#starting from scratch and hopefully will only get notifs I actually need

[emohorseboy]

setting up my new phone (ugh gross but i gave up and decided it probably wasn’t wise to travel internationally with a phone you can only charge via lamp) and i am being ruthless with which apps i allow to send me notifications. unbothered era incoming. you will never hear me swear at my phone because of a gmail notification ever again.

[99solaris]

home • pezzy

pairing: pezzy x gn!reader wc: 1.5k warnings: if you squint its angst ... fine balance with fluff song pairing: home by michael buble a/n: hello everyone!!! i am new to the frouse / clooless / goons writing community and thought i would throw my two cents into the bucket of writers. currently not taking requests since i am balancing studies next to this - maybe in the future (hopefully!) - i hope whoever reads enjoys it!!! feedback is always appreciated (:

The house always seemed to feel so much bigger when there wasn’t a second person to fill it. Evenings felt longer when the only sound to accompany you was the TV playing some random show and the added purring from Sly on your lap. It felt like life was put in slow motion, yet, you were still moving forward in real time. You feel slightly embarrassed for how much you actually miss him, even though he had only left the day before.

Max had agreed to go to Vegas for a boys trip over the weekend. He had talked about wanting to go back for months, frequently making jokes about how he ‘’needs to gamble’’ and ‘’I can hear the machines calling my name’’. All light fun with laughs and rolling of eyes. Muttering a low ‘’So is therapy’’ in response, earning an over the top shocked response from Max and a loud ‘’How dare you!’’.

When he was leaving, he nearly clinged on you for dear life. ‘’Remember to keep an eye on Sly,’’ he mentions, arms keeping a tight hold around your waist as he’s scanning the area behind you, ‘’Don’t let him out.’’ ‘’As if I have ever done that,’’ you respond, giving a soft shove to his shoulder and a quiet giggle. ‘’I’ll text you when I get there,’’ he says, his thumbs rubbing small circles on your lower back, ‘’And I’ll text you before I go to bed, when I go pee, when I am eating-’’ he says, rambling on before he shuts up when you place a kiss on his lips. ‘’Just send me a text when you can, just so I know that you’re alive, idiot,’’ you murmured against his lips. He hums in agreement before his lips leave yours, only to pepper gentle kisses on your cheek, nose, forehead, his eyelashes tickling your skin. ‘’Go, Max,’’ you giggle as he teasingly starts kissing down your neck, ‘’you have a plane to catch, yeah?’’. ‘’Just one more kiss,’’ he says, ‘’and then I go.’’ You shake your head and let him press the last kiss on your lips, gently squeezing you as if when he lets go, you would disappear. His hold on your waist slowly releases as he picks up his bags and slings them over his shoulder, shoulders slump as he gives an actor worthy dramatic sigh before turning around to leave. It’s only 3 days, how bad can it be?

Actually unbearable for the both of you - and so for his friends. They’ve implemented a rule that Max is not allowed to mention you within the first hour of being in Vegas, others have started betting on how long he can hold it in. ‘’Hey, I know you love them, dude,’’ Puffer says at some point, hands rubbing at his face, ‘’but can you please, please, just talk about something else?’’. The group laughs at the comment as Max can’t do anything but blush, scratching his neck and accepts the teasing he’s going to endure.

On the other side, you sit at home and scroll your Instagram feed, rather mindless as you don’t seem to be caught up in anything in front of you. A day has passed since Max left and it would be a lie if you said it hadn’t been hard falling asleep without him next to you. Most of Day 2 of ‘’Waiting for my Husband (Max) to return from war (Vegas)’’ was spent texting back and forth funny bits they had seen through the day, pictures of pure devastation and jubilations of wins and losses.

Cat Dad(dy): ‘’Just lost 200 dollars’’ Babe<3: ‘’Guess we’ll be eating bread and beans for the rest of the month’’ Cat Dad(dy): ‘’Trust the process, babe’’.

It lifted your mood whenever the notification ding would sound. For those small seconds it would feel like he was in the room down the hall, streaming, sending you texts about if you wanted to make some dinner (together, of course, as he always makes sure to note) or if you should order out. But he’s not. He’s somewhere too far away, probably hyping up Droid to go all-in on a bet, only for him to most likely lose it all. 

Cleaning up after making dinner, having given Sly her food as well, giving her some head scratches before she digs in, you hear your phone ring. You don’t even bother looking at who is calling, since you already know who it is.

‘’Hey Max,’’ you say, a smile on your face already forming, ‘’you need any lunch money?’’ you joke, earning a laugh from his side of the phone. ‘’No, no, I’ve actually won the money back I lost!’’ he says, answering the question from earlier, ‘’but I actually called to say that,’’ he continues before a heavy sigh leaves his lips, ‘’to say that I miss you.’’ ‘’I miss you too, Max,’’ you respond, ‘’like, a stupid amount.’’ ‘’I didn’t think I would miss you this much either,’’ he says, quickly continuing, ‘’but I do! I do miss you, a lot, like a parking lot.’’ A silly inside joke you’ve created early in the relationship. The call goes on, sharing more stories of what has happened, at various points you can hear the boys yell in the background, sometimes they would be on the phone and you got to hear each point of view of the story. Listening and responding as well as possible, even though a knot is forming in your stomach from wishing he was home instead and telling all these stories, curled up in his arms, hearing his heartbeat and the warmth of his body against yours. You haven’t noticed it yet, but the line has gone quiet. Max notices you haven’t responded in a while.

‘’What are you thinking about, babe?’’ he questions, making you return to the present. You fiddle with the bottom of your shirt, trying to suppress the stomach feeling as you utter a small, ‘’I wish you were home, Max.’’. It’s quiet again before you hear him sigh. ‘’I wish I was there too,’’ he responds as you can hear him move around, probably to get away from the attention of the boys. You look around the living room, how the sun is starting to set, casting soft shadows in the living room. If you imagine hard enough, you can nearly see Max walk around the room, fresh out of bed in only his pajama pants with Sly running after him. It brings a small smile to your face, reminiscing those many mornings you’ve had together. Though, it’s cut short as small sniffles break the silence. ‘’Are you okay?’’ you ask quietly and he laughs half-heartedly. ‘’It’s so stupid, isn’t it?’’ he says with a sharp inhale, ‘’It’s only been a day without you and it’s like I’m having withdrawals.’’

‘’I’m your Vegas slot machine now,’’ you try and joke, and it lands since he’s laughing on the other end. ‘’Yeah,’’ he says, ‘’yeah, you’re my slot machine and you are calling my name right now.’’ ‘’What are the voices saying?’’ you ask. ‘’That I come home,’’ he responds, a break before he continues, ‘’But I can’t right now,’’ he says and you can nearly hear him carting his hand through his hair, ‘’the boys would be so pissed if I did.’’

‘’Do what you think is right,’’ you reply, ‘’but don’t come home for me. If you want to come home early, it should be because you want to, Max.’’ He’s quiet, probably chewing on his lip, thinking the possibilities through. It has gotten dark outside since you’ve started the call, hours having passed by so easy. ‘’I’ll think about it, okay?’’ he says, ‘’I can’t promise anything-’’ ‘’And that’s alright. Text me when you know anything, ok?’’ you quickly interrupt him. He doesn’t say anything, he doesn’t have to and he knows that. ‘’You know that I love you, right?’’ he comments, hearing his smile through the phone. ‘’I love you too, Max,’’ you respond before you both agree to end the call. 

And so you wait. Moving from the living room to the bedroom. Waiting hours laying in bed. You don’t want to fall asleep in case he calls or texts. But your eyelids are getting heavier and heavier, turning into a battle between you and your eyes to stay awake, since the rest of your body is ready to sleep. You look at your phone one last time. 3:48 in the morning. No messages, no calls.

Eventually, you fall asleep against your will.

When you wake up, it’s bright outside. Sitting up in bed, you check your phone and still nothing from him. You open your phone and are about to send him a message, when you hear a click. The pitter patter of Sly’s paws against the floor, the thump of something heavy landing on the floor, the floor starting to creak under the weight, footsteps nearing the bedroom and the door opens. 

‘’I missed you too much.’’

[sheepispink]

Hornets, Wasps and cuddling— wait what?

Masterlist AO3 ver

summary: Rational and calculated: those are the traits that kept you alive on the field and thus made you popular for how you seemed to never crack under pressure. That’s exactly why Ghost was confused when he found you breathless in the hallway after hearing a barrage of footsteps down the long corridors of the barracks and, of course, still clad. in your pyjamas.

Tags: Simon “Ghost” riley/reader, fluff, cuddling, wasps obviously, reader has paranoia, slightly gory description (mentions of skin being scraped out), slowburn, platonic/romantic (can be seen as either), hurt/comfort

WC: 6k

Gifted to python333 on ao3, i love all ur fics

It was almost half past one in the morning when you entered your room in the barrack; the fresh air blowing around your room was absolutely perfect considering how sweaty you were after returning from your mission. Your usual routine went as follows: dump your uniform into your laundry basket, take a warm shower (shampoo like three times; you always did so after missions), dry off, and apply a very simple skincare routine before knocking out until someone dragged you out of bed the next morning. It wasn't like you missed your alarm; Price has written the force a day off so, for once in your life, you’d actually get the sleep you needed after such a tiring week in the field.

While you undress, your mind starts to drift to all the close calls your own small team had faced today due to an unforeseen event changing the plan. You seemed to be the only one there who ever had their head on their shoulders, but then again, most of them only had a few months actually doing field missions, and the others were fresh out of training. Due to that, the mission was obviously not very high risk, and so you weren't setback that much, but damn, it did tire you out having to always watch out for each member on the team. The bathroom tiles are cold against your feet as you step inside, turning the handle of the shower and slowly climbing in once the water becomes warm enough.

Soon enough, you’re feeling a lot cleaner and relaxed, the tension in your temples disappearing as soon as you wash the cleanser off your face. With a small dollop of cream now rubbed into your face, you climb into your small bed in the corner with a soft sigh. The duvets aren't nearly what you used to indulge yourself in before you joined the military, but damn anything is better than those annoying uniforms. You allow your eyes to finally slip close once whilst the wind whistles past your curtains again, the slight coldness making you snuggle up to your pillow as you grow sleepier by the second. You’re so close to dreamland now, the usual worries no longer clouding your head like they’ve been sucked away by your fluffy pillows.

bzz

It was probably just a notification, and knowing how dry your phone was, it was likely going to be the weather app with the latest forecast. You roll over onto your side, pressing your cheek into your pillow to hopefully drown out your constant thoughts.

Then you hear it again, louder and intrusive, like it’s right by your ear. It’s threatening to crawl in and eat away at the skin of your ear until you wake, scratching at your ear canal until blood begins to seep and your brain—

With a small gasp, you jolt awake, your eyes searching the perimeter frantically for the source of the noise. Driven with confusion and a slight terror you wouldn't ever admit to feeling, you scramble out of bed and pat down the curtains, your desk, and the laundry basket. Though nothing appears—not even a damn mosquito or the like. You were sure you heard something, absolutely positive but you can't exactly fight the air, could you? Reluctantly, you pull the covers over yourself and settle back into the bed. It’s probably an annoying fly that escaped through the window— not exactly something to concern yourself over. It’s not like you haven't slept through rickety army trucks or the loud whirring of helicopter blades before; it shouldn’t bother you any longer. With a groan, you close your eyes again and lean back, ready to let your exhausted mind enter that quiet state again.

BZZ

It doesn't sound like a fly now, nor a wasp or anything familiar. It’s noisy and destructive, buzzing in calculated yet violent ways. It makes you jump up straight again, only to be met with the sight of your plain old room. Had all those explosives really banged up your hearing? You’d have to get it checked out at the infirmary tomorrow, but for now you couldn't say you were a little paranoid. It was just a little strange how it always seemed to appear whenever you were on the verge of sleep, and even though you’re exhausted, you decide to just wait it out at least a little bit. Just in case.

After twenty minutes of no noise, you finally get tired enough to just fall asleep without knowing, your head slightly turned to the side as you nod off peacefully, now without a doubt that it really must’ve been a trick in your mind, nothing to worry about in the slightest.

Unfortunately, you were proven wrong when you woke up the next hour, the buzzing extremely loud and the sound bouncing around your ears like you’re in a cinema. Your limbs feel like they’ll fall apart as it is, and you silently swear to yourself that if Soap is trying to piss you off again, you will slap him this time. Cracking your eyes open, your worries immediately fester into terror as you see whatever the hell that is, running rings around your ceiling. It’s larger than the average fly, even more so than a wasp, and by the sound of how aggressive it’s buzzing is, you’re likely to become it’s next meal. Before you can consider your next move, your hand is already wrapped around your phone and your feet tucked up in your fluffy slippers as you immediately make a run for it. You’ll be thankful later for the automatic locking on your room door, but for now you couldn’t give more than a passing thought as you practically ran down the hallways of the barracks. Your head is empty, just focused on the nightmarish idea of that buzzing wasp, hornet—vile creature—flying around your room for the whole time while you were deep asleep. What the hell are you going to do? It was almost deafening how loud it all was, now you’re starting to think further into it, wondering if there was more than one in your room; hell, maybe there was even a nest in there. Now your lungs feel like they’re being blown up from how heavy you’re breathing. Your heart is hammering against your chest, almost painfully, before you finally snap to reality once you realise you’re about to crash into the doors that lead to the rest of the base. Now out of breath, you force the adrenaline to skid to a stop and quietly pant, trying to get back to your senses, which are clearly left behind in your bedroom with that horrible thing.

“When Capt’ said to keep on top of our training even after missions, I’m positive he didn't mean this.” A gruff voice states, slicing through the panic in your heart to make you look up in surprise only to be met with the familiar face of the other team’s lieutenant. He had been yours for a mission, but other than that, you had no experience talking to him other than the shared chats in the mess hall with a couple other sergeants in his team. You often made an effort to catch up with others on the weekend, and despite not even being in their taskforce, you wormed your way into being invited to all of their small chats.

Even so, this was very different from just a normal chat about the new K9s or the tough Russia mission another group was on. It was nearly three thirty in the morning, and if you weren't so shook by the buzzing creature, you definitely would’ve noticed the way his eyes rake slowly over your trembling form. Not like he was trying to check you out—jaw-dropped and tangled hair definitely was not your best look. When you don’t respond but instead just look at him like a deer in headlights, he raises a brow beneath the mask, his eyes visibly widening as your shaking state. “You look like someone just threw a grenade into your room.” He scoffs, still trying to figure out why the hell you’re just panting like that. “Get in here.”

Soon enough you manage to push your feet to walk past his intimidating form into his private quarters. You can’t tell if you’re lucky or extremely cursed to have garnered his attention of all people, considering he was known for being a no-nonsense type of guy. At least with Gaz or Soap, you could’ve at least tried to argue why you were absolutely terrified of such a small bug. He doesn't fail to notice the way your head flings back when the door buzzes as he locks it, your eyes turning into saucers before you quickly realise you were worked up over nothing and snap your gaze back to the ground. As predicted, he doesn't bother to ask you to sit and gets right to the root of the problem.

“So are ya gonna tell me why the hell you ran down from your room, at the end of the barracks, to the entrance?” If he wasn't covered by that black balaclava, you’re positive he would’ve raised a judging brow at you long ago. He doesn’t let you escape it just because of that and instead opts to narrow his eyes to really enforce it. “Well um..” You begin, suddenly at a loss for words for once in your life. Maybe it’s because you’re still shaken, or the fact you’re in fluffy bunny slippers in front of a lieutenant, or maybe it’s because he’s staring down at you like you’re a kid again, wiping the spilling tears from your eyes as you try and steady your voice. That’s far too many maybe’s to let you think straight, so you opt for the best response—the vaguest one—in an attempt to save a shred of your dignity. “I got startled by something.”

Great, he’s eyeing you even more than before; you should’ve cartwheeled down the corridor too while you were at it—maybe you could have convinced him you were in the circus. “Which was?” His large arms cross over his torso, years of strenuous work hidden by just a thin black shirt. Your teeth graze your lips awkwardly, trying to ignore the small pit of shame in your stomach for overreacting so much. This wasn't you, and yet you were still somewhat trembling where you stood. “It was..” Placing your hands on your hips, you force a sheepish smile, pretending like it wasn’t as serious to you. “There was a…uh.. thing flying around my room. Buzzed a lot—you know those um, things..” You babble, trying to reach the point and yet not getting even close to the answer he wants in the slightest. He lets out another scoff at your reluctant demeanour, clearly on the tipping point with how terrified you looked, stumbling over your words and your eyes practically like moons in their sockets. “A fly?” He suggests as he tilts his head down at you, which makes you shrink just a little.

“No.. uhh. bigger.”

“A bee?”

“No.. the uh.. the ones that can sting multiple times.”

“A wasp?”

“Yes- but no… worse than those.”

“Damn it, sergeant, spit it out!” He exclaims, his head shaking exasperatedly as he places his rough hands onto your shoulders, and gives you a light shake. “It was a hornet—a damn hornet, okay? I was terrified of a hornet in my room.” He suddenly lets go of his firm grip on your shoulders and you almost topple over from the lack of support keeping you upright since your heart is way too occupied trying to compensate for all the oxygen you just used acting like a lunatic. When you see him let out a heavy sigh and rub his temples with his hand, you’re already planning the walk of shame out of his room and back into the hell you only just escaped. “I- I overreacted; it’s fine. I’ll just go back-“ You begin, scrambling to save the shards of your dignity that shattered the moment he caught you in this pathetic state. Your foot pivots, ready to turn on your heel and make a dash for it before his hand swiftly catches your wrist, halting any movement you intended to make. ”Where is it?”

”What?”

”The hornet, where is it in your room?”

The walk back to your room is deathly silent, partially because it is three thirty in the morning and partially because Ghost has never been on the vocal side anyway. It’s not like you were intent on filling the quiet anyway, already dreading having to hear that horrifying thing again. Eventually, you reach the door of your room again and you open it with the spare key attached to your phone case. It’s more of a card than a key, and the room opens with another small buzz, which of course makes your heart jump no matter how much you mentally pumped yourself up before reaching the door. Of course, that doesn't go unnoticed by him, and he turns to you before he unlocks the door, looking a little annoyed, but you can't really tell as you try to calm the thump. “Stay here.”

Despite your fear, you can't help but peek in after he enters, watching how he stalks around the room like he’s preparing for a murder. He checks the bed first, shaking the sheets to see if it has landed there but nothing seems to come about. Thankfully, he seems to take your fear somewhat seriously, and even waves your spare towel around the room to startle the creature out of hiding so he can chase it out for good. Just your luck; nothing appears in the slightest, and he’s approaching you again, a tired look in his eyes, and you suddenly feel guilty for wasting his time. Why did that damn thing just have to disappear right now?

“Ghost—I swear, it was literally buzzing around like crazy. I could hear it like it was literally in my ear!”

“Must’ve flown out. Just close your windows; It’s yer fault for opening that big anyway.”

The exasperated look quickly returns to his face as he starts to head for the door, convinced by the theory he had chosen.

”But what if it’s still in the room and I close the windows? I’d trap it with me!” That makes him pause for a second—what the hell has gotten into you?

”What do you want to open the window and coax another one in? You’d rather two than one?”

By the tone of his voice, though it never really changes, it’s clear he’s not impressed by your very irrational thinking, and you can’t exactly argue with his words. However, having to sleep with even one of those things near you was a million times worse in your head than being an idiot in front of him and whoever else might’ve witnessed your antics earlier. That’d be revealed the next morning, but for now you were pretty adamant about your own words.

”Ghost, you have to believe me. Before I went to bed, I heard the buzzing, and I literally searched the entire room like it was an assigned mission! Then as soon as I woke—It’s just there in my face; my windows aren't open that much anyway!” You say frantically, your voice rising to a much higher pitch which leaves your fear on clear display for him to see.

He cannot deny it; he’s never seen you so worked up in the past four years he’s known you. Even with spiders, other bugs, and bees, you had never been this stressed over their existence, but it seemed to shake you to your very core this time. Hands flailing about, flushed cheeks and hair like a bird's nest on your head— the last time you were this dishevelled it was because of a damn explosive that went off right next to where you were stationed. He’s about to open his mouth when he hears a sudden buzz, but it’s not in a specific part of the room, and even for a lieutenant like himself, he can’t even figure out what direction it is in. You squeal before he can even glance at you, already dashing to hide right behind him, which happens to be right next to the door as well. He can't exactly argue with that when he had just heard it himself. “Wait outside the room.” He orders, and this time you don’t hesitate, closing the door firmly behind you.

Anxiously, your slipper taps against the floor as you wait for him to emerge from the room and tell you the news you wanted to hear. Unfortunately, it was much worse than you originally expected. “Seems to be a wasp nest near yer window.” His arms cross over his chest as he leans against the door of your room, unaware of the way your heart just stopped at that single sentence. “There's nothing in your room, though. They’re in the space between yer ceiling’s insulation and the roof.” He attempts to reassure you, thinking surely you’d just go back to sleep since you’re usually quite rational.

He definitely wasn't expecting your teeth to graze your lip as you bite down, trembling with eyes practically wide as saucers. “There’s a nest…?”You practically whisper out, not even daring to blink for a second. That makes him raise his brow— didn't he just tell you that? “Yes but it’s in the rafter—“

“I can't sleep there—I heard it, I saw it above me! What if they get fed up with the lack of space and come into my room? What if someone next door makes a loud noise and it scares them so hard they all come into my room?!” You begin, practically pacing back and forth outside your room now with him left in complete shock.

What the hell are you talking about?

“Sergea-“ He begins, but you cut him off, still frantically pacing and reciting all the possible outcomes in hushed whispers.

“They could like the smell of the perfume I bought and come in, or maybe they’re already in my room stuck behind a cabinet or somewhere—they’ll be so angry when they come out, right?” You suddenly halt to a stop and look down at your pyjamas, the bunnies patterned across, though your shorts has a flower printed across the pocket.

“Ghost— what if they think this is a real flower and chase after me?!” He slaps his glove across your mouth before you can continue your incessant talking, leaving you mumbling against his hand with your pupils blown wide.

“They’re the damn size of yer thumb, Sergeant. What the hell is wrong with you?!”

Even though it’s the same gruff British voice, there's a hint of concern beneath it as his sharp eyes bore into your own. You’ve never quite been this up close with him before, especially since you were more of a friend of a friend than his actual friend. Though, then again, you had no idea who he even considered his actual friends. You didn't know much about him at all. So you instantly fall quiet, even when he eventually steps back and crosses his arms, still close enough to intimidate you. “They’re really loud...” You say, voice still a hushed whisper since it is the dead of night and you’d rather not get a scolding tomorrow. “Sorry.. I- i’ll just go to sleep.” He lets out a sigh of relief as he sees you stiffly turn on your heel, turning back into the lion's den, also known as your room.

Ghost is a straightforward man; he doesn’t mess around with what-ifs or irrationality. He prefers to get the job done as soon as possible and as efficiently as possible. He didn’t get his reputation for just doing his work; it’s how he does his work. That also includes knowing the people around him, especially the people in his team—working solo isn't always the way to go; he’s not stupid to compromise the mission just because he prefers his own company. It also meant he grew to appreciate the help of other soldiers—specifically the way you constantly saved him and his teammates’ asses on the last mission. In fact, he saw it all too well the way you had a constant eye on them, no matter how experienced they were compared to you. You were quick to give up your rations for Soap, even faster to bandage up Gaz’s scrape when you reached the safe house. He supposes you deserve at least a good night's sleep after all you’ve done.

When he sees you practically trembling, trying to turn to the door handle, his hand lands on your arm, stopping you before you enter.

“I never said you had to sleep there.” He could practically feel your fear radiating off of you, and despite his usual notions, he couldn’t just leave you with the way you were shaking like a leaf in a storm. “Then where am I supposed to sleep..?”

He turns a blind eye when you suddenly hook your finger around the sleeve of his shirt, having heard a small noise that startled you. Now that you’re sure you’ll be safe from the hornets, you’re able to finally relax your mind, and you start to let your eyes wander. That's how you suddenly realised that Ghost was in his usual training outfit, a tight black sleeve shirt and dark grey sweatpants. You had seen him in this before, but you never knew that he trained this late at night.

“Were you training before I.. y'know, ran down the corridor?” You tilt your head as you walk alongside him, your slippers making soft patters against the flooring. “Yeah, I had just come back when I heard you making a racket.”

“I was not making a racket!”

He gives you a deadpan look, making you drop your hand from his sleeve and a small frown to curve on your lips. “Alright, maybe I was a little loud. Is anyone even in the gym this late..?” You ask, a finger tapping your chin thoughtfully, and he just lets out a grumble in response.

“No.”

“So you’re trying to avoid everyone?”

“You’re still making a racket.”

He opens the door of his room for you the second time that night, allowing you inside. His room is the standard: desk, chair, bed, and closet although he has a few weights in a corner too. Does he ever stop training? He gestures for you to walk forward, which you do without question, and he follows behind you before patting the bed and speaking once more.

“Go on, I'll take the floor. You’ve been up long enough.”

You give him a grateful nod, sliding your slippers off at the foot of his bed before awkwardly walking over to the edge of his bed. Just before you get in, you pause, your teeth scraping against each other uncomfortably before you glance at him. “Are you sure? I can just go back, y'know, suck it up. It’s just an insect.“ He cuts you off as he heads to his closet, pulling back a fresh t-shirt and sweatpants to wear to bed, wanting to get out of his sweaty gym wear even if you couldn’t smell anything when walking beside him. “For the most rational soldier of your age in this base, you sure did act like you’d been shot. So no, I don't think you can just go back with how terrified you clearly are.”

“But-“

“Do you want to shit yourself over a hornet hiding underneath your pillow?”

You have to hold back a squeal at the mere thought and quickly nod, climbing beneath his thick duvets and settling your head onto the pillows. It’s obvious you're exhausted by the way your eyes are drooping, and he quietly steps into the bathroom to shower and change, not wanting to make you uncomfortable by his presence looming around. Unfortunately, when he returns, you’re still tossing over, jumping at every little creak of the door and whistling of the wind from his curtains.

“What’s wrong now?” He asks gruffly, some part of him knowing well that he won't even get a proper answer to that question.

“Nothing’s wrong..” The voice that had previously been frantic and panicked is much quieter now, slightly muffled by the covers as you bury your face into one of his pillows. He can't even stop himself as he makes his way over to the side of the bed where you lay, sitting on a chair and rolling it forward so he’s in front of you. Your cheeks are smushed against the bed, duvet tight over you, and covering your ears as well. He faintly remembers you mentioning that you could hear it in your ear, so he’s sure you’re likely traumatised by that too. “You still haven’t fallen asleep, and it’s four am. Didn't you just get back from a mission?”

“Yeah, but..”

“But what?”

“I feel bad.” You murmur, letting out a small huff in annoyance. “Can’t you sleep in the bed too? I don't want you sleepin’ on the hard floor.”

He rolls his eyes at your incessant complaining, placing a steady hand onto your head to annoy you with the sheer weight of it. Surprisingly, it’s less of a scolding that you’d receive in training and more of a pat. You hadn't realised he could actually be well…nice. “I’ve slept in far worse places, trust me. I have a feelin’ that's not what’s still keeping you up though.” Most would let you get away with such a thing, but he’s determined to at least get you to admit the core cause of this whole issue. After all, he can’t help if he doesn’t know, and seeing as you’re still shaken, there's definitely a reason behind this. “My feet barely touch the end of this bed; just get in.” You ignore the second part of his statement entirely, quickly butting it with our small voice. He wasn't used to sleeping beside someone, not that he’d ever get worked up if the situation came to where he had to do so. It was the same with touching people—he didn’t like it, but he was no coward; he liked to think that he could handle anything thrown at him. Not that he has an ego either.

So, with a reluctant grunt to show his annoyance, he slides underneath the covers beside you, his large body practically engulfing your shorter form. This is exactly why he didn’t want to— you were practically going to fall off the bed at this rate. It’s obvious you’re on the same page as him now as you shuffle around, trying to not touch him yet also not meet your fate for the second time tonight. It wasn't like you’d consider complaining anyway; you had practically disturbed enough of his night, and you were also slightly terrified of worsening his current opinion of you.

”You’re uncomfortable, aren't you?”

You can’t help but nod as you slowly roll over, meeting his brown eyes that narrow at you through the holes in his mask that allow you to just read a hint of emotion on his face if he ever decides to let it show. He’s about to get back up again when he watches your eyes widen and you quickly speak up. “I shouldn't even stay here; I'm not even going to be able to sleep..” That makes him raise a brow, and for some reason, he pulls the covers higher over you as he settles on his back, head slightly turned to face you. “Why not?”

”I’ll uh.. I'm worried that I'll hear it again, yknow, the hornets.” You mumble out, not wanting to beat around the bush much longer than you have. If he must find out that you secretly are a coward, especially to insects with stingers, so be it. It’s better than lying to him and then he forces the truth out of you.

You’re expecting your fourth judging look of the night when he just lets out a heavy sigh, resting his arms behind his head. “So, you’ll be too scared to sleep?” He doesn't need to turn his head to imagine your sheepish nod. “You know, I'll kill it, right? I don’t ever give those cheeky bastards a chance.” However, there’s still an uncertainty in your voice, despite his confidence in his own abilities. “But what if you can't find it and-“ It’s clear it’s more than the idea; it’s a deep-rooted paranoia that sets you off as soon as you hear the noise of them. He’d never thought he’d come close to ever thinking about doing this—even when Johnny teased him when he was caught staring in bars or even when he had been younger and his hormones had been wack. In fact, he’s been more affectionate to that K9 Riley than he’s ever been with a woman, yet here he is, lifting his arm and beckoning you over.

”Come ‘ere then. You’re shaking, Sergeant.”

You glance down at your hands, which are indeed trembling, but you’re more occupied with his invitation to come and lay down beside him—literally to press your face against the side of his chest and have his arm tucked behind your body as you doze off. The mere thought sounds like something that should be forbidden, especially with someone as stoic as him who has plenty of rumours surrounding his deadly skills on the battlefield. Your body reacts before your mind can catch up, the need to settle the fear in your heart leading you to shuffle a little closer before you catch yourself; your body goes stiff as a board as you contemplate the situation through your muddled head. If you said no, you’d make it weird, but if you said yes, does that change anything between the two of you? When he speaks again, you’re half expecting him to tell you to hurry up or the like, but instead he just lets out a gruff shrug. “You don't have to, just an offer.”

That’s enough to convince you, and you finally give into your fears, settling right beneath his arm. He doesn't bother to ask this time, taking your movement as permission as he tucks his arm around you and pulls you easily into his side. “Breathe; you’re as tense as a damn rookie.”

“Fine, don't go complainin’ then.”

His insistence makes you grumble, slowly growing frustrated at your own pathetic display of fear that you press your cheek into his shoulder and an arm lazily resting over his chest—half expecting him to scoff at your slightly clingy behaviour. You don’t quite see the smirk he hides beneath the balaclava, tugging the duvets snugly over your huffy form before his hand lazily pats your back, easing the anxiety that knotted your muscles.

Trying to stay professional is near impossible when you can hear the thump of his heart beneath your ear—the sound crawling through the canal and seeping into your brain like a sweet serotonin shot. It’s steady and somehow peaceful, a constant reminder that you’re now safe from the deadly silence that makes you wait for the worst. It allows your lashes to finally press against your skin, the lines in your forehead easing as you begin to lose yourself. You know for absolute sure now that for as long as you hear the thump of his heart and his arms swallowing your smaller stature whole, no fears will consume you tonight, nor will anything harm you ever again.

bonus:

“Five more minutes..”

The mumbles leave your mouth as you steady the horse you ride upon, a lasso in your hand as you ride through the barren land. It’s so exhilarating—the air on your face as you rush through the land—well, it would be if not for the constant nagging you feel on your cheek.

“Stop that—“

You frown, bringing a hand up to your cheek as you force you and your horse to halt to a stop, surprised to feel something there despite you being the only one upon this beauty.

“What?”

You snap awake, eyes fluttering open to see the blur of a skull balaclava before you and your body being slightly squeezed. Not to mention, your hand was holding another’s which was gently prodding at your cheek but now stopped.

“G-ghost?”

You blink in confusion, the world before you finally clearing up before you finally realise that you’re still curled up against him, though much closer to his neck now, and well, your legs have somehow managed to hook on top of his.

“Took ya long enough, sleepyhead. Kept mumbling about your next ‘bounty’.” His gruff voice rings out, the air from your dream now revealed to be his warm breath before he sits up properly as do you.

“Had a dream that I was a cowboy..”

You reluctantly admit, still half awake as you rub at your eyes, unable to escape from his comfortable hold on you.

“Try explaining that to the others then. They’ve been waiting all morning for you to reply to their messages.”

That makes you blink again, grabbing your phone just to realise it was twelve in the afternoon. Now that you think about it, Ghost had his gloves back on as well as his typical army shirt and cargo pants.

“What?! Why didn't you wake me?”

You exclaim, scrambling up before he rolls his eyes and almost hesitantly pulls his hands from you.

“You were out like a light; besides, it is your rest day. I’ve already cleared out your room and called pest control for the nest to be removed, so get your ass up and go get changed; we’re leaving at twenty.”

Your eyes light up at his confession of what he had achieved all while you had snoozed in his bed, lips slowly widening as you realise he had sorted the problem right through the core for you. Quickly, you swing your legs off of the bed and back into your slippers again before noticing the army attire he had brought for you to change into so you didn't have to walk the halls in your pyjamas.

“Thank you, Ghost.”

You say warmly, bundling the clothes in your hands. “I mean it.”

“Hmph. And I mean it when I say you’ll be late.” He huffs out, watching as you stand before him, all giddy and raring to go for the first time in a while. “You weren’t wrong by the way. They’re mostly active in the early hours of the mornin’ so that’s why you didn’t see anything until you woke up a few hours later.” Your face falls in relief at that, looking happier than before— if that was even possible.

“I suppose if you’re still scared that they could magically return—“ He rolls his eyes, emphasising your irrationality from the night prior despite having just proven that wrong. “— you’re welcome to sleep here. Only in emergencies, got it?”

“Yes sir.” You grin before he quickly dismisses you, getting up from bed to continue his duties around base. “18 minutes now; don’t make Johnny wait for you.” Your eyes go wide, and you quickly scamper into the bathroom to change, his eyes still locked onto you until you disappear behind the door. He kind of regrets fixing your problem now; he should’ve at least let it fester for a day or two more.

[theinvisiblecapricorn]

Surprise, surprise.

Author's note: This is my first ever written one shot. The inspiration popped into my head during my shower. Please let me know what you think. Enjoy

Fluffy one shot.

Part 1.

// Introduction //

A little info about Y/N and Vinnie.

So, you guys met during the first Covid lockdown.

You weren’t really seeing anyone of your friends during this time because you didn’t feel like taking any risks. So the only way for you to interact with anyone, was via social media. Before lockdown you also kind of give up on the idea of finding a lover because the last time you gave it a shot it didn’t work out.

You remember one of your best friends told you ‘’ Once you start focusing on yourself, it’ll come to you. ‘’ Well, what better way to focus on yourself other than during quarantine?

That’s when Vinnie came into the picture.

After many failed attempts of having a normal conversation with serval people, the last thing Vinnie expected was to meet someone like you. A lot of the time people tried to take advantage of the fact that he was famous. They would post his personal info on social media and share their conversations for clout. Just like you, Vinnie was kind of over the idea of meeting someone who would like him for his personality instead of his name.

You guys instantly clicked. It felt like talking to someone you’ve known your entire life. There wasn’t a thing you couldn’t share with another. But because the two of you lived in different time zones you couldn’t talk as much as you’d like, but you made it manageable. There was only one problem; traveling was not an option due to Covid, so the two of you had never seen each other in real life.

Until now…

// End of introduction //

Alex (Warren) set up his camera to make a video.

He clicked on record and looked into the camera.

‘’ So as you guys know, Vinnie and Y/N met online in the beginning of Covid, but they’ve never officially seen each other in real life. Now that traveling is allowed again and Vinnie hasn’t been feeling himself lately, I thought it was a good idea to surprise him. I bought y/n a plan ticket so she can come over and hopefully cheer Vinnie up. And I will document the entire journey. ‘’

// Vinnie’s POV //

It’s noon. I lay on my bed, scrolling on my phone through TikTok. I haven’t heard from Y/N all day. Normally she would call me before going to bed herself, but she never did. I tried texting her but no reply.

Y/NNNN????

Yo bro, you there???

I miss your voiceeee

Please don’t be asleep already 

Pick up!!!!!! Or else I’m coming for you.

God, I wish I could just fly to wherever she was at and kiss her entire face. Because, yes, I am indeed in love with her, and she feels the same way about me. I just never thought I could recognize so much of myself in someone else. She’s the most kind, beautiful and loving person I know, and I can’t wait to hold her in my arms one day and never let go.

I’m starting to daydream about a life with y/n without the long distance, because it truly sucks. Then I hear a knock on the door and before I know it Alex comes rushing in with his camera in his hand.

( Vinnie & Alex )

‘’ Vinnie, say hello to everyone! ‘’

‘’ Hello everyone. Alex what do you want? ‘’

‘’ Why are you assuming I want something from you? ‘’

‘’ Because you only enter my room if you either have one of your crazy ideas to share or if you want me to get involved in something I probably shouldn’t get involved into. ‘’

‘’ Pfft, not true. My ideas aren’t crazy, they’re brilliant in their own way. ‘’

Alex grins at me. Suspiciously.

‘’ Anyways that’s not the point Vincent, I actually came in to see if you would join me to get some groceries because the only thing left are rise waffles and I’m starving. ‘’

Alex is blinking his eyes with the same grin he has had on from the moment he came into my room.

He’s not going to leave until I agree on coming. So before I know it, we’re on our way to the grocery store.

// Y/N’s POV //

I received a text from Alex a few weeks ago. He told me about his idea to surprise Vinnie. I couldn’t be more excited. Ever since Vinnie and I started talking I have pushed many of my personal boundaries. In a positive way. Vinnie has helped me regain trust in others and has showed me that love is real. I have lost my faith in love due to my previous experiences. That’s why the connection that I have with Vinnie is so important to me.

I have arrived at the airport as I turn on my phone. My phone starts to receive all the missed text messages and calls from Vinnie. I smile as I read through them.

‘’ Oh Vin, if only you knew ‘’ I think to myself.

I hear someone yelling my name behind me. As I turn around, I see Nailea running towards me.

Nailea is a close friend of Vinnie so of course she was the first to know about Vinnie’s contact with me. She’s been super kind to me, and I consider her as the sister I never had.

Nailea hugs me once she has approached me.

( Y/N & Nailea )

‘’ OH MY GOD. Girl, I am so happy that you’re finally hereeeee!!! ’’

I laugh as I see people around looking at us.

‘’ I am also very happy to be here. To finally meet everyone. For real. ‘’

‘’ Yea, now tell me, does my nose look bigger on the screen than in real life? ‘’

‘’ Hahaha, no Nai. You look fantastic on the screen and even better in real life. ‘’

Nailea and I take my stuff and walk out of the airport.

Once settled in the car, I receive a text from Alex:

We’re almost at the store. He hasn’t got a clue. See you there.

This is all a part of Alex his big plan. First, I will act like a regular costumer shopping at the same store as Vinnie and Alex. Then once they get back, Alex will distract Vinnie just a little longer, so he won’t notice me walking past the car right away. Brilliant.

// Vinnie’s POV //

Alex and I walk into the store.

‘’ Alright, what do we need? ‘’

‘’ Anything but rise waffles. ‘’

I shake my head, laughing, as I walk to the lemonade aisle.

Alex is taking out his camera and starts filming me from a far.

I start singing Paparazzi by Lady Gaga as I act like I'm hiding from him.

‘’ Oh, you should also take a few cans of coke. ‘’ Alex suggests.

As I walk towards the aisle with cans of lemonade, I notice a girl standing in front of it. Her hair instantly reminds me of Y/N. The exact same length, color and texture. Call me a simp, but I just pay a lot of attention to the girl I love. I slowly approach the girl before Alex attacks be by throwing a teddy bear on my head.

‘’ Hey, watch it! ‘’ I fix my hair.

‘’ Sorry man, I just know how much you like teddy bears. ‘’ Alex’s laughing out loud as he zooms in to my face.

I laugh, as I start to think back to the day Alex thought it would be funny to buy a giant teddy bear and have Patrick in it to scare me.

Just then, I notice the girl was gone. I didn’t see her anywhere else again.

After collecting all the stuff, we needed, we went home.

Once we arrived home, Alex stopped me before I opened my car door.

‘’ Let’s just sit here for a bit and talk about some stuff. ‘’ I stare at Alex with a confused look on my face.

‘’ Yea, because the viewers want to know, how are things going between you and Y/N? ‘’

I scratch the back of my neck and start feeling the heat take over my cheeks.

‘’ I mean, it’s hard sometimes. She’s one of the most important people in my life, yet I haven’t even met her in person. But I just know that once I do, that everything will naturally fall into it’s place. ‘’

Alex pouts as he listens to all the sweet things I have to say.

‘’ You really like her, don’t you? ‘’

‘’ I mean, yea I do. I really do. ‘’

‘’ Alright, so imagine her standing in front of you right now, what would you do? ‘’

I look at my hands as I start to imagine a situation like that.

‘’ Uh… If she was standing in front of me right now.. I would.. ‘’ My eyes scan a figure walking past the car and I couldn’t believe my eyes.

// Y/N’s POV //

Shit, I almost got caught. The plan was to go into the store, just to admire Vinnie from a far. I didn’t plan to stand in the exact aisle, where he needed to get something from. Luckily, Alex had a plan to distract Vinnie while I fled to the exit. Phew, that was close.

Alex texted me, saying they were on their way home. That’s when it hit me, I am going to be able to see, touch and kiss Vinnie for the first time ever. Nailea noticed my anxiety kicking in and she told me everything would be just fine.

It didn’t take long before Alex’s car pulled up on the driveway. Alex and Vinnie stayed in the car for a bit. My phone started buzzing as I read the notification: ‘’ Now!’’ That was my cue.

As nervous as one can be, I walked past the car with the person who’s the other half of my heart in it. I didn’t dare to look in his direction.

// Vinnie’s POV //

I couldn’t believe my eyes. This isn’t real right? Was I dreaming? I mean, I didn’t get a lot of sleep last night because I was worried sick due to Y/N not responding to me anymore.

I rub my eyes as I watch in the direction of the person again and there’s no way it couldn’t be her.

Then she turns her face into my direction and my heart starts pounding. There she is, the love of my life, the only person who can make my day just by popping up in my notifications, Y/N.

As I try to open my door, I hear Alex locking it.

‘’ Let me out! ‘’ I look at Alex as I try to unlock the door, but unable because he keeps his hand infront of the lock.

‘’ You haven’t answered my question yet. ‘’ Alex smirks at me, but I do not find it funny at all.

‘’ Please, let me out and I’ll show you what I would do if she were to stand in front of me ‘’

And with, I heard the door unlock. I jumped out of the car and ran as fast as I could to the person who I longed for the most.

Click here for part two;

[itsallyscorner]

Bring Me Back

Pairing: Tom Holland x Reader

Summary: Filming “Cherry” had its ups and downs for Tom. When filming finally takes its toll on him, you’re there to instantly bring him back from the world of Cherry.

Warnings: Mentions of drug abuse, PTSD, murder. A smidge of smut.

A/n: In honor of the Cherry🍒 trailer dropping, I decided to write this!

(GIF creds: @atealiers )

Any kind of project was a blessing to Tom. He loved being an actor. He was fond of telling stories through the big screen and got a kick from portraying many different characters. Acting was something he felt passionate about, it was his craft and he was very dedicated when it came to becoming his roles. Cherry was quite different from the other movies he’s been in. It was dark and contained many subjects like drug addiction, PTSD, and crime. The world of Cherry was something Tom was not used to; it was twisted. He hasn’t been exposed to things like drugs or the events that Nico Walker had been through. Which was why he was hesitant to take on the role of Cherry.

When the Russo Brothers approached him with the idea, he was excited. He was getting the opportunity to tell another story and would explore the world of a new character. Though the more he looked into it, he realized that maybe he wasn’t up for the role. Was he really ready to dive into the dark and traumatizing life of Nico Walker? As an actor, he was willing to take the job, it would give him an opportunity to expand his career and would possibly be one of his best work. As Tom, he wasn’t sure if he could handle learning or re-enacting the events that occurred in Cherry. But Tom did like a challenge, which was why he ended up agreeing to become Cherry.

He prepared himself mentally and physically pre- production. For research, he interviewed army veterans and former drug addicts to get an idea of what it was like to be in those positions. To get the look of Cherry, he did a variety of things. For example, going on a diet and losing weight, then gaining said weight again once they had to shoot the army scenes. Another thing he did was shave off the gorgeous brown curls that adorned his head. At first you weren’t too happy with his change in hairstyle, but later on you found yourself running your hands along the short strands of hair, loving the fuzzy feeling it gave your palms.

After the interviews and hearing others’ experience, Tom felt a level of responsibility to tell the story of millions of people around the world. Not only was it telling the story of Nico, but of other army veterans who suffered from PTSD and people who’ve had drug addictions. He was fully on board now and there was no looking back. He was going to push himself to the limit and to places he’s never been before.

Filming was tough. There were scenes he had to do that were so unlike him, that felt wrong, and sometimes he just had to take a step back. They didn’t feel right, but it was nothing he couldn’t handle. This was his job, if he wanted this movie to be the best that it can, he was going to commit. Thankfully, he was working with the Russos, who he’s known for a while now. He was familiar with the two and they were patient with him, giving him the time to regain himself before shooting an intense scene. The cast and crew were very understanding as well, creating a safe space for him on set. Having Harry along with him helped as well, the familiarity of his brother kept him grounded and avoided him from falling into the void of Cherry. Though he had all these supportive people around him, there was only one person who could calm him down when things got suffocating on set. The only person he wanted to be in Cleveland with him but wasn’t. You. Since you had your own life and job, you were unable to fly out to Cleveland with him. Instead you stayed at your shared home with Tessa as company. All he needed was you when he felt the affects of Cherry caging in on him. Just the sound of your comforting voice over the phone could clear his head and make him breath again.

He had his bad days on set, where he would have to take a moment and hide in his trailer for a few minutes. During those few minutes he liked to be alone as he waited for you to answer your phone. The line would ring, it’d stop, then the sound of your sweet voice would be the only thing he’d hear. Sometimes you didn’t answer the first time, but nonetheless you answered eventually. It wasn’t the same as having you with him in person, you had your responsibilities, and he understood that. He just wished that one day you’d come to Cleveland. He wanted to be in your arms, stuff his face into your neck, breath in your familiar scent, he just wanted to feel you. You were his home. His safe haven. And it was all he wanted right now.

•

Glancing at your phone, you wondered why Tom hasn’t texted you yet. Not that you were itching for him to text you, but because around this time he would be blowing up your phone telling you things that happened during filming or how his day was going. You decided that filming probably went into overtime making him busy during his break. You shrug to yourself and continue working on your laptop.

You hear the sound of Tessa’s nails clicking against the floors as she enters the office of your home. You greet her with a smile as she settles herself beside your legs.

“Is it dinner time already, Tess?” You scratch her head as you glance at the time on your screen. It was currently nine at night, a bit late for dinner, but you haven’t noticed.

“Just give me five more minutes and I’ll get us dinner. How does that sound, love?” A somewhat sound of approval emits from Tessa. You get back to work, fingers typing away as you finish off the last of your work.

You finish in four minutes, finally satisfied with your work. You let out a content sigh and turn your laptop off. When you get up you stretch and let your bones crack after being in the same position for hours. Tessa joins you, stretching out her front paws then shaking her body out. You chuckle as you lead the way to the kitchen. Taking the scoop for Tessa’s kibble, you fill her bowl up, causing the dog to look up in curiosity. Once you placed the bowl down, her tail wagged wildly as she stuffed her face into her food.

You decided on going for something simple, ramen noodles. You were too tired too cook anything and ramen noodles were the quickest thing to cook in your pantry. While you waited for the noodles to heat up you checked your phone. You went through your notifications, but there were still no texts from Tom. Though you were concerned, you assumed that they had a long shooting day, making him too busy to text. 

Hi love! I hope you’re doing well in Cleveland. I know you’re probably busy, but hopefully filming isn’t tiring you out too much. Have an amazing day! Don’t forget to drink some water from time to time and eat :) Tess and I miss you and love you so much! Talk soon xxx

You send the text with a smile. He won’t read it till he was free or done with filming, but you knew he’d see the message while you were asleep.

The microwave beeps, letting you know that your food was done. You end your night catching up on episodes of New Girl and eating soup. When you were done you did your nightly routine and settled in bed. You turn the lights off and snuggled under the warm sheets.

“Night Tessa.” You whisper to her. A huff comes out of her as she makes herself comfortable on the foot of your bed. When the both of you were settled, you slowly drifted off to sleep.

Buzz

Buzz

The harsh vibrations of your phone shook you awake. Desperate for sleep, you blindly grab your phone and turn it off. Silence fills the room again as you turn around to stuff your face into Tom’s pillow. You were slowly drifting back to sleep when your phone began to vibrate again. With a groan you stretch back and snatch for phone off the night stand. You don’t bother looking at the caller id.

“Hello?” Your voice rasps out.

“Thank God you answered.” The person on the other line said. “I know you’re busy, but how soon can you visit Cleveland?” The deep voice was belonged to Harry.

“Uh—I’m not too sure, I’ll need to check in with my boss.” You reply. When you start feeling more awake you become curious as to why Harry can be calling you. “Why? Is everything ok? How’s Tom? I haven’t heard from him all day.”

The younger Holland sighs. He takes a moment to answer your questions making you suffer in silence, wondering what could have happened to your boyfriend. “Um, they’ve been shooting some intense scenes lately. Tom’s been trying his best but everyone’s noticed that he’s been a bit different.”

You sit up in bed feeling more awake. “What do you mean by different, Haz?”

“Well he’s snapped at the Russos quite a few times. There was this one scene, that they shot multiple times, and Tom would just break down after every one. (Y/n), I’m concerned for my brother, I don’t know what else to do. He’s locked himself in his room after every shoot. A—and I don’t know. I’ve tried to tell him that he can talk to me but he wouldn’t.” Harry explained, his voice croaked. You heart felt heavy for him. Harry was always there for his older brother, so to see him feel so helpless made you feel sorry.

“Haz, calm down, you know how your brother can get. How long has this been happening?”

Harry sniffed over the phone, “About a few weeks now. It’s only started becoming worse last week and now.”

The concern you felt for Tom grew. From what he’s been texting you, filming had been going great. He appeared happy on your FaceTime calls and sounded like his usual self. But maybe he actually wasn’t.

“Harry everything’s gonna be fine, alright?” You assure him. “I’ll call my boss first thing in the morning and when I get the ‘ok’ to leave I’ll get the first flight out to Cleveland. How’s that sound?”

“It sounds good. Can you tell me if you can make it? I’ll have someone come with me to pick you up at the airport.” His voice is quiet, almost muffled.

“Yeah I will, don’t worry.”

“Ok, thank you (y/n).” A small smile forms on your lips. You rub the sleep out your eyes as you glance at your closet. “Alright Haz, I’m gonna go now. But if there’s anything else, just text me or call.”

“I know, stay safe (y/n).” You bid him goodbye and place your phone on the empty space beside your side of the bed. Tom’s side of the bed. You bite your lip in thought as you worry about your boyfriend. You knew he was doing almost everything he can to make sure the movie came out perfect. If that meant shredding himself emotionally and physically, he was going to do it. Tom was dedicated to his work, but he’s never done anything close to Cherry, making you worried about the thoughts that could possibly be going through your lover’s head.

Tessa, who’s now woken up, waddles closer to you, sensing your uneasiness. You appreciate the dog’s gesture and pull her into your side, resting your chin on her head. You were basically sleepless the whole night. Although you haven’t emailed your boss yet, you already had a suitcase packed of your clothes. Your passport and other important belongings were already in a bag, ready to leave London.

The morning had been hectic. You’ve managed to get two hours of sleep, waking up at six in the morning. Still in bed, you sent your boss an email about a family emergency and how you needed to be out of the country for at least a week. As if the gods above knew of your situation, your boss willingly let you go, no questions asked and gave you well wishes. With that out the way, you scowered the Internet for flights to Cleveland. Luck was on your side that morning because you’ve booked a flight that took off in the afternoon. With your bags packed, you drove to Nikki and Dom’s to drop off Tessa.

Now all checked in, you were at Heathrow Airport waiting to be called for your flight. You were sat at your gate, with an iced coffee and a croissant from Starbucks, texting Harry. The two of you were discussing the time you’d arrive and how he’d pick you up. When you were both in agreement, you two decided to catch up. He had been in Tom’s trailer eating his breakfast. An hour passes and you were being called to board the plane.

You settle in your seat, but your leg bounced in anticipation. After the things Harry told you, you just wanted to have your boyfriend in your arms. You knew everything was probably getting to his head, all you wanted to do was hold him and tell him that he was going to be ok. As the plane began to take off, your lack of sleep caught up on you. Throughout the whole flight, you slept soundly, the worries of Tom subsiding for the time being.

~🛬~

The plane lands in Cleveland safely. It was night when you arrived. With your bags, you looked around the airport for a familiar curly haired boy. Harry waves wildly at you before running and pulling you into a tight hug. You laugh wrapping your arms around the slender boy.

“How’s your day been, Haz?” You ruffle his hair as he rolls your suitcase to the parking lot. He shrugs, “The usual. Was on set with Tom, ran around and got things for him, nothing much happened honestly. But you’re here now, so this is the highlight of my night.”

The two of you approach a black car with a driver inside, Harry motions for him to unlock the trunk. He lifts your case in before the two of you get into the backseat.

“How was your flight?” Harry asks you. The car began to move, exiting the airport and entering the highway.

“I slept through all of it, I don’t remember a thing about the flight besides getting on and off it.” You chuckle, leaning your head back against the headrest.

Harry nudges your shoulder, “Thanks for coming out with such short notice.” You wave him off. “It’s no worries, anything for my boys.”

The car is quiet, the only sounds that could be heard is the car’s wheels against the pavement. You turn to Harry, “How was he today?”

“He was pretty good in the morning.” Harry started. “Then filming started and he would grow frustrated after a few scenes. His temper’s been short. He snapped at me during lunch, which is normal, but I just asked him if he wanted some water. He broke down after a certain scene today, I tried talking to him but he still wouldn’t open up about it.” Tom wasn’t too open about his feelings sometimes. He struggled to voice them at times making all his frustrations and feelings bottled up in his head.

Half an hour later and you guys arrive at Tom’s rented home in Atlanta. As soon as you opened the door, you felt the heavy atmosphere. It was somber and tense, the chilliness of the weather also felt inside the house. Harry gestures up the stairs, “Don’t worry, go see him. His room is the first door on the left.”

You quietly thank him and climb up the stairs. You find his door, taking a deep breath before knocking. You hear some shuffling behind the door, “Harry I’m fine! Leave me alone!” His voice was deep, a bit scratchy. You frown at the door.

“Tom?” The room falls quiet. Suddenly you hear fumbling and the sound of heavy footsteps behind the door. The door opens and you finally see him. He was dressed in a large shirt with sweatpants. He looked tired, dark circles under his eyes, eyes glassy, and chapped lips.

“(Y/n)? You’re here?” He asks you in disbelief. A tight lipped grin forms on your lips.

“Yeah, Har—“ You were going to explain how you got there but he immediately threw himself at you. His arms wrap tightly around your figure, his head dipped into your neck, pulling your closer into him. One of your arms go around his neck while the other rubs his back soothingly. A whimper bubbles out of him, his shoulders beginning to shake. You managed to shuffle the both of you back into his room, closing the door behind you.

“You’re ok.” You whisper into his ear, pressing a kiss to the side of his neck. His grip around you never falters. Though he was much taller than you, he seemed so small at the moment. His body drowned in the shirt he wore, making him look thinner. You feel tears soaking into your shirt, making your heart clench in pain. You rest your forehead against his shoulder, holding and whispering sweet nothings into his ear until he was ready to speak.

A few minutes pass until his removes his head from your neck. You frown at his tear stained face, his eyes and cheeks red from quietly sobbing into your shoulder. Your hands cup his face, wiping the trails of tears on his cheeks. Tom leans closer to your touch, his eyes shut while his lips kiss your palm.

“I’m sorry, you’re probably tired from the flight.” He apologizes but you shake your head. You lead him to his bed and sit against the headboard. Tom follows in suit, desperately trying to get closer to you. His arms wrap around your torso, his head rests on your chest, while your legs tangle themselves together.

“I’ve had plenty of sleep on the flight, how are you?” Your lips are against his short hair from holding him so close. You nails scratch softly at his hair, calming him down.

“I don’t know if I could finish it.” He quietly admits. He shakes his head at himself.

“Why’s that, Tom?” Your boyfriend takes a deep breath as he sits up, removing himself from your touch. He sits across from you with legs crossed as he holds his head in his hands.

“I—I, it’s too much. There’s so much fucked up things he’s done. And all the things he’s seen. I just—sometimes I feel like it’s me who’s committed all of those things. When we shoot the scenes in the war and when I had to do drugs and rob banks, I felt like I lost myself—“ He cries interrupting himself to take a breath in. Compared to your fingers that ran gently through his hair, his clawed at his head. His palms rub harshly at his face, turning his skin a bright tint of red. To see Tom in such pain made you sad. You hated seeing him like this.

You gently remove his hands from scratching at his face and hold them in his lap. He stares down at your hands, clinging onto them as if his life depended on it. “I get lost in the character sometimes and I have to pull myself out of it to bring me back. But it keeps on happening over and over again. Then the Russos kept telling me to reshoot the scene more like Cherry, and I lost it and yelled at them.” You feel his tears fall to your your hands, making tears well up in your own eyes. You shuffle closer to him and kiss his forehead before pulling him into you. You stay quiet, letting him get whatever he wanted to get out.

Tom’s face is against your shoulder again. He sniffs before continuing, “It’s like everyday I find something he and I have in common. Then I think that maybe I’m turning into him. I don’t want him to be part of me. (Y/n), I don’t want to be him, I don’t want to do the things he’s done.” He sobs into your shoulder. Your heart breaks at how broken he sounded. His shoulders shook again, his back burning up with tension. A few tears made it’s way down your cheeks as you pulled his face away from you.

“Look at me.” You urged him. His jaw clenched, still looking down at his lap. He shook his head in response. “Tom, please. Look at me.” Your voice cracks. He slowly tilts his head up, your eyes connecting. He didn’t have that twinkle in his eyes, it’s like they’ve lost the light in them. Instead they were dark, like there was no life behind them. There was a mix of sadness, confusion, and even fear in his eyes.

You sadly smiled at him, cupping his face with your hands. “You’re not going to be him. You never will. You’re Tom. You are nothing close to Nico or Cherry. You are the sweetest man I have known in the world, you wouldn’t even hurt a damn fly. You’re not him. I know you aren’t. You wouldn’t do the things he’s ever done even if you were forced to. I know you Tom, I assure you, you’re nothing like him.” Tom hiccups, gripping onto your wrists.

“When this is all over and you’re done filming, we can forget about him. We won’t even mention him.” You assure him, stroking his cheeks.

“What if—,” You cut him off.

“No, there’s no what if’s. You’re going to be fine Tom. You’re surrounded by people who love you and will make you realize that you’re nothing even near him. You are the kindest man ever, you love your family, you care about your fans, and your brothers. You’re busy always taking care of everyone else, I think it’s time you take care of yourself, love.” You tell him. A small smile is on your face but it falters, “You don’t have to go through this alone, Tom.”

Tom takes a shaky breath in. “You’ll be there right?” He asks like a child making sure his mother will be there when he wakes up. “You’ll be there with me to bring me back?”

Your thumb smooths the crinkle between his brows, “I always will. I promise.” He nods and pulls you into him. You climb onto his lap and settle on his legs. He stares up at you, one of his his hands supporting your back, the other pressed against your cheek. “Thank you. I missed you so much. I’m sorry for not texting, everything’s just been so taxing mentally and physically.”

“No, don’t worry I get it.” You turn your face to press a light kiss on his palm. For the first time since you’ve seen him, Tom managed to crack a smile on his lips. He moves some strands of hair away from your face before resting his large hand on the back of your head. “I love you. I love you so much, (y/n).”

“I love you too, Tom.” You whisper against his lips. He takes that as a sign to finally crash your lips together. After months being apart, the feeling of his lips against yours felt like coming home. The kiss was desperate, like it was the air you both breathed. Tom had been longing for your touch, he craved you every second of the day, whether it be sexually or just missing you. The kiss grew rough, your teeth clashing, tongues poking and gliding against each other.

Tom lays you down on the bed, hovering over you. His hands grab and stroke at your body, trying to pull off your clothes to get close to your skin. He suddenly pulls away from your lips. “I need you. Please, I need you.” He almost begs you. Panting, you nod and push him to lay on his back. “Ok, let me take care of you, Tommy.”

He yanks his shirt off, throwing it to the side. You do the same, leaning down to meet his lips again. You kiss your way along his jaw and down to his neck. When you find that certain spot, he lets out a throaty groan, head falling back against the pillows. You run your nails along his chiseled abs and slightly roll your hips against his growing length. Tom grunts, hands instantly connecting to your ass and gripping onto your cheeks. He helps you roll your hips more, deeper with more friction against you two.

“Mm, Tom. I missed you.” You moan against his neck. You bite down and soothe the spot with your tongue after.

Tom looks down at you, lifting his hips to meet your clothes pussy. “Fucking miss you so much. You have no idea how much I’ve been dreaming of being buried in you again.” You kiss your way down his chest, but Tom stops you. His hands grab onto your leggings and slide them off.

“N-no foreplay. I need to feel you.” He stutters out, mouth agape. You nod in agreement and take his sweatpants off along with his boxers. You spit in your hand, running your hand along his dick to give it some wetness. Tom helps you lift yourself over him and guides your hips down his erected cock. You let out a combination of a sigh and moan as your walls envelop and stretch around him. Tom slightly sits up against the headboard, your tightness wrapping around him. He lets out a cry of relief, your walls around him feeding his cravings. You use his shoulders as leverage to pull yourself up but Tom stops you.

“What’s wrong?” You eye him cautiously. Tom shakes his head, “Nothing’s wrong. I just—can we stay like this for a while? I just want to feel you, please?”

“Yeah, we can do that.” You send him a reassuring smile as you settle back down on him. His hands make themselves comfortable around your waist. You maneuver your arms under his and wrap them around his back. Tom smiles at you, rubbing your back and guiding you into his chest. Before you can nuzzle your face into his neck, he presses a kiss to your temple and lets his fingers get tangled in your hair.

With his eyes closed in bliss, he whispers, “Thank you for bringing me back. I love you.”

You kiss his collarbone basking in the feeling him being so close to you. “I’ll always be here. I love you too.”

[peralta-guaranteed]

Would you do any early peraltiago just hanging out being all new and scary but also comfortable and defintly end game.

Two weeks.

It's been two weeks since that chaos of a first date.

And, okay, he has to admit he doesn't have many relationships that ever passed that timemark to compare it to, but he's pretty sure none of the few who did ever felt like this. Or went to this level after less than fifteen days.

Amy was already in her pyjamas as she opened the door for him when he knocked on it after his shift, and he quickly shed his jeans and flannel for the comfort of shirts and boxers while she divided up the take away he brought on their plates. They'd chatted about their days at work, as if they hadn't sat across from each other when everything happened anyway, and Amy excitedly told him that the new book she'd been waiting on had finally come in the mail today, so that's what she pulled out when they settled on the couch and started the tv up. Her plate perched on her thighs as she scooched back on the cushions and started reading, and he was sure she didn't even notice half of the food she was shovelling into her mouth as her eyes stayed glued to the pages, so he kept a few bites of all the dishes on his plate to the side in case she'd later complain about not getting 'that perfect gyoza bite' she'd been craving all day.

And then the silence had started.

Well, it wasn't exactly silence. The tv was running some property show, and his phone would occasionally bling with a new message or twitter notification, and Amy had this habit of scratching along the pages every time she turned them. But it was quiet.

And quiet wasn't good, not in his mind. Quiet meant the suppressed rage after an unfinished fight hanging in the air, or soft sobs from another room while the cartoon laugh track from the tv tried to distract him. Quiet meant 'I'm done', in every bad sense of that phrase.

Quiet made him want to fill the empty space with as much noise as he could to drown it out.

But he knew how much Amy hated to be interrupted while reading. And what would be even worse than quiet would be her fiery stare up from those pages she was lost in, that piercing look that made him tremble long before they were even friends, when he'd receive it a lot more.

So he'd stayed quiet, too, set his attention to the new house the tv was currently showing and how absolutely horrid it was for that price range, while his mind worked overtime to convince him that maybe quiet wasn't so bad.

Quiet could be comfortable. There was no need for chatter between them anymore, and thinking back, it hadn't been needed for quite a while even before those two amazing weeks. They could sit and just be, enjoy each other's presence while doing their own thing, sometimes breaking through with a little Hey or a nod and a showing of a phone screen, or even the soft touch of fingers on arms to get the other's attention.

Amy's feet shuffle against him as if to prove that point, while she puts her finished plate on the side table without taking her eyes off of the book. He lifts them up when they hit his thigh, stretching her legs out straight across his lap and hearing the involuntary sigh of relief as her muscles unclench. She turns another page as his hands wrap around the fuzzy warm socks, press into the arch of them and start massaging.

Quiet can be good. Quiet lets him hear the soft noises she makes with every new press of his thumbs, sounds she herself probably doesn't hear. He knows them well from lying next to her in bed, when she's deep asleep and starting her little routine of whistles and peeps that are too adorable to be described.

Two weeks, and he recognises the sounds of her sleeping better than some police codes he's been learning for almost a decade. Two weeks, and they're just sitting there in silence, a whole evening spent on nothing but being together.

He looks up from her fuzzy feet to her face, still deep in the world of her book. At her usually perfect ponytail turned into a messy bun, no trace of makeup on her face, her lips being chewed on while she seems to hit a very tense part of the story. The light brown stain on the shoulder of her NYPD sweatshirt that he knows is from some coffee from ages ago and that she's been fighting to get out, but it's probably burned into the very DNA of the shirt by now. The soft curve of the thick fabric around her - knowing all about the even softer curves that hide underneath it too - down to that little tear in the side-stitch of her yoga pants, turning them from actual workout clothes into sleepwear.

No one, he thinks, not at two weeks or any other time frame, has seen her like this. Her family, maybe, parts of it - she wouldn't dare wear broken or dirty clothes in front of her mom, that he knows for sure.

She looks so beautiful without any pretense, he thinks. And something else, something that's been stuck in his throat for two weeks and needs to be swallowed down a whole lot longer if he wants to make this work.

Three little words that absolutely terrify him.

He’s not Rosa. He’s said it to more than just three people.

But not that many more.

His Nana and mom, of course, got to hear it a lot. Gina too, even though she sometimes rolled her eyes at it and scoffed. Charles, in a buddybuddy way. He’s dropped it as a joke or an oversimplification a lot, but that’s different, isn’t it? That’s not what it really means, when you say them like that, like a single statement.

Claire, the clever girl from NYU he met during his academy training, who Gina later ‘ruined financially and emotionally’ when they figured out she’d been cheating on him pretty much the entire relationship.

Sofia.

He knows now that that one maybe doesn’t count, either. It had felt wrong the second it had left his lips, even as he repeated it. It wasn’t really a feeling - it was a sense of panic, realising that things were going wrong, things were breaking, and he had to fix it, stop it, patch it up somehow, and the only thing he could think of was that. But it wasn’t true. That’s not how it was supposed to feel.

This. This, he thinks as he looks at Amy’s tongue slip out just a tad as she turns another page, this is what it’s supposed to feel like.

Like lying in a warm bath, feeling the water slip over your face as you slide under completely, every bit of your skin being heated. Like the complete absence of nerves, feeling like you could fall back at any second, because there’s always, without question, someone there to hold you up. Like that excited glimmer of joy in your chest, feeling like you’re embarking on a journey you’ve been planning for ages when all you’re doing is seeing someone you see almost every day.

I love you, he thinks and swallows it down quickly again. I love you and it’s crazy, it shouldn’t make sense, it’s been two weeks and also five years and also forever. I love you and I didn’t think this is what it feels like, I didn’t know it, I didn’t think I’d ever get to feel it like this. I love you and I know that is never going to change and I know there’ll never be anyone else, but if I say it now it will break and the quiet won’t be comfortable anymore. It will just be deafening.

-*-

She doesn’t consciously notice him starting to massage her feet - something that’s become too much of a wonderful constant already to be acknowledged every time - but she does notice when he stops.

She looks up, then, and notices Jake is staring at her with half-lidded eyes and a smile on his face, a smile that’s so soft and, as of yet, still slightly unfamiliar to her. She knows his grin too well, remembers all his guffaws, even knows about his truly excited smile, and by now also the soft turn of lips reserved for his mom and Gina sometimes, but this smile is still so new.

She doesn’t think anyone but her has ever seen it, either.

A realisation that makes her heart leap, then, completely pulled from the fantasy world of the book she’d been diving into back to reality. A glorious reality, really. Sitting here with Jake, her feet on his boxers, his soft cotton shirt clinging to his shoulders while his fingers press into her skin. That smile on his face, the smile for her, only for her.

Two weeks, and now that she thinks back, she’s seen that smile every day. Hitting her like a sledgehammer during her awkward stammers at the first few dates, making her stumble while walking through Central Park hand in hand. Caught in a funny selfie of them in front of some weird statues they found there.

They’d quickly shed the date-routine of outside and traded it for the comfort of their homes, though, and she’d excused it with the fact that they were more often than not exhausted from work, and spending time together was just easier in PJs and with trashfood than planning an outfit for a fancy restaurant. But maybe it was something else, too, something that didn’t need all the extravagance and facade of special dates. Something comfortable and sheltering and good.

Still, it maybe shouldn’t dissolve into completely ignoring him in favor of some stupid book.

“I can finish this some other time.” She says, softly, and watches the smile slowly fade from his face. “If you want to chat?”

“No, no.” He shakes his head, but also climbs over to settle against her side, his arms around her ribs and his head fitting perfectly into the curve of her shoulder, and that’s a mixed message if she’s ever seen one. “Keep reading. You’ve been waiting for that book for weeks.”

“It’s still gonna be here tomorrow.” And so will you, and the day after that, and the day after, and hopefully forever, she thinks, but she knows what’s more important as her fingers start carding through his hair.

“Read, Santiago.” He mumbles in a deep voice, and it makes her laugh, but she does reopen the book she’s been holding closed with one finger slipped in between the pages.

And so she continues, only half diving back into her fantasy world, the other half firmly locked in place by his hands sliding up and down her waist, his breath trailing over her skin down into the opening of her sweatshirt, his warmth radiating from her side all over her.

She can feel his warmth growing, and the breath calming, slipping down into that soft rhythm she knows well from her bedroom as his hands still. And when she looks down next, Jake’s eyes are closed, his face gone slack and his mouth open in a little pout as he starts those little rumbling sounds from his throat that she knows mean he’s far, far gone already.

She’s seen him asleep before their two weeks together, all balled up on the break room couch after a few overnighters, slumped into a chair or spread out over the uncomfy single bed in their stakeout holeout. She’s always been fascinated about this over-animated, noisy creature turning all soft and pliable and calm, his face morphing into an even younger impression of himself, if that’s even possible for a baby-faced adult like him. But it hits differently when it’s so much closer, when she knows she can make his eyebrows scrunch up and slacken again with her fingers scratching behind his ear.

They’ve only had two weeks, and she already knows aspects of him she never knew existed. She’s seen him at his best and his worst, and found both sides perfect.

Two weeks with anyone else, and they’d often not even seen her apartment yet. Two weeks, and she was still dressing up in outfits she didn’t even think about in her normal life, watching makeup tutorials online to perfect a smokey eye, making sure not to whine too much about her day at work and check off those interesting talking points she’d mentally collected instead while they ordered at whatever nice restaurant she’d picked for them.

Yet here she is, two weeks in, in the most ratty outfit she could find, her hair in desperate need of a wash and the feeling of a pimple making itself known on her chin, Jake in his shirt and boxers pressed against her side, softly snoring after the tough day they’ve both had.

She wonders why it feels so different, and yet not wrong at all, from all the other relationships she’s had to this point.

Maybe because it’s not as new as they make it out to be. Sure, their official relationship started almost exactly two weeks ago, but everything they have started so much earlier.

He was there when she created the coffee stain on her sweatshirt, dropping her head down with a grown on her table after they’d gone over the possible alibis after hours at her place for the hundredth time. He’d poked his finger into the tear on her yoga pants after a Sergeant-mandated work out with a laugh before she’d even noticed it herself. He’s held her hair back in even grodier states while she was kneeling over a toilet at Shaw’s, glad for their unisex approach for the dinky, dirty little closet they called WC that meant he could follow her when she stormed off from the bar.

Maybe that’s why she didn’t feel nearly as freaked out or anxious about their settling of the relationship as she would have if it happened with anyone else. He was already settled into her life, a comforting constant she could rely on. It wasn’t much of a leap from that kind of partnership to a romantic one, she reasons, obviously it would need less of an adjustment time.

And maybe that was just one of the reasons why it felt so right. Maybe there was something else, too, bubbling up her throat and slipping out into the safety of their silence right now, with him deep asleep on her.

“I love you.” She whispers, and she knows she’ll have to wait a lot longer to say that to his conscious self. She knows he’s difficult with emotions, and closes up faster than any wild clam if threatened with ‘seriousness’. And she also knows, with a twinge to her heart, that he has more than valid reasons for that - that he’s barely ever heard or said those words without them immediately crumbling in his hands.

“I love you.” She repeats, carding through his hair one more time to a soft sigh from him. “And it’s safe. I promise. It’s safe with me.”

His head turns, digs a little deeper into her shoulder, and while she knows she shouldn’t tell him yet if she wants this to work, she hopes he hears it at least a little bit. That it settles into his mind while he sleeps, makes him feel as comfortable and sure as she feels whenever she’s with him. Makes it a little easier for him to take that step and say it back some day, when she dares to try it out loud for real.

Whenever that is, she’ll be there. It’ll be worth waiting for, she knows, just to hear it again and again after that.

Hopefully for the rest of their lives.

[lastbluetardis]

Sacred New Beginnings (1/?)

Summary: James Noble thought he traded away his chance at love and a happy-ever-after when he signed a contract with a record label that turned him into an international celebrity. But a chance meeting in a dive bar may prove him wrong.

Ten x Rose AU, @doctorroseprompts

This Chapter: Teen, ~5500 words

Note: Er... surprise? This idea has been in my head for months but my brain took it and ran with it this weekend. I plotted the whole thing and am gonna try to update every weekend. I don’t anticipate this being more than like... 7-10 chapter? I’d love to keep it under 5 chapters but that might be trimming things down too much for my liking. Anyways, I really hope you enjoy this little story!

AO3

Flashing lights and shrieks of his name greet James the moment the back door to his armored car is opened. His head of security ducks out first and James can only see a mass of feet and legs but it’s more than enough to let him know it’s a heavier than usual crowd. Not surprising, considering the news of his latest break-up just dropped while he’d been flying back from a visit to America.

He slides out of the car, helped by hands that pull him as much as guide him through the throng. He ignores the shouts of his name—telling him to look left or right or up or down or every combination therein—and the barrage of questions and jokes that aren’t funny.

Was it you or him that ended it?

Three weeks, is that a new personal record?

Another notch in the bedpost, eh James?

Got another beau lined up yet?

If you’re looking for candidates, what do we have to do to get our names in the running?

“Ignore them,” he mutters to himself, too quietly for anyone except his security team to hear.

In answer, one of them gives his shoulder a reassuring squeeze as they reach his front door. Someone has already unlocked it for him and the darkness within is a blessing he’s all too willing to be shoved into. The cacophony muffles once the door shuts, and finally he’s alone, a rarity for him. If it’s not his security, it’s personal assistants and writers and producers and photographers and the paparazzi.

Or his lover of the month, as the papers have taken to calling his partners.

But nope, his home is empty and quiet and bloody freezing. A shiver ripples up his spine as he treads to the thermostat controller. Summer finally released its hold on London, and the muggy heat has been replaced with a damp chill that burrows down into his bones.

Several button-presses later, James hears the familiar clank of the radiator and he can smell the heating kick on. It’ll take a while for his house to warm up, so James keeps his peacoat on for the time being as he putters around his home, checking the fridge and the cabinets. As always, they’re well-stocked. He hasn’t had to do anything as mundane as grocery shopping in the five years since his YouTube channel full of acoustic covers of popular songs went viral and landed him a lucrative deal with a prestigious record label. Only in his wildest dreams had he expected to find fame and fortune in the hobby he loved so much—for it to have actually happened still took him by surprise, as though any minute he’d be told “it was fun while it lasted, but it’s time for you to leave wonderland now.”

Shaking his head of those thoughts, he goes to the antique dining table that can easily seat ten people, which is great for holidays or in-home meetings, but just plain depressing every other day of the year. A stack of mail has piled up, and he spends the next five minutes attempting to sort it before giving up and telling himself he’ll look at it in the morning, once he’s not quite as groggy—transatlantic flights always take it out of him.

Instead, he rootles around his fridge until he comes up with the necessary items to make himself a ham and cheese sandwich. With the prospect of food in front of him, James realizes he is starving. He shoves a whole slice of ham in his mouth while he assembles his pitiful meal, heaping on lettuce and sliced tomatoes as though that’s enough to negate the pile processed protein and greasy chips he layers in for crunch.

It’s tastier than any sandwich as a right to be, and he nearly makes himself a second one before catches sight of his phone screen and the slew of incoming notifications. His work is never finished, is it?

There are several texts from his publicist, Donna, welcoming him home and congratulating him on not making an arse of himself just by trying to walk up the front drive of his home. (To be fair, he felt entitled to channel his inner crotchety old man and tell reporters to get off his damn lawn if they encroached on his personal property.)

“Though some photos are surfacing of your trip to New York… Anything you need me to get ahead of?”

He rubs his fingers into his eyes, knowing she’s probably referring to his last night out in the city, where he went bar hopping until the wee hours of the morning to try to forget the text his subsequently-ex-boyfriend had sent him.

Thanks for everything, but I need to focus on my career. Cheers mate.

The career that James had kickstarted for him by introducing his rising actor boyfriend to several of his friends in the film industry, because James had been so damn desperate for affection that he’d once again let the wool get pulled in front of his eyes.

And so James had reached out to mates who lived in New York and they’d all gone out and acted half their age and had a wonderful time once James forgot about why he’d gone out in the first place.

But none of that now. Nope. No sir.

“Not that I’m aware of,” he replies. “Let me know if you catch wind of anything.”

Despite the fact that he only just got home and he’s jetlagged and still feeling the effects of his night out in New York, James can’t stay in his house right now. It’s so quiet that his brain is creating its own white noise. He can’t stand being in his head on a good day, and today is not a good day.

He grabs his keys and wallet and makes for the back of the house. His property is landlocked with the back gardens of other houses; the paps have learned the hard way that James is dead serious about protecting his neighbors’ privacy and will not hesitate to phone the police to arrest and sue anyone caught trespassing on private property to snag a photo of him. James hosts dinner for his neighbors several times a year and buys them gifts any chance he can to show his appreciation for their patience and tolerance.

In the dead of night, he slips out into his back garden, the crisp October air burning his lungs in the best way as he ducks his way through the neighborhood, his feet taking him far away from the crowd of reporters that are still stationed in front of his own home. Hopefully they’ll all have dispersed by the time he gets back. Perhaps he should have turned on music or a movie or something, made them think he was settled in for a lazy night in.

He wanders aimlessly for a while, enjoying this taste of freedom and trying to remember the days when he could leave out the front door of his flat without any fanfare.

It’s dark, and thick clouds obscure whichever moon phase they’re in, but the street lamps glow yellow on the damp pavement, lighting his way forward. A crisp autumn breeze ruffles his hair and the leaves, sending them tumbling around him and skittering across the residential street that’s so much quieter than the bustle of New York. It’s good to be home, though.

He arrives at a bus stop and catches one headed into the city proper. It’s no secret that James lives in London, and therefore the general population has gotten used to glimpsing him on the tube or walking on the street or frequenting pubs. He knows people snap quick photos of him, and he’s always happy to stop and pose for a selfie with respectful fans, but mostly he’s left alone when he’s out by himself like this.

Nevertheless, he hears the excited undertones of people trying to inconspicuously point him out to their oblivious friends. He keeps his head down, mindlessly opening and closing apps on his phone for something to do as he pretends he doesn’t notice them. He won’t be on the bus much longer anyway.

Several people get off the bus with him, including a group of teenage girls who are whispering heatedly among themselves. It’s almost funny, watching them debate amongst themselves before one of them approaches him.

She’s red-faced but determined as she blurts, “Can we get a photo?”

“Sure thing,” he says good-naturedly, inclining his head for them to come closer. “Need me to take it?” He holds out a lanky arm and flops it around a bit. “Got a longer reach than any of you.”

He’s certain one of the girls is about to start crying with joy as they all nestle into his side and hand him a new-model iPhone. Damn, it’s fancier than his own. When he was their age, he had an old flip phone that lost reception if he breathed on it wrong. It was a tank though—he’d dropped that thing hundreds of times, and nary a scratch.

“Do me a favor,” he says, handing the phone back to its owner, “and don’t ping our location if you post to social media, yeah? I appreciate it.”

“You’re my favorite person ever,” one of the girls squeaks.

His face splits into a grin and he tucks his hands into his pockets. “Is that so?”

The girls spend the next five minutes chatting with him about music and how they’ve been following him ever since his YouTube days. He listens and chimes in every now and then when they ask him a direct question, but he prefers being passive in exchanges like this, content to hear peoples’ stories. It makes him feel normal, if only for a little while.

Finally, they take their leave, and James turns in the opposite direction even though the destination he had in mind is down the street the girls had just taken. But he’s been burned far too many times by encounters with seemingly innocent fans, only for them to begin following him around and showing up outside his house to talk to him again. He makes a point of not drawing out public encounters with his fans.

He wanders down a street he’s vaguely familiar with, figuring he can backtrack in a couple blocks. The night is too beautiful for him to be upset about needing to take a detour.

Everything looks different in the dark, the glow of neon signs bathing everything in hues of greens and blues and pinks and yellows. Shops and restaurants are mostly shut up for the night, their windows dark or blinds drawn. Dingey motels with pay-by-the-hour rates are in full swing, as are the pubs that have a revolving door of people in varying states of intoxication.

Deep bass that he can feel all the way in his chest catches his attention, and he gets turned around a few times, but he eventually finds the establishment: Bad Wolf Brews. At first, he doesn’t think it’s open, and that he must be mistaken about where the music is coming from, but the heavy front oak door opens, and he realizes the glass on the door is tempered so that the interior lights don’t shine through. The music is clear and heavy and vibrating in his bones. He doesn’t think twice before catching the door before it closes and slipping inside.

The air is humid and smells of sweat and stale beer. Bodies are writhing and gyrating to the rhythm blasting through invisible speakers. The acoustics are phenomenal; none of the layers are lost and the sound quality is nearly as good as if he were listening to the record at home on his own stereo system.

The lights are low, and he’s sure he trips into a few people in the minute it takes for his eyes to adjust to the dimness, but finally, he’s at the bar. There are three open stools, and he claims one between a blonde woman and a red-haired man as he wonders what the hell this dive bar serves. He can see beer taps, but he’s more of a cocktail guy. He must look as lost as he feels, because the bartender hands him a menu that looks like it was hand-written and then photo-copied. It jives with the overall vibe of the pub.

The bartender checks in with him a minute later. James opens a tab and orders a sidecar sans sugar, and is pleasantly surprised by the quality. Not to make assumptions, but he’d figured an establishment such as this would have cheap liquor. If the alcohol in his drink is cheap, it’s well masked.

When he’s drained the last drop and about to signal for another, a hand rests on his shoulder. “Can I buy your next round?”

James looks up into the face of a stranger. It’s a woman with striking green eyes and a disheveled pixie cut. Judging by her crimson cheeks and glazed eyes, she’s three sheets to the wind. There’s buzzed, then there’s drunk, and then there’s plastered. He prefers not to let himself get to that last category, and by extension, he doesn’t really like to associate much with people who won’t remember the night come morning.

“Thanks, but I’m good,” he says with his most charming grin. “G’night.”

He has no idea if the woman knows who he is, but the way she shrugs and saunters to the gentleman sitting beside James, he doubts it.

He gets clumsily propositioned a few more times and always politely declines with a smile. So far, nobody here seems to recognize him and he is going to ride out this anonymity for as long as it’ll last. It has been too long since he’s been able to sit in a pub and drink quietly. Well, quietly, insofar as crazed fans or paparazzi aren’t harassing him—the music is loud enough that he’s sure to have ringing in his ears for a few hours once he gets home.

But he’s not really in any rush to get home, and so he orders his fourth cocktail before making his way to the loo. Alcohol goes right through him, and it’s nearly gotten him in trouble on tour a time or two.

There’s no line, but the loo is crowded, and he tries to ignore the double-takes as he stands in front of a urinal to take care of business. If he wakes up tomorrow morning to find that someone snapped a photo of him having a piss, he’s going to lose his goddamn mind.

Bladder tended to, James keeps his head ducked and shoulders his way back into the bar. His stool is unoccupied, and when he steps forward, he realizes why. A purse sits on it, seemingly reserving the seat but he can’t figure out for whom. He’s about to take the cocktail the bartender hands him and stand against the shadowed wall when someone picks up the purse.

It’s his blonde-haired stool mate. She flashes him a broad grin that lights up her entire face and squeezes something deep in his stomach.

“Saved your seat for ya,” she says with the ease and confidence of someone who’s known him his whole life.

“Thanks,” he manages through a suddenly dry mouth.

Feeling like an idiot for standing and gaping, he slips into his seat and downs half his new sidecar in one go. It’s as though the ice has been broken now, and she turns to him, her elbow on the counter and her cheek propped on her fist.

“Pretty sure you could outdrink a fish, mate,” she drawls, smiling again in that easy way that does too many strange things to his insides. “You’ve been knockin’ ‘em back for over an hour now.”

Has it really been that long? James checks his watch, and yup, it’s half past ten. The paps should be gone from his house by now, but he feels no draw to leave this place. The alcohol has left him pleasantly tipsy and warm, but he’s more drunk on the fantasy that he’s just a normal bloke having a nice night out in a newly-discovered dive bar.

“Fish don’t really drink though, do they? They absorb water through their gills via osmosis,” he replies, and he wants to bite his tongue off because what the fuck was that??

This woman, whatever her name is, doesn’t seem to mind his answer though, because her face scrunches in a giggle. His body is hot and throbbing with more than drink now, and he wants to hear that sound again but his brain has stopped working.

“Is that so different from you absorbin’ alcohol through your bloodstream?” she muses, finishing off whatever is in her short tumbler.

“Can I buy your next round?” he blurts rather than responding to her question, which he’s almost certain was rhetorical.

Her smile melts into something softer, something private and a little shy. “If you’d like.”

“I do.” He flags down the bartender and glances at his new companion expectantly.

“Gin and tonic,” she says. She thanks the bartender, then James when she takes her first sip. “I’m Rose, by the way.”

“James,” he says, feeling stupid because his face is plastered all over London, which likes to boast that it’s the home of international celeb James Noble. But wouldn’t he seem more of an arse if he just assumed this gorgeous woman knew who he was?

Nevertheless, his stomach sinks a bit when she snorts into her drink and says, “I thought it was you.”

“Yup, it’s me,” he forces, his voice flat. He hides his frown with his glass, knocking back the rest of his sidecar like it’s a shot. The room sways slightly with the violent motion of his head, and maybe he’s slightly drunker than he’d thought.

If Rose catches on to his sudden sour mood, she doesn’t mention it. “What brings you here to Bad Wolf?”

He shrugs and blows out a noisy breath. “I dunno. Went for a walk, ended up here.”

“Those are the best sort of adventures.” She hums wistfully. “Sometimes you find what you didn’t know you needed when you let yourself get lost.”

That observation is far too astute for his current state of mind, so instead he says, “Would you like to dance with me?”

Her eyes flicker across his face for a brief moment before she says, “Okay.”

He hops down from his stool, but Rose hesitates, clutching her purse and coat awkwardly. The bartender helpfully tells her to keep them on her stool, and he’ll keep an eye on it. Rose flashes him a grin that James would rather she flash at him, but he realizes that is utterly absurd, so he simply rests his coat on top of her things to better hide them from view. He then holds out his hand for her. Her palm is soft and warm against his as he leads her to the crowded dance floor.

They find space towards the back of the pub, hidden in the shadows of a hallway that states it’s closed off to patrons. And of course, of fucking course, right when he rests his hands on her hips to find the rhythm of the song, a new one comes on, and his own voice belts from the speakers.

“Fucking hell,” he mutters. He loves his music—he made it, after all—but he can’t help but feel pretentious and more than a little silly to dance to it like this.

Rose, however, grins and says, “Oh, come on, this is one of my favorites.”

She catches his hands where he’d loosened them at her waist and forces him to grab hold of her. She’s wearing high-waisted trousers and a top that leaves a sliver of her belly exposed. His thumb grazes the skin of her bare side, and it’s enough to send tingles through his body. Rose, meanwhile, slings her arms around his shoulders and begins to rock her hips from side to side in sync with the bass, embellishing the motions until she looks absolutely ridiculous but so, so beautiful.

He can’t help but grin and laugh, and he mirrors her movements until they’re both dancing like idiots to his music.

“This is how my baby brother dances,” she explains, bouncing up and down while twisting her hips. “We have regular dance parties together.”

“How old’s your brother?” he asks.

“Just turned four.”

He blinks, and blood rushes from his face. “And… and how old are you?”

“A perfectly legal twenty-four,” she drawls, reaching up to flick his nose. “You can start breathing again.”

Thank fuck.

“That’s quite the age gap.”

“My mum got remarried when I was nineteen,” Rose says with a shrug. “She and my stepdad didn’t waste much time.”

“Clearly,” he mutters under his breath.

“It does feel a bit like they’ve started over,” Rose confesses with a too-stiff shrug. “New family, new life, and I’m the interloper.

There is no way this vivacious woman in front of him could ever be considered an interloper, but before he can tell her that, she continues, “Mum does her best to assure me otherwise, but still. It’s hard to watch all the things Mum and Dad are able to do for Tony—that’s my brother, Tony—when Mum struggled so much as a single mum with me.”

“Your dad’s not in the picture?”

A sad smile pinches her face, and he regrets asking.

“No, I never knew him. He died when I was a baby.”

“I… I’m so sorry.” Well, he’s totally buggered this all up, hasn’t he? He wracks his brain on how to salvage the easy banter they’d had at the bar, but draws a blank.

Rose seems to realize they’ve lost the mood, but she breaks out into a lazy grin and says, “Since you seemed so opposed to dancing to your own music, it’ll please you to know a new song’s on. C’mon, show me your moves.”

He’s not going to look a gift horse in the mouth, and so he follows her lead, watching her dance her heart out until her cheeks are pink and her hair is damp with sweat. He’s sure he doesn’t look much better, since he can feel the perspiration beading down his back and beneath his arms, but he can’t bring himself to care. Tonight has been the most fun he’s had in a very long time. Clubbing in New York had been a lark, but he’s been swarmed by his American fans half the night, and had been busy drowning his latest heartbreak to fully enjoy it. But here, now, with Rose, it’s like he’s any other bloke in a pub, chatting up a pretty girl he wants to get to know.

Their bodies are wrapped around each other with the ease and grace of partners who have known each other for years, and he forgets that he has known Rose for all of a few hours. He never wants this night to end. He wants to cling to this fairytale and pretend that the clock isn’t about to strike the proverbial midnight.

But time marches on as always. The clock really does strike midnight, and the bartender begins to clear people out of his establishment. James is as exhausted as he is exhilarated, no longer drunk on booze but rather the company of Rose and the magic they made together by simply dancing the night away.

They head back to the bar to retrieve their coats and her purse, and to close out their tabs. James slides his credit card to the bartender and asks him to charge everyone’s tab to his card. If the bartender is surprised, he hides it well. A few minutes later, James is signing off on the receipt of purchase of several thousand pounds-worth of alcohol. His personal assistant is sure to be confused as hell when she wakes up to see the charge. He fires off a quick warning text to her so she doesn’t open up a fraudulent charge claim.

James salutes the bartender, knowing he’ll come back to this pub as often as he can until he’s found out and this place once again becomes somewhere that’s overrun with his fans.

The night is refreshingly cold when he and Rose emerge into it, a nice change after the stifling, sweaty heat of the bar. However, she hunches her shoulders against the chill, prompting him to wrap his arm around her waist and tug her into his side, all too eager to lend her some of his body heat.

“Can I walk you somewhere?” he asks, glancing around the street that is now full of the drunken patrons who’d been in the pub with them. They all disperse in different directions, stumbling home or to a different bar that is still open. “Or wait with you ‘til you catch a cab?”

“Yeah, sure,” she says, pulling up her phone to order a ride. She taps on the screen for a few quiet moments then says, “Done. Should be here in a few minutes.”

They descend into a slightly awkward silence that James wants to break, but he can’t think of anything clever to say. So he says nothing, and finally headlights wash over them, momentarily blinding them before a taxi pulls up.

“D’you wanna share?” she asks, opening the door to the back seat.

Is she as reluctant to leave him as he is to leave her? Or is she being polite and eco-friendly by ride sharing? Nevertheless, he nods and slides into the back seat beside her.

There is something incredibly intimate about sitting with Rose in the dark interior of the taxi, and he feels like he’s fifteen and wondering how to hold his date’s hand after a cheap night out at the cinemas. He fists his hands together, knotting his fingers until his knuckles pop.

The driver goes to the address Rose provides first, and all too soon they’ve arrived.

“I’ll cover the fare,” he says when she makes to hand over some bank notes to the diver. “It’d be my pleasure.”

She hesitates, but nods, then opens the door to climb out of the car. His pulse quickens as he watches her walk away with nothing but a, “Goodnight.”

“Can you wait just a minute?” he asks the driver.

“Meter’s still runnin’,” he grunts.

“That’s fine.”

James scrambles out of the taxi. “Hey, Rose?”

She turns back to face him, frowning.

“I… er… I had a great time tonight,” he says lamely, but her frown relaxes into a smile. “It was fun. With you. I had fun.”

“Yeah, me too,” she answers.

He licks his lips; his mouth is bone dry and his pulse pounds in his ears, making his vision throb with each frenzied beat.

“Do you… do you maybe wanna do it again some time? Hang out together? I… I’d really like to see you again,” he says, cursing his clumsy, fumbling words.

She scrutinizes him for a long moment, her expression indecipherable. His stomach sinks. Maybe this was a one-off, a story for her to tell her mates.

You’ll never guess who I met at the pub last night. James Noble! He paid for all my drinks and we danced like idiots.

He stews in his misery of doubt, and just when he’s about to tell her to forget about it, she slowly nods.

“Yeah, okay. I’d like that.”

“Really?” he asks, a hopeful edge creeping into his voice.

She laughs. “Really.”

“Brilliant!” James fumbles in his pocket for his phone, and he thrusts it at her. “Give me your number? I’ll text you. Or call.”

He rocks back and forth on his toes and heels, waiting for her to finish up with his phone. He has a sudden, potent bolt of panic that she’s snooping through his private messages or photographs for something to use against him to make a quick profit, but before that panic can take root, she hands his mobile back to him. It’s open to a new texting conversation.

From: 🌹 Bad Wolf Girl 🌹

Now I’ve got your number too 😉

He beams at the name she’s given to herself in his contacts, then he pockets his phone.

“I’ll see you later,” he says.

“You better,” she replies with that knee-weakening smile he’s grown to love over the course of the night. “See ya.”

“Bye.”

He stands there like a moron until she’s safely inside, then he turns back to the taxi and climbs in. The deserted streets streak by as the driver takes him to his neighborhood. He never gives his address though; he always chooses a destination a few streets away, just in case.

James generously tips the driver and bids him goodnight before slipping into the night to his home. He was right: the paparazzi are gone. There is no fanfare as he slips his key into the lock and lets himself into his house. It’s warm and cozy, but still too quiet for his liking.

Between the plane ride and his night out, he feels greasy and disgusting, and indulges in a hot shower before bed. He washes Rose’s scent off of his body, an intoxicating blend of jasmine and vanilla that’s as sweet as it is musky.

He’s groggy by the time he crawls into his giant, king-sized bed and burrows deep into his mounds of pillows and duvets. One of his ex-girlfriends once teased that he turns into the marshmallow man when he sleeps.

His sleep is deep and dreamless, and when he awakes with the sun the following morning, he feels more refreshed and invigorated than he ever remembers being. He’s got a full day of meetings with his songwriting team to brainstorm his next album, and he is ready.

But first, he checks his phone. There’s nothing from Rose, which makes him a little sad, but also nothing from his publicist, which is always a good sign. If ever she messages or calls him first thing in the morning, it always means there’s some sort of dumpster fire to put out. Usually a dumpster fire full of compromising photos of him.

He makes a point of not Googling himself, but he does occasionally check his social media pages for new posts about him, wanting to know when, where, and how his fans came across him in the wild. He easily finds the photo that he took with the group of teenage girls, and makes a point to like the original post and type a quick, “Nice to meet you all. Thanks for chatting with me last night - J” in the comments section. He snorts to himself as his comment blows up within seconds.

But other than some grainy photos of him riding the bus, he can’t find any other photos of himself. Nothing of him wandering the streets or drinking in the pub or even having a wee in the mens’ room. And best of all, there’s nothing of him and Rose. No photos of them dancing together or sharing a cab. If Rose has a social media account, it didn’t post any sneaky photos or bragging stories about dancing all night with James Noble.

He can’t quite believe it; he managed to have a fun night out drinking without it all being thrown back in his face the next morning. Within seconds, he’s grinning to himself and pulling up Rose’s contact information. It’s still in his phone, further proof that his night with her wasn’t some sort of jetlagged fever dream. She was real.

“Good morning. I hope you slept well. Thanks for last night.”

She responds almost instantly. Good morning to you too. I should be thanking you for paying my drink tab and taxi fare 😉 And for being an excellent dance partner.

“The pleasure was all mine, on all counts.” He sends that message, then types out a new one, “I’m gonna be in meetings all day (yes, I know it’s Sunday), so please don’t be discouraged if I don’t reply. But I’d really like to see you again. Want to do dinner or drinks or coffee or something?”

He doesn’t wait for an answer, needing to make himself presentable for when his driver picks him up in an hour. Yet he can’t help but check his phone every three seconds, until finally there’s a message from Rose.

Yeah, I’d like that. I work ‘til five most nights, but I’m free after that. Or we can wait ‘til the weekend.

With spirits lighter than they’ve been in months, James steps out of his house with a broad, stupid grin that the ever-present crowd of paparazzi are all too happy to photograph.

[dc41896]

Sick Day

Pairing: Chris EvansxBlack Reader

⚠️: None, all fluff💕!

“I can’t come?,” Bodie asks with little pink lips in a heart wrenching pout and doe-like golden brown eyes seemingly peering into his father’s soul.

“No bud, you have to stay in your class.”

“Why?”

“So you can learn new things, and play with your friends,” Chris explains squatting down to be at his eye level as the four-year-old peers down at his sneaker covered feet.

“Why?,” he mumbles clearly not happy with his answer.

“Because....”

Honestly, why did he have to stay in class? Everything they were doing he could do at home really. And with as many books and educational games he had, Chris began to wonder why he even had to go to pre-k at all?

“You know, I don’t have an answer for you Bo.”

His curls lightly bounce as he tilts his head waiting to hear what his father had to say next.

“What do you say we go have some fun?,” he asks picking up a now excited Bodie as he claps his hands with a short squeal.

“Now daddy?!”

“Mhm. First we gotta get your bag, but after we can do anything you want bubs.”

The toddler beamed and mind began to race with all the things he’d want to do. Comfortably lying his head on Chris’ shoulder as they eventually left his school, he thought maybe they could even go to Disney and see his favorite characters after doing everything they could in town.

———

“More please!”

“Shh,” he chuckles momentarily placing his index finger over his own lips before pouring a few more jellybeans in his hand from the bag they were sharing. “Okay no more after this. You still gotta eat dinner.”

Just as he said, the two did everything Bodie wanted. First they went to the zoo and saw all the animals, then they went to the park and played catch as well as swung and climbed on the jungle gym (with Chris’ help). They even had lunch at his favorite restaurant and caught the last bit of the Red Sox game.

Now all that was left was for the two to eat dinner and Bodie get a bath without you knowing about him skipping school. Easy.

“Hey boys,” you smile as they enter the kitchen, an excited “mommy!” leaving your son’s lips as he leans in to kiss your cheek before your husband meets your lips. “How was school?”

“Good!,” Chris quickly answers putting down the little boy so he could go play with Dodger, happy to have his buddy back. “He had a great day.”

“Really?”

“Yea, the teacher said he did really well with his reading. And his uh group time went well too.”

You have to stifle your grin listening to your husband trying his best to lie when both of you knew he couldn’t. From his neck up to his ears and face became tinted a light red as he nervously scratched his beard, making you look at him feigning concern.

“Babe you okay? You keep scratching and you’re red,” you state placing the back of your hand on his forehead.

“Y-Yea, I guess I’m just a little hot is all.”

“You sure? Hopefully you didn’t catch something at the zoo.”

“No I doubt-,” he starts before his blue eyes expand and mouth slightly goes agape as you nonchalantly go back to moving around the contents of the sizzling pan.

“Or maybe it was something you ate at Maddio’s?,” you suggest with a smirk. The only thing he can manage to do is release a shaky chuckle with fingers rapidly tapping the cool marble countertop.

“H-How..”

“Peter’s mom called me saying how she hoped Bo felt better after she heard he left school early because he was sick, and thus wouldn’t need to be picked up for his play date. I told her how that was news to me, but I’d call you to see what happened. As soon as I hung up with her, I got a notification from the bank on how a purchase was just made at the zoo, which was confusing until Maddio’s also popped up and then things came together.”

He really needed to remember to turn off those bank notifications on your phone when he got the chance.

“So sounds like you guys had fun today.”

“Alright you caught us,” he sighs wrapping his arms around your waist from behind and resting his chin on your shoulder. “I didn’t get any time with him last night since I got in so late, or this morning because I was still asleep when you guys left, so I thought I could go and peek in on him in class really quick. Of course he saw me, so we played for a while and when I had to leave he looked so sad babe! I couldn’t just leave him like that.”

“Which then made you persuade our son to play hookie,” you giggle making him softly laugh.

“I’m sorry for being a bad influence,” he pouts as you turn in his arms to face him, lips meeting his soft, jutted bottom one.

“It’s okay, plus you haven’t been the only bad influence. When you first left I might’ve, sorta, let him stay home for a week,” you reveal shyly biting your bottom lip. Now was his turn to smirk before gently nudging your cheek with his nose and a low “well well well,” rolls off his tongue making you laugh.

“He was sad, I was sad, even Dodger wasn’t as upbeat as usual. So, I figured everyone deserved time at home with some much needed cuddles.”

Shaking his head, a lone strand of hair dangles perfectly in front of his forehead and tongue clicks as you playfully roll your eyes lying your head on his chest. “A whole week and I only took him one day.”

“Okay so maybe I was a little more sad and selfishly needed the extra cuddles, sue me. Plus what Bo does in class we can do here.”

“That’s exactly what I said! Even today he read the menu, ordered his own food, and we did math,” he smiles calling out to the giggling boy over his shoulder. “Bodie, how many innings are in a baseball game?”

“9!”

“And how many bases are there?”

“Um..3 daddy. And-and home is 4!,” he answers bouncing on the balls of his feet.

“Good job bubs! See? Just call me Mr. Frizzle,” he winks, the both of you laughing as you held onto each other.

Eyes wandering to the living room, a soft smile graces yours and Chris’ faces watching your son show Dodger how the lion he got from the zoo matched his larger one. It was hard to believe that you two already had a four year old when it seemed like you were just walking around the house with both hands at the base of your growing belly.

Although you could do without the morning sickness, back pains, and the struggling to catch your breath parts of pregnancy, you did miss the overall experience of it. So much so that you’d been recently thinking maybe it was time Bodie had a sibling.

“Can we have another one?,” you ask not taking your gaze away from the adorable duo lying on their bellies on the floor. Chris slightly parts from you making sure he not only heard you correctly, but that your expression was truly as serious as your words.

“Really? You want another baby?”

“Well yeah. I mean we’ve talked about it before how we both wanted more than one, and lately with Bo growing up so fast I’ve missed having a baby in the house.”

“Not to mention you were very cute while pregnant,” Chris adds, leaning down to peck just below your jaw. There wasn’t a time while you were carrying Bodie that his eyes weren’t adoringly attached to you. Watching you do the simplest things, like watering the plants around the house, instantly made his heart swell and a bright smile form on his lips at your glowing skin and the fact that you were growing his child’s life within you.

“Then it’s settled..?”

“Mhm, and maybe when this one gets old enough we can have a joint family hookie day?,” he jokingly suggests causing you to giggle.

“As a responsible adult and parent I probably shouldn’t say it, but that’s actually not a bad idea.”

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[maybedefinitely404]

For You Became My Lighthouse

Genre: angst with a happy ending, hurt/comfort

Pairing: romantic Prinxiety

Content: food/wine, Patton and Logan offscreen, anxiety attacks, argument, crying, fear of breakup.

Word count: 4k

Note: Not proofread. We die like men. Also part two is coming soon~

5:24

It definitely wasn’t every day that Virgil spent the early evening dancing around the kitchen while making dinner. But today was no ordinary day, and he was just too damn excited to stay still.

Figaro sat on the floor in the bedroom doorway, licking his paws and glaring disdainfully at the speaker system that had disrupted his nap. Virgil spotted the dark cat and grinned, dancing over to scoop him up. He hummed along to the music, bopping the disgruntled cat to the beat (much to his chagrin). Once upon a dream, Figaro might have fought tooth and nail at being used as a dance partner, but living with Roman for years had worn down his resolve. And after Virgil had entered their lives, he’d completely given up fighting their excuses for attention. Instead, the cat just yawned and went limp.

“Aw, did I wake you up, Figgy?”

The cat did not answer. 

Virgil let him hop from his arms onto his scratching tower and went back to slicing spinach on the counter, humming along to the music. He wanted it louder, loud enough that it numbed the excited tremble in his hands and drowned out his internal butterflies, but he wasn’t in the mood to deal with noise complaints. Again. 

Instead, he opened the drawer in front of him and ran his fingers over the small box he’d placed in there hours ago. As he’d done countless times since, he opened the lid to make sure that the ring inside was still there, still perfectly centered and shining as brightly as it had been when he’d picked it up earlier that morning. 

Roman would never expect him to propose. Ask anyone who knew them and they’d agree that the romantic, outgoing, type-to-propose in their relationship wasn’t Virgil. Plus, he’d dropped no hints. Any time he met with Logan to plan, or went to the jewelers, and the million other things he’d had to do before this, he’d chalked it up to ‘having a bad day’ or ‘needing time alone’. 

He felt… a little bad, knowing in the recent months many of Roman’s attempts at dates had been turned down, only half the time due to actual bad days. But it would all be worth it in the end. The plan was to start with dinner; the meal they’d had on their first real date, followed by Virgil suggesting a walk. As they put on their jackets, he’d sneak the ring box into his pocket, and innocently lead them past a cafe for dessert, “coincidentally” the spot where Roman had asked Virgil to move in with him. Finally, the park, strung up with fairy lights and electric candles Logan and Patton had set up just before. It was their perfect mix of solitude and ‘extra’. Virgil would propose, and Roman would hopefully say yes, and everything would be perfect and amazing and-    

The oven timer beeped. There was fifteen minutes left for the dough to set; time to make the filling for the ravioli. But he’d barely started cooking the spinach when his phone chimed, alerting him of a text.

Hey V, dinner and a movie tonight? You can choose.

Virgil bit his lip and sighed, thumbs hovering over the keyboard for a second. As old as the excuse was getting, he needed to side step Roman’s plans one more time. Just one last time.

not feeling well. anxietys been all over the place. sry. 

He laid the phone back on the counter and returned his attention to the frying pan, flipping the greens and watching them wilt slowly. One eye on that, he pulled out his other ingredients from the fridge. He’d rather be ahead of schedule than behind. 

Ding ding.

Yeah, shocker. What else is new.

Virgil felt his heart drop. That wasn’t… at all in character for his boyfriend. Yeah, he’d used the excuse more often lately, but was it that much? He stared at his phone, hardly breathing, trying to think of some way to answer that, when a burnt smell reached his nose. 

“Shit,” He hissed, trading his phone for a spatula and turning the spinach once more. It was just on the brink of being overdone, just the edges turning a tad too dark, but nothing he couldn’t save. He scraped the pan’s contents into a bowl to cool and dumped it in the sink. The hiss and steam of the hot pan in water made him wince (he’d been told a million times it was bad, but he couldn’t recall why), but he left it on the bottom of the sink to fill and soak. Scrubbing dried spinach off it tomorrow would really put a damper on the ‘recently engaged’ mood.

“Mrow?”

Virgil shut off the water and turned to the trill, cursing when he realized Figaro had abandoned his tower in favor of sniffing the food on the counter.

“Figgy, no! Get down!” He plucked him away from the bowl just as he looked ready to pounce inside, much to the cat’s annoyance. “You would just spit it out, you big baby. Don’t look at me like that.” It probably wasn’t safe to keep cooking with the cat around anyways, so he went to their room and left him on their bed with a soft order to behave. Figaro blinked once at him with indignation before the door was closed, and Virgil hurriedly pulled out his phone.

Real mature, not answering. 

Virgil took a deep breath to push down the rising anxiety. He’s… probably just playing around, right? It’s probably meant in a lighthearted way but he was just misinterpreting the text harshly. It’s not malicious. Right?

sry, put figgy away

He paused for a moment, before shooting another quick text.

ur not actually mad right?

The typing bubble appeared.

And went away.

And popped up again.

And vanished.

That was enough confirmation to get Virgil’s heart pounding, all hope that Roman was just fooling around out the window. He was typing again, and this bubble was staying for longer, but now it was too long to be a simple affirmation.

I don’t know, Virgil. You used to actually contribute to this relationship, and now I’m the only one really trying. We barely ever go out, for like a couple months now. You always dodge my plans. I miss the old you, because right now I feel like I barely know you. I’m getting sick of it. 

Now Virgil properly couldn’t breathe. That sounded like the beginning, if not the entirety, of a breakup if he ever heard one. Fuck. Fuck! Fuck his stupid ideas, his stupid plans, fuck all of it. This is his fault, and Roman’s about to dump him, because he took his overdramatic proposal too far and it was about to end their relationship.

I’ll be home late. 

Okay, that wasn’t… a breakup? Unless, of course, he was going to do it in person, and needed time to plan how it was going to go. 

Cognitive distortions, is that what Logan had called them? Magnifying? Is that what was happening right now? There was a solid chance that Logan would agree with him, say that he wasn’t actually sure what Roman planned, and it would probably be okay, but it was very hard to be objective when he was in the middle of it.

how late?

Another deep breath. He placed the phone next to his mixing bowl, screen up so he would be sure to see the notification, and absentmindedly added in the ingredients he’d pulled from the fridge earlier. Shit, did they have thyme? 

Of course they did, he’d gone shopping for all the ingredients like two days ago. He needed to get out of his own head. 

The final timer went off, signaling the dough was ready to be used. Before he unwrapped the ball and got his hands covered in the stuff, he checked the lock screen on his phone. Nothing. 

It was fine, it was fine. 

Rolling out the pasta into one thin sheet took far more effort than he would have thought, and it took embarrassingly long before he was able to lay it out on the big ice cube tray he was using in place of an actual ravioli mold. He checked his phone. Nothing. 

Once he got the hang of filling the molds without making a huge mess, it was actually an easy process. He finished three and a half trays-worth before running out of dough and filling simultaneously, but that’s more than enough for the two of them. No answer yet. 

ro?

He set a pot on the stove full of water but didn’t turn it on; it would just be one less thing to do when he was ready to cook the ravioli. For now, he placed the pasta in the fridge so it didn’t dry up. Roman generally got home from work at six, which he had prepared for, except on late rehearsal days when he was held back an extra hour. That’s what Virgil consciously chose to believe; he meant he’d be home late because it was a longer day. He wasn’t answering now because he was on stage. Technically it all made sense, but it wasn’t enough to relieve the icy grip around Virgil’s lungs. 

romans gonna be late. push back an hour?

Logan sent back a thumbs up followed by his ‘-Logan’ sign off. Virgil sent a quick apology but didn’t bother to check the response when his phone lit up, focusing back on his plate of raw ravioli.

So, at five to seven, he’d boil the pasta and warm up the tomato sauce. It had been finished that morning and had been waiting in the fridge all day, because Virgil was a firm believer that it would taste better having had time to sit. Plus, he’d been excited, and had needed something to do with his hands. 

But now he needs something to do with his hands again, but instead of excitement, it’s a tingling discomfort spreading through his limbs and curling in his stomach. Convinced that there was nothing else in the kitchen he could do, he untied the apron and pulled it over his head, pleased at the stark black button up he’d successfully kept flour-free. The satisfaction doesn’t last for long.

Now that he’d acknowledged his shirt, it was impossible to ignore the way it wrapped far too tight around his neck. It’s fine, he thought as he unbuttoned the top button, I still look okay.

He may as well set the table. Patton, similar to Roman in regards to going above and beyond, had insisted Virgil go all out for the dinner. Stark white table cloth, silverware set perfectly next to the plates, and a tall, white candle as the centrepiece. Virgil had cringed a bit at the idea, but after being assured that Roman would love it, he’d reluctantly agreed. It wasn’t his style but, well, the night wasn’t supposed to be about him, no really. 

Watching TV did nothing to relieve the knot of uneasiness in his stomach, even when he unrolled his weighted blanket from the side basket and huddled into it. It brought a calm familiarity with it, and if he concentrated hard enough, he could pretend that someone was holding him. Patton’s soothing words, or Logan’s gravity, or Roman’s warmth or Roman’s safety or Roman’s gentleness or Roman-

6:53

Time to throw in the ravioli. He shut off the television, he hadn’t been watching it anyways, and turned the water on to boil. As it heated, he scuttled back to the table, some of his excitement returning. Sure, things had been tense on the phone, but Roman would be home any minute, and the rest of the night could go as planned. He pulls a small crinkle out of the white fabric and recenters the candle, stepping back to admire his work. It’s okay. If Roman had done it, it would probably look better, but who cared. It was fine. 

7:01

Virgil sighed, looking over his final creation once again. A part of him was cringing with the cheesiness of it all; the lit candle, food already plated, a bottle of wine fresh from the fridge. Getting a new wine may have been too much of a giveaway, so the feature was a half finished bottle from their last date… a few months ago. Honestly, he wasn’t even sure if it would pair well. He didn’t even like wine. But it was Roman’s favorite, so it would have to do. 

He’d bitten three nails down to the nub by the time he figured he could add the tomato sauce over top. Roman was never later than seven, so the pasta wouldn’t even have the time to get soggy. 

In a combination of unfortunate events unlike any Virgil had experienced before, the tomato sauce bubbled the moment he grabbed the handle, dozens of pinpricks of heat burning his hands. He yelped and dropped the saucepan in favor of grabbing his scalded hand, jumping back as the pot hit the side of the counter and sent tomato sauce flying directly into the open drawer next to it. In his search for a match to light the candle, he’d left open the drawer containing the ring box, and in moments, the velvety exterior was coated in a fresh layer of marinara. 

“Fuck!” Virgil shouted. 

Heat be damned, he grabbed the box from the steaming puddle around it and rushed it to the sink. Running it under water would just be asking for the situation to be worse so he tried to scrape off the mess with a dishcloth. Was this even salvageable? 

No, it turned out. The white velvet had stained a shitty orange in a way he definitely couldn’t play off as the original color, and even though the interior (or god forbid the ring) hadn’t been touched, he found himself trying to fight off tears. This wasn’t fucking going well, and now… 

7:28

Roman was never this late, not without telling him. Virgil checked his phone and, nope, only the previous message from Logan and a newer one, asking if they could set up yet. He sent a quick:

no, hes not home yet

Panicking was not a move he wanted to make right now, despite how his brain was trying to convince him otherwise. Roman was probably stuck in traffic, right? And Virgil was always getting on him for texting and driving, so that could be why he hadn’t said anything. Sure, the route from the theatre to their house was barely ever busy, and yeah, it was way too late for there to be real holdups, but there was a first time for everything.  

He made quick work of cleaning up the disaster of marinara sauce, surprised that a decent amount was salvageable. Apparently in his panic he’d righted the pot before it had all spilled, so there was maybe just enough for the meals. The inside of the drawer was a stained, orange, mess, and the area under the burners was caked in dried sauce, and that was just too much work for right now. He slammed the drawer shut and threw a towel over the element. Out of sight, out of… well, not out of mind, but maybe it would take a backseat on ‘worries for the night’.

Might as well get a head start on dishes, he thought, since the thought of texting Roman is daunting and his whole body is aching for something to do. One second more of standing still and he may very well have combusted. He couldn’t even summon up the will to turn on music, the mood from before totally vanquished. If he could just get that burnt pan done, perhaps the tension in his chest would ease up a bit. 

But he cleaned the pan, and the rest of the dishes, and scrubbed the sink, and Roman still wasn’t home. At some point when he’d decided to just finish all of the dirty cookware he’d rolled up his sleeves, which he quickly lowered and rebuttoned around his wrists. The dishes were drying; nothing left to do there. 

He swallowed thickly. How was the shirt still too tight around his throat?

Virgil unbuttoned the next one down, hoping to ease the ball of fear in his throat. It didn’t help.

The food was lukewarm, at that point. It was still edible. It was microwaveable. It was fine. Again, the thought crossed his mind to text Roman, but what if he was driving? He might check it and get pulled over, and that would not help the uneasiness in their relationship right now. What if the phone’s light distracted him and he got into a car accident? He couldn’t lose Roman, not when their last words had been so strained, and it would be his fault on top? Not a chance. He’d be home any second now. He had to be. 

Virgil quickly found himself under his weighted blanket once more, watching whatever sitcom was on with dissociated interest, arms wrapped around his waist in a vice grip and feet bouncing under the covers. This time, though, the television worked less as a distraction and more as grating noise in his skull and he muted it, but that didn't stop the sudden stream of noise. Water was running through the pipes under him, some of his neighbors were shouting, and the fridge was humming and the lights overhead were buzzing and it’s all so loud-

His sound blocking headphones were also in the basket next to the couch and he shoved them over his ears. The world went quiet except for the sounds of his shaky breathing; breathe in, and out, and in, and out…

8:07

With the thick padding over his ears, the only sound he could hear was his breathing. It was somewhat reminiscent of Darth Vader’s, seeming far too loud, but also a steady foundation for him to ground on. Without the outside distraction, it was far easier to focus on his breaths, to slow them down, to get into a rhythm of long inhales and longer exhales. Bit by bit, the swarm of butterflies that had clasped around his heart gave way, allowing the anxiety to morph into numb sadness.

If Roman had come home on time, would they be in the park already? Would they be engaged? Maybe they’d already be back home, sharing the news to their families. Roman would probably already be gushing about wedding ideas as Virgil nodded along in amusement. They probably could have convinced Patton and Logan to come home too, and they could have had a great rest of the evening, finishing the bottle of wine and reliving the past and…

Were they even going to get engaged at this point?

He fumbled for his phone and sent a text to Logan.

plans off. sry

The headphones were overly effective in silencing the world, now amplifying his thoughts too much, so he slid them off. He took a deep breath, the sound now camouflaged in the rest of the apartment’s noise. A lump formed in his throat as he took in the arrangement of the dining room, and the more he pushed it down, the harder it was to stem the tears that were steadily filling his eyes. 

Virgil didn’t like feeling helpless, but that was all he felt at that moment.

Fuck.

Without forethought, he rubbed at his eyes, and instantly froze.

He drooped his head with a sigh that bordered on a groan, reluctantly lowering his hands from his face. Mixed in with his intercepted tears were the smudged remains of his makeup smeared across the web of his hands. 

Might as well; everything else went to shit anyways.

Usually, Virgil didn’t spend more than a minute removing his makeup. But that day, he spent an inordinate amount of time scraping off every streak of color until his face felt raw, watching his hard work be erased. He’d spent forever getting it perfect.

Even after he finished, he couldn’t get himself to move. That familiar weight of anxiety was settling again into the pit of his stomach as rushes of adrenaline, but he found it impossible to tear his eyes away from the mirror. As he stared into his own eyes, he vaguely remembered reading somewhere that looking at yourself in low lighting could trick one’s brain, causing the face to morph into something totally different, oftentimes not human; monstrous. Something about the brain trying to find faces everywhere, and creating them where it can’t see one properly. 

This didn’t happen to Virgil.

All he saw in the mirror was someone who had messed up his hope for a future. 

Huh. So maybe a ‘monster’ wasn’t too far off.

He laughed humorlessly and finally flicked off the bathroom switch, reentering the living room. The candle was still burning strong on the table, a good half way down. Virgil blew it out.

9:12

The state of apathy Virgil had sunken into was violently replaced with sharp anxiety when he finally bothered to check his phone, realizing it was past nine o’clock. Once more he considered asking Roman if everything was okay (heh, as if anything was okay) but he was quickly reminded why he hadn’t in the first place. Light distracts a driving Roman, bad things happen, it’s all his fault… 

Instead, he replied to Logan’s response.

Why? Virgil, what happened?

-Logan

we had a fight

His feet led him by their own will, pulling him to the wall so he could flip off the lights, dousing the apartment in darkness. Using the light from his phone screen, he stumbled to their room- or was it just Roman’s now? Would he have to move out? Oh god… where was he going to live?- ignoring Figaro’s mewls for pets. 

What did this fight regard? 

-Logan

idk. a bunch of stuff.

He stripped out of his formal shirt, hands shaking so bad he could barely undo the buttons, and exchanged it for his favorite hoodie. It may be too hot to sleep in, but he felt the need for comfort more than he was concerned about heat. 

Virgil dropped onto the bed next to the clothes, finally relenting to Figaro’s complaining and stroking down his back. In the stillness of a silent apartment, it was suddenly harder than ever to not completely break down. At least he wiped off his makeup.

This was over dinner?

-Logan

no. over text. he never came home.

He allowed the first tears to fall.

Maybe this had all been building up for a while and Virgil had just been too dumb to see the signs. Was this the night he lost everything? Would the one person he never grew tired of, the only person he had truly loved, leave him? He didn’t know what he’d do without Roman and somehow, he didn’t think he’d have a hope of ever finding someone like him again.

The tremors and blurry vision made it difficult to type.

i think romans going to break up with me

It took barely half a second after it sent for his phone to start ringing, Logan’s name showing up on the caller ID. 

Later, Virgil wouldn’t even remember pressing the answer button. The moment he heard Logan’s voice over the phone, his unusually concerned voice overlapping with Patton’s questions, the dam broke. He sobbed his way through an explanation the night, the text messages they’d swapped, and his snowball of anxiety.

To no surprise, the two on the other line immediately offered to come over, but Virgil declined. There was still the tiniest part of him, the littlest hope, that Roman was still going to walk through that door any second. If (when, when, when) he came home, they would need to talk, and it would complicate matters if Logan and Patton were there. 

When he eventually yawned in the middle of a sentence, he was encouraged to go to bed. He really didn’t need to be convinced; he was more than ready for this evening to be over. After promises that he’ll update them first thing in the morning, and multiple reminders that Patton loved him, he was left alone in the apartment once again. 

He curled into a ball on his side of the bed and cried himself to sleep.

Part two HERE!

[strawberriestyles]

Chapter 23

(Banner made by sweet sunshine @harry-nofookingway-styles​)

Harry X OFC (AU)

Sequel to Brutality: In which Melody and Harry must relearn how to navigate one another among a flurry of changes.

Read previous parts here.

Author’s note: HELLO EVERYBODY. BIG APOLOGIES FOR THE LONG ASS WAIT BUT HERE SHE IS. PLEASE LET ME KNOW WHAT YOU THINK. I AM STILL WORKING ON THE NEXT CHAPTER AND I CAN’T PROMISE WHEN I WILL POST AGAIN, BUT HOPEFULLY IT WILL BE SOON. HOPE YOU’RE ALL WELL!!! (If you feel so inclined, I do have a ko-fi now, and coffee sure does help me on writing sprees. *wink wink*)

“Mel.” Harry skimmed a hand down the side of her neck to the bandage that covered her small cut, where she’d been sliced by Colton’s knife. For all intents and purposes, she appeared dead to the world, but she usually did when she slept this late into the day. “Melody, wake up.”

Her eyes fluttered open, vision blurry. And she jumped when she felt Harry’s hand shift on her throat, pushing him away with a gasp.

“‘S me,” he told her gently, crouching down beside the bed until he was at eye level with her, watching her face relax in realization. “‘S only me.”

“You’re okay?” she whispered. She hadn’t been able to speak to him at all the night before. He’d been whisked away for an MRI the moment they’d stepped foot in the hospital, and when she’d been allowed into his room, the pain meds they’d pumped into him had already knocked him unconscious. At some point in the middle of the night, he’d woken her and coaxed her out of her chair, into the hospital bed with him, but they’d both been too tired to speak more than a couple words before falling back to sleep.

“‘M fine,” he answered, nodding.

Melody sighed in relief. She watched Harry rest his chin on the edge of the mattress as she shifted onto her back, then rubbed at her tired eyes. “Did you hear what Brian said?” she whispered. It was almost too quiet to be a hospital. She wasn’t surprised when she glanced at the door and found it closed.

“Not last night,” he said. “Didn’ hear anythin’ anyone said last night. I was completely out of it.” He paused and then nodded slowly. “But he told me this mornin’.”

The air felt heavy. Melody had so many thoughts, but she didn’t know what any of them were. Her mind was a jumble of string, and she couldn’t find an end to yank and untangle.

“Are yeh okay?” Harry asked. He reached for her hand, dragging it across the bed and pressing his lips to her knuckles, gentle with the dark bruises from when she’d hit CJ. “Mel, yeh don’ feel bad, do yeh?” His voice was quiet, gentle. It was so different from everything she’d heard leave his mouth the day before—when he’d argued with CJ, when he’d snapped at her in the car, when he’d spoken so urgently to her and Colton. “He wouldn’ have felt bad if he hurt yeh. He didn’ regret almost killin’ me.”

Melody shook her head, sitting up. “No,” she muttered, pulling the strap of her tank top back up her shoulder. “No, of course not. It’s just...complicated.”

Harry agreed. None of this was simple. “Yeh wanna get dressed, love?” he asked. “Bea and Josie are here. And Sean went downstairs to grab us some breakfast.”

Melody glanced toward the door, nodding. “Is Vanessa here?”

Harry stood, dropping Melody’s hand to reach for the bag that Bea had brought for her. He dug beneath her dress—now rumpled and bloody—for the fresh clothes Bea had packed, tossing a t-shirt and leggings onto the bed. “She wanted to stay until yeh woke up,” he said, “but she worked a double yesterday. She went home to sleep. She said to have you call her when yeh feel like it.”

Melody glanced at her phone on the table beside the bed. Somehow, Bea had found it in her suitcase before leaving the apartment. But Melody hadn’t taken a moment to check her notifications. She knew that she’d have to talk to her mom. Speaking with Vanessa sounded a lot less dreadful, but despite the deep sleep Harry had woken her from, it was as if she had no energy left to explain what had happened. She barely had the energy to process it herself.

Trying not to fall into the vivid memories of the night before, Melody slipped her tank top off and switched it for the t-shirt Harry had laid out for her. When she’d changed her pants and raked her hands through her hair, she found Harry staring out the window, his arms crossed, his eyes unfocused.

“Are you okay?” she whispered, lifting a hand to touch his shoulder when he didn’t respond. “Harry?”

“Hm?” he murmured. He glanced down at her, dazed, and nodded. “Yeah, ‘m fine. Uh, Brian needs me to identify the body.”

Melody’s stomach seized up. If she had eaten anything since early yesterday afternoon, she might’ve been sick.

“Do you...” she began, sitting back down on the edge of the bed. “Uh, do you need me to come with you?”

“No.” Harry shook his head fiercely. He watched relief spread across her face. “No, you can just go home with Bea, yeah?”

Melody clasped her hands in her lap, her brows knitting together. “Are you sure?”

“Of course ‘m sure,” Harry said. “I can do it alone.”

The minutes of panic from the day before raced through Harry’s mind again—minutes that had seemed to last for hours. Despite his efforts to shake them, the memories had flashed like strobe lights since he’d woken up. Melody’s terrified face, Colton’s grin, the gleam of the knife, the feeling of sheer uselessness, of helplessness. And the apologies afterward, like Melody had expected to take Colton down single-handedly.

“Melody,” Harry said quietly, uncrossing his arms to press his palms into the mattress, “yeh know I didn’ expect yeh to turn around and knock him out, right?”

She pulled her lip between her teeth and turned her head away from him. Like she was embarrassed. He shook his head slowly, confused and exasperated.

“He had a fuckin’ knife to your throat,” he reminded her.

Melody sighed, staring at the wall before her. “But I—”

“But nothin’, okay?” Harry interrupted. He caught her chin, turning her face toward him. “If all yeh ended up with was this little cut,” he continued, running a finger down to the edge of the bandage on her neck, “then I don’ care. Yeh’re okay. Tha’s what matters to me.” Melody blinked silently, shivering as his fingers drifted over her skin. Harry drew in a deep breath. “And ‘m sorry for snappin’ at yeh in the car,” he added in a whisper.

Melody’s lips pursed. She reached up to grip his wrist, dragging his hand away from her neck, where his touch still tickled. “It’s fine.”

“No, ‘s not. It wasn’ fair,” he protested. “Yeh weren’ doin’ anythin’ wrong.”

Melody studied the tense lines of his face. Their conversation before arriving back at the apartment was the last thing she was worried about. It seemed weeks ago, rather than only a few hours. “How’s your head?” she asked.

Harry nodded softly. “Okay. Still aches a little, but ’m fine. How’s your hand?” He reached for the one in her lap when she merely shrugged, bending her fingers, gentle. “That hurt?”

Melody’s wince answered him. She pressed her lips tightly together. “Mhmm.”

Someone knocked at the door. Melody stiffened.

“Can we come in yet?” Bea asked, poking her head into the room. “Is she awake?”

“I’m awake,” Melody assured her, drawing her hand out of Harry’s and relaxing her sore fingers.

“Oh, good.” The door swung open as Bea entered the room, closely followed by Josie. Sean trailed after them, his hands full, hugging cups of coffee to his chest. They all looked just as tired as Melody felt, and the unbridled worry in their eyes had her fighting back a rush of tears.

“Hi,” Sean murmured, stepping in front of Bea and Josie to hand Melody some breakfast—a bagel and a container of fruit. She took the cup of coffee he handed her with a sigh of thanks. But it was quiet as he passed another breakfast off to Harry, like everyone was wondering where to start a conversation.

“Um,” Bea began, scratching at her temple, where a curl was tickling her, “how did the visit go?”

Melody took a sip of lukewarm, watery coffee and shook her head.

“Oh, no.” Bea glanced at Harry, her eyes narrowed in accusation. “What’d he do?”

Josie barked out a laugh and then clapped a hand over her mouth, turning toward the door. But the damage had already been done. Harry cocked his head at both of them, raising an eyebrow in offense.

“It was me, actually,” Melody said. She watched Bea shoot Harry a short, apologetic look and then avoid his gaze. “CJ showed up.”

“Yikes,” Bea hissed. Her nose wrinkled in distaste. “I thought he wasn’t going. Didn’t he have a tennis match or something?”

Maybe it shouldn’t have bothered him, but hearing Bea talk about CJ so casually rubbed Harry the wrong way. When had she and Melody talked about him? How did Bea know that CJ had a tennis match? And if CJ’s presence or absence was so important, why did Harry feel so out of the loop? But instead of wondering aloud, he only muttered, “Of course he plays fuckin’ tennis.”

Josie gave a dry snort, side-eyeing him. “What’s wrong with tennis?”

“Do yeh play?”

“No.”

“Then, why does it matter?”

Josie rolled her eyes and turned toward Melody. “Well, we’re kind of having the same issue,” she said, tipping her head in Bea’s direction. “My parents won’t even let me in the house.” When Harry looked blankly at her, she added, “Very religious family.”

Harry frowned, raising a brow. “Yeh work in a bar.”

Josie scoffed. “And you’re unemployed,” she snapped back. “See how rude it sounds?”

Melody set her coffee to the side and pressed a hand to her forehead when Harry opened his mouth to speak again. She was relieved that everyone was avoiding the topic of Colton, of the entire reason they were in the hospital to begin with, but this was not the sort of conversation she wanted to hear instead. “Can you both stop, please?” she muttered.

Bea sighed. “Do you wanna go home?” she asked Melody. “You’re ready?”

A swift nod later, Harry was stuffing her dirty clothes back into her bag, zipping it up and handing it over to Bea. Josie reached for Melody’s coffee.

“I’m gonna stick with Harry,” Sean said as Melody climbed off of the bed.

For the first time since she woke, she let her hand drift to her neck, to her bandaged wound. She could feel the slightest sting when she applied pressure. It was a small cut—insignificant, really—but that didn’t stop her mind from wandering. What if Colton had kept a better grip? What if she hadn’t slipped so perfectly from the circle of his arm? And what if Harry hadn’t been so lucky? What if he’d suffered more than that skull-splitting headache?

“Melody,” Harry whispered. She blinked and he was standing in front of her, rubbing his chin, the skin smooth and shaven so neatly for meeting her parents. He lifted his other hand and his fingers circled her wrist, drawing her arm back to her side. She hadn’t realized she’d still been touching the bandage. “Are yeh still here?”

“What?” she murmured back.

He drew in a slow breath and shrugged. “Yeh space out when yeh’re stressed,” he explained. “Sure yeh’re okay?”

Melody glanced down at his hand, still looped around her wrist, his thumb dancing across the thin bones. “Yeah,” she said. “I’m fine.”

He nodded briefly, though he didn’t believe her in the slightest. “I’ll go right back to the apartment when ‘m done here, okay?” He waited for a nod or a hum, some form of acknowledgment, but it didn’t come. “Mel.”

She shook her head, as if waking from a daze, and looked up to meet his eyes. “Okay.”

Harry pressed his palm to the side of her face, thumbing over her cheekbone. The skin beneath her eyes was dark and swollen, her lips raw from all of her constant chewing, the bruise at her chin only just beginning to yellow. She looked like she’d been dragged through hell, and maybe she had. Maybe this was her personal hell.

“See yeh soon,” Harry breathed, ducking to press a swift kiss to her forehead. He stepped aside so that Bea and Josie could usher her out of the room, and he watched until they disappeared around the edge of the doorway.

“Are you ready?” Sean asked when they were alone, clapping Harry’s shoulder with a firm hand. “Might as well get it over with, right?”

“Right,” Harry muttered. He dragged a palm down his face, setting his shoulders. Even if he wasn’t ready, time wasn’t going to pause until he could collect himself, so he would fake it. The same way Melody faked that calm stolidity.

“Let’s go.”

***

The following days were uncomfortable. Melody’s apartment, the place she’d made her own, the space she’d spent so much time occupying, no longer seemed to belong to her. There was a dull spot in the floor where Bea had scrubbed at Colton’s dried blood. And no matter how hard she tried to remember that he’d only spent minutes inside, whereas she’d lived there for years, Melody couldn’t stop picturing him in the kitchen, imagining him stepping through the door behind her while she was letting her suitcase topple over, unaware. Somehow, he seemed so much more present when his actual presence was impossible. He was no longer a distant figure standing in the shadows, but he’d already come and gone, and forgetting how it had felt to be pressed against him, his clammy hand tangled in her dress, was not going to happen overnight. He was a ghost, lurking in the corners, breathing down the back of her neck.

Harry was at a loss. When he’d helped ease Melody’s nightmares those months ago, he’d felt purposeful, useful, maybe even needed. But nothing he did now seemed to lessen the strain. He could comfort her when she woke in a fit, but he couldn’t keep Melody’s bad dreams at bay. And it was eating at him. He wished she could share with him, that he could press his forehead to hers and lighten the load she carried, or that he could at least understand the terror that still gripped her while she slept. That same agonizing helplessness that he’d felt when Colton had tried pulling her out of the apartment—Harry felt it spark in his gut each time Melody awoke in tears.

And to add to it, Colton’s face seemed permanently etched into the backs of Harry’s eyelids. Not his sneer or his chafing laughter, not that sharp smirk that he liked to wear—the cold, lifeless face he wore in death. It was the calm face that had appeared when the coroner had unzipped that black body bag in the morgue. Harry had never seen Colton look so peaceful and still. He’d always been moving. Even in sleep he mumbled and twitched. Seeing him so utterly devoid of noise and movement made the finality of it all almost palpable.

Harry’s mind was constantly churning now. The length of time for which he could focus seemed to wane as his thoughts flitted by like frames in a film reel. He was somewhere else entirely when he felt the electric force of Melody’s right-handed swing through the mitt she aimed for.

Her next punch came harder.

His eyes, which had been passively following her form—watching her muscles twist and her limbs stretch in order to gauge where to position his mitts—snapped to her face. Her skin was sheeted in sweat, strands of hair plastered to her temples. The red in her cheeks only highlighted the raw, torn skin of her chewed lips.

“Mel,” Harry tried. She wasn’t looking at him. He wasn’t sure if she was even registering that he was behind those mitts or if she’d simply clocked out. Her torso twisted back and forth with the brutal speed of her alternating hits. “Melody,” he tried again, raising his voice to cut through her stupor, “tha’s enough.”

Melody redirected her arm mid-swing. The change in course threw her off-balance and she stumbled sideways, toward the boxing ring beside them. Harry caught her with an arm around her waist before she fell completely. The two of them froze for a moment. Then Melody’s head swung, her eyes darting about the gym until she was satisfied that nobody was watching them.

A strangled whimper passed her lips. Harry’s arm tightened on her sweaty torso, pressing her into his chest. “Shh,” he murmured softly, batting the mitts from his hands with a couple of impatient flicks, “shh.” He stepped backward, lifting her off her feet and swinging her into the hallway that led to the locker rooms. It was quieter here.

Harry set Melody down, propping her against the closest wall. He took a short step back and leaned down until he could see her face clearly, brushing hair away from her cheeks, noting the tears threatening to spill from her eyes.

“Yeh’re fine, love. Wha’s wrong?”

Melody swallowed, then blinked, and in the next second she was tearing at the velcro of her right glove and flinging it to the floor, then closing the space which separated her from Harry, grasping the back of his neck as he began to draw away. She pulled at him until she could reach his lips and kissed him with a firm mouth. His palms tightened on her jaw for a moment, his lips stilled with surprise. There was a moment before he kissed her back, and then it only lasted for a heartbeat. He reached behind him for her wrist, withdrawing her fingers from his hair, his other hand slipping over her side.

“Melody,” he breathed, pushing against her hip to add space between them. “Mel, hey.”

Melody relented, flattening against the wall, squeezing her eyes shut. “I’m sorry,” she whispered as she tipped her head back, peeling her eyes open to look up at the ceiling. The tears that had collected began to drip down her face, one by one.

Harry shook his head in confusion. “Wha’s goin’ on?” he asked gently, reaching for her face again. He drew his thumbs through the wet tracks streaking her cheeks. “I thought yeh’d feel better.”

Melody let out a garbled sob, twisting her head until she could see out into the rest of the gym. Everyone else continued on, oblivious.

“Melody,” Harry pressed.

“It’s not fair!” she cried, dipping her chin for a moment and finally freeing her other hand from its glove. When she looked up again, she met his gaze head-on. “It’s not fair that he almost killed you and now he’s just gone. And I still close my eyes and see his face like he’s right in front of me. And what he did to you and what he did to me, we have to live with that for the rest of our lives and he just gets to—” She cut herself off with a hiccuped gasp. Her eyes dropped to the collar of Harry’s shirt. She could see the pulse in his neck before his face lowered into her line of sight.

“Die?” Harry finished, a deep, troubled divot between his brows. “He’s dead,” he said slowly. “Yeh’d rather be dead?”

Melody deflated beneath his stare, shaking her head.  “No,” she whispered.

“No,” he repeated. His fingers traced her cheekbone. “Yeh’re safe, love.”

“I don’t feel like it.”

The words felt like a wicked blow. It was merely weeks ago that she’d said differently. You make me feel safe, Harry. But he schooled his features and nodded curtly.

“Maybe yeh don’ feel like it yet, but yeh are.”

Melody shut her eyes, collecting herself. She felt Harry’s lips at her temple, but then his phone rang, loud and shrill, and both of them jumped. She wiped her lingering tears with the back of her wrist as Harry stepped back, glancing down at the screen. She met his pause with a frown.

“Who is it?”

Harry cleared his throat, flashing her a brief, vague look. “‘S my mum.”

Melody drew in a breath, nodding. “Answer it.” She waited for him to move, but he seemed frozen, still as a wax sculpture. “Harry,” she said, “answer the phone.”

He gave a sharp nod and then spun around, bringing the phone to his ear. Melody watched him move further down the hall, his voice a low murmur, and then she stepped back into the main area of the gym to offer him a modicum of privacy. His mitts lay abandoned on the floor. She pressed her shoulders into the wall and slid down to sit, stretching her legs out before her.

It seemed like only minutes had passed before Harry stepped around the corner. Melody glanced up at him, but he was staring across the room, his expression drawn, impassive. He slid down the wall beside her, settling on the floor, and threw his arms over his crooked-up knees.

“What’s wrong?” Melody asked. She reached for his hand when he didn’t respond, her heart pounding so hard that her chest ached. “Harry?”

“She’s in remission.”

Melody froze, her fingers partly intertwined with his. “What?”

He nodded, confirming that she’d heard him correctly.

“That’s great,” she said. She studied his profile—the hard set of his jaw, the troubling, cool stare. “That’s incredible. Why don’t you look happy?”

Harry let out a dry laugh, his fingers closing around Melody’s, still avoiding her eyes. “She called to tell me good news, and then we had to talk about how her son is dead.”

Melody licked her dry lips. She hadn’t even considered that Harry might not have spoken to his mother since everything had happened. And she certainly hadn’t thought about his mom’s heartache. She’d been consumed by her own fear and the lack of good sleep she’d been getting. And now she felt guilt gnaw at her.

“What did she say?” she whispered.

“Not much.” Harry’s jaw tightened. He reached up to rake a hand through his hair. “I don’ think she really has any words.”

As she watched him, Harry’s stone face cracked. It was small, just a rapid blink and a twitch of his mouth, and anyone else probably wouldn’t have noticed, but Melody reached for him. She turned her body, pressing a kiss to his cheek, sliding an arm around his neck and stroking his hair. Harry closed his eyes, effectively blocking out everyone around them.

“Just—‘m not upset that he’s gone. ‘M relieved.” He sighed, shivering at the tickle of Melody’s hair on his neck. “‘M so fuckin’ relieved. And that feels wrong when my mum has to grieve for him.”

A wave of frustrated anger swept through Melody. The same feeling that had her swinging mindlessly at Harry’s mitts. It wasn’t fair.

“It��s not wrong, Harry,” she said firmly. She pulled back enough to look at him, but his eyes remained closed. “He was her son but he wasn’t your brother. You experienced a different person from the one that she knew. You’re allowed to feel whatever you’re feeling, okay? But what you don’t need to feel is guilty.”

His eyes opened again. He watched the men in the boxing ring, one backing the other into a corner, a rapid duck as a fist swung, just missing its mark. He could feel Melody’s gaze.

“You never say anything back,” she muttered. “Do you understand what I’m saying?”

“Yeah.” Harry nodded. He turned to look at her. “Yeah, I do.”

Her deep frown softened, her brow relaxing. “Good,” she said.

“‘M not—” Harry’s gaze swept over the room once more. Melody watched his jaw shift. “I don’ wanna be here.”

“Yeah,” she agreed, drawing in a loud breath and climbing to her feet. “Let’s go.”

Harry pulled himself up to stand beside her, and together they collected their equipment, stuffing their gym bags, and trailed through the city back to Melody’s apartment.

[jaskiersvalley]

My life has been absolute shit lately, and your blog has been the one constant, an anchor if you will; for me. I've probably blown up your notifications and are prob sick of seeing my little icon and I apologize but you have kept me sane. I just love you so much😭❤

I’m so sorry to hear life has been absolute shit lately! Whatever it is that’s going on for you, I really hope it gets better soon. I’m there in your corner and rooting for you. On a side note, please never feel you have to apologise for blowing up notifications. As a writer, it is one of the loveliest things to see, to have someone enjoy works so much, they make their way through multiple stories. Generally, those usernames are the ones that I’ll remember and grin at going “it’s you again” and be really happy to see. Even if we never talk, regulars in notifications bring a special kind of warmth with them. So all the thanks and love should be given to you for being such a wonderful soul.

As thanks, and as a little something to take your mind off whatever’s been going on, have a strange modern AU.

The shelter where Jaskier worked was a relatively quiet one. They tended to specialise in last hope strays and those that needed a home that wasn’t expecting the animals to be cute, convenient and snuggly. Usually, Jaskier’s role was more to sit with the animals, sing to them and get them used to human presence. Sometimes it took weeks before one of the animals dared approach him or stopped growling at his mere presence. But each time it happened, Jaskier’s heart almost burst with love. He adored every single animal that came to the shelter, broken and hurting as they were. In part, Jaskier felt responsible for them and wanted to make sure that no matter what had happened in the past, their future was as bright as possible.

As well as the animals, there was another reason Jaskier loved the shelter. The people he worked with. Namely, one particular volunteer who came in at least once a week and often more when there was a particularly difficult case. Geralt had a reputation as a take no shit gentle giant. He’d had his fair share of bites, scratches and incidents but not once did he ever blame the animal in question. No matter how many times he got attacked, he returned, worked with the animal and tried his best to win them over. As far as Jaskier knew, he had yet to fail.

Some animals needed more attention than others. They were usually referred to as ‘Geralt specials’ because most of the time, it was Geralt who managed to start working with the animal in question. At that moment in time, there was only one such dog at the shelter, a mastiff cross of some description. She had come in half starved and petrified of any human contact. Even Jaskier sitting quietly on the other side of the door to her kennel had her snarling and snapping, throwing herself at the cage door. Any dog doing that would have been scary, when it was a dog Roach’s size, it was downright terrifying. But Geralt had come in and worked his magic. The first time Jaskier saw him slip out of the kennel, he hd expected to see copious amounts of blood. Instead, he got to see Geralt turn back to the kennel and offer a soft smile before acknowledging Jaskier with a nod.

Over time, Jaskier and Geralt started getting on better and better. While Geralt never stayed around when Jaskier played, claiming he wasn’t fond of the racket, he still seemed to linger nearby enough to catch the softly drifting music without being obvious about it. Their nods to each other had become a few exchanged pleasantries. Then it was chats int he staff room. Or even walking the dogs together, Geralt always taking Roach if possible.

“I’m moving,” Geralt announced out of the blue, Roach sitting next to him, tongue lolling happily.

“Does that mean we’ll lose you?” Jaskier’s heart actually hurt at the idea.

Thankfully, Geralt shook his head. “I wanted somewhere bigger, with a garden.” He looked down at Roach and patted her head. She growled, obviously not in the mood for gentle attention.

It was no secret that Geralt was absolutely doting on Roach. He’d even turned a few potential adopters towards other dogs, claiming she was still a work in progress. Though Jaskier had suspected that, with the right person, Roach would have been ready to leave the kennel. Maybe now, with Geralt getting a more appropriate place for a dog, he could actually adopt her himself.

“Will you not be lonely in a bigger place?” Jaskier teased, hoping to get Geralt to admit to his plans.

“No.” Geralt looked at Jaskier with a frown. “Are you asking if I need a housemate?”

Laughter bubbled up in Jaskier’s throat at that and he shook his head. However, he didn’t push the matter any further.

Days went by and Jaskier was called to the front desk. Two men, built like small mountains were standing there. While they looked nothing like Geralt, there were enough shared mannerisms that Jaskier had to wonder whether they knew each other.

“We’re here to adopt a dog called Roach,” the smaller one said.

Priscilla at the desk looked quite stricken. They all had been hoping Geralt would adopt her soon. But, as Geralt had said, moving was expensive and disruptive. He couldn’t bring a dog into the home if he couldn’t safely provide for them.

“I’m afraid Roach isn’t up for adoption just yet,” Jaskier tried to worm his way out of it. “I would be more than happy to show you a few other dogs though.”

“It has to be Roach,” the man insisted.

The other guy finally spoke up. “Sorry, to clarify, we’re Geralt’s brothers. I’m Eskel, this is Lambert. He’s been working with that dog for so long and hasn’t shut up about her. At first we thought it was two dogs, but we’re not sure who would name a dog Jaskier.”

Snickering, Jaskier nodded. “I’m Jaskier. Geralt won’t shut up about me?”

In testament to all of Geralt’s hard work with Roach, she greeted Lambert and Eskel in a civilised fashion. Which made more sense when Eskel admitted he was wearing a hoodie he stole from Geralt.

“She can spend the night at mine. Geralt’s got tomorrow off, his house is as ready as it’s ever going to be. Want to help bring her over?”

The plan was quickly hatched. Jaskier would pick Roach up from Eskel’s the next afternoon. Lambert and Eskel would be at Geralt’s and keep him from getting stuck in on some chore so when Jaskier arrived with Roach, he wouldn’t be interrupted.

There was only one hiccough to their plan. The following morning, Geralt turned up at the shelter even though he wasn’t on the rota. He walked to the back and Jaskier saw the moment he realised Roach’s kennel was empty.

“What’s happened to her?” Geralt’s eyes were wide, face stoically set into something vaguely neutral to hide a breaking heart upon learning she had been adopted.

Jaskier felt awful, realising Geralt had been hoping to finally adopt her. Instead, Geralt gritted his teeth and nodded.

“Did she go to a good home?”

“The best,” Jaskier nodded. “Guy with a house and a garden. She loved him and even tolerated the guy’s maybe boyfriend.”

That was a bit of a cheeky thing to add but Jaskier couldn’t help himself. He had hopes. What he wasn’t braced for was the way Geralt nodded once and made his excuses to leave. On the way out, he dropped a roll of money into the fundraising jar on the reception desk. Jaskier didn’t need to count it to know it was exactly the same amount as an adoption fee. There was a defeated slope to Geralt’s shoulders and Jaskier was reaching for his phone, calling Eskel.

“We need to move up the timeline. He just came by to try and adopt Roach.”

A quick jiggling of lunch breaks and cover later, Jaskier was taking an early lunch and on his way to Eskel’s. He smiled at the dog, loving the big old bow Eskel had managed to attach to her collar.

“Come on girl,” Jaskier coaxed her into the car. “Time to go home.”

He pulled up outside Geralt’s driveway. Somehow, Eskel and Lambert had already managed to coax Geralt onto the porch and Jaskier got to see the annoyed scowl before recognition smoothed Geralt’s features into something confused.

“Sorry to bother,” Jaskier said as he opened up the boot of his car. “But I’ve got something of yours that needed delivering.”

Roach hopped out with a huff and looked around.

“Roach?” Geralt’s voice was full of hope. His dog heard and Jaskier had no chance of holding her leash as she bounded towards Geralt.

Lambert and Eskel took a step back as Roach collided with Geralt and they went sprawling on the ground. They both looked so happy, Jaskier wanted to take a photo and treasure it forever. Thankfully, it seemed that Lambert had the same idea as he’d already whipped his phone out to take pictures. Meanwhile, Eskel pulled out the adoption papers from him pocket.

Finally a little calmer, Geralt sat up and stared at the three of them. “I thought she got adopted.”

“She did. By a guy with a house and a garden. The best home she could hope for,” Jaskier replied.

“Didn’t the guy also have a maybe boyfriend?” Off to the side, Eskel snorted and made no attempt to even hide it. Jaskier had the grace to blush lightly even as he shrugged. “Could we make it a definite boyfriend?” Geralt asked softly.

It was Jaskier’s turn to grin but he didn’t step closer. “While I’m very happy, I think I would prefer not to tackle you to the floor and lick you all over to express it. The bed however,” he trailed off suggestively.

Lambert barked out a laugh and punched him in the shoulder merrily. “We’ll leave you three to figure out who is allowed on the bed and who wears a collar. See you around.”

“Stay,” Jaskier replied. “I need to get back to work. But, maybe, when I’m done, I could come by and see how Roach is settling into her new home?”

He looked at Geralt hopefully. “I could even bring some wine and doggy treats.”

“Deal.”

That was how Jaskier found himself with a date for that evening.

[kingsuckjin]

Do you think you writing an alternative ending for teob could be a possibility? ;_; I love love love angst but it has to have a happy ending or I'll be in physical pain, literally. I've been following the series since almost the beginning and absolutely loved it but I would've never expected the ending aagghgfdghkkj

Hmmmm, Idk I feel like it would be hard and a bit wrong to ignore the trauma they've been through without having at least one of them show signs that it impacted them negatively. I had written a few ends to this actually and none of them turned out happy. 

BUT You're a follower that I’m fond of and that I particularly notice in my notifications and I like you. So I'll give you what your heart desires, so here you go:

The Enigma of Bunny- 14 alternative (happy) ending under the cut below

You heard the very soft scratching, something you heard often now, a soothing sound that almost lulled you right back to sleep until you realized you could see just how bright it was through your closed eyelids making them shoot open.

You looked to Jungkook who sat beside where you lay in your bed of the new apartment, casually shading away on a drawing clothed in only his sweatpants. His drawings didn't even suffer despite him losing his right index finger, they were still as beautiful as ever.

“Bunny, what are you doing?” 

“Drawing.” he stated never taking his eyes off his sketch pad.

“Did I sleep through my alarm? Why didn't you wake me up? I have a job to start today, remember?” You were confused as to why he didn't wake you like he had promised the night before, he knew you were a heavy sleeper and you knew he liked to wake up early.

With a sigh of annoyance you got up from bed and headed for your closet.

“Noona, Jin said take as long as you need to heal and I don't know if you’re quite up to it yet, didn't you say you felt a little pain yesterday when-”

“Jungkook it's been two months, I have to start working again. Besides, I’m just going to be doing restaurant finance stuff, it's not like i'm going to be straining myself. It was nice of Jin to want to help us out and offer me a job with pay that well when I caused him to get stabbed. You go back to training soon with the group.” You couldn't stay annoyed with him, he meant well, he just wanted to make sure you were better, but you had told Jin today you would be there.

“I decided not to.” he called to you as you threw on some clothes, having no time now for a shower.

“Why? I thought that was what you had wanted to do? It was your dream before, right?” You called back struggling to find appropriate shoes.

“Eh, I just don't want anymore creepy people finding either of us now, too risky. Why bother with fame when what I have now is better than that?”

You understood his point you guessed, it made sense that he was content with life now.

You left the closet and headed for the bathroom to do your best to put on a little makeup to hopefully distract from you having not showered.

“Kook?” you called after seeing that he left the bedroom and wasn't in the bathroom where you now concentrated on your face and brushing out your hair.

“Yeah?” he chimed back from somewhere in the house.

“Yoongi is wanting to come over sometime this weekend for dinner. We've been here a month and he hasn't seen it with the new furniture.” you informed only for him to appear in the doorway.

“Noona, why don't you just stay home, one more day.” he gave you his saddest doe eyes, but you weren't buying it.

“No Bunny, you know we need to start saving up money. If we want a family, we need money first.” you brushed through your hair.

“You’re right but I just- I- I can’t... “

“What do you mean?” you asked thinking how off his tone seemed. “I have to.”

Your body froze up, the air left your lungs and you couldn't even blink when you saw the small velvety box in his hand. He got down one knee and lifted his hand to open the box and show you the small sparkling jewel and metal that rested inside as he spoke with a smile and his prominent front teeth just as cute and endearing as the time he first showed you his smile, just as heart melting too.

“I can’t let you leave me today Noona. It hurts when you leave, but maybe if I know you want to be mine forever it will hurt less. I’ve spent enough time without you already, don't you think? Let’s really make this forever. Noona, Will you marry me?”

[ghstandpucks]

Misguided Ghost ~ Zak Bagans Ch. 10

A/N: Hey everyone! I hope you are all doing well! Student teaching, plus class and working on my TPA's is insane right now! My cooperating teacher decided to forgo the original plans for her 3rd graders in math, and tasked me with making the lessons for this week from scratch...and I'm being observed later today. Distance learning has been interesting to say the least lol

I am working on the next chapter of my Nathan MacKinnon story so hopefully I have that out around Friday/this weekend!

Enjoy!

Chapter 9

Catching Flights and Feelings

“Mia, have you researched anything on Mickey’s Tavern in Georgia yet?” Zak asked as he walked into my office Monday morning, a week after being back from my first lockdown. Things have been back to normal between Zak and I, if you call what we had before normal. I could tell he was getting used to me being around and the snarky comments had subsided. He spent most of the days walking between my office and his, usually to end up sitting on the other side of my desk with his laptop. I had placed a new air diffuser with the same scent I had in his office, but he still said it wasn’t the same and would just stay in my office. Aaron has been teasing me, but I just brush it off.

I nodded and held up a pile of papers while I was reading through an article for a different location. Zak took them from me and sat down in his newly claimed spot in my office. Once I finished the article and highlighted what I thought stood out, I looked over my laptop at him. “Why did you want that one? I’ve done research on like 10 other locations that came in before them,” I asked, curious because he hasn’t before asked me for information on a specific site. Zak sighed and looked up from the papers. “The owner emailed me last night, then called me this morning. I guess the activity is really becoming too much to where it’s affecting his business. He was hoping we could investigate it sooner rather than later,” Zak informed me. I nodded. “Ok so, I researched that one on Friday and from what I can remember the reports are kind of crazy. Are we going to go?” I asked, taking a sip of my tea. Zak smirked at me. “Crazy is what we do here Mia. Nervous?” he asked. I laughed at his tease, as I knew now he didn’t mean anything by it. “Put me in coach,” I smirked back. Zak let out a chuckle and with a wink, left my office to presumably tell the others. ~ ~ ~ Two days later we were all at the airport, waiting to board. I had just met Jay Wasley and he seemed nice. Our flight was at 6:30 in the morning, which means I had woken up at about 3:30 to make sure I was ready when Zak and Aaron picked me up at 4:30. I was listening to my music while everyone did their own thing when Nick walked up to me and nudged my foot with his as he sat across the aisle from me. I opened my eyes and saw him holding out a tray of coffee, with one marked as a decaf pumpkin spice latte. I smiled and reached for it. “Bless your soul sir,” I said, Nick laughed and handed everyone else their drinks. Zak came over and sat next to me. “So you do drink coffee?” he asked, taking a sip of his. I smiled and shrugged. “Decaf when I know I can handle it,” I informed him. He gave me a quizzical look. “What do you mean by that?” I sighed, debating if I should tell him the whole truth. I didn’t mind talking about my anxiety, but it was also a conversation I try to avoid at times. “Caffeine messes with my anxiety. In grad school I developed really bad separation anxiety from my family. I had no one in San Francisco and apparently that is not good for me. I was already stressed out with school that everything just came to a head and I actually would get sick all the time and lost about 20 pounds. It was to the point I would shake and feel light headed when I didn’t eat at regular intervals. I stopped drinking coffee and I was able to manage it better. Turns out I always had separation anxiety when I looked back to elementary school with my mom. No one just really talked about it then,” I looked down at my coffee, unsure of what his response would be. “Do you need to eat something now? I can get you a bagel or something,” Zak asked softly. I looked back at him and he looked a bit concerned. I laughed lightly. “No, I’m better now. I gained a few pounds back when I got home from school and it helped. Also keeping myself busy and being around friends takes my mind off of it so, hence why I can drink decaf at least. Thank you though,” I smiled at him. “Oh so we’re friends now?” he teased me, and I bumped into his shoulder. “Well I was talking more about Aaron, but I guess I would consider you an acquaintance” I teased back. Zak put his hand to his heart in fake hurt. “Ow! Ok, I see how it is.” He laughed. “But seriously, that doesn’t sound great. Why chose to come to Vegas and leave your family again?” “It was time to branch out again. I don’t want my anxiety to control me, and it honestly isn’t as bad as others. I’m lucky that way. Plus, I figured a three in a half hour drive from home was better than a seven in a half one so I thought I would give it go,” I explained. Zak nodded. “Well, thanks for sharing that. I’m sure I didn’t help in the beginning,” he said, looking a little upset with himself. I was starting to see the guy away from the cameras that Aaron had told me about, and I wanted to see more.             “Not really. But you’ve gotten better,” I smiled at him. He chuckled and took another sip as our boarding time was called out.         

    Perks of traveling for the Travel Channel, business class seats! Instead of being crammed in a three-seat row, we had spacious two seat rows and I was ready for our nonstop four-hour flight to Atlanta, Georgia. I sat next to the window as Aaron sat next to me as our tickets stated. Zak and Nick were in front of us, with Billy and Jay across the aisle. Aaron settled into his seat, then turned to look at me. I was staring out the window, but I could feel his eyes on me. I turned to him and raised my eyebrow. “Can I help you?”      

      “You and Zak seem to be getting cozy,” he whispered with a smirk. I looked toward Zak and he had his headphones in so I don’t think he heard. Looking back at Aaron, he had a look on his face like he knew what I was thinking.             “We’re just becoming friends. Leave it alone,” I whispered hissed at him. Aaron rolled his eyes but kept his smile. I laughed and shook my head, looking back toward the window. I felt him shift next to me and when I turned to look, he was leaning forward tapping Zak on the shoulder. I stared at him thinking he wasn’t doing what I thought he was. Oh…but he was.      

      “Bro I need to talk to Nick about something. Mind switching?” Aaron asked Zak. Zak looked at me as I tried to hid in the hood of my jacket and hoped my cheeks weren’t too red. I wanted to shove Aaron.     

        “Not at all,” I heard Zak say. I looked up as they switched and Aaron winked at me. I shook my head slightly, then tried to smile when Zak took a seat. “Hope you don’t mind,” Zak said with that charming smile of his. I shook my head and smiled back, bringing my knees up to my chest as we got comfortable and ready for takeoff.      

       About an hour into the flight, I had drifted off to sleep only to be woken with a start when the plane became bumpy and the captain came over the speakers to ask all passengers to put their seatbelts on. I looked around with wide eyes and Zak must have realized I had no clue what was going on. “Hey, hey it’s ok. We just hit some turbulence,” he said, reaching for my hand. I let him intertwine our fingers as my heart started to slow back down. I smiled lightly at him, slightly embarrassed by my panic.        

    “Sorry,” I said quietly. He smiled and shook his head.      

      “Don’t be,” he stated, and went back to looking at his phone. I looked down at our hands and I could feel myself start to blush. It was strangely comforting knowing he was right there. I squeezed his hand reflexively as the plane gave another jolt. It’s not like I’ve never been through turbulence on a plane before, but it still didn’t mean that I liked it. Zak gave a reassuring squeeze to my hand and put his phone down, shifting his body so he was facing me more. “Why don’t you tell me about the history of this bar we’re going to,” he asked lightly.             “I’m ok, honestly,” I said, feeling bad I took him away from what he was doing before. Zak smiled.       

     “Who said I was doing this for your benefit?” he winked. I rolled my eyes but smiled none the less. I quietly began listing off what I remembered about the site, Zak asking questions here and there. Thirty minutes later the seatbelt sign was turned off again but Zak didn’t let go of my hand, and I would be lying if I said that didn’t make me feel like there were butterflies in my stomach.             About an hour later, we were getting ready to land. Only then Zak let go of my hand to put his backpack away and I couldn’t stop myself from feeling slightly disappointed. Though we had started talking about the location, we then started talking about music and concerts we’ve been to, and just life in general. We were really starting to get to know each other, and I was happy he was trusting me enough to open up.       

      Once off the plane, we claimed our luggage and all the tech equipment, heading off to the rental car area. Because there were 6 of us and many bags, we ended up with two SUVs. Billy and Jay in one with all the tech equipment, and the rest of us in the other with the luggage. I sat in the back with Aaron as Nick drove and Zak was in the passenger seat. I was watching Aaron as he was trying to hid his phone from me, but kept looking up with a goofy smile. I laughed at him as my phone and Zak’s both rang with a notification. Aaron gave me a huge smile as I looked at him suspiciously. “I’m scared to look at that,” I whispered and Zak shot around.     

        “Dude, seriously?” he didn’t seem mad or irritated, just slightly chuckled and shook his head. I looked between the two of them. Oh God…I picked up my phone and saw the Instagram notification that Aaron had tagged me in a post. I opened it up and my jaw dropped. Crap…

Aarongoodwin: The newbie can’t handle early morning travel #ghostadventures #travelbuddies #adoptedlilsis

Above the caption was a picture that Aaron shot over his head with him making a laughing face. I was fast asleep on Zak’s shoulder, with my knees curled up to my chest and leaning in his direction as well. Zak looked unphased, face in his phone, not noticing what Aaron was up to. To be honest, the picture was cute. But I was slightly mortified. What is Zak thinking? What are the fans going to think? Aaron just posted the picture two minutes ago and it already had over 400 likes and 53 comments. But one stood out.

Realzakbagans: What can I say? I make a good pillow. I looked up to see Zak watching me. When I caught his eyes he winked at me, then turned back around. I laughed and shook my head. 

NotMiaThermopolis: OMG! @realzakbagans sorry! @aarongoodwin I hate you. #notamorningpersonBoth Zak and Aaron checked their phones at the same time. Zak let out a bark like laugh as Aaron yelled “Hey!” Nick stopped at a red light and turned toward us.     

        “Will someone please fill me in?” he asked. Zak showed him the post and he started laughing. “Ok, that is a cute picture though. I will have my two cents in about it once we get to the hotel.” I looked at Aaron and shook my head as he gave me puppy dog eyes.          

   “You suck,” I laughed and smiled at him. He gave me a big smile as we all settled back into our seats for the hour drive out of Atlanta.    

[heyitssmiller]

Leo is tired. A lot has happened in the last couple hours, and all he wants to do is be left alone.

Nurses flutter in and out around him, taking his blood and checking the machines next to him Some try to make small talk. He’s grateful for the ones that don’t.

When he’s rolled out of the room for a CT scan, he doesn’t see Finn or Logan in the waiting room. He does see a few other people sitting there, though.

A tall man with hazel eyes. A dark haired man with glasses. A man with an impressive poker face who’s allowing the blonde woman next to him to braid and unbraid his thick hair absentmindedly. All four of them watch him go by silently, and all four look sad. He hopes whoever they’re here for will be okay.

Leo’s doctor keeps asking him questions. Yes, he remembers his own name. No, he doesn’t recognize anyone who’s been in his room. Yes, he is aware he’s in a hospital. No, he isn’t sure how he got there.

He knows that everyone is only trying to help him, but he feels like none of it is getting them anywhere.

After what feels like forever, his doctor clasps her hands. “Mr. Knut, if you would like, you can request Mr. Tremblay and Mr. O’Hara be present as you receive my formal diagnosis.”

He stares at her. “Uh...?”

“The men who were in here with you earlier.”

Oh. His mouth goes dry. Would they want to be here? If he still knew who they were, would he want them here? He exhaled loudly. “Yeah, okay. I think I’d like them to hear this.”

His doctor flashes him a sympathetic smile and signals for a nurse to go to the waiting room.

When the men come in and sit down, they’re holding hands. Leo’s eyebrows start to raise but he stops himself before they can see his surprise.

“I believe Mr. Knut has Focal Retrograde Amnesia,” his doctor begins. “This means that he remembers old things— his childhood, his name, his age— but not more recent memories.”

Finn’s eyebrows are drawn together. “Okay... so how do we fix it?”

She turns back to Leo. “There’s no real cure. We can’t proscribe a medication or anything like that to bring back your memory, the most we can do is try and slowly submerge you back into your life. Hopefully in a couple of months you’ll have regained some memories, but there is always a chance you’ll never remember.”

He swallowed around the lump in his throat as his doctor clicked something on her computer. “Luckily, your short term memory doesn’t seem to have been affected. This means you shouldn’t have a problem with retaining any new information or skills.”

Finn reached with his other hand to scratch his hair. “So what do we do? Can we do anything to help?”

“Yes, actually. It will be beneficial for you two to bring him around familiar objects, people and routines.” She swivels towards Leo again. “Not too fast, though, we don’t want you to be overwhelmed.”

A nurse knocks at the door. “Doctor? Room 487 needs you immediately.”

Standing, Leo’s doctor closes her laptop with a smile. “Well it seems I have to go, so I’ll let you three get reacquainted now.”

Part of Leo wishes she hadn’t left. These men know him, but they’re meeting for the first time in his mind. He fiddles with his thumbnail nervously. “So, um. How do...how do we all know each other?”

Logan and Finn look at each other, and Logan takes a breath. “We’re your boyfriends.”

Leo’s eyes go wide. “Boyfriends. As in...both of you? As in two?”

Finn’s mouth twitches upwards. “Yeah, Nut, boyfriends as in two.”

“I’m sorry, why do you keep calling me nut?”

Finn’s smile slips. “It’s, uh, it’s a nickname. Because of your last name. When we first saw it we thought it was pronounced ‘Nut’ and it, um, kinda stuck from there.”

Leo nods stiffly. “Oh. Okay.”

Logan shifts his weight. “Leo, we know you don’t remember us, but we’d really like it if you gave us a chance. Get to know us. Again. What do you...what d’you think?”

Leo looks between the two of them. They both looked so hopeful he would say yes. They were still holding hands, pressing their shoulders together to steady each other, and Leo could practically feel the love they had for each other. Did they have that love for him?

Maybe.

He wasn’t sure yet.

But a large part of him wanted to find out.

I SCREAMED when I saw this notification oh my god!!!!

Anon you are so amazingly talented!! The picture you paint with your words is so vivid and just wow 🤩

[delightfully-difficult-pirate]

Freaky Friday the 14th (CSRR) (2/3)

AN: I intended to post the finale of this fic today, but I haven’t had the time to finish editing it all.  So instead of not posting, I’m posting what I have as part 2 and next week I’ll get the rest of it posted as part 3.  Sorry!  Another thanks to @mariakov81​ for her wonderful art that served as inspiration and has tested my writing abilities.  And of course to @csrolereversal​ for organizing this event.

Rating: PG-13

Part 1 (art)

AO3: Ch1 Ch2

                                                          ~*~

*BEEP*BEEP*BEEP*

Emma hated Killian’s alarm clock.  It was an actual, physical alarm clock, and an ancient one at that.  Well, ancient may be too strong of a word, but it was old.  So old that she couldn’t plug her phone into it so that it played something other than the annoying buzzer as the alarm.

Buried beneath the covers, Emma reached out one arm and clumsily slapped the alarm clock until the sound ceased.  She slowly lifted her arm and squinted at the clock.

7:15am.  

So absorbed as she was trying to figure out why Killian had set the alarm for so early on a weekend, it took her a couple of moments until she realized that the arm holding the blankets up was not her own.

Except it was.

It was the arm that moved when she instinctively jerked it back in shock.  

Freaked out, Emma tried to unbury herself from the bedcovers, but only tangled herself further.  She continued to fight against them until she tumbled off the bed and onto the floor.  Finally, she fought free, but when she tried to stand, she found it difficult.  Her body felt disjoined and heavy and her head was pounding.  Confused, she looked down at herself.

Emma was greeted with the sight of a bare, hairy chest that she was intimately acquainted with.  Killian’s chest.  She pulled on the waistband of the grey lounge pants.  Definitely Killian’s penis.

“What the fuck?”

Killian’s sleep rough voice came from her… his… mouth.

How was this possible?

This had to be some freaky, weird dream.

People couldn’t just… switch bodies.

So what happened?

~*~

Killian woke slowly, confused.  He could have sworn that he’d remembered to set his alarm the night before, but the light filtering through the closed blinds told him it was later than he normally woke up.  His confusion deepened as he realized that he was in Emma’s apartment.  He’d gone home last night, after the disastrous dinner. How had he ended up at Emma’s apartment, in Emma’s bed?

And why was everything blurry?

Killian roughly rubbed a hand across his face to help wake himself up and was shocked to not feel his signature scruff against his palm.  Had he decided to shave last night, for some odd reason?  He’d had a few more drinks after getting home and had defiantly been drunk by the time he’d gone to bed, but surely it hadn’t been enough for him to not remember shaving? And apparently make his way to his girlfriend’s apartment?  It had been a long time since he’d been blackout drunk, but that would also explain why he still couldn’t see properly.

“Bloody hell,” he murmured in a voice not his own.

That woke Killian up and he shot straight up.  He quickly scrambled out of bed and promptly fell flat onto the floor, his limbs not obeying.  He heaved himself back up and stumbled his way toward the bathroom.  

He was… Emma.  

And he looked exhausted.

The underside of his… her… eyes were puffy, as if he’d… she’d… been crying.

The realization that Emma must have cried sometime after returning home from dinner was like a knife in his heart.  That was his fault.  Him and his stupid, ill-timed proposition.

Killian dropped his head forward.  

“What have I done?”

Before he could spiral too far down that depressing line of thought, he heard Emma’s phone start to ring.  He clumsily left the bathroom and spotted Emma’s cellphone on the bedside table, which showed a picture of himself relaxing on Emma’s bed and his name on the screen.

If he was in Emma’s body… she must be in his!

Killian scrambled across the bed and swiped across the screen to answer the call.

“Emma?  Are you alright?” He inquired frantically.

The line was silent for a moment before he heard his own voice answer in reply.  

“Killian, are you… me?”

He answered in the affirmative before repeating his question about how she was.

“I’m confused as fuck.  What is going on?” She asked.

“I don’t know, Emma.  But we are going to figure it out,” he told her, “I promise you, we will get this sorted.”

Emma’s voice quaked when she asked, “How?”

“I’m not sure yet,” he answered honestly.  “Stay put.  I’m going to head over there and we can figure this out, together.”

He could hear Emma breathing heavily on the other end of the call.  Eventually, she replied, “Okay.  That sounds good.  I’ll get the coffee started.  I feel like we’re going to need lot of it.”

                                                        ~*~

Four hours later, Emma and Killian were in his living room doing research on how they could have swapped bodies.  Killian was on the floor, surrounded by piles of books on mythology and legends. Most were from his own shelves, history nerd that he was, but some he had grabbed from the library on his way over.

It was weird, seeing herself from the outside, especially looking so academic. He was wearing her glasses, unwilling to risk any damage to her eyes by trying to put contact lenses in he’d said. They kept slipping down his nose due to a broken nose pad, which reminded her that she needed to get a new pair.

While Killian was in his element with the books, she was using her rusty internet sleuthing skills and was hunting down information online using keywords and search terms Killian suggested.  Something that was frustratingly difficult with only one hand.  Did they not make laptops or keyboards that were easier for one-handed individuals to use?

When another term brought her to a page about yet another mythological trickster, she asked, “Does every mythology have some sort of trickster god?”

Killian looked up from the book he was skimming, face thoughtful.  “I believe so.  Some even have multiple, in a way, with many entities representing different mischievous attributes.  Pan would probably be the trickster of Greek mythology, but there is also Eris, the Goddess of discord.  And Dionysis could be considered a bit of a trickster, being the deity of madness.”

Emma couldn’t help but smile at Killian’s thorough answer.  Even though mythology wasn’t his area of study, he was a historian and always tried to give the most complete answer possible.  

After answering, Killian looked contemplative.  “Do you think we have been cursed by some sort of trickster?” He asked slowly.

Emma’s eyebrows shot up.  “Do you?”

Killian scratched behind his ear, clearly embarrassed, but all Emma could concentrate on was how surreal it was to see her own body display Killian’s tick.  

“We are obviously looking at some type of supernatural cause, as impossible as that seems, so it’s as good as an answer as any,” he eventually admitted.

Just as Emma was about to answer, her phone buzzed.  It was her calendar app reminding her that she and Killian were supposed to meet Mary-Margaret and David for dinner and drinks that evening. She showed the notification to Killian, who blinked owlishly at it.

“We have to reschedule,” he simply stated.

Emma was shaking her head before he even finished. “Both of us can’t cancel.

They’ll know something is up and we’ll never hear the end of it until we tell them.”

“We could claim one of us isn’t feeling well,” he suggested hopefully.

“And Mary-Margaret will be over with soup within the hour,” she countered. After a moment, she continued, “Research is more you’re area, so I’ll go and make-up something to explain your absence.”

“Such as?”

She shrugged, her eyes on the website in front of her.  “Maybe that we fought last night and you… well, me, technically… are not currently in the mood to see me, or rather you.  The best lies are those with some basis in the truth, after all.”

The room was silent in the wake of her suggestion.  Emma looked up from her computer to find Killian staring at her.

“Is that how this day would have gone, if we weren’t in this… unusual situation?” He asked, his voice soft.

Uncomfortable being under her own gaze, Emma shifted on the couch.  “Possibly,” she admitted.  “I probably would have called Mary-Margaret at some point.  Asked for her advice on the situation.”

Killian continued to study her.  

“And you?” She eventually asked.  “I already know that you came home and drank half the bottle of rum David gave you for Christmas, so would you have just spent the day nursing the hangover?”

The hangover that she was still coping with, even after a substantial amount of water and numerous cups of coffee.

“Ah… yes.  Sorry about that,” he apologized.  “I was planning to invite you to Granny’s for breakfast, actually.”

“Really?”

Killian nodded solemnly. “I guess it would have been a fool’s hope that you would have been willing to meet after last night.”

Emma’s heart clenched painfully.

“Killian, I…” she started but her phone rang just as she did.

She was about to answer it before she remembered that she currently wasn’t herself and neither of them were in the habit of answering the other’s phones.  She passed it to Killian, who grabbed it as if it were a snake about to bite him.

“Just… act like me?” She suggested hopefully.

Killian rolled his eyes before answering the call and putting it on speaker phone.

“Emma!” Mary-Margaret’s excited voice filled the room.  “How are you this morning?”

“I’m fine, M. You?”

“I’m having a lovely day.  Are you and Killian still meeting David and me tonight?”

“That was the plan.”  Killian did a rather good job imitating her more succinct pattern of speech, Emma noted.  Much better than she was at his.

“Excellent.  Would 5:30pm work for the two of you?”

Killian looked at her for guidance.  Emma signaled for him to answer, hoping he could come up with some reasonable explanation for his… her… absence.

“Actually, I’m feeling a bit tired today. I was thinking…” He started before being interrupted by their friend.

“Are you sick? Do you need me to bring you anything? I have some chicken noodle soup I made on Saturday.” Mary-Margaret was true to form, immediately offering all the comforts she could provide to a sick friend.  

Killian looked startled and he struggled to interrupt Mary-Margaret.  “No, I’m not sick,” he insisted. “I just didn’t sleep well, that is all.”

“Are you sure? It will only take thirty minutes or so for me to warm up some of the soup and bring it over,” Mary-Margaret insisted.

Killian stumbled over his words as he replied, “No, I really am fine, truly. 5:30pm works great.  We’ll meet you at Granny’s.”

“Ok, great! See you both then!”  After that, the call disconnected but Killian continued to stare at the phone.  

“That didn’t go like I had hoped,” he eventually said.

Emma tried to remember if Killian had ever had the full force of Mary-Margaret’s protective nature turned on him before.  She didn’t think so.

“Don’t worry about it.  If we can’t find a solution to our… problem before dinner, we can just get them drunk enough that they won’t notice if anything is different about us.”

Killian looked dubious at her suggestion, but he couldn’t offer any other alternative plan.  Now with a time limit, they both dove back into their research.

                                                         ~*~

See you next week!

[sechssstan]

Hellooo can I get #32 with Jiwon!

Hello~ I’m so sorry for keeping you waiting for so lont, but as you can see I wrote a lot! Feel free to ask again💛 Hope you’ll like it🙏🏻

“Can you pretend to be my partner for my friend’s wedding? I told them I’d have a plus one.” with Eun Jiwon

It all started on that awful day when your close friend suddenly texted you.

“So, Y/N, who’s coming with you to my wedding?” her text said. You read the text many times, confused.

“I’m sorry?” you replied, trying to sort things out. Your friend quickly called you.

“Y/N, hi. Don’t you remember? You promised me that you wouldn’t come by yourself to my wedding.” she explained with a giggle.

“I can’t exactly recall the moment when I told you that…” you honestly answered, scratching the back of your head. Why would you have said such a thing, when you’re not even dating anyone?

Your friend giggled, once again. “I guess you might have been a little bit drunk when you said that.” she added, with a malicious tone in her voice.

You sighed, rolling your eyes. “I’m sorry, but I don’t think I will be able to come with someone. I mean who would accept to come to a wedding that basically is in two days?”

“Well…” she started. “It could be a nice way to finally ask someone we know on a date…”

You immediately blushed. “A marriage doesn’t seem like a nice excuse to arrange a date.”

“Whatever.” your friend replied. “Anyways, you have to keep your promise!”

It all started on that awful day. Right after she hanged up, you began wondering whether you should ask that person out or not. “You know what, he would know that I like him anyways.” you thought.

“Can you pretend to be my partner for my friend’s wedding? I told her I’d have a plus one.” you hurriedly wrote and then put your phone down. As the notification sound resonated in your room, you hid your face with your hands.

“Sounds fun. But I need you to tell me what color you will wear, so that we can match.” he replied.

It all started on that awful day that eventually led to you waiting for Jiwon to come pick you up. As usual, he is late. You take a look at yourself in the mirror and adjust your yellow dress once again, wondering about whether he’ll come or not. It wouldn’t be strange if he decided to back off. “I’m here~” he finally texts you.

You take a deep breath before finally leaving your house.

When you finally see him, he’s standing near his car; he looks pretty handsome with the suit he chose to wear – probably it’s tailored as it fits him perfectly – and you can’t help but smile when you see that he has a yellow handkerchief in his jacket pocket.

“You look beautiful.” he compliments to you, as he opens the car door.

You merely smirk as a thank you, blushing, as you sit in the passenger seat; he sits behind the wheel and then addresses you. “Could you please type the address of the venue in the navigation system?”

You do as he asked you to and he starts to follow the route that the navigation system suggests. You don’t talk much at first, so you begin to curse yourself for the bad idea that you had asking him to come. “This will lead to nothing good.” you think, as Jiwon gives you curious looks.

After some other minutes spent in complete silence, he lowers the volume of the navigation system. “Are you nervous?” he asks, looking at you through the rearview mirror.

You bite your lip. “Sort of.” you simply answer, looking outside the window. The car becomes quiet once again.

“So… do we have a plan?” Jiwon asks again, looking over to you briefly before turning his dark eyes back on the road.

You raise an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

“Well, what will we say if somebody asks how we started dating?” he explains, trying to hide a little giggle. You smile, as you get that he’s quite amused by the whole situation.

“Everyone knows that we are close. Let’s just say that we developed feelings.” you propose, as you check your make-up through the side-view mirror. “Hopefully, nobody will ask questions and we’ll just have to eat and drink until we get super drunk.”

Jiwon lets out a burst of laughter. “That sounds nice.” he replies; you can feel that you’ve finally taken the edge off. In about twenty minutes you arrive at the venue of the wedding; your friend always had taste, but this place literally exceeds the expectations. Right after you park the car, Jiwon comes and opens the car door for you; you get out of the car and quickly adjust your dress. Before you finally walk into the ceremony, Jiwon slides his hand into yours; he probably can feel that your body is stiffening, so he whispers “Relax.”.

As you enter the party hall, the newly-wed couple seems to be nowhere to be found, so you give up on looking for them. “We’ll eventually see them. Let’s have a drink.” you propose and Jiwon nods. He grabs champagne glasses and passes one to you. A couple of people come up to say hi to you and you giggle at the fact that they are excited to meet a celebrity. “It’s going well so far.”, you think. Jiwon is talking to one of your friend’s aunts about a recent variety show he’s been on and, by looking at him, you get lost in your thoughts: thinking about how your hands earlier fitted together well, you can feel your face turning a little bit red. He notices it, politely greets the lady and then gives you a questioning look. You shake your head.

“You know, it’s not so bad, anyways. The food seems to be good and there’s an open bar.” you say, quickly changing the subject of your discussion.

“Do you think so?” he asks, offering you another glass of champagne that he had receivd from a waiter.  “Your standards for a wedding are low.”

“Oh, you’re right. You’re an expert when it comes to marriage.” you giggle. As you notice that he’s frowning upon your words, you pinch his cheek. “C’mon, I’m kidding! So, are you offering to show me better? Do you also want to arrange a fake wedding now?”

“Oh, in such case, would you be a dear and marry me then?” he blinks innocently, grabbing your hand.

“If you think you can marry me after two glasses of wine…” you start, pretending to be thinking about that. “You are absolutely right, let’s go!”

You both burst out laughing. Actually, it’s not that bad to pretend to be a couple. If only it wasn’t an act…

After some time you spot the newlyweds and you hurriedly reach them, with Jiwon following you; your friend notices him and gives you a malicious look.

“Y/N, finally! I was starting to think that you got lost in the bar.” she teases you, making you smile. She looks gorgeous in her bridal dress and you can’t help but get emotional. “Oh, don’t be a crybaby now.”

On the other side, Jiwon is shaking hands with her husband and congratulating him on the blessed event. Your friend looks at the two talking and, then, winks at you. “Jiwon! It’s so nice to have you here. I didn’t think that Y/N would seriously come with you, when she told me.”

Jiwon gives you a confused look; then, he understands that she’s trying to tease you, so he plays along. “You know, I wasn’t so sure about coming. But then she begged me… so here I am.”

The two of them giggle as you pout. “C'mon, let’s find the other food and fill our glasses.” you say, with the intention of separating those two. Soon the dinner starts and you find yourselves sitting at a table with some old friend of yours, who can’t stop giving curious looks to you and Jiwon. At first, it felt fun to be the center of the attention, but then the constant feeling of being watched slowly turned into a nuisance. Also, the reception is more boring than you would have thought: just people sharing toasts about how wonderful the newlyweds are and how in love they are. And when the dinner comes to an end, the dancing begins.

“How would you feel about dancing?” you ask, as Jiwon is filling your glass with red wine.

“For the sake of your feet, we better not.” he jokes, alluding to your high heels. You smile, and then take a sip of wine. You can feel that your head is starting to feel dizzy from all the alcohol you drank. The newlyweds share their first dance together, and also dance with their parents.

“How long have you known each other?” Jiwon asks out of the blue, referring to the bride.

“We met during our last year in high school.” you answer.

“How does it feel to see someone that you’ve known for so long getting married?” he asks again.

You’ve actually never thought about this. Many of your friends for high school are now living the time of their lives, some of them are engaged and some others are even married with babies. “I haven’t thought about this, actually.” you reply, shrugging your shoulders. “But I guess that I’m getting emotional about this. I wonder how I’ll feel when I’ll be the one getting married…”

Jiwon suddenly holds your hand. “Let me stop you there before you end up crying over this. Let’s have a dance.”

As the slow music starts, Jiwon pulls you close against him, and you’re not sure if it’s all the drinks you’ve had, but it feels… strange. His hands settle around your neck and his face is close enough that you can feel his breath on your lips. You swallow. Somewhere in your mind, you’re trying to remind yourself that he only accepted to be your fake partner as a way to spend his day. He only is a friend. He’s always been.

The song slowly comes to an end, and Jiwon is literally leaning in, and your heart is beating fast, and you think the air is leaving your lungs, and…

Someone waves their hand in between your faces. You turn around and you see one of your old classmates. “Hey.” he says.

“Uhm… hey.” you reply, unsure about how to behave. Out of all the moments he could have greeted you, he chose the exact moment when you and Jiwon were about to kiss…

“May I have the next dance?” he asks, offering you a hand. Jiwon doesn’t say a word but you know that something seems to steam inside of him. A hot, burning, possessive feeling boils in him because he is just like a child who gets angry over people trying to get what’s his, even if it’s pretending. He goes back to the table where you were sitting and, as you’re dancing with that stupid classmate of yours, you see that he’s taking his frustration out by getting super drunk. Luckily, the DJ decides to quickly put an end to the song you were dancing to and you hurriedly greet your friend, cursing him with your thoughts. As you turn back, intentioned to reach Jiwon, you notice that he’s missing from your table; you ask the diners where he had gone to and they tell you that he just said that he needed some fresh air. You get out of the party hall and find him in the garden, still attached to a glass of wine; you reach him, take the glass out of his hands and place it on a bench.

“That’s enough drinking for today.” you say, as Jiwon raises an eyebrow. Then, something just possesses him as he pulls you close, wrapping his arm around your neck as he meets your lips with fervor.  You can’t believe what is happening. He tastes like wine – how couldn’t he? -, and you find yourself quickly returning his kiss. His hands grabs your waist, pulling you closer. You aren’t sure how long you’re kissing until Jiwon pulls back, staring at you.

“You must be super drunk.” he says, shaking his head; he turns around and walks away from you, heading to a bench. You can hear him cursing himself.

You stand there, without knowing what to do and thinking about what he meant with his words. Then, you come back to your senses and follow him. “Hey! You can’t kiss someone and then leave like that.”  

Jiwon’s face is impassive and he’s quiet as he always is when he feels vulnerable. You sit next to him.

“What does this mean to you?” he asks. “It means a lot to me.”

You don’t know what to answer. You sure have liked him for a long time now, but the thought of the two of you actually being together never crossed your mind.

“You know,” he starts. “When I first met you, you were like, the most gorgeous girl I’ve ever seen in my life. I still believe this to be true.”

You can feel your cheeks getting warmer as you’re blushing. This can’t be happening for real.

“Then I got to you know, and you were funny, charming, very sarcastic, ambitious, and all these amazing things.” he goes on.

“Is it true? Have you always been in love with me?” you cut him off. “Why didn’t you ever say anything?”

“Why would I?” he asks, with a bitter smile. “While I was busy with one night stands, you were looking for some long term dating. How can you expect me to even think that you might’ve been interested in me?”

You sigh, thinking about how blind you have been all this time. You don’t really know what to say.

 “So, I’m going to ask you again. What does this mean to you?” he asks, once again. “You know what? Nevermind, I’ll find the answer myself.”

He doesn’t even let you say a word that he softly presses his lips against yours. It’s hard to process the fact that you’re actually kissing him. When you pull back, he rests his forehead against yours.

“Would it be okay to take my fake girlfriend on a date ‪tomorrow morning‬ so she can become my real girlfriend?” he asks, with a sly wit.

You can’t help but smile. “You’re such an idiot, Eun Jiwon.”