writings

[fashfic]

Sleepless in Paris – Part Two

Conor Curley x female reader

Still sleepless. Part three coming soon!

The day seemed to be doomed with gloom, the clouds covering the sky only darker and the rain heavier, the coffee in his mouth bitter and the cigarettes he smoked burning way too quickly. It hadn't been the worst day – the opening riff for "Favourite" was finally solid and ideas were cooking up pretty fast, but the overall vibe of the day was bordering on lethargic. After a week in this place, it seemed to be for the first time that everybody's mind was just someplace else.

Sliding his eyes over the pages in front of him, he wasn't focusing much on what he was reading, Grian sitting on the sofa opposite of him, gazing at a paper of lyrics.

His paper of lyrics.

"What if we blend it?" he proposed, causing Conor to turn his eyes away from the book and then towards him.

"Blend it?"

"Yea," he nodded, "The chorus."

"In my dreams - I just wanna hear you call,

I can't help it - waiting for a while,

in my dreams - you know I'm not cynical,

seen it coming - I give into a smile,

in my dreams - but I just wanna feel it,

I can't help it - waiting for a while,

in my dreams - wish that I could feel it,

turns to nothing."

He read out the words monotonously, almost matter of factly, then continued, "You sing the main and I come in as a sort of a background."

"I sing?"

"Yea, it's your song."

"Maybe you've forgotten, but you're the singer in this band," Conor chuckled.

Him singing lead vocals? Not gonna happen.

"So?" Grian shrugged, his eyes once again aimed at the paper with the lyrics, "The guide vocals you did for this were spot on. I'm not gonna sing your love confession for you."

"My what?"

"Is it not?" he lifted his eyes and stared at Conor, "Is it not a.. love song? The break-up and all.."

He stayed silent, staring at his friend and bandmate. What should he say to this? Of course it was a love song, but it wasn't what Grian thought.

"It's not about Hannah," he muttered after a moment, his book lifted to cover his face.

"I know," Grian only answered, not even looking at him.

It took a moment until the singer's words registered, Conor then closing his book and sitting up on the sofa, staring at his friend in confusion. What did he mean by he knows? Had he been so obvious this entire time? All these months, had he been so easy to read to everyone around him?

He watched as Grian finally set the sheet of paper on the small coffee table between them, then got up and announced that he was going to have a smoke. Nothing else. Not a single question or any other comment about the song, the lyrics, the subject matter. Just a casual I know that made Conor feel as if he had suddenly been exposed to the entire world. He knew that Grian had a knack for reading people, especially people he knew well, but he also had a knack for knowing when to push people and when not.

And right now he wasn't pushing, that subtle I know positioned as an open invite – if he wanted to talk, he was there, and if not, that was fine too. And Conor had thought about it, already for months he had wondered if talking to someone would bring some clarity, but he didn't even know what it was that he should say about any of this or the way he really felt.

Most profoundly though, he felt like shit.

"How did you know?" he questioned, lighting a cigarette for himself, his eyes aimed at the darkened skies.

"I have eyes for one," the singer chuckled, "Doesn't take a scientist."

"Great," Conor only muttered, shaking his head and exhaling the smoke of his cigarette.

From one hand, he felt relieved. He felt relieved that there was someone, who understood the torment he had been going through, the torment he ironically enough, had subjected himself to, but from the other hand.. It made him feel even worse, made him understand that if Grian could read him, probably everybody else could as well, and that meant that they had probably spent months feeling sorry for Hannah while all he did was behave like the biggest coward in the world.

At first, things had been fine.

He woke up the morning after the gig and the night that followed, all of it seeming like a weird fever dream. As if he had been swooped into some strange parallel universe that decided to spit him out with the arrival of the first morning light. It was all so stupid, he decided, immature and stupid, just the last rotten fruit of nostalgia, and he needed to get over it. And for a while he managed to ignore it, the little nagging voice in the back of his head that was telling him that there was no way back from this.

She followed him back on Instagram and he knew that it was out of politeness, just her replying to his friendly gesture, and he left it at that. The two months that followed were fine, he managed to force her and that voice so far into the back of his consciousness that he almost thought he had succeeded. But it all came crashing down as soon as he saw her at Josephine's birthday, having no prior knowledge of her even attending. She was supposed to be in Paris and suddenly, she manifested right in front of him in London, their old stumping ground that held so many memories.

He was alone, Hannah visiting her parents in the countryside, and he tried to keep a healthy distance at first, but with every consumed bottle of wine he got closer to her, her smile and laughter so inviting along with her perfume. Being with her was still so easy, the conversation flowing so effortlessly, the shared memories they discussed making him feel warm and fuzzy while the glimpses of the life she lived now, the life she had without him, made him jealous and disappointed, in himself above all, as if he was missing out on something so crucial and pivotal for his survival in this existence.

They ended up spending that whole evening together, just talking and drinking, right until the sunrise that sobered both of them up enough to understand that perhaps what they were doing wasn't exactly appropriate. Both of them fell more and more silent, the previously loose and fun chatter fading away and the air between them thickening with words that now remained unsaid.

Nothing had happened, and yet, somehow everything had suddenly changed.

And after that, he couldn't shake these feelings anymore, couldn't shake that nagging voice in the back of his head. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't reply to Hannah's affection the same way he had before, the guilt consuming him more and more with every touch and every "I love you" that rolled off of his lips, hoping that saying it out loud would make it true while he knew that it would not.

"You know, if you want her so bad, then the least you could do is to respect me enough to at least fucking end it with me."

He didn't know what to respond to those words, didn't know how to react. What was there to say even? Because she was right.

For months he had strung Hannah along due to his own cowardice, due to his own guilt and illusion that eventually things would go back to the way they were and he would be able to look past her. Due to his own fear of revealing his feelings to her, because what if she would reject him and he would end up with nothing at all. He knew how incredibly selfish and immature this whole thing was, but his mind and his heart had been on very separate paths already for a while.

Looking back, he didn't even know why they had broken up in the first place. It wasn't a fight, wasn't some big unresolvable issue. It was fear and immaturity, both of them finding it easier just to give up instead of pushing forward. Fontaines was touring after the pandemic, he barely made it home for over a day every few months and she deserved better than that. The dreams each of them held for their lives didn't add up and they found it easier to hide behind the mentality of the timing just being off.

It was all bullshit.

A phone call that lasted 4 hours, both of them saying things their heart and soul wasn't actually agreeing on. And then it was over and done with, her tears on the other side of the phone ripping him into shreds.

It was the only time in his life he had ever cried over a girl, him spending the next six months that followed trying to keep himself from picking up the phone again and begging her to start over. And then spending the next six months kicking himself in the ass for not doing so.

He couldn't help but to feel as if he didn't deserve her anymore, not after letting her slip away like that.

Staring at the ceiling later in his room, Beach House echoing in his headphones, his heart was racing as he couldn't stop thinking about Grian's words from the conversation they shared earlier.

"If you ask me, having nothing to lose is an incredible position to be in."

He sought out his phone, opened his contacts and stared at her name. Would she even pick up? It was 12 AM after all. And what would he even say?

He didn't know, but he did know that things could not go on the way they were unless he wanted to drive himself completely mad.

Fuck it.

He quickly pressed on the tiny phone icon, right before he could change his mind, his whole body engulfed with anxiety that couldn't measure even with the biggest crowds he had stood in front of.

As ridiculous as this might sound, nothing suddenly seemed more like a matter of life and death.

[fashfic]

Kiss You Again

Conor Curley x female reader

Sometimes good things take time.

The pulse of the pub was slowly beginning to die out, people's chatter more silent and the figures previously filling up the space disappearing one after the other along with the passing hours. Some of them more familiar than others, some of them unable to hide their surprise over his presence while others making no fuss at all, greeting him with a pat on the back as if no time had passed.

He felt incredibly at home, the pub he regarded as his home ground ever since he was a teenager bringing back fond memories and offering a strange sense of comfort.

A cigarette between his lips, he stared out into the flickering street light in front of him, paying little attention to the group a few feet away. He couldn't make out a lot from the indistinguishable chatter, but there was something that alerted his mind, suddenly forcing him to sharpen his ears.

There was a voice he knew, warm and soft, making him turn his eyes towards the figure that was now left standing alone, the people she had been with disappearing into the distance. He couldn't help but to smile at the realization, identifying the owner of the voice as a beloved character of the past.

Following her inside, he positioned himself behind her at the queue, watching as she absentmindedly waited for her turn to order.

"Hello, stranger," he whispered into her ear, the smile on his face audible in his tone.

She turned towards him, her sparkly eyes scanning his face until a smile of recognition appeared on her lips.

"Conor!" she breathed, not waisting a second to wrap her arms around his neck, a loud laugh escaping the guitarist's chest.

"What are you doing here?" she questioned as soon as they had released each other, "Aren't you supposed to be in.. I don't know, anywhere but here?"

He laughed again, shaking his head, "Not on granny Francine's jubilee week."

"Ahh, of course," she nodded, "I heard. The grand celebration."

"I'm sure you did," he chuckled, "I believe granny Eloise is in the guest list."

"Oh, she is," she confirmed, laughing, "She's ready to go."

"But what about you? I could ask the same – aren't you supposed to be in London?"

"I took a few weeks off from work, just came here to charge my batteries. You know, countryside and all."

"Mm," he accepted while taking a sip of his drink, unable to turn his eyes away from the smile still stretched over her beautiful lips.

He didn't even know how much time it had been – 6 years, 7? Maybe 8? It could have been 8 years since he last saw her, back when they were playing a small gig with Fontaines in the area, a little bit before Dogrel was released. And after that, pretty much nothing, his only information on her accumulating from social media or from his local mates or ironically enough, from his granny Francine who was in close contact with her granny Eloise.

They had grown up a few houses down from each other, aware of each other's existence since they were tiny, later gone to school together and had blended friend groups, but were never too close as far as friendship goes. Once they became teenagers, their attention began shifting towards each other more, but sometimes things end even before they can begin.

It was during a bonfire back when they were 15 when they kissed, just once, both of them drunk on awfully cheap apple cider that ended up giving her borderline alcohol poisoning and a curfew for a week while he got away with a serious case of scolding by his mum. Nothing came of it, neither of them having the courage to address the smooch until its significance began to fade.

He started having girlfriends and she started having boyfriends, and neither of them minded, figuring that things were better off that way after all. No reason to pay any attention to what had happened, and it wasn't like much had happened anyway. If anything, it somehow made them more comfortable with each other as friends, just simple mates living a few houses apart from each other.

It was like that until their final year of high school, right until their graduation party to be exact, both of them newly single and smoking a joint at one of their friends' terrace at 4 AM. A conversation about pretty much nothing until she announced that she had been accepted into university both in London and in Dublin.

And that she was going to choose London.

He congratulated her, but his previously cheery manner had vanished, the look in his eyes suddenly expressing something she recognized as disappointment. And before she could say anything else, he got up and left her there alone, saying nothing else.

He was going to Dublin.

Although confused, she never addressed it, never asked him about it during the summer that followed, convincing herself that it was just weed, making him mellow as it always did. Even if there was a strange discomfort that stayed in her heart, just like that kiss years before, the moment's significance began to fade with time until it was simply forgotten.

"I think you should come to my nan's party with me," Conor blurted about a week after their initial run-in at the pub, making her almost choke on her Guinness.

"What?" she laughed, "What on Earth am I going to do there?"

"What do you mean what are you going to do there? Keep me company? I'm gonna drink myself to death if you leave me there alone. The median age is going to be like 95."

"Besides, granny would love it. She's always liked you."

She laughed again, but couldn't help but to admit that the idea actually sounded fun. That whole week she had been home had been fun, her and Conor spending every day together without exception, whether it was a night at the pub or an evening walk along the lakes or a cup of coffee in the morning. It felt familiar and comforting to be around him again, while the stories he told about the life he lived now were fun and sometimes absolutely bonkers.

And still he wanted to know about her, about every detail of her life in London, about the books she currently read and about the music she listened to, as if they were still teenagers. And as if they were still teenagers, they managed to get themselves completely hammered on disgustingly sweet wine at his granny's party, sharing a cigarette outside the restaurant once the air inside had become too unbearable.

The cigarette finished, he dug his fingers into the pocket of his jacket, revealing a tiny bag with green contents.

"You brought weed to your nan's 80th birthday?" she stressed, although amused, "You devil, granny will send you to mass tomorrow."

"Definitely fuckin' not," he laughed, already rolling the joint they soon shared.

Almost half of it consumed, they then sat in silence, Conor staring at the burning tip of the joint.

"You know who I saw at the supermarket yesterday?" he then turned, the look on his face a mix of playful and smug.

"Who?"

"Robbie McKey," he laughed, causing her eyes to roll to the back of her head.

"Oh my god, shut up," she laughed, "I was like 15, not one of my best moments."

"Oh, why not?" he continued teasing, her then countering, still laughing, "I also kissed you when I was 15."

"Ooooof!" he turned, shaking his head while he laughed, "Ouch!"

"Oh, come on! I'm joking! I didn't mean it like that and you know it."

"Is that so?" he mused, "Would you do it again then?"

"What? Kiss you?" she laughed, that smug look still plastered all over his face while he hummed to confirm her question.

She had no idea how many bottles of wine there was between them, her whole body feeling hot while her mind slowly began losing the ability to differentiate between what she should say and what she should not. She had no idea whether he was serious or not, but too much alcohol always had a way of making her too reckless for her own good.

Because she would. It was Conor after all, the gorgeous and fun and smart Conor she grew up with, the incredibly talented and considerate and still so fucking fun Conor she was sitting right next to, sharing a joint that was probably beginning to do some serious disservice to the both of them. But still, she would definitely kiss him again.

"I would," she replied before she could think it over again, a mischievous smirk appearing on his lips right before he mockingly clicked his tongue and turned away, finishing the joint.

"Oh, you fucking assh.." she scoffed and laughed, realizing that he indeed had been messing with her, or at least that's what she had thought.

Before she could finish her sentence, turning away from him, she suddenly felt a hand gently land on her cheek, turning her towards him again. And before she could even react, a set of lips on hers, hungry, almost forceful.

One kiss, then another and another, then the chatter of some senior ladies invading their moment, making them flee to the alleyway next to the restaurant.

"Is there somewhere we can be alone?" she asked, almost breathless, sending all of his senses into overdrive.

It's not like he had ever been in love with her or anything, but there was something about her that made her more special than others, something about her that never made him tire of her. Sure, there were times when he had a crush on her, but he always got over it, just so that it could come back when he least expected it. Like that time at the graduation party when she told him that she was choosing London over Dublin.

He never wanted to admit it, but perhaps there was a subconscious part of him that hoped for something, anything? An opportunity, a hint, something that would give him a chance to explore what it exactly was that he felt about her, the curiosity towards her that never died. To find out what actually could have been.

Perhaps he had been in love with her after all?

He felt like a teenaged boy again, realizing that the moment he was sharing with her was something he had thought about dozens of times. Not about that sorry kiss at 15 years old but what it would be like to really kiss her.

To be alone with her..

Neither of them could stop giggling through the kisses as the door fell shut behind them, Conor then fiddling with the lock.

"Are you fucking serious?" she laughed, him only breathing as she placed his hands on her cheeks again, kissing her, "What do you want me to do? The options here aren't exactly limitless."

"When was the last time you had a girl here?"

"I don't know. When I was 18?"

"You're not even sleeping here now," she then noted, noticing the untouched bed.

"I usually stay in the guest room."

"Then why'd you bring me here?"

"It's the only door that fucking locks."

She couldn't help but to laugh again, the whole situation beginning to expand into comedic territory, partly due to the weed and partly due to the irony of it all.

His boyhood bedroom, neither of them able to hold a straight face, him struggling with the zipper of her dress, her struggling with the buttons of his shirt, then the obstacle of her bra and his belt buckle.

"This is about to be the unsexiest sex I've ever had," she snorted with amusement, him only groaning.

"You're starting to sound really hard to please."

"You don't know that yet."

"Jesus.." he mumbled, suddenly sounding frustrated.

He stepped away from her, staring at her, his confidence beginning to fade away together with the weed and the alcohol. He knew that the circumstances weren't exactly ideal, but what else could he do? She stared him back, recognizing his disappointment, finding the sight incredibly sweet.

She couldn't help but to smile at him, taking a step closer, placing her hands on his chest, "I'm sorry, Conor. I'm just drunk and high and.. I'm just joking. I'm sorry."

Slowly, she began to trail kisses down his chest, sliding off the shirt from his shoulders, his hands wrapping themselves around her and into her hair after a moment. No more laughing, no more giggling as he lay her onto his old bed, the moments that followed delicate and gentle, but still perfectly and wonderfully messy.

The feeling of having her head rest on his chest made him almost giddy, gently brushing his fingers through her hair while her hand drew small circles along his torso, causing goosebumps on his skin.

"I don't want this to end here," he whispered into her ear, "I don't want to go back to London and know that you are there and not see you."

She turned her eyes towards him, a small smile appearing on her lips, "I think you've got yourself a date."

[fashfic]

luv luv luv ur curley fics <3

Thank youuu! <3 more Curley coming soon!

[fashfic]

Loving You Is A Privilege

Grian Chatten x female reader

Short, but sweet!

Exhausted and tired of the hours stretching one after the other, he took a deep breath as he finally stepped into the flat, his suitcase quickly discarded to the corner of the hallway along with his backpack. Shoes off, he wandered around, finding himself in the living room with the television running by itself, a few candles lit on the coffee table along with a half drunk cup of tea.

It had only been a few weeks, just some dates here and there in Europe, but the sense of comfort he found between these walls, the sense of comfort he found with her, had become harder and harder to abandon as time went on. For years, hopping from one place to another had been so easy for him while now, he couldn't help but to have his body tingle with joy as he recognized the scent that he had began to identify as the smell of home or felt the softness of their living room carpet under his feet.

The most important element of them all still missing, he called out the pet name he had chosen for her, planning to head to the bedroom next while her voice suddenly informed him to do otherwise.

"In the bathroom!"

No more than a few seconds later, his eyes landed on her as he stood at the door of the washroom, the girl he had missed for weeks standing in front of the mirror and applying moisturizer on her face, dressed in her robe while her freshly combed hair fell wet on her back.

"Oh, fuck me," he muttered while leaning onto the door frame, playfully rolling his eyes and then covering them with his palm for a moment.

She stared at him with a confused look, only to let out a laugh a second later.

"What?"

"What do you mean what?" he grinned, shaking his head.

"I mean what?" she shrugged and laughed again, picking up a some sort of a spray for her hair and then applying it.

"This.." he then pointed in her direction, pushing himself free from the door and making his way over to her.

He gently wrapped his arms around her from behind and mumbled a soft "Hello" into her neck, planting a kiss. Ticklish as she was, she giggled over the sensation, replying to his greeting and turning for a kiss on the lips.

"You like this," he then continued, resting his chin on her shoulder, his eyes aimed into hers through the mirror, "Fresh out of the shower, skin so soft and shiny from all these oils and creams or whatever you use. Hair wet and smelling so good from that spray thing. Just you in your most natural, most beautiful."

She couldn't help but to smile at his words, her back resting against his chest, "Are you now going to tell me that I should wear less make-up or something stupid like that?"

The room erupted in laughter, Grian almost cackling.

"I wouldn't dare," he shook his head, "You know how much I love it when you put on your outfits and do your looks and I can flaunt you around town."

"What is this about then?" she chuckled.

"About things being the opposite."

"The opposite?"

"Mhmm.." he hummed, "Nobody else gets to see you like this. Moments like these, mundane as they are, seem to me a lot more intimate and pure than we often think. The dressed up versions of ourselves that we present to the world are accessible for everybody while a sight like this.. Getting to see you like this is.."

"Is a privilege," he whispered into her ear, the girl in his arms listening intently.

She slowly released herself from his embrace and turned around, placing her hands on his chest and then sliding them down his torso, slipping them under his t-shirt and enjoying the warmth of his skin.

She had become used to the distance, especially if it was only a few weeks here and there, but it was moments like these that reminded her why the wait and the longing was always worth it. His care and affection that was unlike any other's, the way he saw the world and put it into words.

"I love you," she whispered as she looked up at him, smiling, "Welcome home."

[fashfic]

Sleepless in Paris

Conor Curley x female reader

Veeeeeery loosely inspired by Curley saying that he was a nostalgic person, especially for smells. Other than that, seriously messy yearning.

Staring himself in the mirror, he felt unusually self-aware, wondering if he should have worn another shirt or another set of jewelry. Maybe another pair of sunglasses? White frames instead of black ones? Another set of rings? Something about this look was off, but he couldn't find the source of his restlessness. Perhaps it wasn't even about any shirt or any set of glasses or knick-knacks at all?

Perhaps it was about her?

Deep in his heart he knew it was her, still cursing Carlos for inviting her while truth be told, the reality was that he was dying to see her. And the fact that he felt that way made him feel even shittier.

Deciding to give up on this annoying and borderline idiotic costume dilemma, he wandered out of the dressing room with the intention of heading to the backstage lounge, his eyes glued to the floor until he noticed an awfully familiar, petite figure in his peripheral vision.

His heart stopped along with his whole body, unable to turn his eyes away as he stared at her.

Her sparkly eyes stared back, burning a hole into his soul.

Being face to face with her after two whole years felt surreal and the mix of emotions he was experiencing felt more than confusing. It was a comforting sense of familiarity, yet he still felt as if he was staring back at a stranger, even if the look in her eyes turned softer with every passing second.

He didn't know what else to do other than to send an awkward wave in her direction, deciding to make his way towards her regardless of the discomfort.

"Hey," he breathed and smiled in all his sincerity, the sound of her voice making a shiver run through his spine as soon as she replied to the greeting.

He had prepared himself for this moment ever since Carlos told him that he had invited her to the show, replaying their relationship in his mind from beginning to end without a pause.

It was done. They were done. Both of them had moved on. There was nothing between them and would never be again and he had let her go.

"I heard you were coming," he then hesitantly continued the slightly awkward, yet somehow affectionate conversation while pushing his hands deep down the pockets of his trousers.

"Well, Carlos sort of insisted so.." she softly laughed, not knowing what else to say.

"I can imagine," he nodded, then almost mumbled after a moment of silence, "It is uh.. It is good to see you."

"It is good to see you, too," she replied, only a moment before an approaching figure caught his attention.

"Hey, I was looking for you," Hannah smiled as she placed herself at his side, his arm slowly wrapping itself around her.

"Yeah, sorry. I got caught up over here," he explained, then awkwardly continued as he turned to her, "This is Hannah, my girlfriend."

He couldn't describe the way it felt to roll these words off his tongue in front of her even if he tried, the impeding nightmare of his ex- and current girlfriends staring back at each other finally a reality. She smiled politely and introduced herself before Conor even managed to continue, the guitarist unable to read a single emotion out of her face. Reading her used to be so easy while now he was at a total loss.

"Oh, hi," Hannah happily replied, making him wonder if she was really reading nothing out of this room, "Curley told me that you were coming. I've heard a lot about you."

Curley.

To her he was always Conor.

"Yeah?" she then smiled back, the whole situation suddenly moving in slow motion for him, "Only good I hope."

At least he had had that much sense – to let Hannah know that it was a possibility that his ex might make an appearance, that she and Carlos and Josephine were still close and that they got together quite frequently when visiting Paris. That is where she moved after things ended between them, for some job as he had heard, but he couldn't be sure.

He had always maintained that things were fine between them and that things ended amicably, so it wasn't like he could give any shit to Carlos about this. Besides, he was convinced that it was more Josephine's idea than Carlos' as they used to hang out together at shows all the time.

Pleasantries exchanged, he felt relieved once she announced that she was heading to the bathroom, giving him an opportunity to finally breathe freely. There wasn't much time left to the show and he suddenly felt an immense interest towards their warm-up band, which he decided to watch together with Hannah from the side of the stage instead of having drinks with the rest of the crew in the lounge.

He knew very well what it looked like, but he didn't care – having her there was beginning to be a lot more difficult than he imagined.

Once on stage, she wasn't on his side like she used to, but on Carlos' together with Josephine as he had expected. Finding it a blessing at first, he soon discovered it to be a curse, his eyes travelling to the side opposite of him more and more frequently instead of the crowd.

It was all the same: the way she danced to her favourite tunes, him knowing exactly the ones she loved the most, the way she smiled whenever Josephine whispered something funny into her ear, the way she held her drink with the tip of her fingers, always ending up spilling it.

No matter how hard he tried to focus on playing and tried to shut off his mind, he couldn't stop himself from spiralling.

Once the show was done, he couldn't wait to get himself out of there, the others deciding to have a night in the town while he decided to go back to the hotel. Hannah's flight back home was in a few hours and it presented itself as a wonderful excuse to flee the situation.

Or at least that's what he had thought.

It was their rather awkward hug goodbye that ended up being the final nail in the coffin, her perfume sending all his senses into overdrive. It was still the same, after all those years, every memory flooding itself right back into his mind.

Back in the hotel, his fingertips were still buzzing, carrying the soft sensation of her skin that he managed to savor when he brushed them over her back. His mind was foggy, but somehow his thoughts still managed to race as the ding of the elevator caused him to open his eyes.

"You look tired," Hannah smiled as she grabbed his hand and began guiding them towards their room.

He didn't want to admit it, but he felt disappointed. He felt disappointed that she had replaced the touch of his previous lover.

"I am tired," he smiled back, trying to act as if there was nothing wrong while wondering whether she sensed that there was something off about him.

Once in the room, he threw himself on the bed, his companion quickly climbing to his side as an attempt to savor these final moments together until the car to the airport whisked her away. She nuzzled her face into his neck, replacing another one of the fleeting touches he shared with her during that hug. He wrapped his arm around her and held her close, then kissed her lips out of habit and smiled.

He could feel the way she shivered under his touch while he suddenly felt nothing.

"I wish I didn't have to go," Hannah whispered, nuzzling even closer and making Conor's insides turn in confusion.

"I wish you didn't have to go," he replied, his feelings mixed out of nowhere.

He didn't want to admit it, but he lied.

Usually, they would have sex at a moment like this. That is what they always did before either of them was to depart, but this time they really didn't have time for it and he suddenly felt terrified of the fact that it made him feel relieved. Not because of her, but because of himself.

He didn't want to feel this way. He didn't want to feel disappointed when Hannah touched him instead of her, but he had no control over it. He hadn't seen her for two years and he was so very convinced that he had moved on, but the illusion of it all came crushing down as soon as he saw her. Being in her presence for the mere amount of three hours was all it took for him to question every decision he had made during these past two years.

He felt like shit.

He soon heard Hannah's phone from the distance, indicating that the driver had indeed arrived.

"Well, it's time," she sighed as she slid her phone to her purse, lifting her eyes from the ground to look at him.

He stood from the bed and made his way over to her, wrapping his arms around her as tightly as he could, kissing the top of her head while sliding his fingers through her hair and then kissing her lips.

He tried. This time he really tried. He wanted her to be the one he wanted to kiss and he wanted her to be the one he wanted to hold while he almost mindlessly forced himself into these acts of affection.

"I'll miss you," is what he mumbled through the kiss, her eyes lighting up in an instant while she returned the sentence with a smile.

For the sake of his own sanity, he wanted her to be the one he loved, but he couldn't help but to feel another sense of relief the moment the door fell shut behind her. He took a deep breath as he threw himself bak on the bed, suddenly feeling unimaginably uncomfortable in his own skin. He figured that perhaps another shower would help him clear his mind as it usually did, but nothing seemed to help against the power his old lover held over him.

He gave up.

He stood in the shower, the water washing over him and his brain busy reminding him of every moment, every act of intimacy he had shared with her in a shower during the years they spent together. He wished so bad that he could just scream this thing away at the top of his lungs, but there was nothing he could do.

Feeling defeated, he relocated to bed and got under the covers with the hope of his exhaustion soon getting the best of him and granting him with some rest. And after a while, it actually did.

At least for a little while.

He didn't know what it was, but a force he couldn't identify compelled him to open his eyes in the darkness, almost startling him from his sleep. He could swear that he heard her voice, murmuring the soft and affectionate "Conor" in a soft and alluring voice.

His whole body felt warm and tingly, soon pushing the blanket away in order to get some air. He then nuzzled his face into the pillow right next to him out of reflex, disappointing himself as soon as he realised that the scent he had expected to find wasn't there, a strong smell of laundry detergent invading his nostrils instead of the desired perfume.

She always wore perfume to bed. Nothing more, nothing less.

Already down the rabbit hole and questioning his sanity, he let out a deep breath of frustration as he shifted back to his spot, grabbing his phone from the bedside table in the process. After an unsuccessful debate with himself, he opened Instagram and typed in her name, finding the desired account without issues.

He took a moment to scroll over the layout of the photos quickly, then decided to inspect more in detail.

She had always had a good eye in terms of aesthetic, her account still looking as curated as it had been when they were still together and consisting of similar types of photos as it did then – selfies, outings with friends and whatever else she found inspiring and eye-catching, but in an artsy way. He had always loved scrolling through it.

He clicked on the most recent photo she had of herself, taking in her beauty as he inspected the features he knew so well, but still felt the need to study.

She looked breathtaking. Not that she hadn't been absolutely gorgeous already at the venue, but now he had all the time in the world to be absolutely mesmerized by her.

He then stared at the "Follow" button for some seconds, hesitating whether he should hit it.

Everything had been cool at the concert, it would be a friendly gesture. There was no way she would see it as anything else while the truth was that he wasn't quite sure whether it was he or her that needed convincing over the innocence of his intentions.

What were they really?

He didn't know, but he so desperately wanted to know about her. About the life she lived, about her friends, about the daily habits he used to know so well, about her favourite places in the city, about..

About whether she was with someone or not.. God, how he wanted to know whether there was someone lucky, who got to smell her perfume on his sheets the way he used to.

She had no pictures with any guy or photos that would indicate to the existence of a romantic relationship in her life, but he noticed how there was someone, who used to leave sweet comments on her older selfies and pictures, already causing an underlying pit of jealousy in his stomach.

Fully aware of his shameless behaviour, he managed to stalk his way into concluding that the latest comments and likes from that person were roughly around six months ago, so that must have been when it ended as there was nothing underneath her more recent pictures. Curiosity and jealousy guiding his way into this embarrassing act of snooping, he decided to click on that said person's account, a guy named Dominic, clearly French.

He quickly scrolled through his feed and understood that he must be a tattoo artist with some very fancy shop.

Scrolling a bit further, he finally noticed the images he was dreading to see – he still had pictures together with her on his account. Nothing super special or intimate, just some photos of them together on vacation, having breakfast in the morning and dinner in the evening. The dates under photos matched the timeline he had built for himself, the most recent ones being from roughly half a year ago.

It gave him a feeling of relief, feeding to the illusion of her still being somewhat attainable for him.

He was about to leave his account when something suddenly caught his eye at the last minute, making him click on it in an instant. It was a set of photos taken in what he assumed to be the guy's tattoo shop, a set of photos of her tattooing him. The tasteless cliche of it almost made him groan as he felt jealousy bubbling in him again.

My favourite apprentice

That was the caption of the set of photos, making his eyes roll to the back of his head. He then slid through the dump of photos, the final one revealing the tattoo she had given him.

It was a rather small and minimalistic one, depicting a pair of peonies. Her favourite flowers.

This time he really felt a sting in his heart. It made him think of all the times he sent her peonies while he was away on tour, of all the times the mentioned flowers used to decorate the home they used to share. He felt ridiculous for feeling this way, knowing very well that he had no right to be jealous or hurt, but seeing those flowers poked on his skin almost made him feel as if he wasn't special anymore.

In his twisted mind, he had always felt that the knowledge of peonies being her favourite flowers was strictly his to have and nobody in the world except him had the right to gift them to her. It was almost as if those said flowers symbolised their love and commitment and seeing her share that part of her with someone else made his heart shatter.

He decided to stop stalking this guy's account as he began feeling more and more stupid, and headed back to hers, once again staring at the inviting "Follow" button.

Before he could change his mind, he hit it, his heart racing in anxiety and fear.

He didn't know what he was trying to achieve, but he suddenly felt as addicted to her as he did all these years ago, knowing very well that doing this would only end up tormenting him, but he didn't care. He had decided already some 30 minutes ago that he was going to believe in this lie he was telling himself about this being a friendly gesture.

About to set his phone away, he suddenly felt it buzz in his palm. The screen lit up, revealing that he had received a message from Carlos. Not thinking much, he opened the conversation, the message containing a video of Grian doing shots with the object of his obsession in the bar. Three dots popped up in a second, revealing the text Carlos had typed to accompany the video.

You're missing out, man.

He wanted to throw his phone against the wall. Never before had she felt so out of reach for him, so off limits and he suddenly hated that.

He felt as if he was suffocating.

[fashfic]

City Hall Romance

Grian Chatten x female reader

I do!

Forcing her eyes open, the sun was already peeking in from between the greenery that surrounded their bedroom windows, the trees melodically swinging along the spring morning breeze while a pattern of dazzling shadows spread along the flooring.

She stretched her hand towards the tiny bedside table and grabbed her phone, reading 8:15 from it along with messages from both her sister and her mom. Quick replies sent on their way, she relaxed back into the bed, two warm arms soon snaking themselves around her and pulling her close.

"How are my girls on this beautiful morning?" he asked, almost whispering, his eyes still closed and morning voice hoarse and dry.

"Good," she replied, nuzzling her face into the crook of his neck, "Very good."

"You sure?" he asked again, his eyes now open and hand gently caressing her belly, "You scared me a bit last night. I thought we'd have to cancel this whole fucking shebang today."

"I'm fine, really," she confirmed, "Even the nurse said it was nothing, you heard her. Just nerves and stress. And babe, you really need to start monitoring your cursing."

He laughed for a moment, placing a gentle kiss on her forehead.

"She won't know it was me," he whispered, still chuckling.

"Oh, please," she rolled her eyes, amused, "She hears your voice more than she hears mine. I played her the whole "Romance" album the other day."

"You did?"

"Mhmm," she confirmed, "I think "Favourite" was her favourite. She got really active. A little dancing queen of ours."

"Smart girl, knows it was written about her mother," he smiled, his hand once again protectively placed on her stomach.

"Smart girl, knows it was written by her father," she smiled back, kissing him on the lips and then slowly releasing herself from his embrace.

It was the morning of their wedding, or at least a version of it, the city hall ceremony along with a dinner with family and closest friends waiting to be held. It was not what they had planned at first, in fact there had been no plan at all as little as some months ago, but the two stripes that stared back at them on a rainy Sunday afternoon changed a lot. The sight in front of them unexpected, but somehow not as shocking as she had imagined, especially considering that having a baby was never even 100% a part of their plans.

It was always a thought they had entertained, but never really committed to, deciding that if they ever really felt like it they would and if that feeling never came then they simply would not. That plan was now of course out of the window as the circumstances had inevitably changed.

"How do you feel?" she had asked him minutes after the result had become clear, her own emotions still being processed.

"I don't know, strangely calm to be honest. You?"

"Strangely calm to be honest."

It took them a few days of discussions to simply decide that if this was the way things were going to be, then this was the way things were going to be. And once the realisation really set in, the joy and excitement kept growing, slowly but surely, day by day.

"Do you think we should get married before the baby gets here?"

She hadn't expected him to ask that, around a month after they had found out and their first ultrasound just behind them, lying on their couch while watching some nonsense show from Netflix. Up until then there had been no wedding plan of any sorts at all, not because they didn't want to, but more for the mundane reason that they just could not be arsed.

While the idea of an engagement felt exciting and romantic, the idea of arranging a wedding while Fontaines was riding on a creative and commercial high and she herself was busier than ever with her own work, felt like an absolute and unnecessary chore. They figured that they still had time and besides, there were just so much more important things to do, their parents' eye-rolls becoming their favourite way of amusement as soon as the topic came up at family gatherings.

"Like a wedding? Now? We haven't had time to arrange one for five years and suddenly now we do?"

He laughed and gave it a thought for a moment or two, only to reinforce the idea a minute later.

"I'm not talking about a royal wedding at the fucking Abbey. I meant something small, just for us. And later, once the baby is a bit older, we can have a proper thing and a party and get pissed."

It was now she, who laughed, but she had to admit that the idea intrigued her – nearly a decade together, almost half of it engaged and still, she would be pregnant by the time they finally made it to the aisle. There was a sense of irony that she somehow found endearing and funny, this whole situation somehow so inherently them.

The more she thought about the idea, the more she liked it, until they finally decided that a city hall ceremony in London and later a proper wedding in Ireland was the way to go. There would be no extra hustle at all, just a matter of booking a date, finding a nice restaurant that they both liked, inviting all their closest friends and flying Grian's family in for the weekend. They considered it as good as done until they actually started executing their plan, which didn't go as smoothly as they had imagined.

At first, they couldn't get the date they wanted, because it was fully booked and it wasn't that the date itself actually mattered, but there were things in Grian's schedule that just could not be cancelled out of the blue and so things kept on stalling until she realised that by the date they finally settled on she would be nearly 7 months pregnant.

Definitely not the ideal scenario, but they could still work with it. But then, issues with finding a place they liked for the dinner, problems with organising the flights, trying to make it all fall in line with the honey/babymoon they had planned. It was all becoming too much and yesterday was the day shit really hit the fan.

And nothing even really happened, she just couldn't handle the accumulating tasks of the day like getting her bouquet from the florist's or getting the dry cleaning after waking up so tired, because getting proper sleep was getting more difficult night after night and once her mood was already down the drain, she couldn't stand the sight of proper breakfast or any other food, which of course was not good for her. Not to mention the dinner plans with Grian's family or the fact that she hated every minor flaw about herself every time she looked into the mirror.

It was the worst kind of day, only anxiety and overwhelm clouding her mind until she couldn't handle it any longer and a quick trip to their nurse became imminent. Grian had spent the whole day in the studio, unaware of any of this until she finally called him, sobbing.

No bouquet, no dry cleaning picked up that wasn't just some dry cleaning, but Grian's suit and her own attire for the wedding, dinner plans cancelled and everybody on high alert.

"Babe, I know you still want to run around and do all these things and that's fine, but if you have a day like this, you need to tell me. I could have done all those things myself or I could have found someone or we could just hire a bit of help for us for a little."

That was all he said about it once they made it home from the nurse, not mad, but clearly upset by the unfortunate situation. She felt bad, not knowing what to say while knowing that he was right and all of this could have been easily avoided. She could have just asked him or her sister or her mom or any of her friends to help her.

"I'm sorry."

"I don't want you to apologise. There's nothing to be sorry about. I just don't want you to stress yourself out for no reason. It's okay if you need help or if you feel overwhelmed. I feel overwhelmed by all of this! So I can't even imagine how you must be feeling every day. But I can't even try if you won't tell me."

His head between his hands as he sat by the kitchen island, exhausted and staring up at her with his fawn eyes, he looked adorable as he tried his best to reason with her without upsetting her even more. There was something so lovable about the sight that she couldn't help but to smile at him, suddenly standing in the middle of the kitchen as if she was a mischievous child.

He soon picked up on it, a light smile appearing on his own face as he understood that he had delivered his point.

"I love you, you know that?" he whispered as he wrapped his arms around her, that dreadful day finally behind them.

Once she got out of the shower the next morning, her mother and sister were already waiting in the kitchen, the bouquet retrieved from the florist's along with the dry cleaning that were due yesterday.

"Are you sure you don't want me to stay?" her mother asked her after they had finished their morning coffee and tea, the anxieties of the past day vanished completely.

"I'm fine, really," she reassured, "I've got everything and I feel a lot better. You go get yourselves ready and we'll see you in a couple of hours."

Truth be told, having her mother and sister there while she had to get ready for the day would have stressed her out even more, knowing how overbearing they can be when worried, especially after she became pregnant. She just wanted it to be Grian and her, that's they way she had always wanted it to be until the very last moment, because there was no other person who could calm her down and reassure her the way he did. The one, who always knew what to say and how to say it.

Looking herself in the mirror, she finally felt happy and secure, wearing the white blazer and long flowy skirt set she found at a vintage store a few weeks prior, her pregnant belly peeking out from between the hems and wearing nothing underneath, her hair done up in a messy 90s style do while wearing her favourite motorcycle boots.

"The most beautiful girl in the world," he whispered into her ear, gently wrapping his arm around her neck and kissing her temple, wearing a black suit along with his own favourite pair of motorcycle boots, the buttons on his shirt loose while a small white rose he snipped from her bouquet peeked out from the breast pocket of his suit jacket.

"Want to get married?" she asked as she looked up towards him and smiled, a set of lips landing on hers as confirmation.

"Fuck yes," he whispered and smiled back, handing her the bouquet of flowers.

[fashfic]

Take You Home

Grian Chatten x female reader

Sometimes things have to get worse just so they could get better.

The rain had been falling for a week straight, but she didn't mind. In fact, it suited her perfectly, her heartache and her confused mind, the terrible weather functioning as a perfect excuse to shut herself out from the world. No meet-ups with friends, no coffee dates with mom, no walks in the park that she knew would alter her brain chemistry for at least a few hours. She wasn't ready to let go yet, wasn't ready to accept the possibility of it all being really over.

She knew that it wasn't healthy, the rumination of the past month, but that was all she could do: the cycle of what she said and what he said, what she did and what he did, what she shouldn't have done and what he shouldn't have done. It was all a mess and she was desperate to find a way back, but she didn't know how.

Should she even? What if her mind was playing tricks on her? They always say that you only remember the good things and what if this was the case here? What if she was trying to bring back something that was long dead and gone?

"There is someone to see you."

She lifted her eyes from her book, reading the same lines from the tenth time as her mind was anywhere but following the story written out in front of her.

"Me? Who?"

She wasn't expecting anyone, let alone at her sister's place.

"Just come to the door."

Annoyed by her sister's vague manner, she dragged herself to the hallway, her knees going weak as spaghetti the moment she recognized the figure in front of her, occupied by petting the tiny dog that was more than excited over the visitor.

"Hey," he softly worded the moment he lifted his eyes, standing up and averting all his attention to her.

"Hey," she responded, surprised but somehow not shocked over the sight in front of her.

"I thought you were in the States."

"I was."

"The rain stopped, I'm gonna take him out," her sister suddenly forced herself past the pair, the puppy already on the leash, "It's good to see you, Grian."

He gave her a half smile and a nod, the door soon falling shut and leaving the couple by their lonesome.

"How did you know I was here?"

"I didn't."

"You could have called."

"I think I've called enough by now."

Some of them answered, some of them ignored, some of them a minute long and some of them an hour. All of their conversations so painfully dry, never reaching the topic that needed resolving the most.

"Why are you here?"

"You know why."

"Do I?"

She didn't want to turn this into a fight, but she couldn't hold her tongue, couldn't hold her frustration. He didn't respond to her words, didn't respond to the energy she gave him, because he knew that he deserved whatever that was to come out of her mouth. He instead looked defeated, his blue eyes glossy and red, giving away the fact that he hadn't properly slept for days. However mad and hurt she had been, the sight in front of her shattered her heart even more.

She didn't know how they had come to the point they were at, how everything that used to be so easy and so natural suddenly took so much effort from them, how even telling him that she missed him and she loved him seemed like an impossible task.

Not because it wasn't true, but because it felt like the words didn't even hold half of the weight they used to.

They had both been so stubborn that it almost felt bittersweet to see him in front of her now, his eyes focused on her with a longing she hadn't seen in a while – the one that used to be there when she first met him, the one that was there right before he first kissed her.

It was her exchange year in Dublin, Fontaines was only a few years old and she had seen him in pubs here and there, but it wasn't until Yvonne's doomed romance with Carlos that they actually ended up in the same company of people. He stood by the counter of the pub while she sat in a booth, sending elusive glances towards her and never saying a word. It wasn't until a few weeks later that they ended up in some random kitchen at 2 AM when he first addressed her.

"You're Yvonne's friend, right?"

She said that she was and he introduced himself as Grian, a fact that she knew without the statement. It was years later that she asked him why it had took him so long to talk to her and he only laughed, calling himself shy with a pretty girl. She knew that it wasn't true, but she let it be.

Unsurprisingly, Carlos and Yvonne didn't last, but she and Grian found themselves sharing a teary goodbye at the airport a year later. Then, years of monthly back and forth between London and Dublin, Fontaines getting bigger, Dogrel being released, Grian declaring that he was done with the distance, their first flat that was so crappy that it still made her skin crawl, Fontaines claiming its rightful spot among the best bands in the world, the night he proposed in Paris, them moving out of that crappy flat and finding themselves a proper home.

And then, it all fell apart.

The miscommunication, the months spent apart, Grian's deteriorating mental health, the panic attacks, him not letting her help him, her thinking that things would finally get better once he began his medication until she realised that they would not. At least not when it came to their relationship.

He had shut her out completely and no matter how hard she tried, he kept giving her the cold shoulder to the extent that once the Fontaines tour ended, he decided not to come home. A red-eye from Tokyo to LA instead of London is what broke her and shattered everything she believed their relationship to be.

"If you don't care to come home now, I don't care to be here once you do," is what she had told him, leaving him dumbfounded, but not shocked enough to change his plans.

He needed time away from everything, he didn't even know why, but he did and that was all he could focus on. She deserved better and he knew that, and the one thing that paralyzed him the most was his fear of not being able to offer her what she deserved.

"I'm talking to a counselor, a person that specializes in advising touring musicians and people like that," he then spoke, his eyes darting between his shoes and hers.

"And what does she say?"

"That I should be home, away from everything. No writing, no nothing."

"And you are here, because she told you to?"

"No," he shook his head, "I am here, because I want to. And I want you to come home with me."

"Why?"

"Because I love you," he answered, his eyes now aimed right into hers.

The words fell from his lips with a strangely gentle intensity, a sincerity that tug on her heartstrings more than she could bear. She couldn't help but to suddenly feel uncomfortable in her own skin, her hands slowly beginning to shake and a lump forming in her throat.

Him talking to a counselor meant that he was trying, and if there was something she knew about Grian, it was that he would never do something he didn't want to.

He would not be in this flat, asking her to come home with him if that was not what he wanted.

"Grian.." she breathed, suddenly sounding fragile, "Why are we like this? How did we become this?"

He noticed the tears brimming in her eyes and his body tensed for a second, only to relax a moment later so that he could take the few steps separating him from her, gently wrapping his arms around her and pressing his lips to her forehead.

"Shh.. No tears," he almost cooed while he caressed her cheeks, "I was an ass, I don't deserve them right now. And you are so fucking stubborn. But I wouldn't have it any other way. Just tell me that you still want to fix this, because I don't know what will be left of me if you don't."

"I do," she quietly whispered and nodded, her tear stained face still between his hands.

She could read the relief from his face, a small smile appearing on the corner of his lips.

"Just like in Paris, huh?"

"Just like in Paris," she nodded, a shy laugh escaping her lips through the tears, "But we can't keep doing this, Grian. You need to promise me that you will never do something like this again."

"I promise. Never again," he worded, his eyes once again aimed into hers, "Now, come home, yeah?"

"Yeah."

[fashfic]

Dancing With The Devil

Conor Curley x female reader

Curley angst for the niche!

The smell of his sheets, the clothes scattered all over the floor, that god awful painting on the wall – a sight that was all too familiar as she lay in his bed motionless, her mind circling back to the night before.

She knew that it was an indulgence she would end up regretting, but she hadn't expected it to burn so bad. She hadn't expected everything to flood back all at once, not the nights of endless kisses nor the nights spent crying herself to sleep.

With the alcohol wearing off, she wished that she hadn't stepped foot into that club in the first place.

Not after the words that slipped out of his mouth in the dark.

And since when did he out of all people even DJ? He was the last person she had expected to see in that booth, the uncomfortable buzz that ran through her spine making her knees go weak.

For two years she had convinced herself that it was all good and all forgotten, no bad blood for something they were both at fault for, and at first it really did feel that way, the friendly hug they shared perfectly suitable for this polite play and pretend in front of their friends and each other.

It was never a big deal, that is what she wanted to believe.

But then, cocktail after cocktail, the lines got more blurred and the glimpses got more frequent, his smile still so charming and his energy so easily fed off of hers. The spark was still there, despite of everything, a spark that needed just a tiny bit of oxygen to burst into flames again and burn everything around them.

She knew that she shouldn't have, but in a state that she was in, a clouded mind held little against a bleeding heart. It all still worked: her smile only making his grow wider, his eyes catching every glimpse she sent, his hands looking for hers in the mass of people while going for a cigarette.

He swore to never dance, but always ended on the dance floor with her, the hungry kiss he planted on her lips sealing the love spell. It was her last chance to make a run for it, to reject him as she should have if she wanted to keep her heart in tact, but she was in too deep.

They both were.

She kissed him back, the taste of gin and tobacco all too familiar, the feeling of his hands on her sides making it feel as if no time had passed soon replaced with urgency and recklessness. It was the same taxi ride to his place, the same bed, the same whispers and confessions until the one he had never said before.

Nothing had tasted more bittersweet in her life than the kisses that followed.

About to slip herself out of his bed, she felt an arm snake itself around her, pulling her frame back against his warm body.

"Not yet," he whispered, leaving a trail of gentle kisses on her shoulder.

"It's late."

"It's Sunday."

Sliding his hand to her cheeks, he turned her eyes towards him and kissed her, then effectively turning her whole body around to face him.

It was the first time during this whole sequence of events that she really looked at him, looked at the way he was looking at her, his eyes warm and hopeful, a soft smile on the corner of his lips. His hair was a bit shorter than before, parted in the middle and making him look so perfectly handsome.

He sought out her hands and brought them to his lips, kissing her knuckles while all she wanted to do was cry.

"Conor," she managed to whisper, unlocking her hands from his and turning away, then sitting up and securing the blanket around her naked body.

He rested himself on his elbows, his eyes focused on her uncovered back, not understanding the reason behind her action.

"What's wrong?" he softly worded, a sarcastic laugh his only answer.

God, how she hated all of this. How she hated being there, how she hated the fact that despite of everything she still broke the promise of never again. She so hated being vulnerable in front of him and she so hated pretending that she didn't care when he didn't choose her.

Until now, she hadn't even remembered how much it all hurt. But then he said those words and she couldn't believe it. She couldn't believe how he could just shit on her like that.

"Why was she better?" she soon whispered, not daring to look at him, but not able to hold the words inside.

He stared at her again, she could feel his eyes with every fiber of her body, her hands beginning to shake with anxiety.

"She wasn't," he replied after a moment, his voice calm and collected while his heart beat so anxiously in his chest.

This was a mess and he knew it, and he desperately wanted to make it better, but had no idea how. In what way could he explain it? In what way that was other than his own cowardice?

The moment his eyes landed on her between all the flashing lights, he was knocked senseless. He was in awe, he was always in awe of her and was always going to be.

He didn't know what to do at first, whether to address her presence or not. It all ended on rather good terms after all, so completely ignoring each other would have been ridiculous. A polite wave and smile, then a friendly hug once their familiar friend groups blended, her perfume already messing with his mind.

Hair a bit longer and darker than before, her smile was still electric and her energy just as addictive as he remembered. His judgement more clouded with every drink, it was soon impossible not to have all his attention reserved for her, not to mirror her smile or not to have his eyes following her every move.

He was never one to dance, but she always got it out of him, the claustrophobic feeling of having her so close to him inching in. His senses in overdrive, he gave in, planting a desperate kiss on her lips that was answered with the same hunger.

It was probably a matter of an hour or so until they were out of that place, until she was between his arms again, until the words that slipped out of his mouth without even registering what he had said at first.

The feeling had always been there, ever since he had met her, he just didn't understand it at first and then he didn't want to admit it to himself.

Because admitting it would have meant that the royal fuck up was even worse.

He was just out of a five year long relationship when he met her, the timing couldn't have been more off. He wasn't ready to commit like that again, not after only six months of being in his lonesome. It wasn't that he wanted to fuck around like some senseless teenager, but rather that in his mind, it was impossible that you lose something that had been so sacred to you for five years and then, just like that and out of nowhere, it is replaced by something even better.

But that is exactly what happened, he met her at the most random birthday party for a guy he barely knew, a girl dressed in all black while wearing an excessive amount of silver jewellery.

Endless conversations, books and records, museums and galleries, a backstage pass always reserved for her, nights spent together without a question. It was all so exciting at first until he felt like he couldn't keep up anymore, until he felt like she expected more of him that he could give.

It took a moment until she finally turned her eyes towards him, staring at him with a glossy look full of hurt.

"You told me that you didn't want a relationship and broke things off with me and then had a girlfriend three months later."

"You said that you were okay with us being just casual."

Another sarcastic scoff on her behalf.

"You treated me like a girlfriend. You introduced me to your friends, you took me to your gigs. I even met your grandmother! Yeah I said that I was fine being casual, but that was before all that. What was I supposed to think?"

"I.." he took a breath, looking for words, "I knew that if everything went to shit with her, I would still be in one piece. That would not have been the case with you. And I just wasn't ready for that."

"Is that supposed to make me feel better? That and what you said last night?"

"I can say it again. I love you."

"It's been two years," she shook her head, a single tear sliding down her cheek.

"So?"

She stayed silent, staring into nothing. What should she say to this? Did she love him? She knew that she didn't. At least not right now. But was it a possibility? She knew the answer in her heart, but there was a stubborn part of her that had a hard time looking past her pride.

"So, what now?" she finally worded, turning her eyes towards him again.

"I don't know," he answered, sitting up right next to her and wrapping the blanket around her tighter, "You tell me."

[fashfic]

Not All Doom And Gloom

Grian Chatten x female reader

Inspired by Grian's interview with NME from 2024.

The late June sunrays fell effortlessly between the curtains, a soft breeze caressing her freshly moisturized cheeks while she sipped her coffee, feet dangling in the air and her eyes sliding over the pages of the book that had been discarded way too many times during the last month or so.

A festival here, a festival there, a tour date here, a tour date there. Endless packing and unpacking, laundry, a few solemn moments for relaxation, and all that while trying to balance friends and family while doing her best to keep up with her own work responsibilities. Every few weeks the cycle would stop and then start again.

But she wasn't complaining. She would never complain over the life she had with him.

He soon sauntered into the kitchen, wearing a navy t-shirt and his favourite shorts, his hair still wet from the shower that did little to erase the pillow from his face. He still seemed exhausted, but this time rather from sleep itself than the hectic summer schedule, Glastonbury being the latest event to be scratched off the list.

"Could've woken me up," he said as he placed a kiss on her cheek and wondered over to the coffee machine, searching for a cup.

A laugh escaped her lips as she looked at him, the adorable sight in front of her making her swoon.

"You look like you just napped in the shower," she replied, "I wanted you to rest."

"That bad, huh?" he chuckled, still rubbing his face into his palms as an attempt to make himself fully alert to the world.

All these couple of months truly had been exhausting for him, but at the end of the day, it was all worth it. Once he was in the comfort of his home, in the comfort of her, it was all worth it.

"What time are they coming?"

His eyes searched around the kitchen for a second, soon finding the numbers 9:58 displayed on the tiny oven screen.

"Around 11ish, I think. So I'd say in an hour. To set up."

"And until what time are they staying?"

"Until 1 the latest," he replied, staring at the liquid he twirled in his cup and took a sip of every now and then, "That is what I agreed to."

"Alright," she accepted with a nod, then turned her eyes back towards the pages opened in front of her.

She looked almost angelic in this morning light, her face glowing under the sun and her hair still twisted up in a towel, the fluffy robe she wore clearly too big for her frame as it almost swallowed her whole. It was moments like these that he could never get enough of, the sights he knew were only reserved for him and his eyes only, granted with the privilege of loving her.

He loved what he had built with her during the past two years or so, and he loved the home they had created during these past six months even more. All the crazy logistics that took to arrange their relationship during its infancy finally behind them.

"You're nervous," he worded once the cup had been downed, the way her leg bumped up and down being the dead giveaway.

She turned her eyes towards him and inspected him for a second, then smiled and shook her head.

"Not nervous," she answered, "It's just that I don't have an NME crew coming to my home every Wednesday to interview my boyfriend."

"So, you're nervous," Grian stated again, the tone of his voice a mix of playful and smug.

She only rolled her eyes at his comment and took a deep breath, setting her book aside while he took the short walk over to her and placed his hands on her cheeks, giving her a kiss.

"Don't be," he whispered, "It's all good."

He then released her from his embrace and wondered off to the other room, the words that echoed behind him making him snort with laughter.

"You're insufferable!"

He knew that the lifestyle he brought with him was not one of ordinary, not the months of touring that took all the effort from both sides to nurture their relationship despite the odds nor as she had put it, an NME crew coming to their home to interview him as if he was some great mind and artist of current times. It was still strange to him, but he took things as they were and refused to let his circumstances consume him and everyone around him. But all that didn't mean that she had to be okay with it all the time. 

She was never one to flash their relationship, but also never one to hide it, and neither was he, but challenges still came and went, whether the both of them liked it or not.

The clock slowly, but surely reaching 12, she watched from the other side of the room as he and the interviewer placed themselves on their couch, the same coffee cup in front of him while the journalist had opted for water. He seemed like a decent lad and Grian knew him from before, making the exchange as comfortable as possible, at least when it came to Grian.

He was still fidgety and restless, just the way he always was in front of a camera or when he performed, a sight so endearing and so him, that it made her heart speed up little by little. She had no idea why he wanted her there, because she could have just very easily minded her business in another room or gone out, but he had been adamant that she should be present for this chat that had nothing to do with her.

He lit up for a moment when asked about the interior of their home, her knowing how much he loved what they had created together, never missing a chance to add an extra layer of sarcasm or a touch of irony with a witty remark when asked a question.

The compliments about Fontaines' Glastonbury performance were expected, and he went around it smoothly, but then unexpectedly enough, somehow circled it back to her.

"It is really nice to like.. You know, coming back to.. The life I have in this flat with my missus is very familiar now, it is really kind of, compartmentalized and it is cozy. I'm really enjoying the duality. I think before I didn't really have so much of a sense of home, so I felt really uprooted and I don't think it was good for me, but I feel a lot more secure now."

She could not stop the smile that was slowly stretching over her lips, her heart racing as if he had just told her that he loved her for the first time. It surely was a love confession of sorts, one he suddenly had to get out of his chest, because despite this nice little flat, there was no other home like her.

She was the secret ingredient to this place, the one who brought it to life from the moment they first stepped into it six months ago.

And the smile on her face never faded, throughout the whole interview, the short glances he sent towards her soothing both her and himself. She was sure that they went unnoticed by others around them, but not by her. She always knew when he tried to assure her, or himself, even when he was surrounded by a mass of people or by media outlets.

Those short glances were his way of saying that he was here and he was not going anywhere, at least not without her.

"Not all doom and gloom, huh?" she turned to him once the NME crew had left, that smile still stretched all over her face while referencing his own words when he talked about his solo album during the interview some minutes back.

"Not all doom and gloom," he shook his head to confirm his thoughts, wrapping his arms around her and pressing his lips against hers.