#black headed corgi

[halleythecometcorgi]

There’s a cafe restaurant by the river that we go to sometimes after work (food is meh but the view is ✨ lol). It was chilly though so I brought Halley’s fold out bed. She had her dinner (topped with leftover chicken, lucky pup) and looked so content. To top it off we had a pretty sunset as we were leaving!

[flailing-nerd]

You're gonna see a lot more corgis on this blog, cause I got one during my Tumblr sabbatical. This is Viola, she's two, and she is both the best and an absolute gremlin

[disneyprincemuke]

just a responsible pet owner * fem!driver

she comes home after a night of drinking, suddenly concerned about what their pets are eating

pairings: logan sargeant x fem!driver

notes: hi ive had this fic idea in my head FOR WEEKS and i think it's so funny so here we are

(series masterlist) | (📂 the sophomore year)

“be careful!” logan scolds as she pushes the door open, stumbling into the door as she opens it.

she kicks her heels off as she waves logan off who’s trailing behind her, arms held out protectively in case she were to fall into one of their shelves.

“i’m fine,” she mutters, slowly walking and swaying further into their apartment. she has her hands held out on both walls of the entryway to steady herself, desperately ignoring the way the room spins and how she’s stepping on her foot every time she walks.

“i hardly believe that. you drank too much, rocky,” logan sighs, scratching his head.

this could have been easier if she’d just agreed to let him carry her back from his car to their apartment. she wouldn’t have had to struggle stumbling everywhere in her heels, knees giving in every couple of steps.

she shakes her head. “i’m fine– oh! my kids! hello, kids!”

she drops to her knees next to the black cat by his feeding bowl, meowing at her as he puts his two front paws on her thigh. “hi, kid. did you miss me?” she grabs both sides of the cat's face, hunching over and pressing kisses to the top of the cat’s head. “i missed you. what are you doing? are you eating?”

“i think he was eating,” logan mutters. he bends over and puts a hand on her shoulder, squeezing it lightly. “we should really get you to bed — take off your makeup and drink lots of water. how does that sound?”

she turns around, eyebrows furrowed at him with a frown. “that sounds stupid.”

he lifts his eyebrows. “oh?”

“yeah,” she hums, wrapping her arms around kidnapper, who willingly gets into her lap. “i want to cuddle with my baby.” she rests her cheek on the top of the black cat’s head, then opens her eyes. “is your food even nice?”

shortly, the corgi starts trudging up to her happily, prompting the young girl to squeak and open her arms up to the pup. stubby reciprocates and cuddles into her lap, tail wagging in happiness at her affection.

“dude,” logan repeats himself in a slightly firmer tone. “you need to drink some water and get to bed. at this rate, you’ll fall asleep on the floor.”

“wait,” she mutters, dropping the animals in her hands. she tilts her entire body and rests her head on the wall. “am i even feeding you well? is your food as yummy as you make it out to be?”

logan lets out a soft cry, his arm darting out immediately to grab her wrist before she could grab a kibble from the cat bowl. “that’s cat food.”

“i know,” she says in a whisper, her other hand coming around to tear his grip off her. “i just want to taste their food and make sure they’re eating well.”

if you had told him 5 hours ago that this would be the outcome of their night out, he wouldn’t have believed you. she’d always prided herself in having control over her body when she was drunk, but it seems that she’s just in another dimension tonight. he assumes it’s the 4 cups of margaritas that she downed in 10 minutes before he dragged them out of the club.

“that’s not for you!”

“stop telling me what not to eat! you’re not noah!” she squeaks, turning around to shove him away. “it’s just cat and dog food — i won’t get sick!”

logan throws his head back. “i can’t risk that! noah will kill me if anything happens to you before the race this weekend!”

she lets out a soft scream when he grabs both of her arms, pulling her away from the pet bowls, throwing her head back and resting it on his shoulder. “let me be the pet food police! if they’re not nice, i have to change the brand we’re getting!”

“mate, if they didn’t think it was nice, they wouldn’t be eating it!” logan fights back, pulling her arms back from darting forward to get a taste of their food. “stop trying to try it!”

“fine!” she drops her arms to her side as logan finally lets go of her. she blinks blankly and pouts her bottom lip out. “can i have a glass of water please?”

he stares at her, slightly hesitant. “you’re not going to do anything stupid?”

she shakes her head and drops it slightly, her hair falling down the sides of her face. “i’m thirsty. please?”

“okay,” logan nods, slowly scrambling to get off the floor. “stay here, okay? don’t go anywhere; i’ll help you get to bed after you drink some water.”

but he should have known better than to leave her unattended at that state. he had left for 20 seconds maximum to hurriedly get her a cup of water. when he came back, she’s lying on her stomach, chin in her hand with her elbow propped up against the ground, chewing away on something.

“hey, what the fuck are you eating?” logan screams, putting the cup down on their dining table and rushing over to where she is on the ground. “mate, you’re worse than stubby when he was a puppy! what are you eating?”

she doesn’t have the same urgency. her feet are in the air and she turns to him with doe eyes. “it’s kinda bland.” she looks at kidnapper, lying down innocently next to her. “how do you eat that, mate? it’s got no taste at all.”

she doesn’t spare logan another glance, just turns away and turns to stubby’s bowl. “what about you, tubs? what does your food taste like?”

“stop eating their food! if you’re that hungry, i’ll make you a sandwich!” logan scolds, climbing on her back to pull her away from the pets’ corner. “that’s not your food. stop eating it!”

“i need to see if their food is good food!” she continues to defend herself, pushing her arm forward in hopes that logan would be the first to give up the fight. “please! i’m a concerned pet owner!” she turns her head. “you don’t care for my kids!”

logan rolls his eyes. “yes, i do! i walk stubby every morning we’re home!”

“if you cared for them more, you’d try their food so that we know what we’re feeding them!”

“that’s not the same thing!”

“yes, it is! leave me alone!”

“rocky! pet food is not human food!”

“i just wanna try it!”

“give it up! you’ve tried kidnapper’s food and that’s enough,” logan sighs, dropping himself on the floor next to her. his hands, however, are still gripping hers and tiredly pulling her away from the bowls. “please stop trying to eat their food. it’s not for you.”

“why not?” she whines, now dropping her head to rest on her arm. “i’m being a responsible pet owner, mate.”

“no, you’re just being stupid.”

“aw, take that back!”

“but you are!”

“you’re always so mean to me!” she squeaks, lifting her head to look at him. “i’m going to bed!”

logan chuckles, “if you can get up and make it to bed by yourself, i’ll let you eat stubby’s kibble.”

she sighs loudly and drops her head again, followed by an even louder whine. “fine. you got me.”

they let the silence overcome them for a moment, his hands still gripping hers tightly. he’s let his guard down too easily once tonight and there is absolutely no way that she will get the best of him again.

“can you take me to my bed now?” she starts softly. “and i’d like that glass of water now.”

taglist: @wcnorris @treehouse-mouse @laura-naruto-fan1998 @mindless-rock @vellicora @leilanixx @ironmaiden1313 @angsthology @cherry-piee @christianpulisic10 @elliegrey2803 @33-81 @darleneslane @nikfigueiredo @happy-nico @namgification @localwhoore @sadg3 @kazuha-pista-badam @mellowarcadefun @megatrilss1885 @peqch-pie @gentlyweeps-world @woozarts @meadhbhcavanagh @2bormaybenot @clemswrld @a-disturbing-self-reflection @inejismywife @love4lando @louvrepool

[jqnehr]

𓂃₊ ⊹ 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 & 𝐝𝐞𝐞𝐩𝐬𝐩𝐚𝐜𝐞 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬 : 𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐬𝐥𝐞𝐞𝐩

⟡ ꒰ 𝐳𝐚𝐲𝐧𝐞 ꒱ ⨾ with every passing day, you begin to compare this man more and more to a grumpy black cat who really likes dozing in the sun. zayne is not a morning person, that’s for sure—but he has to force himself to be when he gets up to head for his shift at the hospital. however, on the rare occasions that he has actual days off (that you force him to take), he likes to sit in a sunny place and nod off, softly snoring. or, in the mornings, he doesn’t move from his bed until well into the afternoon, catching up on the sleep he’s been missing out on and really needs.

⭒ ꒰ 𝐱𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐞𝐫 ꒱ ⨾ he’s not exactly a golden retriever boy, but he sure is close. he’s more like a smiley corgi that enjoys his special spot on the bed, just out of the sun. xavier has moderate energy, and he really likes his naps. especially when he gets to lay his head comfortably on your lap and snooze. whenever it’s his turn to cook dinner, though, he always happens to be sleeping so very soundly when you come to tell it’s five in the evening and time to get the meal going. you don’t really have the heart to disturb him.

⊹ ꒰ 𝐫𝐚𝐟𝐚𝐲𝐞𝐥 ꒱ ⨾ yeah. it’s pretty self explanatory about what kinda guy this one is. he likes to sleep in the bath. you worry he’ll drown sometimes, and then you remember who he truly is. occasionally, when you both bathe together, he’ll become unresponsive and yes, he’s dozed off. doesn’t care about pruned toes or fingers, rafayel’ll stay in there all night. and then he catches a cold that makes him whinier than usual. such is the life of babysitting a twenty-four-year-old toddler on a daily basis.

erm. call this the side effects of sleep deprivation, school torment, procrastination from an english assignment that’s due tomorrow and brainrotting. and I have a headache. so here u guys go 💛

AND! for those who sent me requests for l&ds, I SEE YOU AND NO I HAVENT FORGOTTEN!! your requests are in the works, don’t worry. I just need to find the time, energy and motivation to get them done. so! yes, everyone is still free to send in requests as they will remain open for the foreseeable future <3

[gucciwins]

a talk show and a surprise 

word count: 1827

a/n: okay, don’t know if you’ve seen haley lu richardson being surprised by nick jonas on FaceTime during an interview and it gave me this idea, and it’s something short and sweet i hope you enjoy, mis amores 

_____

Talk shows were not your specialty, in your opinion. It felt weird talking to a host and having a live audience told to react at different cues. After appearing in the second season of The White Lotus, there was promo to do as expected. Still, there was a new population of fans following your Instagram tripling your following weeks since the show premiered. Your content was being shared as fans deemed you “real” for posting after-running selfies, photos of you cuddling your parent’s corgi they got after all their children left home. Their favorite was a video of you crying on your living room floor to “fine line” as it played on your record player.

It’s a video that managed to be shared thousands of times. To top it off, your best friend decided to offer them a new treat by posting a video of you at Harry’s Wembley show, happily dancing in the rain. The video ended with you pointing to the stage, screaming that you loved Harry Styles. You were obviously a fan, but your paths never crossed, not that you were surprised you still felt like you were getting your footing on what stardom meant. While Harry literally had the entire world charmed.

Bee assured you it would be fine; a few questions, a few stories, and it would be over. She prepared you for the mention of Harry because hosts loved the views and a good clickbait. It wasn’t your first time and would definitely not be your last. Jimmy Fallon was an angel, and you would be fine.

“Welcome our guest for the night, Y/N Y/LN.”

You walk out dressed in a beautiful black velvet mini dress. It features a lace bib with scalloped trim, diamonte piping, and satin bows. It had a flowing mini-length skirt with romantic blouson sleeves. You loved it from the moment you put it on and knew the crowd would eat it up as well.

Jimmy welcomed you with a hug and gestured for you to take a seat on the couch. “It’s great to have you here, Y/N.”

“Well, thanks for having me.”

Jimmy laughs going on to share about your past works and how you are a well-loved guest on the show.

“White Lotus is just amazing. You’re an absolute stand-out.”

You laugh, trying not to get too flustered as the audience cheers loudly for you. “Thank you. I have had the absolute best time. There’s nothing better than getting to film with Aubrey Plaza and Jennifer Coolidge.”

“While in Italy,” Jimmy adds on.

“The cherry on top.”

Jimmy leans closer, “now tell me, were you even a little bit nervous.”

“Oh, I was a mess. I was sure they cast the wrong person, but Bee, my manager, assured me that they thought I was the perfect fit.” You shared thinking back to when you first heard you got the role.

“Heard Aubrey Plaza got you a gift.”

You laugh, shaking your head as he brings out a photo of you with a signed headshot of Aubrey. “A little birdy told her I was a fan. There was a note that said: Now you don’t have to be nervous around me.”

“That’s amazing.”

“It’s framed in my house.” You share. Not at all lying. “The cast was so welcoming. There was not one bad day. Aubrey really took me under her wing, and yeah, one of my best experiences ever.”

Jimmy holds a hand over his heart, “that’s amazing to hear. It can be seen through the show, so if you haven’t watched it, you can head over to HBO Max and watch the talented Miss Y/N Y/N and the rest of the cast. We’ll be right back.”

After a short break you spent with Jimmy laughing and having your lipstick touched up, the cameras were ready to roll.

“Now, Y/N, I was told you love concerts.”

You nod, “I live and breathe them, Jimmy.”

“Who have you seen recently?”

“Oh too many, my good friend Phoebe Bridgers, Haim, oh Wolf Alice was wonderful recently in Los Angeles. My social media is a surface level of the few I’ve gone to this year. I drag my friends to different shows all the time. They love it. It’s the easiest place to fall undetected. At least I don’t think I’m famous enough to be recognized,” you joke, knowing it’s relatively easy to blend in a crowd when you are not the main star.

“Come on now, all these fans in the audience would say otherwise.”

The chant for you is loud, and you take a moment to take it all in. You’re quick to undermine your talent, but it’s clear that you have an audience that loves you.

“Now, what do you have to say about that?” Jimmy smiles, sensing how the cheers made you tuck into yourself for a moment before you began to blow kisses to the fans, thanking them endlessly.

“It’s surreal. Something I definitely don’t take for granted.”

The interview has been moving on smoothly, Jimmy asking you questions about the show and a few about your childhood. You're thankful he doesn’t have new childhood pictures of you to show. Your mother does that proudly on her Instagram.

“Now, you know we have to talk about this viral video of you.”

“Oh no,” you gasp.

Jimmy and you turn to look at a screen playing the video of you standing in one of Wembley’s boxes, dancing to Harry Styles as he sings to a sold-out stadium. It was a special day because your best friend surprised you with tickets that Bee helped her get. You had been working when tickets went on sale and were heartbroken to hear they were sold out nights. Thankfully, Bee has enough connections that she managed to get you tickets

“That is you at a Harry Styles show.”

You feel your face warm, hoping this interview will never reach him. “Looks like me.”

Jimmy shakes his head, “was that your first time?”

“Nope! It definitely won’t be my last,” you share honestly.

He shakes his head, “I’ve been to my fair share, and boy does he put on a hell of a show.”

“He really does. He’s created such a wonderful environment for many I’ve never experienced anything like it.”

Jimmy grins mischievously, “I have a little surprise for you.”

Your eyes widen in surprise, “is it a mug with his face on it?”

The audience and Jimmy laugh. You’re too distracted and don’t notice Jimmy’s hand going under his desk until he calls your name. You’re met with a phone, and the shock quickly sets in.

“Hi, love.” A familiar accent you recognize instantly.

You look away from the phone pointed at you, instead bury your face in your hands as the audience's laugh rings loud. Harry’s laugh is the only one that stands out for you.

“That’s–hi,” you manage to breathe out, not believing that Harry was on a facetime call to you. You look around and manage to find Bee on the side. “Is this real?” You ask her, pointing to the phone.

She gives you a big grin and thumbs up. You can’t believe it.

“Are you surprised?” Jimmy questions, clearly knowing the answer.

“A bit,” you express breathlessly.

All the cameras are pointed your way, and you have to face him. Harry’s smiling, and you feel yourself melting in your seat as you can see his dimples clearly. This is not real. Your celebrity crush is not staring at you through what seems like your phone the close you look at it.

“Hi Harry,” you give him a small wave.

“How you doing, love?”

“Good, good. A tad bit embarrassed. Trying to remember how to breathe.”  

Harry laughs at your response.  “Oh, I’m sorry.”

Jimmy cuts in, knowing you’d probably stare at the phone all day, not wanting to hang up on Harry. “Harry has something he wanted to say.”

His green eyes shine bright, and you know he’s enjoying this conversation with you. “I just finished White Lotus.”

“Shut up! You did not!”

Harry nods, “absolutely did. My band and I would get together to watch it every Sunday. Gave us something to relax over during the tour. You were my favorite,” he confesses.

“Me?” You point to yourself. “This is not real.”

“I hope you can come to a show next year. I would love to meet you?”

“I’m there,” you promise him without a second thought.

Harry nods, “good, we’ll be in touch.”

“Can I tell you something before you go?” You look at Jimmy, then back at Harry.

“This is your call, Y/N. Go ahead.” Jimmy grins, urging you on.

“Harry, thank you. I know I can say that you are an absolutely amazing person. Thank you for creating such a welcoming and safe environment at your concerts. It, in some ways, feels like coming home. I mean, you surely didn’t have to do this, but you did, and I’m so thankful. You’ve always shared your kindness with the world from when you were just a teen to now, and it just goes to show how true and honest your character is. Send my love to your Mom. She truly raised a wonderful human being.”

The crowd awes, not having expected such an emotional confession, and neither were you, but you weren’t sure at the next opportunity you would have to tell him. Harry stares at you for a few seconds with flushed cheeks and a timid smile.

“Thank you, Y/N. That is so kind of you to say. I do hope we get to meet soon. I know we’d get on fabulously. All the best to you. Good night, Jimmy. Good night, Y/N.”

Harry hangs up the facetime, and you bring your hands to your face, not believing what just happened. That did not feel real. You hoped, looking back at it, you wouldn’t cringe with embarrassment.

“That happened,” Jimmy jokes.

You reach forward and grasp Jimmy’s hand tightly. “You are my favorite person.”

“After Harry Styles, right?”

You throw your head back and laugh. “Obviously.”

____

After the surprise of a lifetime, you ended the interview and walked to your dressing room, where you tried to process what in the hell happened in the last half hour. Bee walks in with the proudest smile handing you back your phone.

“We’ll head out at twenty.”

You take the time to slip off your heels and rest on the couch, unlocking your phone and seeing you have three new messages. It’s all from a new contact that you know you did not have before today.

Harry S.

It was lovely chatting with you.

Heard you’re going to be in London in a few days, would love to get dinner with you.

This is Harry, by the way.

Yeah, it seemed your life was about to get very interesting.

[sgiandubh]

Speed Bonnie Boat

The irony has not escaped me, that Baby and I finally made it back home on the 278th anniversary of the Battle of Culloden. Of course, nothing of this was planned - how could we? it's way above our heads, literally -, but didn't we laugh, Baby and me and Shipper Mom, finally content to have all the menagerie in one place, now cracking at its seams with unpacked boxes, tchotchkes, and irrelevant shite (why did I even pack this?).

You know this land is your land, when you finally start to see this, through the windshield: the glorious canola fields of the Deep South, near the Danube - my grandma's feisty, quick-witted and generous people's territory.

Uncharacteristically, I realized I came to Athens on a very unlikely Dubliner autumn and went back home on a very unlikely early summer April. Helps with the overall surreal impression:

All the roads leading to Rome, we can almost say "Hello, the house" in this pic. Smack dab downtown, where everything happens:

And then, the Jihad, between Lola the corgi and Baby the 'beige' (Greek passport says so) lab. This old lady is not really thrilled:

And for much of the rest of the tired, yawny human evening, the state of play was protracted war and a difficult Yalta negotiation of sorts:

Pasha ran in the shadows of the kitchen corridor. Nothing to report yet and unable to document properly: at night, all cats are black, says the Chinese proverb.

I have roughly two months to make this happen. For now, they can work with staying together in the same room and I think the one who's going to offer a truce is the Greek. With all this, I forgot to pour myself that Laphroaig. #Silly

'Carried the lad who's born to be king/Over the sea to Skye...'

PS: To all of you who offered their warmth and thoughts and even prayers, let it be known you are deeply loved by all of us. This land is also yours, my house is your house. No questions asked. We're good people. You will always find a spot for the outlander at a Romanian table and we like them long and boisterous. Mark me.

[becausegoodheroesdeservekidneys]

I didn't know corgi was a welsh word 😯🌟🐶 Can you tell more dog names in welsh?

It's a Welsh breed! Pair of breeds, actually - the little cute one from Pembrokeshire that looks like it belongs on a twee greetings card with a duckling on its head, and the big Carmarthenshire one that looks like it is straining every second of every day not to hunt down a cow and slaughter it. Funnily enough, America has gone feral for corgis, but here in Wales you don't often see pet ones. They don't have the temperament for pet life. I assume it's maybe a working-line Vs pet-line thing, but here their reputation is that they are snappy and aggressive if they aren't very, very carefully raised and handled.

The correct plural is corgwn, btw. Enjoy this knowledge.

Other Welsh breeds with Welsh names:

Llamgi Cymreig - the Welsh springer spaniel. 'Spaniel' is actually Sbaengi, meaning 'Spain dog', so cognate with the English, but llamgi is 'jumping/springing dog'.

Daeargi Cymreig - the Welsh terrier. Daeargi means 'earth dog', because of the traditional chasing things into setts and warrens thing. The Sealyham terrier is daeargi Sealyham, so same thing

And, Ci Defaid Cymreig - the Welsh sheepdog, pretty literal

And then non-Welsh breeds are varyingly named along similar lines. Sbaengi adara - the cocker spaniel (lit 'bird Spain dog'). Sbaengi hela - the English Springer (lit 'hunting Spain dog'). Sbaengi Siarl - the King Charles spaniel (lit 'Charles' Spain dog')

Ci defaid is generically used for collie or sheepdog.

Terriers there are many! I pulled these off of Bruce:

Black-&-tan terrier - daeargi melyn a du (yellow and black earth dog)

Bull-terrier - daeargi tarw

Cairn terrier - daeargi byrgoes (shortleg earth dog)

Fox terrier is fun, it gets DIALECTS. Daeargi/ci codi llwynog (fox-raising earth dog/dog) in the North, ci codi cadno (fox-raising dog) in the South

Irish terrier - daeargi Gwyddelig

Maltese terrier - daeargi Melita

Scotch terrier - daeargi Albanaidd/Sgotaidd

Skye terrier - daeargi Heledd (who is Heledd???)

Toy terrier - corddaeargim (dwarf earth dog! The 'cor' is the same as in corgi)

Yorkshire terrier - daeargi Efrog (York earth dog)

Let's see, what else... Um, adargi is 'retriever' - bird dog, literally. Golden retriever is adargi melyn (yellow bird dog)

Poodle is just pwdl. Cymricised transliteration, innit

My brain won't think of any more dogs, sorry. HMU if you have a specific one lol

[delcakoo]

txt’s reaction to you randomly saying marry me .˚◞♡ ⃗

requested

PAIRING ! txt x gn!reader

WC ! 1.4k

GENRE ! est relationship, tooth rotting fluff

a/n: first txt post wooo! pls lmk if u want me to write for them more T-T

// CHOI YEONJUN!

after a long shower, your boyfriend emerges from the washroom with nothing but a towel secured around his waist, ruffling his black strands up messily.

feeling your ogling, yeonjun sends you a flirty wink before turning to his closet, scanning the shelved arrangements of clothing. you shamelessly admire his back profile from the bed as his arms flex firmly, reaching up to grab a plain white tee-shirt off it’s rack.

perhaps it was because of how beautiful your boyfriend looked, but you impulsively allow the first words that form in your brain to tumble out of your mouth. “marry me,” you blurt.

he pauses, turning back around to face you with a cocky smirk plastered across his lips. “what?”

your gaze wanders between his smug expression and the water cascading from his locks to his bare chest, a soft blush painting your cheeks as he stares you down. “uh..” you swallow.

yeonjun simpers further, throwing his shirt to the side before prancing up to you mischievously. he gently holds your chin with his fingers, forcing you to meet his fox like eyes.

“say it again,” he demands teasingly. a few water drops tumble off his body and onto your own, and you flinch at the cold contact against your skin.

you gulp, feeling small under the male’s inspection. “marry me?” you repeat.

then, he giggles like a small child, happily pecking your lips. “i think i will, baby.” before you can even process anything, yeonjun’s already run off again, throwing his shirt over his head at last with a stupidly cute smile.

// CHOI SOOBIN !

the grocery store is rather empty; the only sound resonating the building being muffled pop music in the background, and your grunting as you pathetically try to reach a box of macaroni on the top shelf.

right as you’re about to give up, a soft, amused chuckle emits from behind you. you whip your head back to see your boyfriend, shiny blue bangs bouncing animatedly as he tilts his head down, gazing at you with eyes full of adoration. “you should’ve just called me, dummy.”

before you can form a reply, soobin playfully ruffles your hair before lifting an arm to grab the macaroni with ease, throwing it into your cart placed near the end of the aisle.

mouth parted dumbly, you look up to him. “soob.. will you marry me?”

the tall boy nearly chokes, eyes widening in surprise. “what? are you okay?”

“yeah i am,” you pout, “you don’t want to marry me?”

he emits a shy giggle, bunny teeth poking through as he walks back to the cart full of groceries, you close behind. “i do, but.. don’t you think it’s a little sudden? y’know, in the supermarket?”

you simply shrug, “you retrieving macaroni for me really touched my heart. that’s all, babe.”

soobin shakes his head between more giggles, pinching your cheek affectionately. “okay, cutie. when’s our wedding?”

// CHOI BEOMGYU !

you nearly break the claw machine in frustration as you slam your hand down, one more loss away from pacing over to the arcade’s front counter and complaining about how rigged their machine was.

all you wanted was to win yourself a corgi plushie while your boyfriend went to the washroom, but the damned metal hand seemed to purposely release the animal right before it reached the drop box every single time.

right as you dig your hand into your pocket to pull out your last coin, two hands wrap around your waist from behind. you immediately recognise the embrace of beomgyu as he rests his chin on your shoulder curiously.

“what’re you trying to win, baby?” he asks against your skin.

“that stupid corgi with the stupid tongue sticking out,” you bark, thrusting your money into the machine much more aggressively than needed.

beomgyu snorts at your attitude, releasing your body to move in front of you confidently. “i got this, don’t worry.”

you watch utterly dumbstruck as after about a minute, he successfully picks up the plushie, landing it perfectly into the reward box while looking back at you with the most cocky expression imaginable and arms opened in expectation.

though flabbergasted, you rush into the hug, squeezing his waist in excitement. “oh my god gyu, marry me!” you squeal, leaving a messy kiss on his lips.

he snickers proudly, watching you reach down and grab your long awaited corgi. “hah, did you see that?” he brags, “piece of cake, babe.” he silently waits for your praise, smirk continuously growing along the way.

however, beomgyu’s pleased expression falls when he realises you weren’t even sparing him a glance; much too busy leaving a kiss on the plushie instead of him. the stuffed dog was nearly being choked in your hold as you swayed back and forth happily.

of course, feeling left out, beomgyu tugs your sleeve with a childish pout. “yah! am i not kissable enough for you? i thought you wanted to marry me!”

you give him a weird look, shaking your head before leaning up to kiss the boy again, not before mumbling how much of a big baby he is under your breath.

as you both leave the arcade, you completely miss the harsh, competitive glare your boyfriend sends the plushie in your arms, wrapping his own arm around you in jealousy.

// KANG TAEHYUN !

with finals coming up, you were nearly glued to your seat all afternoon, fingers slowly becoming numb from the amount of typing and writing you’d done in the past couple hours.

your boyfriend was rather against the whole study-til-you-can’t-keep-your-eyes-open strategy that you had going on, but after many sad, failed attempts, taehyun had simply given up on trying to persuade you to move or learn what the word ‘break’ even meant.

however, this didn’t stop him from helping you in any other way he could; which is how you found yourself nearly bursting into tears when the calm boy walked in with soup and some crackers.

“it’s not much,” taehyun murmurs, planting a soft kiss to your head, “how’s it going?”

you offer a grateful smile in return, “thanks, love. it’s okay.. more bullshit about something something, the usual.”

he nods sympathetically, “want a quick massage?”

your body aches at the thought, “would you really, tae?” what you did to deserve the boy in front of you? you’d love to know.

“why wouldn’t i?” without another word, taehyun shuffles behind you, palms and fingers massaging into your shoulders with perfect amounts of pressure, releasing a satisfied groan from your lips.

“god, just marry me,” you blurt, slumping further in your seat.

he only giggles calmly, “i was hoping to ask you first.”

// HUENING KAI !

when you and kai finally got a day alone together, what better way to spend it than bringing anime’s all night, pressed up into each other’s warmth while bonding over hatred for a certain character and terrible predictions of the plot?

after many position changes, kai secured a spot for his head right in your lap, focused thoroughly on the screen that showed mikasa spinning in the air, slashing a titan’s head off brutally.

meanwhile, your eyes were nearly burning off your skull, so you decided to give yourself a break from the blinding tv screen to scroll through your messages with your brightness at almost the very bottom, another hand finding purchase in your boyfriend’s soft curls.

then, one text from your friend catches your eye. with the caption ‘try this on hyuka’, she seems to have sent you a video of a girl asking her boyfriend to marry her, resulting in the guy becoming all flirty and flustering her.

you glance down at the boy in your lap just as he starts blabbering. “y/n, i was thinking for halloween this year you could be mikasa and i’ll be eren, mostly ‘cause you’d look really hot in their uniform but also—“

“kai,” you interrupt.

he shifts in your lap to meet your eyes with slight worry. “yeah?”

“wanna marry me?” suddenly, your boyfriend bursts into a ear piercing laughter, body shaking and making you flinch in surprise. “yah, why are you laughing?” you complain through giggles, “knowing you, i thought you’d get all shy!”

kai laughs harder, “yeah maybe i would’ve if you said it properly! have you ever heard anyone say ‘wanna marry me’ in your life?”

you groan in defeat, throwing your head back. “you’re so lame, you ruined my epic prank, asshole.”

his dolphin like laugh barely softens as he leans up to peck your lips, hoping to cheer you up. “just leave the pranks to me, hm?” when you turn your head away right as he tries to kiss you, a dramatic gasp leaves his lips.

you pout, “say you’ll marry me first.”

kai snickers more at your childishness, curling his arms around your waist with attack on titan completely forgotten in the background. “m’kay, i’ll marry you, baby.”

if you enjoyed, reblogs n’ comments are always appreciated <3

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[wxiao0]

Guys!! I just finished watching Captain Laserhawk and the plot never stops flowing into my head! Eeekk

Summary: Desmond yeeted or yote? Whatever into the Captain Laserhawk universe after he died to save the world (thank Ubi). In the corgi hybrid from because why not? Even in the show they have assassin bullfrog (he is the precious thing don’t you dare) why can’t we? And yeah Desmond he can change back to human from because the Isu bullshit brought with him, But there is a limited time.

The first thing when he touch The Eyes it was pain It was like it was burning from both outside and inside.

And after that it was darkness, he didn’t know how much time had passed. He can thought but he can’t feel. It’s cold or hot, it’s hard or soft ,he in the narrow coffin or floating in endless space.

Ha can’t feel anything.

But recently he feel like he was pulled into the blackhole. It was extremely fucking painful, as if his body had turned into spaghetti.

And the loud ‘THUD’ makes his body remember the pain again. He jumped up, the back that hit the ground still felt a slight pain. He tried to reach out to scratch his back but failed.

What?

He try to reach out and failed.

AGAIN

What?!?!

When Desmond looking down at his own hands, he saw.

A paw!?, no not paw but paws!

What the shit!!!!

Desmond tried to collect himself. Ok, breathe in breath out, in and out, in and out. Alright, he look around him look like he’s in an alley somewhere, It's all wet. And there was a smell of garbage everywhere. Well, he's sitting on a garbage bag that’s why.

He climbed out, nearly slipping because of a nearby puddle of sewage. He looked down examining his shirt, It was the same as the shirt he wore that day. His right arm, uh, or front leg? Covered with completely black fur. Meanwhile, his entire body was covered in orange and white fur.

Desmond felt his left ear twitch as he heard a man yelling from outside the alley he was in. He peeked out from the corner and saw two men, one with white hair, leaning against the wall before rushing to pick up the other man who didn't look too good. His right eye was replaced by a machine. The left arm was replaced with a mechanical arm.

That guy looked like something out of a sci-fi movie where the main character was a cyborg. Yeah…definitely. His ears perked up when white hair guy carry cyborg man is going to pass him by. He hurriedly hid himself with his instinct behind a large garbage bag.

He activated his eagle vision and saw the two people passing by. Surprisingly, he saw that the two men were faintly golden, almost invisible. It was as if they were important to Desmond in some way.

He blinked, his eyes turning brown again. Desmond rubbed a paw over his face before groaning lowly.

Ugh

Welp, life never gonna be easy to Desmond Miles.

[an-idyllic-novelist]

Morning Glory [aki hayakawa x gn!reader]

Warnings: mentions of excessive alcoholic intake, some strong language, ooc, and fluffy goodness.

Special thanks to @d10nsaint and @nyxthehunterxdblog for proofreading/editing this piece. Enjoy! :)

A pounding headache was the first thing that Aki felt when he blearily opened his eyes. Another night spent drinking with Himeno and the others in Special Division 4, and he was paying the price for being a fucking lightweight, again. Shit. He blinked, scrunching his brows in confusion. Wait a minute.

The ceiling in his bedroom was an off-white, and the curtains were always closed. The futon is big enough for an extra person. But the ceiling he’s looking at is a shade of sunflower-yellow, and there were streaks of sunlight emitting from a window. He feels cramped. His cobalt-blue orbs widened before he pushed himself up, only to feel a wave of vertigo wash over his body. Looking down, he saw that he’s still in his uniform minus his jacket, a baby blue blanket draped over his hips, plus a plastic green bucket on the floor.

A couch. He’s slept on a leather couch in someone else’s apartment but where the fuck is he? And why is there a bucket right next to him? Where the hell is he?!

Shrringh.

Aki whipped his head upwards, seeing someone come out from the window wearing jean overalls over a turquoise tank top. His mind begins to spin. Ah… so the window is a sliding glass door to someone’s veranda. But who…

“Mornin’ sunshine.” The stranger greeted cheerily, their bare feet smacking against the wooden floor and away from the veranda, the sunlight bouncing off of their back as the small shade of darkness revealed a face Aki was very familiar with. “Sleep well?” [First Name] asked, cradling a green watering can in their hands. “I didn’t wake ya up, did I? My bad. I was tryin’ to be quiet while I watered my morning glories but that darn door is gettin’ harder and harder to open and close. I’ll need to get a hold of the landlord on Monday to see what they can do about it.”

Fantastic. Aki thought bitterly. Not only do I get fucking hammered, but I’m in their apartment? That’s great. An absolutely wonderful first impression to a co-worker who’s known to be extremely professional at Public Safety who just happens to be the person I’m crushing on. And they actually smile. ShitFuckMe.

“Hayakawa-san?”

Cheeks burning, he ignored the rising heat and tried to cover it up with a cough. “What happened?” He asked. [First Name] shrugged their shoulders.

“The usual, I guess? Himeno-san challenged you to a drinking contest and you lost after four beers. I brought you back here since my place was the closest an’ so you could sleep it off.”

“And the bucket?”

“In case ya throw up. Himeno-san was here the last time she got drunk and…well, she tried finding the bathroom and ended up regurgitating all over the place. I don’t wanna have a repeat incident, if you catch my drift.”

He nodded. “That makes sense. Do you - Could I trouble you for some water?” The back of his throat was itching. He really wanted to have a morning cigarette and some coffee. But could he even smoke here? He was already being a nuisance already, maybe he could hold back on the coffin nail until he got his shit together and was on the street? He’d been lucky that his flat allowed smoking so long as it wasn’t inside.

[First Name] blinked. “Sure, I can do that. Ya want some coffee too?”

“That’d be great.” He said.

“Corgi, black cat, or purple kraken?”

“Excuse me?”

[First Name] repeated what they said. He stared at them in confusion before he said ���black cat’, whatever that is supposed to mean. They nodded, a smile still on their face as they turned away from him and towards the back of the apartment. Aki’s eyes followed their form to a small kitchenette. They placed the watering can on top of the marble breakfast bar before shuffling towards the cupboard, revealing three shelves of coffee cups, each more unique than the last. Realization hit Aki when [First Name] pulled out a white cup stamped with a black cat sitting on the edge of a crescent moon, then another one in the shape of a pink octopus. Ah. So that’s what they were referring to.

When he saw them grounding coffee in a hand crank grinder that’s similar to the one he had at home, he turned his attention away to glance around what is most certainly the main living room. There wasn’t a television nor a kotatsu, but behind the couch was a bookshelf crammed haphazardly with texts. There were two, three more stacks on the floor, leading to the half-cracked door of the master bedroom. In front of him was a coffee table with octopus-shaped drink coasters and a folded up newspaper.

[First Name]’s reputation in Public Safety was not just being a competent devil hunter; Makima-san trusted very few individuals with handling the paperwork that circulated between her division and the higher-ups, let alone relay any last minute changes to certain documents. [First Name] was an asset to his supervisor, and the other divisions to ensure that there is a consistent flow of their endless paper trails. Should anything be missing or was not turned in on time, you would be getting a visit from an irate [First Name] to please hand everything over or a lecture on the importance of punctuality, whichever came first.

Their desk is rumored to be decorated with mermaid paperweights, feathered pens, miniature bonsai trees, and even a lava lamp. Anyone who has seen this mystical area was absolutely silent on the matter, even the newbies under Himeno’s care. The most common item seen around the office were octopus-shaped sticky notes; they were placed on either documents that needed to be corrected and returned promptly, or as little thank-you notes taped to ice/hot coffees. A little gift of gratitude to devil hunters who risked their lives on a particularly difficult mission.

He, Himeno, and the rest of the group received a ‘gift’ after their scuffle with the Eternity Devil a while back.

Throwing the blanket off of him, Aki stood up on wobbly feet and walked around the couch to look at the bookshelf. Now that he thought up, he’d occasionally see his coworker carrying a book around the office, but never see them read it. His eyes scanned the shelves. The spines were filled with various subjects; fairy tales, national history, geography, murder mysteries, Osamu Dazai, and a few titles in English.

“See anything ya like?”

Aki jumped a little, swiveling his head to the right to see [First Name] holding a mug and bottled water in either hand. They extended the hand that held the black cat mug to him, the steam and rich scent of dark roasted coffee beans tickling his nose. Murmuring a ‘thank you’ under his breath, Aki practically inhaled the first sip of caffeinated liquid. Sugar and a splash of milk. It’s not what he normally drinks, but he’s not going to complain.

“You’re quite the prolific reader.” He commented, glancing back at the bookshelf then at the stack by his feet. “Do you read a new book every day or something?” He meant it as a light-hearted joke to break the awkward silence, nothing offensive.

When he took another sip of his coffee, he almost spat it out upon hearing [First Name]’s response.

“Pretty much. I mean, I can read about 20,000 words per minute and can recall the contents thanks to my eidetic memory.”

Aki’s brain screeched to a halt. Huh? “You…You can remember what you read and…how many words per minute?”

“20,000. Kinda stinks ‘cause I gotta find more books to read during my down-time since I don’t really watch TV anymore like I used to.”

Aki eyed the bookshelf again, his gaze falling onto a random title. “Then….what happened in the…second act of Romeo and Juliet?” He challenged. “Everything, from start to finish.”

[First Name]’s eyes brightened, then suddenly they rambled on what happened after the star-crossed lovers exchanged vows at the altar, stating odd facts about William Shakespeare, the way he wrote the text, and how all of the parts were played by men, etc.

Aki stared at them, speechless at their comprehension of the text. Great. He thought glumly. Not only is his crush an incredibly gorgeous person but they are also highly intelligent? How in the world could he even impress them in the field besides being a competent devil hunter? Before his thoughts took a more depressing turn, [First Name]’s timid voice reached out to him.

“Uh, sorry.” They mumbled, handing him the bottled water. “Didn’t mean to go off on a tangent like that. It’s just…I really like books, but I keep forgetting some people don’t like to read. Which is fine, I mean, ya gotta have other hobbies to keep yourself sane, ‘specially in the line of work we have. Or an addiction, like Himeno-san said last night.”

“It’s all right, really,” Aki quickly said, taking the offered beverage in his other hand. “There’s nothing wrong with being passionate about something.”

“I guess. Do you have any hobbies?” They asked, tilting their head to the side in a way that was almost cute to the devil hunter. Aki smiled a little.

“No, but I do like to cook.”

[First Name]’s brow rose into their hairline. “Really?” They said, turning on the ball of their heel and walked around towards the couch but kept their eyes on him. “What recipes do you like to cook?”

For the next hour, the two of them talked on the couch. Aki rambled on about what dishes he enjoyed making the most, which ones were the most time-consuming and the best ones to prepare ahead of time so that you could enjoy it the following day if you had to work overtime. By the time he had freshened up and had a second cup of coffee, Aki was ready to leave.

“Thanks again for…everything.” He said, slipping his shoes on by the front door. [First Name] nodded, a small smile on their face as they held up their pink octopus mug.

“No problem. Gotta admit, it was nice talkin’ to ya outside of work hours. You’re very handsome when you’re talking, and confident.”

Aki felt his ears burning. “…Thank you.” He murmured. “If you want, I can teach you a few recipes….when there’s time after hours.” He cursed his burning face, and then the rapid beating of his heart when [First Name]’s smile widened at his words.

“That’d be nice. Get home safely, yeah?”

“Of course.”

Aki then left the apartment, praying to any deity that heard his pleas to calm his mind and body down before he got home. The last thing he needed right now is Power and Denji’s relentless teasing, the little shitheads.

[halleythecometcorgi]

We took Halley with us for lunch with a friend and this is Halley’s face just going somewhere new 🥹 I’ve got to find more places to take her, she loves exploring so much!

[dimity-lawn]

In Mort (at least I believe that it was Mort), Vetinari had a pet swamp dragon. That dragon must have been from Sybil. Some of the questions I have about this are as follows:

Was Vetinari actually interested in having a pet dragon?

Vetinari isn't one to get a dragon just because of a fad, so was it used as a living document shredder/incinerator, used as a guard dragon (which would be amusing, considering Guards! Gaurds!) or was it just a pet?

Did Sybil just give it to him? I'd like to think that she'd be more responsible than just springing a dragon on him, but then I think of Errol.

Was the dragon one that was abandoned or part of a soft cull that Sybil didn't really want but didn't have the heart to get rid of, and Vetinari was only able to stand so much of her talking about it before adopting (accepting) the dragon himself?

Did a dragon just really like Vetinari and Sybil just decided then and there that the dragon was his, leaving Vetinari to figure out how to keep it away from paperwork and how to keep his black clothes ash-free?

Was it a special variety or was it just as much of a (lovable) wreck as Errol or possibly Wuffles?

What was the dragon's name?

edit: It was Mort. Through the 1/2 hour that the dance progressed around the palace, it picked up "two trolls, the cook, the Patrician's head torturer, three waiters, a burglar who happened to be passing and a small pet swamp dragon" (pg 175 in the 2019 Corgi edition) and later (pg 177 of the 2019 Corgi edition) it appears again: "Behind Death the Patrician's small pet swamp dragon held on grimly to the bony hips and thought, guards or no guards, next time we pass an open window I'm going to run like buggery".

[howlingday]

tell me a story about the halfling cavalier ruby and her dire corgie mount zwie!

"OH GOD, SHE'S BACK!"

"BAIL! BAIL!"

"I'M TOO YOUNG TO DIE!"

"Onward, Noble Zwei!" Ruby Rose charged headlong towards her foes. Crescent Rose, her trusty gun-lance, spear-headed a Beowolf through the back as Dire Corgi, the twice her size Zwei, bound forward with eager joy in his black, doll-like eyes. He bellowed a mighty yip as Ruby swung round in her saddle to fire at one of the fleeing Grimm.

An entire orphanage ran out to pet the massive dog and to cheer for their hero! Ruby Rose! Ruby Rose! Ruby Rose!

================================================

"RUBY ROSE!"

"AAAGH!" Ruby fell from her stool, her tiny behind hitting the dirty countertop of the bar. Her half-elf partner scowled down at her, though she was also standing on the stool as well. "Weiss, I was almost at the best part!"

"Ruby, there was no orphanage in that town," Weiss explained, "and if there was, it was long empty when the Grimm attacked."

"But it's true, though! I really did stab a Grimm with Crescent Rose!"

"Yes, but you didn't lift it so high in the air that the people of the village made it their new flag!"

"HEY!" Nora, their dwarven friend, slapped her callous hand on the counter. "I thought it was a nice story, so I say let her finish it!"

All the while, Zwei lapped up from the trough, receiving pets and "good boy" by the dozen as patron entered and left the bar. But this was not to last as there was a foul odor on the wind. With a mighty bark, Ruby was outside, quick as a flash.

"What is it, boy?" He barked in a direction, where Ruby could see the unmistakable signs of trouble approaching. Bandits, and a whole lot of them. She gave a whistle, and the rest of the team assembled outside.

"What's the plan, Ruby?" Weiss asked, readying her rapier.

"Same plan as always, Weiss." She untethered Zwei from her pony-sized corgi and sat upon his saddle with a grin. "I mark 'em, we hit 'em."

[bixbiboom]

[ID: Two photos of Omar, Matt and Marisha’s red and white pembroke corgi, surrounded by the destruction he’s wrought. In the first photo, he’s standing on a gold and black rug scattered with clumps of poly fill from an unseen destroyed plushie. Text at the bottom reads “carnage” in all caps. In the second photo, he’s lying on a couch and pillowing his head on the carcass of the Sprinkle travel pillow from the Critical Role shop, a froth of white stuffing erupting from the shredded plush. Text at the bottom of the photo reads “Murder.” /end ID]

[neutron-stars-collision]

Deadlines & Commitments

Neil x F!Reader

Chapter 3 - Canning Town Underground Station

Masterlist; Chapter 2 Summary: Flirting, Leicester Square station mixtape, flowers and breakdowns in the cantina. Or another chapter of an unlikely liaison. Warnings: Swearing, E-rated language and imagery and more outrageous flirting. Author's Notes: Chapter a month might just be the new deal here, apologies. And this one's long, by which I mean over 11k 💁🏻‍♀️ It also seems like now that I've started, I can't stay away from Neil's POV so... yeah. Look out for a cheeky cameo too 😉 Other than that, I can assure you this is just as chaotic and ridiculous as the last chapter. These two are in full control, I'm just a mere scribe, doing my best. Hopefully it works. Hope you enjoy and let me know what you think? 💕 Taglist: @hollandorks, @kristevstewart, @stargirl25 (let me know if you want to be added)

Incorporating Neil into your daily (and weekly) life was easy. Almost terrifyingly so if you did as much as stop and think about it. Perhaps the self-preservation rooted deep within forbade you to reflect on it. Which, in hindsight, was a good thing.

After that first victory of obtaining Neil’s number, you did not hold back from texting and bombarding him with daily nonsensical memes that could have driven a different man to madness. Neil, however, took it in his stride. It was rare not to get a reply from him after longer than an hour. And that boosted your courage like nothing else.

Some days, the conversations went like this:

/ 🏹, 12:07 pm/ Show me what socks are you wearing.

/✝️, 12:13 pm/ Jesus, that’s forward.

/ 🏹, 12:14 pm/ That’s basically my second name. So?

/ 🏹, 12:14 pm/ I swear I won’t sell the pic on OF.

/✝️, 12:20 pm/ Well, if you do, then at least share the earnings with me.

Although you started the ridiculous conversation, when the next text came, consisting of a single image of a socked ankle bared by the familiar hand pulling up the pant leg, you nearly dropped the coffee cup in the middle of the Covent Garden. It was just an ordinary Tuesday lunchtime, with the square bustling with sound and movement. Using the rare sunny September day, you escaped the confines of the Royal Opera House to have your coffee break on the kerb. Thanks to the dwindling sense of coherence, you did not drop said coffee when you opened the photo. The socks you had asked for were black with a grey argyle pattern. But that was where the normalcy ended, for the rhombuses were filled with corgi heads. The brown-beige dogs stared at you through the screen with their beady eyes and were the reason for your hysterical laughter.

The overprotective mother tending to her children close by shot you a dirty look. Well, fuck her.

/ 🏹, 12:23 pm/ Neil, you’re too cute. Way too cute.

/✝️, 12:32 pm/ It’s what every guy wants to hear. Thanks, Cupid.

/ 🏹, 12:34 pm/ I never said you’re not hot, though. Which you very much are. So much that I thought of you when…

/✝️, 12:35 pm/ Yeah, don’t finish that sentence. Please.

/✝️, 12:35 pm/ I’d rather maintain my innocence.

/ 🏹, 12:36 pm/ As you wish 😘

That was not a lie. It was a result of yet another tiring day and an early night in bed when it was too early to sleep. So, you chose to fill the time like most women would, letting your thoughts drift to images and scenarios that always did the trick as your hand delved between your thighs. When you realised who you had been thinking of, the tension was so close to bursting that you did not try to shift the attention. When you came, the guilt was nowhere to be found.

After all, it was not a sin to think of pretty boys when taking the edge off. As soon as you realised that Neil did not take the flirty line seriously, that feeling of potentially having done something wrong became non-existent. It was fine. It was all fine.

Other times, especially during those Wednesday mornings on the Tube, your conversations looked more like this:

“I’ve got an invasive question…” changing the subject during your weekly chats was easy, for as soon as you set a weighty gaze on Neil, he sobered up too.

The endless questions did not seem to bother him either. Your boundless curiosity was particularly grateful for that.

“As long as you’re not going to ask me what underwear I’m wearing, I think we’re fine,” the poker face was only disturbed by Neil’s twitching lips, and the sparks danced in his eyes as he inclined his head in your direction, blessing you with the golden strands, “Shoot,”

Every time, you took a deep breath, silently gathering the courage to ask, and then let the question fall from your lips without a pause:

“When was the last time you’ve been in love?” the curiosity was all it was.

Yet still, Neil’s widening eyes made you consider that perhaps something else was underlining that desire to know. And that this question was different than others you had asked. Different from “Dogs or cats?” “Typical coffee order?” and “Any hidden talents?”. But it was too late to take it back.

“Oof, you weren’t joking” Neil seemed to shake it off quickly, only briefly offering you a glare before looking down to find the needed words, “Probably two-ish years ago…?” you were sure you had imagined the broken edge in his voice as Neil swallowed hard and continued “It was a disaster. She didn’t- Let’s just say I went in too hard and too fast, and she got scared. Pretty much ghosted me after a half-assed excuse” when he raised his head and meet your gaze, you could see the depths of hurt in his eyes.

Your heart felt pathetically hollow, but you smothered the feeling to nothing but an uncomfortable sting.

“Ouch,” a wince was easy enough to muster, and you followed it with an apology, “Sorry,” Neil’s crestfallen look was an inspiration for you to place your hand on his shoulder and give him a reassuring squeeze “I know that it doesn’t help, but it’s her, not you” you knew the light statement was the right way to go when Neil cracked a wry smile and gave your other wrist a tap.

“Thanks,” it was evident enough to realise that Neil was eager to drop the subject. It was clearer still that you were going to be the next target, “I won’t ask you the same since I know better, but… Do you really think no one could change your view on love?” yet when the question fell in the space between you, it was not what you had expected.

The surprise must have painted on your face, for Neil looked a second away from taking it back. You stopped him from doing that the only way you could think of – by extending your hand in what was universally thought of as a ‘hold up’ motion. It was not that you did not want to answer. And it was not the first time someone had asked either.

But it was not something you were keen on inspecting and tearing apart to offer an honest answer. It was a fact, pure and simple. A fact that you would believe in till the day you died. There was no place for love in your life, and there would never be. Full stop.

“Yeah, I do,” you met Neil’s waiting gaze and offered him a weak shrug. The strange disappointment in his gaze made no sense, so you chose to ignore it to shift your attention to the world outside the carriage as it arrived at the next station. The belief in your next words was as tangible as anything else you could conceive, “It would take a miracle”.

He did not ask that question again.

Those Wednesday morning conversations also became a source of information, which you had stowed securely in the compartment of your brain labelled ‘Neil’. After almost two months of acquittance, you knew that he was born and raised a Londoner (from Richmond, the posh fuck [affectionate]), was decidedly a dog person and had a chocolate Labrador growing up (a girl named Daisy), listened to alt-rock and 80s music and was what he described as a hopeless romantic. You still did not know what he did for work, only that he was decidedly not a tattooist, literary agent, paramedic, jockey, art critic, dressmaker, choreographer, or bus driver. Whether he was truly not just a priest undercover was still up for debate.

***

Only when you fled the confines of the ordinary tiny London flat kitchen and felt the night breeze of the city on your skin, left bare from the jacket you did not yet put on, had the question of the ages pop into your head. What the fuck? There was no answer. You shook your head against the memories of what had just conspired and stopped on the pavement to put on and fasten the jacket. Even annoyed, you could still feel the biting cold begin to settle in your bones.

You never expected to bump into Liam. Never in a million years would you have considered that those two friends you shared would extend the invitation to that man out of all people. And you certainly did not expect him to come.

Although, as he had unhelpfully explained himself, he only showed up because of the chance you would be there. The audacity made you shake your head vehemently, without a doubt attracting a glare or two from those who remained sober at this hour. In Soho on Saturday night, that was unlikely.

You walked through the cobbled streets with the neon lights lighting your path without an aim or a map. The only objective was to stomp the frustration into the cracked pavement and end up home. Somehow. Specifics were to be determined later.

Sure, rushing out of your mate’s flat like a lightning bolt could be seen as impulsive. But Liam offered you no choice. The pleasant buzz of alcohol did nothing to stop the embarrassment, which grew worse by the minute. The long walk in an unknown direction was a sad but acceptable consequence. Or so you aimed to maintain.

By the time you had seriously begun to consider using the dwindling phone battery to order an Uber and save you from the penance of someone else’s transgressions, the red circle with a navy blue bar appeared on the horizon. Salvation, at last. You picked up the pace, eager to get out of the cold and that one step closer to home. This close to Leicester Square and the theatres just having closed their doors on the last patrons, the bustle seemed quieter somehow, more subdued. It was a blessing for your budding headache and a threat to the thoughts eager to appear with nothing suppressing them.

You crossed the road and descended the staircase with a sigh. The heat of the station enveloped you like a hug as you passed the ticketing gates and spent an unnecessarily long time staring at the Tube map. When the logic kicked in, at last, you rushed over to the correct platform.

Only to regret it as soon as the timing screen came into view. Heathrow Airport 25 mins. The polite PSA text below informed you the line was experiencing delays. No biggie. They were sorry. The usual shit. A curse litany lodged in your throat as your eyes roamed over the platform.

All the noise in your head faded to nothing when your gaze settled on that familiar blonde head of hair. He was sitting in one of the few chairs with his head bowed over his knees in a position so exemplary for a Saturday night in the glorious London town. You skimmed over his body, taking note of the casual jeans and a t-shirt, peeking from beneath the unbuttoned jacket.

Before you knew it, your legs had started carrying you in his direction, a goofy smile present on your face. The improbability of it happening made everything easier. Because what were the odds?

Instead of counting them, you approached Neil, still so blissfully unaware of your presence and delivered an opening line:

“Hello, Father,” the joke did not yet get old, and you still got the kick out of it.

Especially when Neil raised his head fast enough to give himself a whiplash and gasped from shock.

“Jesus- Oh, what the fuck?” clutching at his heaving chest with all the drama he could muster, Neil offered you a look so full of surprise you knew he did not expect this to happen either.

The only weekend plans you had discussed over texts were that you had a party to go to, and he was likely to go out with his workmates at some point. But that was it. Zero specifics, no need to share them because there was no need for either of you to know the details. And yet.

“Is that how you should greet a lady?” playing on his theatrical reaction, you feign a shocked expression.

It was clear you would fail at any attempts of annoyance. Your cheeks were already aching with that kind of wide, manic grin only Neil seemed to cause. You could see his eyes skim over your figure, taking in your clothes with that sort of precision only he seemed capable of. Finally, satisfied with what he saw, Neil raised his head to meet your gaze again and got up to bow lowly at your feet:

“Apologies, m’lady,” before you knew what he was doing, he took hold of your hand and kissed your knuckles. A move so fast you almost thought you had imagined it if not for the fading sensation of his lips still ghosting your skin, “What are you doing here?” with his hand lightly touching your elbow, Neil steered you towards the seats.

Only now, with the surprises fading into the background, you took note of the empty platform. It was just the two of you sitting on the creaky plastic chairs. You shifted an inch closer to Neil, seeking the warmth radiating off his body and replied:

“As I’ve mentioned, I had an invitation to this flat party in Soho… And I went, but then, and you’ll never believe that happened-” recounting the improbable story felt good, and you took pleasure in the attention Neil gave your every word.

“Let me guess… Liam showed up?” his interjection followed your dramatic pause flawlessly.

Of course, he got it. Of course, he guessed. You shook your head at his eager smile, aware of the glee in your eyes:

“Damn, you’re good” your low approving whistle reverberated in the space. Most shockingly, there was a certain level of joy in sharing the story, even as your skin crawled with the embarrassment of what transpired, “Yeah, and it turns out that getting blocked did not make him smarter. It became a whole thing, along with him getting down on his knees in the middle of a kitchen and proclaiming his undying love to me,” you wondered if Liam was still there, kneeling on the tiled floor and waiting for your return.

Partially, you hoped that was the case.

Throwing you out of the strange ruminations, Neil shook his head and offered you a serious look:

“Blimey,” his tsk almost got lost in the PA announcement, crackling from the speakers. When it ended, Neil met your gaze with a sympathetic smile, “No wonder you ran away,” his knee nudged yours, triggering something you would not understand even in months.

Sitting upright, you nodded fervently:

“I had to” the emotions you did not know were present poured out from your lips as the next words fell in the space between you, “And like- He doesn’t even know me? He never saw me on the stage, and he thinks that making me cum a couple of times is enough?” a frustrated growl tore from your chest as you finished the tirade with a tired sigh and simple punchline, “Bullshit,”

There was no time or willingness to take apart where all that anger came from or why it was suddenly so important Neil understood your reasons. It just was. Later it was easily blamed on the alcohol still present in your veins. For now, you met his gaze and shrugged, answering the questions he seemed too shy to ask.

“With that, I must agree. It’s bullshit” nudging you with his shoulder, Neil smiled, brightening the clouds that still seemed to hang over your mind.

You shot him a brilliant grin, brushing away the concerns with terrifying ease. They had to wait, ideally forever.

“Thanks, babe” sugar coated your smile as you allowed yourself to gaze, taking note of the blush spreading on his cheeks. Although you would never admit it out loud, the blue of his eyes was slowly becoming your favourite shade of the colour. It was that thought that triggered your next confession, “Admittedly, meeting you here is a highlight of the night,” you watched as his eyes grew wider, evidently not expecting to hear something that honest. The moment stretched for what felt like ages until you found the strength to look away, focusing on the timing screen and the issues it posed, “Though, those delays are bullshit, too” your eye-roll elicited an instant laugh, which only added warmth to the kindling sparks in your chest.

“Mhmm,” Neil’s hum acted like an anchor, tying you to reality.

It was a better place to get lost in than the chaos raging in your head. You chose to stick by it, following the easy way out with a simple question:

“How come you’re here?” you turned towards Neil, hoping to block the platform and the world beyond from view.

Even if just figuratively and for a short while. If the answering bright smile was anything to go by, Neil was happy to humour you:

“I’ve been out for drinks at a pub, but then our crowd isn’t very… boisterous, so we all went our separate ways, and here I am,” he signed off the summary with an explanatory shrug, but you should have kept your guard up. Once his gaze settled on you with an intensity of intent, a pathetic instinct kickstarted your heart with all the subtlety of trainwreck, “Bored as fuck until you’ve shown up” the joy in that simple sentiment was enough to make your cheeks heat up.

Of its own volition, your brain provided the fresh memory of how Liam’s attention in that cursed kitchen had made you feel. How running away was the only option you saw then. It was different now; the quiet focus of the man sitting next to you was a welcomed change. A company you were happy to keep. For however long you were allowed.

“How long do you think till it’s-” ignoring the shyness that did not seem happy to be buried in Neil’s company, you changed the subject with all the grace of an elephant.

It was evident in how you stuttered, quickly abandoning the idea of finishing the sentence and letting it trail off into the quiet. It was too early to raise your head from the depths of shame it was drowning in. It was all a little too much.

“Could be twenty minutes, could be an hour… or never,” Neil’s voice gained a cheeky edge as if conscious of your minor crisis and happy to offer a distraction.

You risked a peek at his face, finding the signature smirk gracing his face. That expression never failed to feel like a sharpened knife piercing through the walls of your uncertainty. It complimented his face too well, dragging the attention to Neil’s sharp features and his remarkable eyes that always felt like they could see right through your bullshit and the pretending. It was terrifying.

It was then, in the light of his frightening beauty, that you decided what to do next. What was necessary to keep you (moderately) sane. One look at your tote bag lying on your lap offered inspiration:

“Fab,” your dry comment elicited Neil’s laugh and sealed the deal on what you wanted to do next. There was no backing out. You straightened your spine and swivelled on the seat to face him fully. When your knees touched him, Neil’s eyes widened almost comically. But that was only the beginning of the wild ride for him, you were sure of it, “Well, then… Dance with me,” the delivery of that line required a special nonchalance.

One that required you to hold Neil’s gaze long after you had finished speaking, and the words had only just dawned on him. Once they did, his eyes got comically large, and his lips parted on what could only be a mute expression of horror. A giggle got trapped in your throat, but you fought valiantly against it. For now.

“Pardon?” Neil’s choked-out question came after sequenced opening and closing his mouth with nothing coming up.

Your poker face was tearing at the seams. Foolishly.

“Dance with me, Neil,” repeating the request (order?), you extended your hand towards him, signing off the invitation for what it was.

The shock was still present on his face. Despite that, Neil slipped his palm, warm and fitting perfectly, into yours. You could tell that it was not entirely conscious on his part.

You sure did not mind it, though.

“I might have had a drink or two, but I didn’t think I was drunk enough to be hearing things,” Neil’s incredulity bled into his tone as he stared you down as if hoping the sheer disbelief would be enough to deter you.

Tough luck.

“Come on,” squeezing his hand, you switched the tactic with a question, “What’s the worst thing that can happen?” there was no judgment in your gaze, and you hoped Neil knew that.

If asked, you could not explain why that was something you wanted to do with him, there and then of all places. But it still felt important. Urgent, even.

The no-bullshit look you got in return almost made you burst into laughter.

“You’ll see me dance,” Neil deadpanned as if it was clear.

As if that was the peak horror that could befall him at your hands. Using the lifeline of your joined palms, you rubbed your thumb over the tender skin of his hand, hoping to let that act as a reassurance. That was a nonsensical fear to have.

Who gave you, a mediocre ballerina, the right to judge? Absolutely no one.

“And?” you offered Neil a brilliant grin, doing your best not to think about how right it felt to have his hand resting in yours.

That question seemed to catch his attention, pulling him back from the precipice of self-doubt. You watched as Neil pondered the answer, staring at you with that bright-eyed, anxious expression, complete with his teeth nibbling on his lower lip. He picked at the worried, fragile skin, and you did not think about soothing the damage with your tongue. Not at all.

“I don’t know… You’ll leave and block me?” when he finally found a plausible answer, it was the last thing you expected Neil to say.

Despite the seriousness on his face, you could not hold back the laugh that spilt from your lips. What an idiot [affectionate]. The adorable pout in his bottom lip was responsible for the recklessness you chose to implement.

Without thinking about it too much, you leaned in and used your free hand to cup his face, eradicating the remains of the gap between you. As your thumb brushed over his cheekbone, Neil gasped, barely disguising the sound with a cough. The grin spread over your face as you spoke:

“It takes a little more than that for me to block you,” that was true; you could barely fathom blocking Neil, least of all because of such a trivial reason. It was only after a beat that the second meaning of what he said sunk in. The meaning you expected Neil did not exactly consider slipping out like that. You grabbed it with both hands and a knowing smile, “Also… you enjoy talking to me that much?”

The jackpot shot came with a furious blush on his cheeks and an embarrassed scoff as Neil turned away from your watchful gaze. Your hands stayed linked. That, too, was an adorable reaction. It made that pleasant warmth in your chest burner brighter, though you refused to inspect it too closely.

Before you could consider pushing him for a reply further, Neil jumped up from the creaky seat and pulled you to standing using your tight handhold. The fake pep was visible from miles away, especially in that manic grin that almost seemed too wide on his face. But you did not have the time to question it.

“Okay, let’s just dance,” Neil tugged at your hand impatiently.

He did not seem capable of standing still, hopping from one leg to another. If that was a sign of what was coming, you knew you were not ready. Your eyes narrowed in what you hoped was a mildly threatening look:

“That’s a deflection tactic,” still, you took a step closer to him, finally putting that handhold to use.

“Yes, it is,” Neil nodded as his arms opened in a shrug.

That was your answer. You could only cement it with a smile as you allowed him to pull you closer, almost into his open arms, except-

“Wait, we need music,” remembering that crucial missing piece, you let go of his hand and darted back to the tote abandoned by the seats.

“No shit,” Neil’s dry comment was accompanied by the scuffling of his shoes over the cracked tiles.

You grinned, triumphantly holding out the speaker you had fished from the bag. That was the only pro you could think of that came from your earlier practice, and no time in between that and the disastrous party.

“Lucky for you, I came prepared,” you showcased it like a spoil of war and turned the speaker on, awaiting the sound confirming it had connected to your phone. When it came, you ceremoniously placed the device on the vacated seat and pressed play on your phone. Only once the music was playing, you turned back towards Neil with a flourish, “Voila,”

It took him an additional second to identify the song, the synthesizer filling the empty platform with a special kind of vibe. When the proper beat kicked in, you started shimmying your hips and shoulders to the rhythm, awaiting Neil’s reaction. You were not disappointed when he gaped at you with joy barely disguised underneath a frown:

“Really?” still, his foot started tapping with the singer’s voice.

Shrugging, you spun around him, feeling the music fill your body like it always did. You always felt the most alive when dancing. When your feet were following the choreography, and head was deliciously empty of everything but the musical notes and lyrics.

When you stopped to meet Neil’s gaze, you found him staring back in awe.

“What? It’s not me; it’s the holy spirit of the shuffle,” the song started heading towards the chorus, so you added the hand movements, orbiting around Neil and hoping to pull him along, “Can’t argue with it,”

‘Don't. Don't you want me?

You know I can't believe it when I hear that you won't see me

Don't. Don't you want me?

You know I don't believe you when you say that you don't need me’

It was an all-time favourite. A bop you did not have the heart to resist whenever it came on. Now was not any different. Your lips started whispering the words as your body moved through the space, overcome with the feeling of dancing. At that moment, you were grateful for the sensible footwear your past self had chosen that morning. Sure, dancing in high heels was possible, but the Converse made for a much better choice. They slid along the cracked tiles without resistance, allowing you to double the efforts.

It did not matter that you had an audience. Or that it was a particularly attentive one, for you never once felt Neil look away. He was still staring, standing almost stock-still, save for how his feet tapped out the beat. That had to change.

‘Don't you want me, baby?

Don't you want me? Oh!’

You stopped, chest heaving and limbs still too giddy with the effort. You met Neil’s unwavering gaze over the space and mouthed the chorus, aware of the interpretations he could easily reach. That was fine, nothing you were opposed to. In a way, him noticing half your actions did have a tentative hope behind them would have saved you time. And words. But that was a thought for another time.

Once you heard the female vocals come in, you reached out towards him, yet again presenting Neil with your open hand. Yet again, he did not hesitate, letting you pull him close. When the distance had been eradicated, Neil placed his hand on your waist with an experimental level of timidity. As if he was still fully expecting the move to backfire. Silly goose. Your hand ventured up his chest to his shoulder as you steeled your frame into what was expected of ballroom dancing. The habits were hard to shake off, after all.

Despite the booming synthesizers and grooving rhythm, you let him lead you into a slow dance. With each step, Neil’s confidence seemed to grow, for his grip became firmer as he splayed his hand over the small of your back and pulled you closer. It did not matter that his technique would bring your snobbish teachers from ballet study to tears. What mattered was that you felt safe within his embrace, never shying away from Neil’s gaze as it stayed trained on your face. What also mattered was that the genuine smile was fixed on your face. Especially when the song was slowly ending, and Neil was not letting go. What a novelty that was. You worried that once you tasted it, it would be impossible to let go. To forget this careless feeling, encapsulated within a simple, tender hold and open, beautiful eyes.

“That was hardly a song for slow dancing,” when Neil spoke, the remark came upon a hesitant smile, so at odds with how sure his hand was within yours.

“We made do, didn’t we?” you could only offer him a smile, aware of the wobbly edges of your voice and the yearning of your treacherous heart.

Even with years of practice, it sometimes wanted what it could not get. Affection, namely. Or the tenderness that meant something, rather than the mindless touch of a loveless fuck. You hoped one day those two would disappear, leaving you perfectly satisfied with what you had.

As if aware of your dangerous thoughts, the song switch came at a perfect moment. The last beats of The Human League died down, replaced with an equally cheesy rhythm. If not worse. Neil’s reaction was instant. He stopped dancing abruptly, making you nearly miss stepping on his foot. Your eyes darted to his face as curiosity soared in your chest. The barely masked joy you found there only made that warmth in your heart feel like tongues of fire. You disentangled from the embrace to place your hand on his chest and push him back lightly:

“Come on, pretty boy. Show me what you’ve got,” you completed the encouragement with a wink and stepped back to give him space.

The hesitation stage lasted much less this time. Neil stared at you, evidently weighing the pros and cons of giving in, but as soon as Falco opened the song with the lines in German, he had made up his mind. It was your turn to be dumbfounded as you watched Neil thrash to the music, almost keeping up with the beat. He slid across the tiles, barely managing not to slip as Falco went on about Mozart and his flair.

‘Er war ein Virtuose, war ein Rockidol

Und alles rief: Come on and rock me Amadeus’

It was easy to say Neil got lost in the music as his lean body twisted and turned, claiming the space he was allowed to occupy. There was grace in his movement, as well as carelessness, perfectly balancing the dance into an ideal mixture. A rare spark of envy kindled in your chest as you did your best to ignore the question of what it must feel like to be this free. During the poor attempt at moonwalking as he circled you, you could no longer hold back the laugh. Neil’s hands weaved through the air as he threw his head back to shout the hook along with the singer. With each call of Amadeus’ name, the affection in your chest grew, becoming increasingly lethal. A show of that kind displayed not only his trust but also what kind of a man Neil could be if he got rid of his shyness and inhibitions. It was something you doubt you could ever forget.

And that could be a problem.

When the song drew to a close, and Neil’s heaving breaths alerted you that he was probably worn out with exertion, he stopped. The reverberating beats sunk into the background as you met his gaze, aware of the silly softness you could not eradicate from your eyes. Neil looked manic, his pupils dilated and irises sparkling. He was breathing hard, the exhaustion making him shrug off the jean jacket with impatience, so far that Neil did not bat an eyelid when the article landed on the dirty floor. The reveal of an old, worn-out t-shirt underneath that hugged his broad shoulders and biceps just right made your jaw fall slack.

That, too, could be a problem.

Despite the common sense screaming at you to look away, you stared on, aware of Neil gazing right back. A wiser person would have shaken awake in time to switch off the music and call this quits before any further damage could be done. But you were never the wiser person.

You looked on as the song switched into a different era of music, and gentle, cheesy chords of piano and percussion filled the platform with a ballad almost everyone knew. Neil was not any different. You noticed the change in his eyes, switching from playfulness to mild seriousness. As if he, too, knew your fates were being decided at that exact moment.

However, the results of those decisions would not be noticeable until much later.

Using Elvis’ crooning as a backup to help drown your thoughts, you reached out your hand towards Neil, repeating the invitation. It was up to him whether he wanted to take it. Just like everything else in your friendship. The eager hope was hard to nip in the bud. It itched and ached until you could hardly stand still, awaiting the sentencing for what felt like hours. At last, Neil closed the gap and took your proffered hand with an impassive look.

The second time bore all the experience of the first, making it easier to fall in place without hesitation. Neil clasped your hand in his and let his other arm wind around your waist, pulling you close. Much closer than before. Your hand found its way to his shoulder, curious fingers stroking the expanse of his neck, revealed by the t-shirt collar. You did your best not to notice the goosebumps rising on his skin. It was impossible to tell which of you moved first, leading into the gentle sway. Only once you started waltzing around the empty platform, it was impossible to stop.

‘Would it be a sin

If I can't help falling in love with you?’

Halfway through the song, you tilted your head back from where your gaze had been trained on the expanse of his chest and met Neil’s waiting gaze. The shock passing through your system felt like a fatal blow. There was no denying the fact that this was a first. The first time you had ever danced like that with someone, motivated by nothing else but the desire to do it. There was also no denying the fact Neil’s watchful eyes and the soft strokes of his fingers, running along the expanse of your waist down to your hip, felt like nothing else you could have ever experienced before or after. It was well past your usual flirty chats and casual innuendos. Well past the daily playfulness of whatever it was blooming between you. It was well past the worn-out tracks and lived-in spaces.

Absolutely fucking terrifying.

‘Take my hand,

Take my whole life, too

For I can't help falling in love with you

For I can't help falling in love with you’

It was impossible to say what had tipped the scales right then. Whether it was the song lyrics, drawing attention to all those things you would rather ignore till the end of time or the unwavering eye contact you had maintained as you spun across the space with grace that had not been there previously. Or whether it was due to how Neil held you steadily, all the while allowing himself to stare, eyes roaming over your face in a meticulous study. But perhaps it was just a trick of fate, a sudden loss of reason and logic that made you tip forward and give in to the gravitational pull of his orbit. Perhaps Neil was guilty of the same thing.

Before you knew what had failed and why, you were close enough to feel the gasp of his breath fan across your face. The air ghosted your lips as your nose brushed against Neil’s, and the time slowed to a crawling speed. There was no denying the fact that you wanted it. The want hummed underneath your skin and made it hard to think clearly.

You only knew that Neil closed his eyes, and his sharp intake of breath hit your lips, making you tilt forward. Making it oh so easy to let go and-

“This is Piccadilly Line service towards the Heathrow Airport,” the PA system crackled to life, forcing you to separate as if burned.

You blinked awake, barely noticing the train slowing at the platform and the music still playing from your speaker. One glance at Neil told you all feelings were very much mutual. It was a close call. So close you could almost feel the kiss that never happened. An uncertain smile played upon your lips as you turned off the music and jumped aboard the train. You could only hope the King of the Rock’N’Roll himself was wrong about this one.

***

It was a well-known truth that a pretty boy could make you a little stupid. Stupid enough to do things that, under normal circumstances, would be off the table. But all it took was a flash of blue eyes and a charming smile, and boom, logic gone, reason decimated. Usually, there was a price to pay for that.

But the potential costs meant nothing in the face of the revelations the Saturday night brought. Namely, the kiss that never happened but you could easily dream of. Which you did, just to brighten up the restless sleep. Needless to say, that night unlocked some things. Things that perhaps were best left untouched. But hindsight was a gift you did not yet possess.

Instead, you battled with a single idea that was difficult to eradicate. Sure, that night, or how it had almost ended, was never mentioned again. As early as the next day Neil reached out to you and set the tone you were happy to follow. But the memory remained, nagging at your brain for a week and not once letting go. It was a seed that planted another thought. The thought that nothing was preventing you from reaching out for more. That there was no script to follow with Neil. That idea was like a brainworm making a home inside your skull.

Because, yes, you were known to be a little stupid for attractive boys. And Neil was potentially the most beautiful man you have ever met. That proved to be a problem.

Exactly a week after that Saturday, you caved in. The autumn breeze was hitting your face and tangling your hair as you stared at the Thames. There was no better place to start a catastrophic chain of events than the Blackfriars Bridge. Or so you told yourself. You took out the phone to stare at the messages and opened the text conversation with Neil. It took an additional fortifying breath to start typing out the proposition and start the exchange.

/ 🏹, 5:39 pm/ So, I figured, since we already broke the rules on our hangouts last Saturday

/ 🏹, 5:40 pm/ Would you like to grab coffee tomorrow?

/✝️, 5:45 pm/ That’s unexpected.

/✝️, 5:45 pm/ Why the sudden change of heart?

/ 🏹, 5:46 pm/ I liked your moves.

/✝️, 5:47 pm/ I’m pretty sure no one’s ever said that to me.

/ 🏹, 5:49 pm/ Maybe they just weren’t looking. I knew I was.

/✝️, 5:51 pm/ Okay, yeah. I’d like that.

/✝️, 5:52 pm/ Any labels I should be aware of?

/ 🏹, 5:52 pm/ Nah, fuck the labels.

/ 🏹, 5:53 pm/ Unless you want to bring me flowers. Then let’s call it a date.

/✝️, 5:55 pm/ Then it’s a date 😘

You stared at the phone long after the screen went dark. Along with the buzzing joy and anticipation of what tomorrow would bring, there was also an eternal question. The question you had avoided pretty damn well so far. What the fuck have you done?

***

By the time you were meeting Neil in a café (chosen because of its perfect location between St. John’s Wood and Swiss Cottage), those nerves of anticipation had transformed into anxiety. The worst was that you did not even know what you were so nervous about. A date (that was not really a date) was nothing new. You have done it many times before, usually to great results. But suddenly, when Neil was inserted into the equation, all that you got was uncertainty. And a strong fear of fucking it up. It did not make for a good mix.

Part of it dissipated once you turned the street corner and saw him waiting in front of the café, a bouquet in hand, despite your line being nothing more than a throwaway joke. An affectionate smile was impossible to get rid of no matter how hard you may have tried. It stayed as you closed the remaining distance and met Neil’s gaze. Then it got transformed into a stupid grin as your eyes scanned him head to toe (hair just as messy as always, leather and jeans completed with sneakers – in other words: fucking hot). Once that foolery was complete, you could shift your attention to the flowers, now held out in your direction like a sheepish offering.

It was a colourful bouquet of wildflowers, freshly bloomed and coming from a florist rather than Sainsbury’s. The thoughtfulness was enough to make you blush. Before you could delve into an embarrassing attempt at cover-up, Neil broke the silence:

“You haven’t specified what kind of flowers,” his shyness was easily seen from the fidgeting hands and eyes unwilling to stay on your face longer than necessary.

That was your cue to get yourself together and accept the bouquet with a courtesy. That, too, was just a trick to drag that shy smile onto his face. It worked.

“Those are perfect, thank you,” with another smile, you turned towards the entrance and went in as Neil held the door. It was a cosy café with only a few tables and a bar-service ordering. You motioned towards the smiling server behind the counter with a question, “Wanna go order coffee?”

You did not expect in response to your innocent ask for Neil to come to a strange stand-still in the middle of the entryway and measure you with a look that spoke volumes about him having something to say and no way of expressing it. You raised your eyebrow, urging the words to come out and save you from death by perplexation.

After a beat, Neil seemingly found the ability to speak again and stumbled through a sentence:

“I’ve got… uh… a thing,” the emphasis on the final word was accompanied by an awkward shift, his hand automatically reaching up to comb through his hair and messing it up even more.

That did not help. At all. You blinked, aware of the comedy role you had just been awarded without warning. You were vaguely conscious of the server’s gaze, undoubtedly staring at the spectacle presented with fascination.

“Jesus, what thing?” when Neil did not elaborate, you prodded with another question, gaining a slightly hysterical edge.

It was probably that tone which made the most impact. Neil seemed to wake up, his hands gesturing as he attempted to explain:

“A thing about figuring out people’s drink order,” he shrugged, almost as if already embarrassed by ever bringing it up; that would not do, “Like a-”

“A kink?” you interrupted his explanation with a devilish grin, knowing that it would do the job.

That and the teasing, of course.

The reaction was instantaneous. Where previously there had been mild shyness and uncertainty, the furious blush had bloomed. Neil looked horrified as he took a step in your direction as if considering sealing your mouth shut before finally admitting defeat. What you got instead was a glare and an affronted reply:

“What? No! More like talent, I guess,” Neil shrugged, visibly battling the dilemma you were not privy to. You decided to help him the best way you knew how – by reaching out and squeezing his hand. Once. Just once. It was enough to do the job and make your fingers itch with an inexplicable desire to prolong the contact. Luckily, it disappeared when Neil recovered from his internal crisis and gestured towards the counter, “May I?”

You could only nod, happy that whatever had just transpired was past you. Not that it was not fun, but because of the audience that did not deserve to see what had happened. Whatever it was.

“You’ve got me intrigued, so now you have to,” shrugging upon Neil’s hesitant smile, you ventured inside the café, scouting for a perfect table.

Soon enough, the ideal booth had been located and taken as you awaited Neil’s return. You did not have to wait long, for as soon as you settled and placed your coat on the backrest, he sat in the chair in front. That sheepish smile was still in place, so you tried to bring back his confidence with dumb chitchat until you were interrupted by the server approaching your table. It worked. As you both fell quiet, Neil was visibly fighting a grin threatening to transform his face. The pride surged in your veins without respect towards your sense of humility.

The woman shot you both a bright smile as she set neared the table and put a steaming porcelain cup in front of Neil:

“Flat White for you, sir, and for your girlfriend-” you never got to hear the end of that sentence as Neil’s horrified expression and a loud interruption stole your attention.

“Oh, we’re not-” your laughter was almost enough to drown out his protest.

Almost because the server still looked extremely apologetic as she placed a larger cup in front of you with a clink.

“-Caramel Macchiato,” you waved off the atonement she seemed ready to launch and smiled, the curiosity at his choice already occupying your mind.

“Thank you,” as soon as the woman was out of earshot, you turned your cheeky smile onto Neil and covered his hand resting on the table with your palm, “Are you ashamed of me, my darling?” your favourite blush spread upon his cheeks, widening your grin in the process.

A blunder like that was not something you would ever lose sleep over. Even less so, considering that you were there with Neil. Even with your deep-rooted dislike over anything that had to do with relationships and the complications they lead to, you could not possibly be angry over being perceived as belonging to Neil. If anything, it was flattering.

“Stop it,” he shook off your hand, way too gently, and shook his head as if desperate to clear it, “I just didn’t-” after a beat, he dropped your gaze, giving up the fight, “It doesn’t matter, sorry” although you would do anything to understand the thought processes unfolding behind those slightly vacant blue eyes, you were not given a chance. Instead, he took a fortifying sip of coffee and looked at your cup, (not so) swiftly changing the topic “So… how did I do?” the anticipation in that gaze offered no space for a bargain.

You glanced at the beverage in front of you and slowly raised it to get a tentative taste. The warm liquid slightly burned your tongue, but before you could mourn the damage, the caffeine and creamy caramel filled your mouth with pleasurable goodness. It was a top-notch choice, making you follow that first sip with another almost without a break. Burned tongue be damned.

“Very good, actually,” raising your head, you met Neil’s proud smile. It was a much better look than the embarrassed expression from earlier, motivating you to add, “Maybe you should try getting into BGT with that talent,” you winked at him, even if to prolong the blush, which had begun to fade.

But also because it was fun to compliment him, considering that you meant every word and because of your suspicions that Neil did not get them often. That alone was a travesty, in your opinion.

“Very funny,” rolling his eyes at you with a happy smile tucked in the corner of his lips, Neil looked even better.

It was easy enough a conclusion that lightness and happiness were a good look on him. Especially when you were the cause. You tried not to let that go into your head, but… Well.

“I know,” you matched his smile with a smirk of your own, “Hysterical,” with the perfect pause to take another sip of the glorious coffee, you shifted the topic, “How was the week at the clergy?”

Without Neil’s continuous amused reactions to the same old joke, you would have dropped it by now. But how could you if it still got a laugh out of him each time? You couldn’t let opportunities like that slip by. No chance.

This time, Neil hid the joyous huff of laughter in the coffee cup as he pondered the answer.

“It’s been good. Fine,” a noncommittal shrug offered no room for guessing what it was that he did, which was still a mystery, but you counted wins where you could find them, “A bit busy, but what can you do. I might have a work trip coming up soon, so…” it was only when the second part of his reply was processed by your brain, currently preoccupied with staring at Neil’s mouth (which was a very normal state of mind to have), that you perked up.

That was important information. For two contrasting reasons. One was that whatever Neil did for work involved work trips, and that narrowed down the field, albeit barely. Two was that it would mean he would not be around every Wednesday, ready to meet you. That second deduction took hold of your heart with the icy grasp of disappointment.

“So, no more Wednesday meetups?” it was impossible to keep the sadness out of your tone as you settled a wary gaze on Neil.

Sure, it was survivable. But where would be the fun in it?

It was not fun to see that same apprehension creep into Neil’s eyes.

“Yeah, but only like… for a few weeks,” from his sudden dislike of eye contact, you guessed that the estimation might have been an understatement. Though you did hope he was not lying. The pitiful look must have been still present on your face, for Neil followed the statement with reassurance, “I’m sure you’ll survive without me,” he hesitated for a millisecond before returning your previous gesture and giving your hand a comforting pat.

You did not move it away, the pleasant warmth and weight of his palm seeping through your skin and soothing the sudden spell of sadness. It was difficult not to let that inexplicable feeling lead you into the deep end as it was not something you understood. It settled in the darkest cavern of your heart and accompanied its beat with its foreboding presence. There was no choice but to push past it.

“I don’t know, I’m going to miss you,” the confession felt dangerously light on your tongue as you registered Neil’s reaction. His beautiful eyes widened almost imperceptibly, and he quickly dropped your gaze, choosing to stare at the table instead. The only sign that you were heard was how his thumb stroked your hand repeatedly, “I hope you’ll be back before the premiere,” using the only way you knew of lightening the conversation, you made sure to slip in a playful tone.

Ever since the day you had shared joyous news with Neil, he often asked about the preparations for the ballet. He seemed genuinely interested in the process, the rehearsals, and your impressions at every stage.

When you innocently hinted at a costume fitting in your texts Neil immediately asked for a picture. You complied, gleefully posing in the dressing room mirror wearing the whole get-up, complete with pointe shoes, tights, and a white ballet tutu with the accents of blue flower petals. All in all, you had the right to believe that Neil would be interested in coming to see the ballet when it premiered. You had that covered.

“I’ll do my best,” his hopeful smile was enough to distract you, for soon Neil followed it with a question, “Do I get an invite?”

The cheeky smile was back in full force, almost wiping you off the surface of the Earth. More of that, please. Feeling brave, you slowly tangled your fingers with his to raise your joined hands from the tabletop and squeezed his palm. It was a silly question to ask. You had to make sure Neil knew that.

“Well, duh,” you started with an eye roll, taking pleasure from the feel of his hand holding yours, “I’m going to need a personal cheerleader for when I fail big time,” it was a rare thing to hear you admit the fear and anxieties out loud.

Most of the time, they only existed in your mind, never expressed. And especially not in a conversation because that fear of someone else confirming all you feared was overwhelming. It was better to appear invincible to the world than to let them know your weaknesses. Somehow this logic did not want to apply itself to Neil. No, he has heard it all. And yet, he did not seem keen on confirming you were right to doubt yourself.

“That’s not going to happen. You’ll be the perfect Cupid,” punctuating the encouragement with a squeeze of the hand, Neil shot you a brilliant grin.

The nickname was growing on you. It was also the cause of a few silly smiles during the rehearsals when you were addressed with your character role. That was alright, too.

Now, with the force of his beautiful smile shining upon you like a rare beacon of hope, you tried your hardest not to let the praise consume you whole. Instead, you turned to the faithful vice of sarcasm as you let go of his hand and settled your chin on your folded palms. Eyelashes and doe eyes in full force. Naturally.

“Wow, my charms must be working if you’re this blindsided,” curling the corner of your mouth in a smirk, your eyes roamed over his face in familiar patterns.

It was refreshing to remember why you invited him out in the first place. Why you have decided to break the unwritten role and step on the line you both had been tiptoeing from day one. Why nothing was holding you back from reaching for what you wanted.

This time, Neil did not turn away from your taxing gaze and met it head-on. Almost as if permitting you to proceed with whatever you desired.

“You’ve no idea, sweetheart,” mirroring your tentative smirk, Neil offered you a wink and picked up the coffee cup.

You were certainly not going to eschew a chance like that.

***

As far as first dates (could he even call it that?) went, meeting up for coffee and letting the conversations run without a disaster somewhere in between was rare. Even rarer still considering that Neil did not know how he got to this point and whether it was not all a dream. The jury was out on that. Even though Sunday was now two days ago, the meeting was still fresh in his mind, posing a thousand questions.

Because he really did not know how he got that place. The only certainty was that sometime between the surprising Saturday night meeting at Leicester Square station and the day after, Cupid made up her mind and chose to strike. Alternatively, she decided to act considering the realisations he was not privy to. Sure, that night at the station almost ended with a kiss. He knew that. He was there. But it did not offer answers as towards why an almost kiss made her behave in contrast to what Neil thought he understood about her.

Because a date was definitely a step above flirting. And it was hard to understand what that meant. If anything at all.

Now, on a rainy Tuesday afternoon, Neil stared out the window of the HQ cafeteria and tried his hardest not to think about it (her) for a change. It was not going well, as one could expect. From the corner of his eye, he could tell Ives was staring. Those piercing blue eyes (bluer than his, which has once or twice been proved during a night out as those things usually are) have been glancing his way instead of focusing on the sandwich on his plate. What a prick (affectionate). After what felt like a fiftieth glance, Neil dropped the napkin onto his place with force and turned towards Ives with a glare. The patience has worn out.

“Oh, just spit it out,” Neil hissed the words with ire.

The grin spreading upon Ives’ lips did not help a bit. The soldier leaned forward, abandoning his food and setting the perceptive eyes upon his friend. Mercilessly. With years of friendship, Neil knew this was not ending well.

“I haven’t said a word,” the man shrugged; a picture-perfect nonchalance.

If only.

“But you’ve been staring,” Neil’s attempt at covering up the tension with a bored tone failed.

He knew that as soon as he saw Ives’ unimpressed smile. There were no doubts about where this conversation was heading. It was the interrogation Neil had feared from day one. It was only a matter of time. Damn it.

“Go ask Henrik. Maybe he can help you gauge my eyes,” in moments like this, Ives’ cockney accent came out in full force, tearing at the shreds of patience Neil seemed to have.

Despite himself, he cracked a smile at the comeback.

“Doubtful,” quickly hiding it in the sip of tea, Neil muttered a quip of his own.

While Henrik, the team’s medic, was a peculiar man, it was improbable he would be into that kind of thing. Unfortunately.

“Eh, I wouldn’t put it past him,” before he could hope this was the end of the conversation, Ives levelled him with another no-bullshit look and delivered the sentence in four simple words, “Mate, spit it out,”

If only it were that easy. For one, Neil did not even know what there was to tell. Sure, he has met a girl. He was probably thinking too much about said girl daily. But that was it. The end of the story. Pathetic, as per usual.

“I’d rather not,” as the last resort of keeping his dignity intact, Neil averted his gaze and fixed his stare on the dirty floor of the cantina.

A solitary potato chip was lying there, attracting attention. For one, maddening second, his brain tried to concoct an elaborate metaphor in which he was like that lonely, forgotten chip on the ground.

Thankfully, the idea was soon dispersed by his irreplicable companion and his booming voice, cutting through the idiotic thoughts:

“I beg to differ,” the hint of reassurance in Ives’ voice was responsible for luring Neil into listening, just as the soldier delivered the question, “What’s her name? His name? Their name?”

Admittedly, the inclusive way of asking was a nice touch from someone who frequently lacked decorum. Or, more accurately, did not bother with it. It was that addition that made Neil crack, with the final resolve crumbling as he tried to protest:

“There’s no- Cupid,” giving out a tired sigh, Neil finally raised his head and repeated the nickname with something ridiculously close to the softness of affection, “I call her Cupid,”

It made no sense. He knew that. But it did not help that whenever he thought of her, that stupid, embarrassing part of his heart was roused awake from periodical slumber. So much for being reasonable.

As soon as Ives whistled lowly and that familiar sardonic grin appeared on his face, Neil knew it was a mistake.

“Kinky,” his murderous glare got ignored in favour of another pressing question, “Who’s the lucky lady?”

Lucky was definitely an overstatement if you asked Neil. But he did not fancy getting into the specifics of the relationships yet. Instead, he happily let himself delve back into memories of that first meeting. He still could not find other apt ways to describe it than a strike of fate. Dramatic? Sure, that was his second name.

He did doubt that Ives would appreciate the insane poetic ruminations, however.

“I’ve met her at the Tube, and she’s a ballerina… Pretty fucking cool, at that” that was a non-negotiable fact. Period.

Yet from the way his friend stared at him, Neil could easily deduct that here, too, he sounded like the insane idiot that he was. An idiot that finds friends on the Tube and lets that develop into something else. Something he tried very hard not to define. It was going splendidly well. Of course.

“Uh oh,” as if reading his mind, Ives, the prick, pasted on a silly grin and bated his eyelashes down at him, continuing the interrogation, “Is that a crush I’m sensing?”

Fuck. That was, indeed, a mistake.

Not that there was a crush because there absolutely wasn’t anything of that sort. Idiot, he might have been, but not… No. No. Which is exactly why Neil had to pause to cover his face with his hands and let out a deep sigh. Conveniently ignoring Ives and his bullshit assumptions.

Only once he felt like the annoyance had simmered to an acceptable white noise, Neil dropped the hands covering his face and met his destiny in the form of an infuriating sardonic smile.

“No, she’s just… I’m fascinated, okay? I’ve never met anyone like her before, and we’ve got a good thing going with weekly chats and… stuff,” running out of steam, Neil let the last word trail off into silence.

He knew what it all sounded like. He did. Except that there was no better way of describing it (them) to the outside world. And he was certainly not keen on showing Ives the texts. Not after the last conversation this morning, which involved more innuendos and another rendition of What socks are you wearing? - his favourite game. Truly. What made the exchange more incriminating, however, was the fact that Cupid’s current socks brandished an image of an adorable pug with a caption: “Send dog pics”. Yeah, that. That was a theme he was so far happy to ignore. Kind of.

“Did you kiss her yet?” another ridiculous question acted like a wake-up call as Neil felt the loathed, crimson blush fill his cheeks.

“What is this? Middle school?” another outburst got met with a stoically blank face, not helping to ease the shame of being so goddamn transparent “No, I didn’t,” I wish, “We danced” offering the alternative lowkey felt like self-sacrifice.

Not because Neil was embarrassed of what had happened that Saturday night but because it stayed a secret to anyone who was not him or Cupid. At least, that is what she told him, much to inexplicable surprise, which he could not and would not try to understand.

“I never knew you dance,” the soldier’s remark, as always, missed the mark.

Annoyance at the whole world, at this rate, rose at a steady pace. Perhaps it would have been more accurate to say that Neil was frustrated at the circumstances of the relationship with the woman in question, but it was too soon for self-realisation to do its work.

“Of course, I do,” instead, it was the distant feel of pity that nagged at the edges of his soul as Neil allowed the dismissive reflection to be voiced without the veil of fake pep, “Anyway, none of it matters. She’s not into relationships, so…” he shrugged, aware of the pitiful picture.

In a way, it was easier to know that about her ahead of time. It was perfect information to push at his brain and heart whenever they got too comfortable with the situation. To remind them (and himself) that it was not going anywhere, and it never would.

But, for some infuriating reason, the heart tended to be a stubborn beast holding no regard for facts. Not that heart had anything to do with this just yet. Of course not. Neil just… liked her. As a human being likes another human being. Platonically.

“Surely, your roguish charm will convince her otherwise,” as expected, Ives looked as if he was trying very hard not to feel sorry for him and was failing.

The reassurance hardly worked if Neil was being honest. The existence of said roguish charm was highly debatable. But who was he to argue?

“Nah, it’s fine. I can be just friends with her” manifesting much, or whatever. It was a blessing to have a different topic to switch to, “Anyway, I’m not going to see her for the next couple of weeks since we’re leaving,” another attempt at a nonchalant shrug got lost in the heaviness Neil could not shake off if he tried.

Going off on a mission right now, in the middle of it all, was far from ideal. Neil liked his job, loved it even, but then, some operations felt like a drag from the moment they appeared on his desk. That was one of them.

“Yeah, Lisbon is on,” from the tiredness written all over Ives’ face, Neil could tell the lack of enthusiasm was shared, “Two weeks, but it might be longer,”

“Great,” sarcasm dripped from the word as Neil glanced at his friend and asked, “We’re going to bunk together?”

It was only half a joke. Because only the company made the perspective of that mission seem a little less daunting.

“You wish, love,” the answering grin on Ives’ face was the perfect punchline to the dramatic conversation. The soldier got up from the table with another quip, “You know I’m not into blondes,” he walked away without another glance, yet the laugh he elicited from Neil could be heard in the room above the cantina.

[simpforrooster]

Hey I’ve been feeling bummed out recently and was wondering if u could write a fic where reader is feeling really down and low and rooster comforts them? Plsss

you're valid.

Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw x Reader

summary: reader is feeling down, and rooster offers some much needed comfort.

a/n: here you go anon! I hope you start to feel better :3

Things have been rough to say the least.

You've refused to get out of bed for the past week, much preferring to snuggle up with your cat than face the existential crisis plaguing your mind.

It's so hard to see those around you seemingly achieve the things you suppose you should be too.

Getting engaged, getting married, having kids. Or getting promotions at work.

It just felt like you were on a different timeline.

You phone buzzes beneath your blankets, causing your cat to jump into the air. Freeing the phone from its confines, you take in the name.

Rooster 19

Letting out a sigh at the number of texts you've ignored, you shove the phone back into its comfy prison.

It's not that you don't want to talk this out with him, Rooster is the best listener. You just don't want to worry him with this trivial problem. Not when he's a legit fighter pilot living his dream.

He just wouldn't understand.

You allow yourself to fall into a deep nap, pulling your cat close to your chest, letting her purrs calm you.

~

You awake with a start at the sound of something coming from your kitchen.

"Fuck," you hear a deep voice curse. You'd know that voice from anywhere. Peering around the corner, Rooster clumsily moves around your kitchen. He pulls out a sheet pan from the cabinet and starts placing cookie dough on it.

Then he moves toward the stove, stirring whatever was in the pot before sliding the tray of cookies into the over.

Your heart grows thirteen sizes at your boyfriend's ministrations. You giggle as you take in your huge fighter pilot wearing a corgi covered apron, attempting to keep his plain black t-shirt clean.

His head whips in your direction at the sound of your laughter. He fixes you with a smirk and saunters over. Your heart picks up it's pace as he stalks toward you. Craning your face up toward him, you allow him to place a sweet kiss on your lips.

Rooster's hands slowly slide around your waist and he pulls you toward him. "Talk to me, baby," he murmurs in your ear, causing you to melt on the spot.

"It's nothing, Roos," you say.

Rooster pulls you toward the stove, picking you up and placing you on the counter so he can watch what looks like taco soup simmering.

"It's not nothing. Not when I can't get a text back from you." He sets his spoon down and looks at you with a fist in his hip. As he stares you down, everything falls out.

You tell him of your fears. Of your insecurities. Tears stain your cheeks as you finish, chocking on a sob. The soup forgotten, Rooster pulls you back into his arms, leaving you on the counter so he can look into your eyes.

"Baby, why haven't you brought this up? You don't need to suffer on your own. I'm your boyfriend."

You shrug. "It just seemed so trivial when you are living your best life."

Frustration crosses his eyes. "Nothing about you or what you go through is trivial. You are valid, baby. Your feelings are valid. Promise me you'll tell me next time you are hurting."

Tears fall harder at the man in front of you. How could you think he wouldn't care about any of this? This man loves you.

"I promise, Bradley," you murmur. His lip quirks up at the mention of his name.

"I love you, y/n," he says before placing a kiss onto your forehead. The simple gesture fills you with enough gusto that you push him out of the way from the cooking and take over.

Rooster lets out a sigh of relief, allowing you to fix everything he messed up food wise.

"I don't know what I would do with out you, babygirl."

"Likewise, Roos," you answer with a kiss on his cheek.

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