket’s voice, “Ain't that bad, Quill.”
Peter laughed weakly, “Easy for you to say.”
“You know she cares about you.”
Peter closed his eyes again because Rocket was missing the point.
“Even if I did, Rocket, she got like this whole Guardian of Zeltor thing and… her people kind of aren’t for being with other species and all that…” Peter sighed.
Rocket nudged his bed with his foot, “Get some sleep, man.”
Peter sighed, maybe that would help, “Yeah.”
Rocket disappeared outside the door and Peter turned over in his bed with a loud sigh.
✦ . ⁺ . ✦ . ⁺ . ✦
The next day Peter’s comm buzzed with a new message.
You: Hey Space Boy, what you up to?
Peter: Not much. Fixing up the Milano. You?
You: Totally forgot to tell you...
You: There is a huge space PARTY on Zeltor Prime today.
You: Thought I'd ask my favorite party boy if he wants to come along 💙
Peter: Only if you promise not to judge my dancing this time. I'm still recovering from last time.
Peter: And does "party boy" mean I've finally been promoted from "Space Boy"?
You: Nope. Still Spaceboy.
Peter: When do we leave?
You: If you send me your location I can literally come pick you up right now :P
You: Your ship still has a compatible conn-bridge, right?
Peter: Yeah, conn-bridge is compatible.
Peter: And hey, I won't complain about being your Space Boy.
Peter: 📍
You: PULLING RIGHHHTTT UP.
✦ . ⁺ . ✦ . ⁺ . ✦
Peter was pretending not to wait by the viewport.
Then a massive pink ship appeared on the Milano's scanners.
Peter immediately sat up.
“Yep,” he muttered, “That's definitely her.”
The comms console lit up.
Incoming Transmission Request
Peter was smiling before he even accepted it, and as he pressed accept, a familiar voice immediately came through, “Heyyy, Spaceboy!”
Before Peter could respond, Rocket wandered in, half asleep he rubbed his head.
Then he saw the enormous pink ship outside.
He stopped walking, “...Quill. Why is there a giant pink spaceship attached to our ship?”
The docking clamps connected with a heavy metallic thud and a moment later the airlock indicators flashed green.
Connection established.
Peter was already heading toward the corridor, ignoring Rocket, who followed behind him.
The heavy doors slid open.
And the first thing to emerge was a cat-like creature.
“Meow.”
Peter immediately smiled, “Hey, Zora.”
The cat trotted confidently into the Milano and purred at Peter's feet.
Then came the familiar sound of humming.
A soft, musical melody drifting through the corridor.
Then you stepped through the doorway, your glittering purple dress catching the ship’s lights as you spun once.
“You look…” Peter began but the words died in his throat.
“I look good, right?” you smiled, throwing your arms up dramatically.
Peter's brain stopped functioning and he opened his mouth, closed it again before opening it again.
“Spaceboy?” you said, ripping him from his thoughts again.
Peter blinked, “Uh..? Yeah– I mean you look great.” he finally said.
You smiled contently before you gave Rocket one final wave before stepping back through the airlock.
“Bye!”
Rocket waved back immediately, “Have fun, idiots!”
Peter sighed and followed you to your side of the ship and the airlock doors closed.
“Oh my stars I’m so ready!” you smiled, as you started walking down the corridor of your ship.
The inside of your ship looked exactly how he remembered.
Bright colors.
Glowing lights.
Music drifting softly from above.
You glanced back over your shoulder, taking in his outfit.
Then immediately made a face, “Hm..” you hummed thoughtfully.
"Oh no."
Peter stopped, “What… what’s wrong?”
“That's what you're wearing?” you asked, raising one brow.
Peter looked down at himself, his jacket, his shirt, his boots.
“What is wrong with this?” he asked, feeling a bit insecure about being underdressed.
You shook your head, “No, no… it’s just… it’s the party on Zeltor Prime.”
Peter looked mildly offended, “This is my best jacket!”
“I know…” you sighed, continuing down the hallway while Peter followed.
You finally stopped in front of a large door.
It slid open and revealed your room.
It was illuminated by pastel lights, posters hung all over the walls and even a vintage record from earth sat proudly on a wall.
And in the middle of it all stood a giant round bed.
You moved toward an enormous closet near the far wall.
Peter continued looking around, trying to see if he could catch anything new you had hung up.
There were new photos in glittering frames on the wall.
One particular photograph caught his eye.
You with his walkman's headphones on, pulling a face.
Peter smiled as he took it in.
Meanwhile you threw open the closet doors.
“Hmmm.” you hummed loudly, “Hmmmmmmm…”
You tapped your finger against your lip thoughtfully, Peter could only expect the worst.
“Hmmmmmmm.”
Peter narrowed his eyes, “What…?”
“You know… On Zeltor Prime we dress a little differently.” you hummed, gesturing broadly around the room.
Then suddenly you grabbed his wrist, dragging him to your vanity where you pushed him into a chair.
“There.” you said triumphantly.
Peter looked around, the vanity was covered in beauty products, accessories, jewelry, brushes and enough glitter to blind a small moon.
“I'm scared.” he murmured, his words causing you to grin, “Good.”
You began digging through your closet again, finally you pulled out one thing.
You proudly held up the keyboard-shaped belt.
“You cannot be serious.” Peter chuckled, but you only eagerly nodded.
With all the dignity he could muster, Peter accepted the belt, then slowly attached it.
You watched with growing excitement, “It’s amazing!” you cheered.
Peter pressed one of the decorative buttons on the belt.
A loud squeaking keyboard noise echoed through the room.
He stared at it and pulled a face, “You sure about this?”
You couldn’t hide your giggle, “Yes, Peter, you know how serious we are about music.”
And, because you were incapable of resisting it, you perfectly mimicked the exact same keyboard sound yourself.
The musical note rolled effortlessly from your voice.
You finally moved toward the vanity, rummaging through the make up drawers.
Your continued search made Peter fear for the worst. “What are you looking for?” he asked, trying to get a glance at what you were looking through.
A second later you held up a burgundy makeup pencil.
“Close your eyes.” you said, already moving closer, Peter shook his head, “Is no an option–”
You crossed your arms in front of your chest, “Peter.”
That was worse.
You only used his actual name when you meant business.
Peter sighed, “Fine.” he said as he closed his eyes reluctantly.
Immediately he felt your hands lightly steady his face.
And suddenly, he became aware of how close you were.
Close enough that he could smell your perfume.
Close enough to hear your quiet humming.
Close enough that if he opened his eyes–
Nope.
Bad idea.
Very bad idea.
Meanwhile you were completely focused on your artistic masterpiece.
“Hold still.” you huffed, grabbing his chin a bit harder.
Peter couldn’t help but chuckle, “I am holding still–”
“Almost done,” you murmured a few seconds later.
Peter kept his eyes closed.
Finally you let go off him and smiled, “Alright, look at that!”
Peter opened one eye first.
Then both.
The reflection staring back at him looked surprisingly good.
A series of elegant musical markings curved across one side of his face.
“Huh.” Peter hummed, leaning closer to the mirror of your vanity, “It's actually pretty cool.”
Your entire face lit up with joy at his compliment, “It actually spells your name in Zeltorian.” you informed him with a grin.
That got his attention.
You leaned forward slightly, tracing the musical notes on his face as you sang the melody.
Low.
High.
High.
Then a long, lingering low note.
The sound was beautiful.
Peter found himself smiling “That's me?”
You nodded enthusiastically, “Try it!”
At first Peter looked a bit nervous but he couldn’t say no to your enthusiastic smile, he attempted the melody.
It came out terribly, you chuckled behind your hand, “Well.. it’s a work in progress.”
Then, without really thinking about it, you reached up and rested your hand against his cheek.
Your thumb brushed lightly across the painted notes.
“Peter.” you said his name normally first.
Then you sang it, the Zeltorian version.
The melody seemed softer this time.
More intimate somehow.
Peter felt something unpleasantly warm settle in his chest.
“That sounds a lot better when you say it.” he admitted.
Your smile softened, “You want to know mine?”
“Yeah.” Peter immediately nodded.
You hesitated for a moment, then began explaining, “Your melody is low, high, high, long low. Mine is the opposite.”
Your eyes met his.
“High.”
A clear note rang out.
“Low.”
Then another.
“Low.”
And finally, a long, beautiful high note that lingered in the air between you.
Peter couldn't remember blinking, or breathing.
He simply looked at you.
At the person he'd known for years.
The person who somehow kept finding new ways to amaze him.
“That's … beautiful,” he said quietly.
For a second, neither of you looked away.
Then Zora chose that exact moment to leap onto the vanity, knocking over a perfume bottle.
The spell shattered instantly.
“Meow.” Zora made, demanding their attention.
Your hand dropped from his cheek and you straightened up again.
You cleared your throat, muttering, “Right.” and stepped away.
“We still need to pick up some friends before we get to Zeltor Prime.” you let him know.
Peter stood from the vanity chair, “No problem, the more the merrier…”
You paused, “Who is Merrier? You have a friend named Merrier?”
Peter raised an eyebrow, “No it’s–”
“And why would more of them be here?” you continued asking.
Peter pinched the bridge of his nose, “You know what? Forget it.”
You shrugged and continued toward the cockpit.
Human sayings remained one of your favorite mysteries.
You settled comfortably into the captain's chair.
Peter dropped into a nearby seat.
The ship descended toward a small blue planet.
Bright city lights stretched beneath them.
“Who exactly are we picking up?” Peter asked.
You only smiled, which worried him immediately.
The ship touched down smoothly, a few buttons were pressed and hydraulics hissed, then the boarding ramp opened.
And then…
“Y/N!”
Peter physically jumped.
A stampede of voices thundered into the ship.
Four girls practically launched themselves through the entrance.
One deep blue.
One purple.
One red.
One white.
The volume alone nearly shook the walls.
You barely had time to stand before they were already hugging you.
“Y/N!”
“Oh my stars!”
“We missed you!”
“It's been forever!”
“It has been three weeks,” you pointed out.
“FOREVER!!”
Peter watched the reunion with amusement.
Then every single one of them froze.
Like someone had pressed pause.
Four heads slowly turned, four pairs of eyes locked onto Peter.
“Oh my blorb.” the red girl said, pointing, “That's him.”
Peter immediately became concerned, “What… what does that mean?”
The girls surged forward.
Suddenly he was surrounded.
“Wow.” one of them grabbed the sleeve of his jacket, “It's real.”
“It's a… jacket.” Peter said.
“The famous jacket!” the red girl squeaked.
Another leaned closer, examining his hair, “It’s so soft… “
A third girl poked his ear, causing Peter to swat the hand away.
“Stop that–” he tried to defend himself.
Then his gaze fell on you, desperately looking for aid in his unfortunate situation.
The blue girl now circled his chair, “The legendary Spaceboy, finally we get to see him in the flesh!”
“You've been talking about me?” he asked, you looked away guilty.
Suddenly everything made sense.
The staring.
The excitement.
The way they'd recognized him instantly.
You'd been telling stories about him.
And judging by the way your friends were looking at him…
A lot of stories.
“Uh... yeah.” Peter declared, glancing around at the crowd surrounding him, “I am, in fact, real.”
The white girl stepped forward, giving Peter exactly half a second to wonder what she was doing before she leaned closer and sniffed.
She took a deep breath of his scent, “He smells like dirt… like earth.”
“Hera–” you hissed, appalled that your friend was not only smelling Peter but also saying he smelled like dirt.
She pulled back looking fascinated, “It’s not bad!”
Peter looked toward you, another plea for help.
“You totally undersold him,” the purple girl said, “But I thought he would be taller…”
Peter looked a bit surprised.
Fortunately, before the interrogation could go any further, you finally pushed yourself away from the console.
“Okay.”
Nobody listened.
“Okay!”
The musical note hidden in your voice carried enough authority that everyone stopped.
You stepped directly between Peter and the others.
“Ladies.” you sighed, “I know he’s cute, but he’s also a person… and he is my friend.”
You grabbed his wrist and gently pulled him away from the circle.
The girls whined dramatically, “Oh come on…!”
You sighed, then finally gestured toward the group.
“Peter, these disasters are Kiquy, Koola, Hera, and Jess.”
Each girl waved, much more politely this time.
“And girls, this is Peter.”
“Spaceboy,” Kiquy, the deep blue alien, corrected.
Koola, the red alien, tilted her head, smiling, “Can I nibble him?”
The cockpit fell silent and Peter blinked in utter disbelief, “What..?”
“Just a little nibble.”
“No.”
“A tiny one.”
“No.”
“Scientific purposes.”
“Absolutely not.”
Koola sighed dramatically, “You humans are so difficult.”
“Nobody is nibbling Peter,” you said firmly, trying to put some sense into your alien friends.
Before anyone could continue the conversation, Hera suddenly leaned forward, sniffing again.
Peter flinched away, “Jesus– Lady–”
Another sniff.
Then Hera's eyes widened, the pale alien looked genuinely surprised.
“You haven't bonded with anyone in a long time.” she noted.
The cockpit exploded into giggles and gasps.
“What?!”
“No way!”
“Seriously?”
"Impossible!"
Peter's face immediately turned bright red, “WHAT DOES THAT EVEN MEAN?!”
Kiquy suddenly gasped, “I thought you two were like… because… you’re bringing him to the blooming festival!”
“Kiquy!” you huffed again, genuinely frustrated. “He is my friend, and our guest, so quit it already!”
The entire cockpit fell quiet.
Peter slowly turned his head toward you.
You planted your hands on your hips, full captain mode now, “And before anyone else asks, No biting. No smelling. No nibbling. And no flirting!”
Koola flopped dramatically into a nearby seat, “Booooring. I mean, we're going to the Blooming Festival,” she complained. “Isn't that where you're supposed to bring your lover?”
Peter's heart betrayed him by immediately paying attention.
The others looked toward you.
You simply shrugged, “I just brought my friend, because I wanted to.”
You returned to the captain's chair.
A few commands lit up the navigation console.
Outside the viewport, stars stretched endlessly ahead now as you lifted off again.
Destination:
Zeltor Prime.
“Why can't he be all our lovers?” Kiquy sighed dramatically.
Peter nearly choked on his own spit.
He really wasn’t prepared to be so… desired today, even if it was in a strange way.
“Because that's not how relationships work?” he offered.
Kiquy looked horrified, “What a tragic life.”
“On Lerexus Qui,” Kiquy informed him dramatically, “you need at least three lovers.”
“Three?”
“Minimum.” she nodded, while Peter looked quite alarmed.
Kiquy nodded again, “I mean, you already have your eyes on Y/N… so you just need two more!”
Silence.
Absolute silence.
Across the cockpit, you blinked, “Huh? What about me?”
Peter glanced toward you.
You were still looking confused.
Thankfully.
Mercifully.
Obliviously.
The universe had spared him, for now.
For now.
“Maybe we should avoid traumatizing him before we even land?” Jess said, wisely so.
“Thank you,” Peter said immediately.
Once the chaos settled, Peter leaned back in his chair.
Finally able to breathe again.
“What was that about the blooming festival?” he asked, both curious and happy to change subject.
“The Blooming Festival is Zeltor Prime’s biggest celebration,” Hera explained, leaning back in her seat as the ship cruised steadily through hyperspace. “We’re not all from Zeltor, but we belong to something called the Court of Jasmins.”
Koola gestured loosely between the group, “Zeltor Prime has an alliance with four other planets. Five guardians total.”
“We’re each the guardian of our own world.” Kiquy added proudly.
Peter listened, actually paying attention for once.
“So let me get this straight,” he said slowly, glancing between all of you. “You’re all, what… planetary protectors?”
“Yes,” Koola said simply.
“Cool. Cool, cool, cool. No pressure or anything.”
That earned him a few amused looks.
Then you spoke, “We each carry a resonance unique to our planet,” you explained, a little more grounded than your friends, “Together, it harmonizes the Cosmic Bloom.”
Peter tilted his head, “The Cosmic what now?”
“I told you about this already…” you sighed, but in Peter’s defense, this was all very confusing to outsiders, “Think of it like seasonal change,” you added.
Kiquy leaned toward him, eyes sparkling, “And during the Blooming Festival, Zeltorians also make their bonds of loooove.”
“It’s a tradition,” Hera continued. “The festival initiates the Cosmic Bloom, which then restores growth across all five planets, flora, resources, energy cycles, all that...”
“That is the most responsible party I’ve ever heard of.” Peter said, a bit surprised by the significant event and the fact that you just invited him to it.
Koola threw her arms up, “And it’s FUN!”
“Important and fun,” Jess corrected.
You nodded slightly, though your expression softened in a way Peter didn’t quite miss.
“Yeah,” you said. “It’s… supposed to be.”
Peter caught that, the little shift in your tone.
“Y/N is just being dramatic because she thinks she’s out of rhythm.” Jess sighed.
“I am not dramatic,” you replied immediately, “This is serious!”
“Zeltor thing,” Hera added calmly.
You leaned back slightly in your seat.
“I’ve just been off lately,” you admitted. “That’s all.”
His gaze flicked back to you instinctively.
“So,” he said, leaning back in his seat with a slow grin, “does this mean you are bringing me as your lucky charm?”
Koola immediately burst out laughing, “Obviously not–”
She pointed at him like the idea was the funniest joke she had heard in a while, “You cannot be her groove.”
“You’re not even Zel'tori,” she added, as if that explained everything.
“Guys.” your voice cut through the room, firm and sharper than usual, “Can you just… shut up.”
Peter straightened slightly in his seat, he rarely heard that tone from you.
Kiquy blinked.
Koola shifted awkwardly.
Even Jess stopped mid-laugh.
For a moment, no one spoke, then you turned back to the console, fingers moving quickly.
Music suddenly filled the cockpit, louder now, brighter, spilling through the space like you were physically pushing the tension out of the room.
Peter watched you for a second longer than he meant to.
There was something different in the way you were holding yourself.
A little closed off.
The others slowly drifted back into conversation, as if the moment had never happened.
Peter leaned slightly closer, lowering his voice just enough that only you would hear if you were listening.
“Hey,” he said gently, more to the space beside you than anything. “You okay?”
Hi. I've just accidentally stumbled upon the "losing dog" fic, and I've got to thank you for it. It portrayed how I feel as of late really well, and even though I got a little emotional after reading it, it actually helped me stop spiralling, get up, and do something. I appreciate it a lot. Sorry if it is an odd thing to say and if it's weirdly worded, but I just wanted to show that I'm grateful for the work you do.
Have a nice day 🐕
THANK YOU SO MUCH!! I love helping others or bringing them a bit of joy with my writing!! I hope my writing can also do that in the future for you and I appreciate your words more than you might think :(
HAVE A NICE DAY AND DONT FORGET THAT WE ALL LOVE YOU!
pairing: Hannibal Lecter x depressed!gn!reader
genre: hurt • comfort • coping
notes: based on this ask!
Could you do more Hannibal x depressed reader? Thank youuu
In this one you are struggling with the loss of your sex drive and Hannibal comforts you over it :3
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─── ꒰ 🩶 ꒱ ───
because you are you
The house was quiet when Hannibal returned home.
The grandfather clock still ticked dutifully in the hallway. Rain tapped softly against the windows.
You sat curled up on the couch where Hannibal had left you that morning.
The television was on, but you couldn't have said what was playing.
A book rested beside you, half-open. You had tried reading it hours ago. After you had skimmed over the same paragraph for the sixth time you let it be.
Depression had a way of stealing things. Not all at once, but in little pieces.
Until one day you woke up and realised you couldn't remember what it felt like to want anything.
The front door opened and the familiar footsteps of Hannibal returning sounded moments later.
You looked up as he entered the room.
His tie was slightly loosened. His coat hung neatly over one arm.
His gaze found you immediately, "There you are, love." he said softly.
You managed a small smile, "There I am.." you sighed.
Something in his expression softened.
He crossed the room and sat beside you, close enough that his shoulder brushed yours.
You leaned into him automatically, because despite everything, despite how empty and detached you felt these days, Hannibal still felt familiar.
You pressed a kiss to his cheek.
"How was your day?" you asked, leaning your head against his shoulder.
Hannibal hummed thoughtfully, "Productive." he decided was what best described his workday.
His hand settled over yours in his lap.
"And yours?" he asked, leaning to glance at you, hoping to catch the trace of something ... positive on your face.
"Not very productive." you huffed quietly.
His thumb brushed over your knuckles.
You appreciated that he didn't pretend you were alright, that he didn't tell you tomorrow would be better..
He simply acknowledged reality.
For a moment you both stayed silent as your words sank in, Then Hannibal turned slightly toward you.
"I missed you." he simply admitted.
The words made your chest ache, pulling a small smile onto your lips.
"I missed you too." you said quietly.
His hand moved to your cheek, gently caressing the skin before he leaned in and pressed a kiss to your lips.
For a moment you parted again, he left you time to decide what to do. You bit your lip before kissing him back, soft and automatic.
It was Hannibal after all, your Hannibal.
He met your lips, before he deepened the kiss, seeking closeness after a long day apart.
And that was when guilt twisted in your stomach.
You broke the kiss after a few seconds.
Immediately Hannibal stopped, his hand remained against your cheek.
"Is everything alright, darling?" he asked quietly, you immediately looked away, the guilt twisting horribly in your stomach.
"I–" you swallowed thickly, "I'm sorry."
His brow furrowed instantly at your apology, "For what?"
You laughed softly again, trying not to let the sudden wet guilt in your eyes overflow.
"For this." you gestured vaguely toward yourself, "I just don't feel very well."
Hannibal's expression softened.
You felt tears threatening suddenly, which was even more frustrating, you were tired of crying, tired of feeling like a burden.
"I know it's been a while," you admitted quietly, "And I know you were trying to—"
You couldn't even finish the sentence as the shame sat like a thick lump in your throat.
"I'm sorry." you squeezed out again.
Hannibal stared at you, his hand moved from your cheek to cradle the back of your head.
"Come here." he ordered and you didn't argue.
You let him pull you against his chest, immediately his arms wrapped around you.
You hadn't realized how desperately you needed that until now.
His hand moved slowly through your hair, patient and comforting.
"Listen to me." he breathed against your skin, "You do not owe me intimacy."
His voice was calm and firm, the same voice he used when discussing matters he considered indisputable.
"You do not owe me affection."
His fingers continued their slow path through your hair.
"You do not owe me anything simply because we love one another."
He pressed a kiss to the top of your head.
"You are not failing me."
The words landed hard in your chest, making you feel like your heart was twisting under your ribs.
Because part of you genuinely believed you were.
That somehow depression had made you less, less present, less affectionate, less lovable, less you. .
Hannibal rested his cheek against your hair.
A tear escaped you despite your best efforts.
You hated how much you needed to hear that.
"I just feel like a shell of a person lately..." you quietly confessed.
Hannibal tenderly kissed your temple.
"You are still the person I love. Even on the days you cannot feel it." Hannibal continued softly.
His hand found yours and squeezed gently.
"I do not love you because of what you can give me. I love you because you are you."
pairing: Leonard Hofstadter x f!reader
genre: fluff • tensions
notes: You, unfortunately, live in the same building as Sheldon and Leonard. Unfortunately for Sheldon, you are not big on rules... But fortunately for Leonard, that means he has a reason to go see you every once in a while. Finally he decides to take matters into his own hands... (reader is an artist, and also a bit of a nerd, but with more extrovert energy!)
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─── ꒰ 🗯️ ꒱ ───
You had to bite the inside of your cheek to keep from laughing.
“A limited collector's edition and Chinese food night?” you continued, laying the sarcasm on thick. “This truly is a matter of life and death.”
“It is certainly important. Now, Leonard, we need to leave.” Sheldon nodded again, stepping back to let Leonard exit the apartment.
Leonard rubbed both hands over his face.
For a brief moment, he looked like a man reconsidering every decision that had brought him to this exact point in life.
Then he sighed, “Right.”
He glanced back at you, trying to put on a not all too awkward smile. “Sorry–”
“Not your fault your roommate's insane.” you chuckled.
Sheldon looked mildly offended, “I heard that.”
Leonard hesitated near the door, then cleared his throat.
“So… if you want…” he began, but almost immediately he regretted how awkward that sounded.
"You know… you could come over for chinese later.” he forced out, glancing at you with that hopeful look.
The one he got whenever he was trying very hard not to seem like he cared too much.
Unfortunately for him, it was painfully obvious.
You smiled, “Yeah.”
You gestured toward the stack of canvases waiting to be packed, “I've gotta finish all this anyway, and then I’ll be right over.”
Leonard glanced over at the paintings and nodded, “Right… I'll see you later then…”
“You better.” you chuckled.
The smile that appeared on his face at those words was impossible to hide.
Then Sheldon grabbed his sleeve, “Leonard.”
“I'm coming.” Leonard groaned.
Leonard groaned one final time as Sheldon practically herded him out into the hallway.
The apartment door closed behind them.
For a moment the silence returned.
Then you looked at the mountain of paintings waiting to be packed.
You smiled to yourself.
Chinese food later.
And, if Leonard's face was anything to go by, he was probably looking forward to it just as much as you were.
The drive to the video game store was quiet for approximately thirty-seven seconds.
Which, for Sheldon, was an impressive amount of restraint.
Leonard kept his eyes on the road, one hand resting on the steering wheel while he tried very hard not to think about what had just happened.
Unfortunately, that wasn't going very well.
His lips still curved into a smile every few minutes before he caught himself.
Beside him, Sheldon noticed, “Did you and Y/N engage in coitus?”
Leonard nearly choked on his own spit, “What– No.”
Sheldon frowned, “No?”
“No…” Leonard sighed.
The answer seemed to genuinely surprise him, “Why not?” Sheldon asked.
“Sheldon, I'm not having this conversation.” Leonard sighed again.
“It seems like a reasonable question.” Sheldon said, matter of factly.
“You appear mutually attracted to one another. You have kissed. You were alone together. And clearly you are both desperate. So I fail to understand the obstacle.” he began listing off.
Leonard let out a long, frustrated sigh, “Because you keep interrupting us!”
The words exploded out of him before he could stop them.
The car fell silent.
Leonard immediately regretted saying it.
Beside him, Sheldon blinked and let out a quiet, “Oh.”
Leonard glanced over.
For perhaps the first time all day, Sheldon actually looked thoughtful.
“Oh,” he repeated, “I had not considered that possibility.”
“Really?”
“No.”
Sheldon nodded, seemingly deeply in thought for a long minute.
Finally he cleared his throat, folding his hands in his lap, “As you appear to be experiencing an unusually severe case of romantic desperation, I have decided I may be willing to make an exception.”
Leonard frowned, “An exception to what?”
Sheldon looked at him, almost offended that Leonard didn’t know what he was talking about, “The twelve-hour notification requirement for planned coitus.”
Leonard once again nearly choked on his spit, “Why would you even offer that?”
Sheldon sighed again, sounding deeply burdened by his own generosity.
“Because you seem so remarkably miserable whenever your romantic endeavors are interrupted.” he said.
“I am not miserable.” Leonard mumbled, feeling his cheeks heat up.
Sheldon adjusted his seatbelt before he went on, “Therefore, I am willing to temporarily suspend the notice requirement.”
Leonard blinked, “Seriously?”
“Yes,” Sheldon nodded, “However… the noise level must remain below forty-five decibels.”
Leonard stared, “Forty-five? That's quieter than normal conversation.”
Sheldon just shrugged, “I can provide a decibel meter if necessary.”
“Please stop talking.” Leonard breathed out, clearly exhausted.
“Fine. But I will email you the revised coitus exemption paperwork.” Sheldon added.
Leonard let out a noise somewhere between a groan and a scream as Sheldon calmly looked out the window, completely unaware of how ridiculous the entire conversation had become.
────────────
By the time you arrived at Apartment 4A, the smell of Chinese food had already taken over the entire living room.
You were sitting on the couch while Leonard unpacked the takeout containers onto the coffee table.
Apparently Chinese food night was serious business around here.
Across the room, Sheldon was already inspecting the bags.
“Did they cut the chicken correctly?” he asked, inspecting the container.
Leonard sighed, “Yes. I specifically asked them to.”
Sheldon folded his arms, “The orange chicken should be cut into bite-sized pieces. Last time they gave me pieces of wildly inconsistent dimensions.”
Leonard continued unpacking containers and you couldn’t help but snort out a laugh.
“See? Even she thinks you're ridiculous.” Leonard said, glancing at you with a knowing smirk.
“Many great thinkers were considered ridiculous by their peers.” Sheldon declared.
Before Leonard could respond, the front door opened.
“Guys, you are not going to believe what happened today–” Raj said as he walked into the apartment, followed by Howard.
Mid-sentence Raj let out a squeak as he saw you sitting on the couch, and suddenly he was dead silent.
His mouth opened, but nothing came out.
Howard looked between Raj and you, “...And there he goes.”
Raj glared at him, silently.
You raised a hand, and gave a short wave, “Hey.”
Raj offered an awkward little wave.
Howard stepped forward and offered a grin that had probably worked on absolutely nobody.
“Howard Wolowitz.” he said, extending his hand to you that you shook politely.
“Y/N.” you introduced yourself.
“I've heard a lot about you.” Howard said, trying to put on his most charming smile, “You know, if things don't work out with Leonard, I happen to be available.”
The apartment went silent and you blinked, genuinely confused.
“Uh...Did you mean to say that out loud?” you asked, raising both eyebrows as you let go of Howard’s hand.
Howard's grin disappeared instantly and Raj made a choking noise behind him.
Sheldon glanced up from arranging his chopsticks.
“Howard, you should stop talking now.” Sheldon informed, earning a glare from Howard.
Then Sheldon pointed toward the food, “It is now 7:02. Chinese food night began at seven.”
Leonard finally agreed, sitting down next to you, “Okay, okay. Let’s eat.”
Order was finally restored, which allowed Sheldon to let out a strange sigh. Then everyone began eating.
You caught Leonard smiling at you and you found yourself smiling back at him.
─── ꒰ 🗯️ ꒱ ───
leonard (big bang theory) taglist . . .‧˚꒰🎮꒱༘‧ @localpanicattack
pairing: Owen Grady x f!reader
genre: coworkers to lovers • tensions • adventure • forced proximity
notes: You are finally living your dream as a Mosasaur handler at Jurassic World. While, technically, only wanting to pursue your career of studying aquatic giants, your coworker Owen has taking quite the liking to you... After your house got infested by the local insect population he extends his invitation for you to stay with him in his bungalow and... things start getting tense between the two of you from there.
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─── ꒰ 💚 ꒱ ───
part 4 – good morning to you too
Sleep did not come easily.
Even after the cigarette.
Even after the shower.
Even after the long day.
You laid curled beneath a blanket on Owen's couch, staring up at the ceiling while the storm battered Isla Nublar outside.
Rain hammered against the windows.
Wind rattled the bungalow every few minutes.
Occasionally thunder rolled somewhere over the island, distant enough that you could almost ignore it.
Eventually exhaustion won and your eyes grew too heavy.
And slowly you drifted off to sleep.
Until you were, inevitably, shaken awake again.
CRACK
The thunder was so loud it felt as though the sky itself had split open.
You jolted awake immediately, your heart hammering violently in your chest.
For a moment you had no idea where you were, then you slowly realised that you weren't in your warm bed, but on an uncomfortable couch in Owen’s bungalow.
You exhaled shakily and rubbed your eyes.
“Jesus…” you huffed, trying to calm yourself enough to return back to sleep.
Another flash of lightning illuminated the living room through the windows.
Drip.
Something cold landed on your forehead.
You frowned.
Drip.
Another drop landed on your cheek.
For a second you simply blinked, then you looked upward.
Drip.
A third drop landed directly on your nose.
“What?” you mumbled, sitting up.
More water splashed onto the blanket.
You squinted into the darkness but you couldn’t really make out anything.
Drip.
Drip.
Drip.
It leaked onto you.
You threw the blanket aside and stood up, “Seriously?” you sighed, fleeing from the relentless dripping.
You quickly grabbed one of the throw pillows and moved it out of the way.
Water splashed onto the couch, you stared at it, then up at the dark ceiling.
Eventually you grabbed an empty wastebasket from beside the kitchen counter and shoved it underneath the leak.
Drip.
Drip.
Drip.
At least now it wasn't soaking the furniture.
Another crack of thunder echoed outside, and the bungalow groaned beneath a powerful gust of wind.
The rain intensified.
And suddenly water began dripping from a second spot.
You stared up again, “Oh, you’ve gotta be kidding me…” you huffed.
This time you grabbed a pot from the kitchen, putting it under the second leak.
Drip.
Drip.
Drip.
You rubbed your face tiredly.
There was absolutely no chance of getting back to sleep on the couch now.
Another crack of thunder exploded overhead.
You jumped despite yourself.
“Jesus Christ–” you let out, clearly startled.
There was really only one option left.
The thought immediately made your stomach flutter.
But… it was the only reasonable option you had, considering you’d have to work tomorrow.
You hesitated outside his bedroom door, then gently knocked.
Nothing…
The storm drowned out the sound completely.
You sighed and carefully pushed the door open.
The room was dark except for occasional flashes of lightning filtering through the curtains.
Owen was asleep on his stomach, one arm beneath his pillow.
His blanket had twisted around his waist at some point during the night, leaving most of his back bare.
You immediately looked away, trying to be respectful.
“Owen?” you whispered, but there was no response.
“Owen.” you tried again a bit louder.
You stepped closer and gently touched his shoulder.
He stirred.
A low groan escaped him and he opened his eyes halfway.
“What?” he groaned, his voice rough with sleep.
You almost felt guilty waking him, “The roof is leaking…” you whispered.
Owen blinked, before closing his eyes again, clearly processing none of those words.
“Hm.” he hummed sleepily.
“I put up a pot to catch the water…” you said quietly.
Then, without opening his eyes any further, he shifted slightly beneath the blankets.
“You can … sleep here.” Owen slurred in his sleep.
You stared at him for a moment, “...What?”
“Sleep here.” he just repeated before letting his head sink back into the pillow fully.
“Owen.” you repeated, “The roof…”
“Is fine…” he mumbled, rolling onto his side.
You tried again, “There is a leak in the living room.
“Mm.” he hummed.
“Owen.” you repeated but nothing came from him.
The man was already half asleep again.
Another flash of lightning lit the room.
You flinched again.
Without a word, Owen lifted the edge of the blanket, almost like an invitation as he mumbled a barely audible, “C'mere.”
You hesitated for a moment, then another violent roll of thunder rattled the windows.
Quickly you slipped beneath the blankets.
The mattress shifted slightly beneath your weight.
Owen immediately settled back down.
The warmth beneath the blankets was immediate and undeniably comforting.
You curled onto your side.
Trying very hard not to think about how close he was.
Trying very hard not to think about the fact that you were currently sharing a bed with Owen.
A few seconds passed.
Then you felt movement beside you, slow and sleepy.
Owen's arm settled around your waist, not in a possessive or deliberate way.
You froze for a moment.
His breathing never changed.
Apparently he had absolutely no awareness of what he'd done.
You should probably move away, you knew that, but instead another crack of thunder startled you.
And before you could think better of it, you found yourself relaxing slightly into him.
Gradually your heartbeat slowed.
The anxiety that had followed you all evening finally began to loosen its grip.
Eventually, listening to the rhythm of the steady breathing beside you, you fell asleep, your eyes heavy with exhaustion.
The first thing you became aware of was warmth.
The second was the sound of your phone alarm.
It buzzed obnoxiously from somewhere nearby, dragging you unwillingly out of one of the best nights of sleep you'd had in months.
You groaned and reached blindly toward the noise without opening your eyes.
Your arm swung across the bed.
Instead of finding your phone, your hand connected directly with something warm and solid.
Smack.
There was a sharp grunt beside you and immediately you opened your eyes.
For one horrifying second you had absolutely no idea what had happened.
Then you saw Owen.
And remembered everything.
The storm.
The leaking roof.
His bed.
The fact that you had just slapped him directly across the face…
“Oh my God!” you gasped, jerking upright., “Owen! I–”
Beside you, Owen groaned and rubbed his jaw.
Still half asleep, he cracked one eye open and glanced over at you, “Morning to you too, sweetheart.”
The nickname only made your embarrassment worse.
Your face instantly heated up.
“I am so sorry!” you tried to excuse yourself, scrambling backward across the mattress, nearly tangling yourself in the blankets.
“I was reaching for my phone!”
Owen let out another groan and dropped back onto the pillow.
The phone was still buzzing somewhere.
You finally located it beneath one of the pillows and silenced the alarm.
The room immediately became quiet again.
“I didn't mean to hit you. I swear.” you apologised, again.
Owen finally pushed himself upright.
His hair was sticking up in every possible direction, clearly having lost a battle with sleep sometime during the night.
The blanket had slipped down to his waist, leaving him shirtless once again.
You immediately focused very intently on his bedside table.
The bedside table was fascinating.
Owen stretched, muscles tensing beneath sun-bronzed skin before he rubbed another hand over his face.
“You're lucky I'm tough.” he joked but all you could do was laugh nervously.
At least he wasn't actually upset.
Owen glanced toward the rain-speckled window.
The storm had mostly passed during the night.
Only a light drizzle remained for now.
Sunlight filtered through gaps in the clouds, casting soft morning light across the room.
He yawned, then looked back at you.
A small grin appeared, “Maybe next time wait until I’m awake before you start a fist fight.”
You sat on the edge of the bed for another moment, still cringing internally at the fact that you had just woken Owen up by slapping him across the face.
“Seriously,” you said again, “I am really sorry.”
Owen, meanwhile, looked entirely unconcerned.
He had settled back against the headboard, one arm draped over his raised knee while he fought a losing battle against another yawn.
“Why are you even awake this early?” he yawned.
“I need to check on Navy after the storm.” you said, “The filtration system needs cleaning after a storm as well. The lagoon always gets filled with debris after heavy rain.”
Owen nodded, that sounded about right.
You climbed off the bed and headed toward the living room.
The bungalow felt oddly different this morning.
Your clothes were still scattered where you'd left them yesterday evening, as well as the wastebin and the pot that had collected the dripping leaks.
You found your shorts first.
Then your boots.
Then your work shirt draped over one arm of the couch.
You shook your head as you pulled your shirt over your head.
A few minutes later you had gathered your bag and clipped your radio back onto your belt.
The familiar routine helped push aside the lingering awkwardness from waking up beside him.
You slung your bag over your shoulder and headed for the front door.
Then paused, the bedroom door remained open.
You could see Owen sitting on the edge of the bed now, still shirtless, running a hand through his already messy hair while he slowly woke up.
“I'll see you later.” you called with a small smile.
He looked up, “Yeah…” he yawned.
Then you opened the front door, fresh air and the lingering bit of rain hit you almost immediately.
You glanced back one last time, “Bye, Grady!” you called back inside.
“See you later, sweetheart.” he said, and you could almost hear his smug grin in his voice.
Your stomach did something annoyingly strange at the nickname.
So, you quickly stepped outside and headed toward your jeep.
And as you drove away from the bungalow, you found yourself smiling the entire way to the Mosasaurus lagoon.
─── ꒰ 💚 ꒱ ───
jurassic world taglist . . .‧˚꒰🦖꒱༘‧ @awkardnerd @bellarkeselection
space boy and cosmic girl
pairing: Peter Quill x alien!f!reader
genre: angst/comfort • tensions • friends to lovers
notes: You are an alien from the planet 'Zeltor Prime', the galaxy’s central hub for music, rhythm, and sound itself. For many human years, you have been best friends with Peter 'Star-Lord' Quill, though you prefer to call him "Spaceboy." What you didn't know about your best friend was that... he had developed a bit of a crush on you. But... much to Peter's unfortunate, mingling with other species wasn't something your home planet encouraged.
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─── ꒰ 🚀 ꒱ ───
chapter 1 – disco fever 🪩
The past few weeks had been unusually quiet.
Not because there wasn't trouble somewhere in the galaxy, there always was, but because you weren't around.
Peter hadn't thought much of it at first. The two of you had spent years coming and going from each other's lives.
Ever since you were reckless teenagers stealing fuel cells and talking your way out of trouble, there had always been periods apart.
After all, you also were the newly selected Guardian of Zeltor Prime, responsible for an entire planet.
Peter was busy saving the galaxy, or… just doing nothing on slow days.
It was normal.
So why the hell did everything feel different this time?
Maybe it was because every ridiculous thing that happened made him want to tell you about it.
Maybe it was because his communicator felt strangely empty without your messages.
Or maybe it was because he came to the slow realization that he really had developed a very inconvenient crush on his best friend.
A crush he absolutely wasn't prepared to deal with.
“You’re really that excited to see her again?” Rocket snorted a laugh, catching Peter off guard.
Peter nearly choked on his drink, “What–”
“You got that stupid look.” Rocket joked, “That one. The lovesick idiot look.”
Peter groaned and tried to brush it off, “I’m just excited to see my …friend again.”
Fortunately, Peter was spared from further humiliation when the Milano dropped out of jump space. Their destination glittered ahead of them, a massive entertainment station famous for its music and nightlife.
You had suggested meeting there.
A few hours later, Peter found himself stepping into one of the largest disco bars he'd ever seen.
The place was alive.
Music thundered through the walls.
Neon lights flashed overhead in every imaginable color.
Aliens danced on elevated platforms while robotic performers spun around.
Rocket disappeared almost immediately.
“Try not to scare her off before I get back!” the raccoon shouted before vanishing into the sea of people.
Peter flipped him off before he started looking around.
Because despite the hundreds of people packed into the room, there was only one person he'd actually come to see.
His gaze swept across the dance floor.
Across the tables.
Across the crowded bar.
And then he found you.
You were impossible to miss.
Surrounded by several alien friends, you sat perched on a barstool, laughing at something one of them had said.
Even your gestures seemed to move with the rhythm of the music, your species' natural gift.
The glowing accents woven into your outfit caught the flashing lights as you leaned against the counter.
For a moment, Peter simply stood there, because seeing you again felt a little like finally coming home.
Then you glanced up, your eyes landing directly on him, and your entire face lit up.
“Spaceboy!” you cheered, immediately abandoning your drink as you pushed through the crowd toward him.
Peter couldn't stop the grin spreading across his face.
“Hey–” he said, but was cut off by you throwing your arms around him without hesitation.
Just like you always had.
Only this time, Peter was painfully aware of how much he didn't want to let go.
“What brings you to a disco bar?” you teased as you pulled back, still smiling. “Last time I checked, these places gave you headaches.”
Peter laughed, “You know I only came because you invited me.”
“True.” you winked, “Good to know I've still got influence over the legendary Star-Lord.”
And just like that, Peter remembered exactly why he'd fallen for you in the first place.
Which was unfortunate.
Because sitting only a few seats away were several of your Zel'tori friends.
And if there was one thing Peter knew about your people, it was that they didn't exactly approve of relationships with outsiders.
“Oh, you know,” Peter said with an easy shrug. “Rocket said I needed to get out more. His exact words were something like 'stop moping and go talk to women.'”
You immediately let out a laugh, the sound carrying a playful synthesizer melody beneath it.
“That does sound like Rocket.” you hummed, clearly amused.
“It was either come here and see you or listen to him complain.” Peter smirked.
“A difficult choice.” you said, rolling your eyes.
Peter found himself smiling.
“Ooooh…” you hummed curiously, sounding almost like a keyboard riff. “So Rocket brought you here to find somebody? Any success so far, Spaceboy?”
Peter nearly laughed, if only you knew.
“Not really.” he said, awkwardly rubbing the back of his neck.
You glanced around, “Well, there's at least three people staring at you right now. Maybe you can start there!” you offered.
“Yeah, but that's not helping.” Peter let out a soft sigh.
That made you laugh again, the sound was melodic, almost like a symphony of its own.
“Distracted from the main mission, Spaceboy?” you asked.
“Maybe.” he huffed in response, causing you to tilt your head.
“By what?”
Peter should have changed the subject.
He really should have.
Instead he found himself looking directly at you.
“Well…” you hummed thoughtfully interrupting his train of thought, the sound carrying a playful keyboard melody beneath it. “If she's somebody I know, I could probably help.”
You glanced over toward your table, where several of your Zel'tori friends were waving enthusiastically.
“Y/N!” one of them called.
You waved back before turning to Peter again.
“Ooooh!” Your eyes lit up. “Wait. Is it Kiquy?”
You pointed toward one of your friends.
The deep blue Zel'tori looked up from her drink over at the two of you.
Peter stared, then stared at you, then back at Kiquy.
Then back at you.
The fact that you seemed genuinely excited made this infinitely worse.
“Kiquy?” he repeated.
“She's lovely!” you immediately clapped your hands together in enthusiasm.
Peter pressed his lips together, and squeezed out a half convinced, “... Right.”
“I could introduce you properly!” You added, but as you saw his expression you hesitated, “So… Not Kiquy?”
“No.”
“Oh.” you hummed, tapping your chin thoughtfully as a soft melody escaped you as you scanned the crowded bar.
Peter knew that look.
You were solving a problem.
Unfortunately, the problem was him.
“Okay…” you said slowly. “What about her?”
You pointed at a tall blue alien near the dance floor.
“No.”
You pointed somewhere else.
“Her?”
“No.”
“What about–”
“No.” he interrupted you before you even pointed out someone else.
You turned on your heels, now facing him again.
“Oh my stars, you're impossible.” you laughed now, “I don't think you actually like anybody in here.”
Peter met your eyes, for a second something flickered behind his eyes, and suddenly the answer felt dangerously close to escaping.
“Maybe I do.” he said, the words almost too quiet to be heard.
You blinked, tilting your head.
Peter's heart thumped.
Just say it.
Tell her.
Instead, someone from your table shouted your name again.
“Y/N!”
The moment shattered instantly, you gave him a quick cheeky smile before you looked over your shoulder.
“My friends are getting impatient.” you sighed.
Peter released a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding.
Saved by terrible timing.
Again.
You nudged his shoulder playfully, “Don’t worry, I’ll be back in a second and then we will figure out who your mystery girl is!”
The playful keyboard melody returned to your voice.
Peter watched you walk back toward your friends, gesturing at them and grabbing your drink.
You downed the neon liquid before pointing at the dance floor and then back at him.
With great horror Peter realised what you were probably telling them.
For a moment he seriously considered letting a meteor hit him.
But you were already joyfully hopping back towards him.
“Let's dance!” you cheered, Peter couldn’t help but playfully groan.
His protests fell to deaf ears as you had already grabbed his wrist.
Peter immediately lost the argument.
A triumphant laugh escaped you as you pulled him along, “Come on.”
Before he could protest further, you were already dragging him toward the dance floor.
It was pure chaos there, lights flashed overhead, music pulsed through the floor beneath your feet and above them, a massive disco sphere rotated.
And right in the middle of it all…
You absolutely came alive.
Peter had seen you dance before.
Hundreds of times.
At festivals on Zeltor Prime.
At parties that had lasted until sunrise on planets he'd long forgotten the name of.
But tonight felt different.
Maybe because it had been weeks since he'd seen you.
Maybe because he'd finally admitted certain things to himself.
Or maybe because he couldn't stop looking at you.
You moved effortlessly with the music.
The rhythm seemed to belong to you as much as it belonged to the song itself.
A Zel'tori in their element.
They weren’t called the popstars of aliens for no reason.
Peter, meanwhile, was trying his best not to embarrass himself, which wasn't going particularly well.
You laughed when he nearly stepped on someone else’s toes.
You spun toward him, grabbing his hands as you pulled him into another turn.
For a brief moment, the crowd disappeared.
The music disappeared.
Everything disappeared.
There was only your smile.
The familiar warmth of being together again.
And Peter suddenly realised he'd missed this far more than he'd been willing to admit.
You released his hands and spun away again, throwing your arms into the air as the lights flashed around you.
Peter watched, smiling helplessly.
By the time the club finally began shutting down, the dance floor had thinned considerably.
The two of you had somehow managed to stay until the very end, which wasn’t unusual.
Whenever you got together, time had a habit of disappearing.
Laughing breathlessly, you stumbled out of the club and onto the neon-lit street beyond.
Your hand was still wrapped around Peter's.
“You stepped on at least six people's feet!” you laughed as you commented on his still equally bad dancing skills.
Peter looked offended, “That's an exaggeration.”
“It's really not.” you chuckled and Peter couldn’t help but join in.
The cool night air felt good after the heat of the crowded dance floor.
Above them, glowing advertisements floated between huge buildings.
You finally slowed, turning to face him, still smiling.
“Honestly,” you said, trying and failing to look serious. “How are you this bad at dancing after all these years?”
Peter put a hand over his chest, “Ouch… and I thought I was improving.” he joked.
“Well,” you said, glancing around the bustling street. “We will still have to work on that…”
You looked around again, “Did you ever find Rocket again?”
Peter blinked, right, Rocket…
He'd almost forgotten he hadn't come alone.
Peter found himself looking at you again, and you noticed.
“What?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.
“Nothing.” Peter said, clearing his throat.
“You've been doing that all night.” you noted, narrowing your eyes as you tilted your head in an attempt to suss him out.
“The staring thing.” you added.
“I don't have a staring thing.” Peter defended himself.
“You absolutely have a staring thing.” you nodded with a playful hum.
“Oh, this is priceless.” a familiar voice interrupted.
Peter closed his eyes immediately, because he knew exactly who it belonged to.
“Please tell me I'm interrupting something.” Rocket cackled.
Rocket stood a few feet away with the most insufferable grin imaginable.
Beside him, you immediately brightened.
“Oh! Hey Rocket!” you smiled.
Rocket's gaze shifted between the two of you.
Then downward to your joined hands.
Peter followed his gaze and realised he was still holding yours.
Rocket's grin widened, “Oh… Ohhhhh! Oh, this is way worse than I thought.”
“Rocket.” Peter said with a warning tone.
“You didn't tell me you two were at the hand-holding stage.” Rocket continued anyway.
You blinked, then looked down, then back up at Peter, “What is a hand-holding stage?”
Rocket chuckled into his paw.
Peter immediately stepped forward, “Nothing..”
“No, because now I gotta know how long this has been going on.” Rocket laughed on.
You glanced between them.
Then at Peter.
Then back at Rocket.
The confusion on your face only grew.
“Ignore him,” Peter said quickly, giving your hand a light, grounding squeeze. “Rocket is just … being Rocket.”
He shot his friend a warning look, one that said stop talking or I’ll leave you here.
Rocket only grinned wider.
“Alright, alright,” he said, raising his paws in surrender. “I’ll behave… for now.”
"I should probably go," you said suddenly, still smiling as you adjusted your grip on Peter’s hand.
Peter’s chest tightened a little at that.
You leaned up without hesitation, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek.
Your lipstick left a bright mark on his skin.
"Yeah," he managed, voice rougher than intended. "I… yeah. I should too."
You smiled like everything was exactly as it always should be.
“Text me later.” you smiled, and let go.
“Yeah.” Peter croaked.
You stepped back, still glowing faintly under the neon lights.
“Bye, Spaceboy!” you called, waving as you were already leaving.
Then you blew him a kiss.
And that should’ve been normal.
You always did things like that.
Except Peter couldn’t stop watching it like it was the first time he’d ever seen you.
“Bye,"”he said quietly.
Too quiet for you to hear over the city.
You disappeared and Rocket immediately saw his opportunity to add his opinion on the matter.
“Well,” he said, far too pleased with himself. “That was painful…You’ve got it bad, ‘Spaceboy’.”
“I don’t–”
“Oh, you absolutely do.” Rocket chuckled as Peter finally wiped the lipstick off his cheek.
“Shut up, Rocket.”
─── ꒰ 🚀 ꒱ ───
a/n: no I will NEVER shut up about Chris Pratt characters... so WHAT? Sue me...!!
pairing: Will Graham x gn!reader
genre: tensions • smut • forced proximity
notes: based on this ask!
will (graham) x reader where they’re sharing a bed pre-dating. will having a wet dream, his hands wandering you, subconsciously grinding against you etc… 😵💫
warnings: smut!, wet dream, bed sharing, grinding and hand job (?)
MINORS DNI!!
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─── ꒰ 💭 ꒱ ───
A sigh escaped your lips as you stepped into the small motel room. You leaned against the doorframe, watching Will put down his and your bags with a faint frown creasing his brow.
“One king-sized bed,” the night clerk had chirped, a little too cheerfully, as he’d handed over the key.
One king-sized bed.
This hadn’t exactly been your plan for the evening.
Will had taken you fishing, he was a… good friend of yours, and despite your lack of interest in watching the water all day and catching nothing at all, you had agreed to the, what was supposed to be, day long trip.
But, as lucky as you were, his car broke down on the way back, and now, you found yourself standing in the cramped and slightly musty smelling motel room.
Will finally coaxed the window open, to let a bit of air into the stuffy place, before running a hand through his already tousled hair.
His eyes met yours, and for a split second, you saw it, a flicker of the same unease that was settling in your own stomach. He quickly looked away, his gaze sweeping around the room as if searching for a second bed that didn’t exist.
“Well…” he said, his voice small. “At least it’s… something.” He gestured vaguely around the room.
You pushed off the doorframe and stepped further into the room.
You kicked off your boots by the door, the soft thud doing little to break the charged silence.
“Yeah,” you echoed, forcing a light tone. You walked over to the window, standing next to him as you looked outside.
The parking lot was mostly empty, a few dusty cars glinting under the weak fluorescent light. The flat tire of your car felt like a metaphor for their entire situation. A sudden, inconvenient detour from the carefully planned day trip.
You could feel Will moving behind you.
He was unpacking his small duffel bag, the rustle of fabric a quiet noise in the uncomfortable silence. You knew he was trying to act normal, just like you were, but the air between you hummed with an unspoken awareness.
You both knew what this meant. Sharing a bed. With this simmering beneath the surface, this confusing mix of deep affection and something… else. Something that had been growing, unacknowledged, for months.
Sure, you had always found Will sweet, but the past few months you, with great horror, discovered that maybe you wanted to be more than just his friend.
Will cleared his throat. “I, uh… I can take the floor, if you want.”
You turned, leaning back against the chilly windowsill.
His offer was kind, but the thought of him sleeping uncomfortably on the floor while you occupied the bed… it felt wrong. And, if you were being honest with yourself, a tiny, rebellious part of you almost didn't want him to.
“It’s okay,” you said softly, “We’ll… we’ll figure it out.”
You met his gaze again, and this time, he didn’t look away immediately.
“I… I’ll go take a shower real quick.” you let him know, grabbing your pajamas from your bag before you retreated into the bathroom.
You took a deep breath after the bathroom door flicked shut behind you.
After turning on the warm water and stepping under the stream of it, the steamy air felt momentarily soothing to the knot of nerves in your stomach.
You let the water run over you, washing away the dust, mud and river water stench, trying to clear your head.
Slipping into your pajamas, a soft, oversized shirt that had seen better days, you emerged from the bathroom.
Your eyes immediately found Will, sitting on the edge of the bed, his back to you. He was staring out the window, his shoulders hunched.
He turned as he heard your movement, and you immediately noticed a subtle tension in his posture.
His gaze was a little unfocused.
He quickly looked away as he spotted you, “Everything okay?” you asked with quiet concern.
He blinked, then gave a short nod.
“Yeah. Just... thinking.” He gestured vaguely towards the bed. “This is a bit... close, isn't it?” his voice low and hesitant.
You felt your own anxiety rising in your stomach, you knew about his night sweats, or at least about his nightmares.
It was something he rarely spoke about, but you understood how it could worry him, right here, right now.
“We can put a towel down?” you offered, trying to keep your tone light, “Or I can sleep on the floor?”
He gave a small, tight smile “No, it's fine. Don't worry about it.”
But his gaze drifted, lingering on the pristine white of the sheets, and you knew he was already picturing the worst-case scenario.
You walked over to your side of the bed, deliberately placing yourself as far from him as possible, though you knew it didn’t change a lot.
Without another word, Will disappeared into the bathroom, and several moments later you heard the sound of running water.
You let out a soft sigh, pulling out your phone, the familiar blue light a welcome, mundane distraction.
You scrolled through social media, liking a few posts, your thumbs moving on autopilot.
After a while, Will returned, a grey shirt clinging to his still damp skin.
Will sat down on his side, you could feel the slight dip in the mattress as he settled.
He fumbled for his own phone, and you heard the faint click of the screen turning on.
You stole a glance at him. He was holding it a little too close to his face, his brow furrowed in concentration, but his eyes seemed to dart around the room, not truly focused on the screen.
Minutes ticked by, each one stretching into an eternity.
The only sounds were the soft hum of the radiator, the distant rumbling of a passing car, and the almost imperceptible rustle of fabric as you both shifted uncomfortably.
Finally, you sighed as you switched off your phone, “Going to try and sleep,” you murmured, settling against your pillow.
A moment later, you heard Will’s phone click off too, then, the soft click of the bedside lamp being extinguished.
The room plunged into near-total darkness, save for the faint sliver of moonlight seeping through the gaps in the curtains.
You laid on your side, facing away from him, pulling the thin blanket up to your chin.
You could feel his presence beside you, a warm, solid weight that sent a jolt of awareness through your entire body.
You waited, listening to his breathing, trying to slow your own. You heard him shift, a restless movement, then another.
You mirrored him, turning onto your other side, then back again. The mattress seemed too small, the space too confined.
Slowly, with long, drawn-out sighs and more than a few uncomfortable adjustments, you finally managed to fall asleep.
Your sleep wasn’t deep, it was shallow for a long while, occasionally waking up when you heard something.
Eventually you did manage to fall into a deeper sleep, until the rustling beside you intensified.
A soft, guttural sound, a choked gasp, finally woke you up.
Will’s breathing was ragged and heavy.
Your half asleep brain barely registered the sharp breaths he was taking, followed by a pressing movement of his hips against the mattress.
You were still half-asleep, but the physical sensation was undeniable.
His hand, which had been resting near his own side of the bed, suddenly found its way to you.
It brushed over the loose fabric of your shirt, over the skin of your stomach.
It wasn’t a gentle touch, it seemed almost desperate, and if you were being completely honest, it sent a strange tingling sensation through you.
Your eyes fluttered open, the dim moonlight offering just enough visibility to see his silhouette.
He was breathing hard, his body taut with tension you couldn’t explain.
You turned towards him, the movement slow and still sleepy.
The edge of the mattress dipped as he shifted again, and this time, his aroused body pressed directly against your thigh.
The hard ridge of his erection ground against your leg, it was so sudden, that it jolted you fully awake, your heart hammering against your ribs.
“Will?” you whispered, your voice raspy with sleep and a sudden, overwhelming nervousness.
You reached out a hand, hesitating for a moment before gently touching his arm, “Will, are you okay?”
He didn't respond. His eyes remained closed, his face buried in the pillow, his body continuing the grinding against your thigh.
You froze again, caught between the urge to pull away and the strange intimacy of the moment.
You could feel the heat radiating from him, the desperate need for friction that urged his body’s movements on.
Your breath hitched, part of you screamed to pull away, after all... it was Will, your friend, and this was… a lot.
You squeezed your eyes shut for a moment, trying to wish it away, hoping it would simply stop, that he would settle back into a more peaceful sleep.
But he didn’t.
The grinding pressure against your thigh continued, it coaxed a reaction out of your body that you didn’t quite want to name, but it was hard to ignore the dizzying heat rising in your stomach.
Hesitantly, you lowered your hand. Your fingers trembled slightly as you reached down, your touch feather-light as it brushed against the rough fabric of his boxers.
You didn't quite dare to make contact directly at first, just hovered there.
Your palm inches away from the hardened length, only your fingertips occasionally brushing the tent that was still jerking against your leg.
Then, with a strange mix of courage, curiosity and … outright desire, you gently cupped your hand around the hard, throbbing length of his erection through the thin material.
Will let out a soft, desperate whimper, a sound that seemed ripped from his throat.
His hips bucked against your hand, a frantic, almost desperate grinding motion that sent a jolt of pure desire through you.
His hand on your stomach suddenly gripped your waist tightly, his hand clenching and unclenching, fingers digging into your shirt and soft skin.
You hesitated for another moment, his breathing growing more ragged.
You felt yourself swallowing heavily, letting your fingers work their way beneath the waistband of his boxers.
Slowly, tentatively at first, you began to stroke him, your palm gliding over his hard length.
Will let out a choked and desperate groan, the feeling of your warm hand against his length was almost intoxicating.
His body arched into yours, the grinding becoming more frantic, more urgent.
Slowly you wrapped your fingers around his length fully, pushing his waistband down with your other hand.
You could feel him trembling, his breathing coming in sharp, broken gasps as his cock sprung free now.
You gently squeezed his cock, feeling the thick vein on the underside of it pulse against your finger.
Will’s hair stuck to his sweaty forehead as his mouth fell open, soft whines and gasps falling almost freely from his lips now.
You stroked his length, your thumb brushing over the tip, a few beads of precum glistening on his tip already.
You squeezed around him, applying gentle pressure, feeling the way his shaft throbbed and pulsed within your grasp. Still his hips desperately jerked and ground into your touch, almost as if he couldn't stop chasing the feeling.
You adjusted your grip, sliding your hand further up, then down, feeling his precum lubricate his hard length beneath your touch.
He was almost trembling now, his groans becoming a low, continuous murmur, accompanied by ragged gasps for air.
The pressure built rapidly, you could tell by how tense he was, until with a final, shuddering groan, he stiffened.
A wave of sticky warmth spread through your hand.
His body went limp against yours, the frantic grinding subsiding into a deep, shuddering sigh.
He exhaled softly, all tension suddenly drained from him and his movements stilled completely.
His breathing began to deepen, to even out.
You remained there for a moment, almost unbelieving to what just happened, your hand still cupping his softening length, before slowly, carefully, withdrawing.
You swallowed thickly, glancing over at him. Will seemed to be in a deep sleep now, his breathing even and his body finally relaxed.
You took a tissue, cleaning yourself off before laying back down, your head dizzy with the realisation of what had just happened.
After a long moment of just staring into the darkness you curled into him, your head close to his chest, his hand subconsciously snaking to rest against your side.
And finally, you could close your eyes and slowly fall back asleep.
will (graham) x reader where they’re sharing a bed pre-dating. will having a wet dream, his hands wandering you, subconsciously grinding against you etc… 😵💫
hello! thank you for the ask... I loveee the concept and wrote a cheeky bit about it.. I am SORRY I have been lacking in the will graham smut department recently, but I promise you divas we will get back on track!! I beg you to FLOOD my inbox with will graham asks, we all know I got a thing for my fav puppy boy....
promises and patience
pairing: Thomas Shelby x f!reader
genre: angst/comfort • tensions • established relationship
series: this is the series two of my fanfic army dreamers! find series 1 in my master list
notes: You and Thomas are now engaged, with a lot of promises and a lot of expectations you enter this new chapter of your life together. But, things seem to derail from planning your dream wedding to nightmare business, as per usual for a Shelby.
MINORS DNI!!
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─── ꒰ 🪻 ꒱ ───
series two
chapter thirty – find my way back to you
The Garrison was alive with celebration.
Men shouted over one another.
Glasses clinked.
Arthur was ripped a line of Tokyo from the table before climbing onto a chair.
The entire city seemed determined to celebrate the Derby.
But none of that reached you.
Your house felt empty and quiet as you lay curled up in the middle of your bed, wearing Thomas’ used shirt. Your shoes were gone somewhere. Your hair had long since fallen loose.
The room smelled faintly of Thomas.
His cigarettes.
His cologne.
His side of the bed.
Every trace of him felt cruel now.
You had spent the entire evening trying not to think.
Trying not to imagine.
Trying not to picture a field somewhere with his body lying in it.
Trying not to picture policemen knocking on your door.
Trying not to think about the fact that only a week ago you had become his wife.
His wife.
The words felt unreal now.
Because you remembered exactly what Campbell had told you years ago.
“Or would you rather belong to a dead man?”
And now you really did.
You belonged to a dead man.
A sob escaped you, then another.
Soon you were crying openly into the blankets.
It was neither graceful nor quiet.
The kind of crying that left your chest aching afterwards.
You couldn't stop thinking about all the things you hadn't said.
About the letter.
About the way he had hugged you before the race.
About the way he had said he wanted to hear your voice one last time.
As though he had known.
As though he had known and gone anyway.
“Fuck!” you sobbed into his pillow, hands clenching the silken sheets.
Eventually you rolled onto your back and stared at the ceiling.
The silence became unbearable.
So you did the same thing you had done all evening.
You picked up the telephone, and called his office.
The line rang.
Nobody answered.
You hung up.
Five minutes later you called again.
Michael picked up.
“Hello Shelby Company Li–” you hung up before he could finish speaking.
Then you called again.
And again.
Every time hoping.
Every time disappointed.
By now you knew it was irrational.
You knew he wouldn’t be there.
But still you called.
Because if you stopped calling it might mean accepting he wasn't coming back.
Meanwhile, several streets away, Thomas stepped into his office looking like a man who had crawled out of his own grave.
Which, in a sense, he had.
His suit was filthy.
His face was bruised and smudged with dirt.
Mud still clung to his coat sleeves.
Chloe sat loyally beside his desk while Michael stared at him.
Thomas poured them each a drink, “You know something, Michael? What Polly wants... will always a mystery to me.”
Michael swallowed thickly before he leaned both hands against Thomas’ desk, “I decided.” he announced.
“I want to make real money. With you.” he went on.
The telephone rang, and Thomas frowned.
Thomas picked up the receiver, but nobody talked, it was just soft unsteady breathing on the other end.
Thomas froze, because he knew that the small sobs that he suddenly heard were yours.
Your grip tightened around the receiver.
Fresh tears immediately filled your eyes.
“Michael…” you whispered.
Thomas closed his eyes.
The sound of your voice hit him harder than any bullet could have.
You waited.
And because no answer came.
Because surely if it was Thomas he would say something…
You convinced yourself it wasn't him.
That grief was playing tricks on you.
That hope was playing tricks on you.
Your voice cracked, “I miss him.”
Thomas felt his chest tighten painfully.
Then, before Thomas could force any words past the lump in his throat, the line went dead.
You had hung up.
Thomas remained frozen for a long moment.
Still holding the receiver.
Listening to nothing.
Michael watched him, “Is everything… fine?”
Thomas swallowed, then lowered the telephone.
He cleared his throat and grabbed his glass of whiskey, gesturing for Michael to join him in his toast.
Their glasses clinked and Thomas downed the amber liquid with almost alarming speed.
“Go to the Garrison.” Thomas demanded, Michael frowned a bit.
“Go to the Garrison,” Thomas repeated quietly.
Thomas finally allowed himself the faintest smile.
“Tell them Tommy's back.” he began.
“And tell them,” Thomas continued, reaching for a cigarette, “I've got a big announcement to make.”
“I've got some ideas, Michael, for the future of the company.” he said, lighting the cigarette.
He took a long drag, exhaling a cloud of smoke.
“And also... I'm planning on getting married.”
Your house was quiet when he entered.
No lights burned downstairs.
No voices drifted through the rooms.
Only silence.
Thomas closed the front door gently behind him and stood still for a moment.
Chloe impatiently whined by his feet.
Thomas climbed the stairs, slowly.
The bedroom door stood slightly open.
Inside, you remained curled beneath the blankets.
When you heard footsteps, you didn't even look up.
You assumed it was John.
Or Arthur.
Or Michael.
Somebody sent to check on you.
You couldn't bear another conversation.
“Go away,” you sniffled quietly.
The footsteps stopped by the bedroom door, you only reluctantly looked up from the pillow.
And immediately your entire body froze.
Thomas stood in the doorway.
You simply stared at him for a long moment as neither of you moved.
His dirty suit.
His bruised face.
His exhausted eyes.
You burst into tears almost immediately.
Grief and hope and fury and desperate ugly tears all mixing together.
The kind that came from relief so overwhelming it physically hurt.
Thomas took a step forward.
You wiped at your face as you half sat up in the tangled sheets.
“Where the fuck were you?” you shouted, your voice cracking.
“Where the fuck were you, Thomas?”
Thomas stopped in front of the bed now as you sat upright fully.
The blankets falling away around you.
“I thought you were dead!” you said, your voice raised.
Fresh tears streamed down your face.
“I thought you were dead, Tommy!”
Thomas looked at you for a long moment.
His own eyes looked tired.
Then he nodded once.
“So did I,” he said quietly.
The words sucked all the air from the room.
You stared at him.
Thomas stared back.
The silence settled heavily between you for a few long moments that felt like eternity.
Finally Thomas looked down at his hands.
At the wedding ring.
He turned it once around his finger, then he looked back up at you.
“When you married me,” he said quietly, “you married a man.”
You felt your anger and frustration choking in your throat as you listened to him, your protests dying somewhere suffocated under the heavy emotion of his words.
“And you married a curse.”
His voice held no self-pity, but it held certaintly, the certainty of somebody who had spent enough time trying to outrun something and now finally realising that it always caught up.
Thomas continued, “I thought I could keep it away from you.”
A bitter smile touched his lips.
“I thought I could choose which parts reached you. I was wrong.”
Then, before you could answer, he walked around the bed, coming to your side.
Then suddenly, Thomas dropped to his knees.
You stared in surprise as he took your hands, carefully, then he kissed them, once, twice.
His lips lingering against your skin.
The gesture felt startlingly vulnerable from a man like him.
When he spoke again, his voice was quieter, almost a whisper, “I've got big plans for the company.”
You laughed weakly through your tears.
Of course he did.
Thomas always had plans.
But then he looked up at you.
“And I've got even bigger plans for you… for us.”
His thumb brushed across your hand.
“You are the only person who's ever been able to bear this curse of mine.” he breathed, and you seemed almost sure that you saw something damp in his eyes.
The room blurred through fresh tears and you shook your head, a small broken smile appearing despite everything.
“I'll die trying,” you whispered.
Thomas closed his eyes briefly, as though the words hurt him.
Because he knew it was the truth.
Then you moved, wrapping your arms around his shoulders as you pulled him against you.
Thomas immediately wrapped both arms around your waist, burying his face in your stomach.
He sucked in a shaky breath, breathing you in.
Home.
At last.
He had found his way back to you.
By the time you arrived at the Garrison, word had already spread.
Every Shelby, every bookmaker, every Blinder and every friend of the family to know that Thomas Shelby had somehow returned from whatever disaster had swallowed him at Epsom.
The pub was packed, even more than usual.
The moment Thomas stepped through the door beside you, the room erupted into cheers and shouts.
Arthur was the first to reach him.
He nearly tackled his brother into a hug.
“You bastard!” Arthur shouted loudly, grabbing Thomas by both shoulders. “You absolute bastard!”
Thomas laughed, patting his brother on the shoulder.
John arrived a second later and Arthur pulled them both into the probably tightest embrace you had ever seen.
“THAT'S MY FUCKING BROTHER!” Arthur shouted.
The crowd cheered again.
You found yourself laughing despite everything that had happened.
All of it felt strangely distant now, not gone… but distant. At least for the night.
Thomas accepted a whiskey that was shoved into his hand, then climbed onto a table by the bar.
The room slowly quieted as they watched the head of the Shelby Family look around the room.
At his family.
At his company.
At the people who had helped build everything around him.
Then he raised his glass.
“To the Peaky fucking Blinders.”
The response was immediate, the entire room erupted in cheers and shouts, “PEAKY FUCKING BLINDERS!”
Arthur dragged you into a side hug, giving you a big gulp of his glass.
Thomas waited for the noise to settle as he sipped his whiskey as well.
Then he cleared his throat, “There is another matter.” Thomas shouted over the lingering noise.
Thomas glanced toward you, something softening in his expression.
“Oh, here we go,” John muttered.
Arthur grinned and gave you a soft shove in Thomas’ direction. He leaned down, taking your hand and pulling you up onto the table with him.
“Tommy–” you gasped, unsteady on your feet but his hand on your hip settled your imbalance quickly.
“Most of you don't know this yet,” Thomas said calmly, “But I'd like to introduce you all to my wife.”
For one second there was near silence in the pub before Arthur shouted a loud, “What?!” followed by yet another, even louder, “WHAT?!!”
Thomas simply held up his wedding ring.
The crowd somehow became even louder with surprised noise.
You couldn't help laughing.
Your face felt warm.
Thomas looked impossibly pleased with himself.
Arthur threw his hands up, “YOU GOT MARRIED?”
“Yes,” Thomas replied.
“WITHOUT US?”
“Yes.”
Arthur looked personally offended, John looked equally betrayed while Johnny Dogs just chuckled into his drink.
Thomas squeezed your hand.
Then raised his voice again, “However.”
The room quieted slightly.
“While we're already married…” he continued, glancing at you, “...she deserves better than a secret wedding.”
Your heart immediately squeezed.
“So I intend to host another wedding. The biggest wedding in Shelby history.”
“It’ll be the biggest fucking celebration in bloody England!” Arthur suddenly shouted and the room erupted in cheers once again.
Thomas only gently cupped your face, and kissed you.
